Hell-LOW there, sweeties! Lola here. Don't you worry your little heads about Marcheline now, she's tied up at the moment and can't get to her keys keyboard.
What's that you say, sugah? You never heard of Lola? Rhymes with CHOLA! It's just like that fantabulous song by the Kinks! The head Kink wrote that song just for me, you know. Leave it to Lola to fill you in on all the juicy little details. Here, let me spell it out for you...
"L"
"O"
"L"
"A"
....LOLA!
That's me, babycakes. Bet you never thought a blonde could spell on command - well, that just goes to show what you know. Besides, that's only blonde women people joke about... heh!
Anyway, my pussy is due for her weekly grooming (at the PET SPA - get your mind out of the gutter, honey, there ain't room down here for the both of us!), so I really must toodle.
While taking a break from staring at dead end job postings online, I started to peruse the blogosphere. And a burning question began to form in my mind. The same old question that I have had running around in the back of my brain for years. Regarding bloggers who self-avowedly make their living off of blogging.
And you know what? I don't get it.
Honestly, really, I don't get it. I have read just as many funny, endearing posts on non-famous blogs as I have on famous ones. I have also seen some really boring duds on the famous ones. Since no big famous bloggers deign to read my drivel, I'm not worried about insulting anyone here, but I am really stumped as to why some of these people are so blogcessful, while I am over here picking my nose and eating it. Metaphorically speaking, of course.
Is there some magic process by which one gets their blog into the whirlpool of notoriety and mass circulation? Does it have to do with designing a quirky header? Is there voodoo involved? Of course none of the bigwig bloggers ever discuss their trade secrets on their blogs, and I'm guessing that those much-ballyhooed trips to blogger get-togethers are more about Brie and Belvedere than they are about telling other people how to cash in on the blogiverse.
This is not sour grapes. I honestly think it's great that stay-at-home moms and washed-up soap opera stars are making enough blog-generated buckage to front their own stash of groceries and a place to live. More power to 'em! It's the American dream gone wild. I'm just trying to figure out the difference between what they are doing and what I am doing. Because when I read their post content, it really doesn't seem any different from, say, MY blog!
They whine about their failures, they cheer about their successes. They post silly pictures, they share travel tips and recipes, and just occasionally they open up and let us see the private side.
The more I think about it, the more I think I may just have to throw caution to the wind and let loose around here a little. Because Marcheline has a secret - oh, yes she does! A little-known fact, a titillating tidbit, a hidden humdinger!
I've got a lady you all have yet to meet... and honey, she's a lulu. Well, not exactly. To be more specific, she's a Lola.
After watching thirty-five episodes of Shear Genius in a row, I ran to the bathroom, jumped in the shower, washed and conditioned my hair, and gave myself a haircut. I actually like it. It's still really long in the back, but I did take a couple of inches off the ends, and added some layers in around the top, which frame my face instead of hanging like so many pounds of limp lasagna. They need a reality show where people cut their own hair. It would be so much more disastrously fun!
***
Once one has sent out four hundred resumes consecutively, one starts to realize the lingo which means you are being led down the garden path. When an ad describes a job that can be done by a wanking chimp and then lists the salary as $32,000 - $68,000 per year? They're jerking your chain. Big time.
My pet peeve are staffing agencies that post real-looking jobs, with no indication that a) they are a staffing agency and b) no such actual job exists - you are just going to be funneled into their vortex of resume/CV hell, to be contacted via daily emails about jobs you would never consider applying for.
***
I did yoga for an hour today. JAZ inspired me. I was feeling pretty crappy, not to mention fat, from just lying around all day sending out resumes, watching reality television, and feeling sorry for myself. So I did an hour of yoga. Then I ate two hot dogs and forty corn chips and watched the last twenty minutes of "Gilda" (Rita Hayworth and Glenn Ford). I feel healthier already.
***
Got an odd phone call yesterday, from a company to whom I had sent a resume via email. The woman who called sounded vaguely threatening, as if I had been caught looking through her underwear drawer instead of sending an email expressing interest in a job. She wanted to know WHERE I had seen the ad for that particular job. She wanted to know the website, and exactly how to find it. Because, she said pointedly, no such job exists.
At this point, my brain was fried from searching job postings on about seven hundred different websites, and I vaguely tried to retrace my steps to this particular job post. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking - what's the big deal? If you don't have the job any more, or whatever, use my resume to wallpaper the bathroom and forget about it! Why are you calling me?
Twenty minutes later, I was down in the kitchen rooting around for something unhealthy to stuff in my pie hole, and my cell phone rang again. I dropped the Cheetos and grabbed for the phone - hoping against hope it was an employer who was so impressed with my fruit salad of a resume that he wanted to hire me on the spot.
It was that annoying woman again - from the company who did NOT have the job that I had applied for! She said she was just calling to apologize to me - ????? - and that they had tracked down the offending job advertisement. She said she had no idea how that job got posted, and that it must have been some sort of mistake. Uhhhh, yeah.... sure.
My brain was still reaching around for that all important point which would have made this phone call make any freaking sense whatsoever. Okay, so you STILL don't have a job for me to apply for, and you called me back to apologize? This chick must have imagined that I was lying prostrate on the floor of my bedroom with tears leaking into my ears, distraught because she couldn't figure out where that faux job listing came from! My God! The drama!
I just told the nice, braindead lady she could keep my resume on file in case, oh, I dunno, an ACTUAL JOB showed its face around there, and they wanted to hire someone...
Do you see how depressing it is to be looking for a job when there are shitheads like her RUNNING THE SHOW? Argh.
***
In a sheer stroke of the impossible, I actually got a paycheck in the mail today. From the company I quit. They said they were going to pay me for the final two weeks, but I didn't really believe them. Maybe because I spent the last year watching them try to evade every single bill that came across the desk and starting lawsuits to try and evade paying for stupid shit they ordered that no one in their right mind would have expected to work.
But I guess miracles do happen - either that or they think I'm a government "plant" just waiting to catch them evading their fi-douche-iary responsibilities. The incoming buckage is making my life of unemployed misery possible for the next couple of weeks, at any rate. Woot.
I've arrived at that stage of unemployment where the universe seems to have settled around my ears like a large garbage bag full of warm oatmeal. I send out resumes via email, and as I hit "send" I think to myself, "I don't even want this job. This job is a dead-end, meaningless foray into shitsville, and I hope they don't call me for an interview because I could care less about this position or this company, and it's all ballocks."
I watch people on the competitive reality shows, like "The Next Food Network Star" and "Shear Genius", and it makes me wistful. There are people who have a dream, and they are going after it, balls-to-the-wall, all out, trying for their grab at the golden ring. And I'm sitting in my house sending out stupid resumes to stupid companies that are most likely staffing agencies posing as stupid companies anyway.
My talents in life are varied and unconnected to each other. I can play several musical instruments, but none of them well enough to perform in public. I can cook, but have no formal training that would make me hireable to cook in a restaurant. I love gardening, but there is no money in that, unless the Queen Mother's head gardener has croaked, which I doubt. I speak Spanish, but so does half of the populace of the United States right now. I can type extremely fast, but that is not really going to get me the job of my dreams, now, is it?
From recent photographs I have seen of myself, I realize that I should be utilizing this "free time" to get in shape, and start dieting. However, the depression over not having a job is making this feel impossible to me. I want to curl up under the covers and stay there, only coming out long enough to suck down a milkshake, send out a couple of resumes, and watch an old movie or two on TCM. I realize that this is defeatist behavior, but I honestly feel as if I've accomplished a major goal if I can clean the house, do the dishes, or make the bed in addition to my daily job searching.
As miserable as it is to have to basically enslave yourself to a company in order to make a living, it's amazing how much more miserable it is to NOT have that security, that enslavement, to ensure that more money is forthcoming.
I don't know what it is that I really need, or how to get from where I am to where I need to be, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not doing it right. I'm not even sure there is a "right way" to do it, come to that.
My friends, I'd like to introduce you to the tool that may make the difference between my getting or not getting the government job I got up early on a Saturday morning to go and test for.
What is it? It's a BOX WRENCH. Does it look like a box? Why, no, it doesn't. Does it open a box? Of course not, silly! Is it a wrench used exclusively by boxers? Nope, wrong again. And yet, for reasons I may never know (or agree with), it's called a BOX WRENCH.
Bear suggested that it's because the little teeth on the inside of the rings grab the nut and "box it in". I threw him out the window.
Before the test date, I received a small instructional sheet in the mail which gave a list of the topics which would be covered on this test. Basic chemistry, science, math, and machine logistics were included. A tool identification section was.... Not. On. The. List.
I would like to point out that I am pretty comfortable around a tool box, having spent many hours as a child helping my dad tune up his cars. I was successfully able to identify a die tool, a cotter pin, and an expansion bolt. I still have to check and see what a toggle bolt is... wait a sec... YES! Got the toggle bolt right, too. So you see, I'm not a dumb girl.
But the tool that I wrongly identified with the multiple choice answer using the adjective "sawtooth"????
That really threw a wrench in the works. I suppose it would have been too easy to put in a question about a hand wrench?
SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): In his book The Medusa and the Snail, science writer Lewis Thomas said that the English word "error" developed from a root meaning "to wander about, looking for something." That's why he liked Darwin's idea that error is the driving force in evolution. I think this wandering-about-looking-for-something approach should be the driving force in your personal evolution, Sagittarius. The coming weeks will be a great time to meander and get distracted and stumble upon unexpected opportunities. May all your mutations have a positive spin! (P.S. Lewis also wrote this: "The capacity to blunder slightly is the real marvel of DNA. Without this special attribute, we would still be anaerobic bacteria and there would be no music.")
It's all very strange, the way things tie in sometimes, like clockwork. My wandering about, looking for a career with meaning. The reference to music, and my recent contact with a huge musical influence.
Reading this makes me feel more like a part of what is supposed to be happening rather than a foyal ruck-up.
Today was gorgeous. Sunny, breezy, not too hot (in the shade).
Bear came through in a HUGE way with some money he'd squirreled away for emergencies - gave us a little breathing room while I look for a job. Yay for Bears who squirrel!
It's Friday, which means I get the weekend with Bear (aside from the bartending job he's doing tomorrow, thank the heavenly host for extra fundage!!)
I'm so excited! Season 2 of Mad Men is airing this Sunday night on AMC! For those of you who haven't seen it, it's not too late to get on board!
Basically, it's all about the private lives and backstabbing work ethics of the employees of a super-slick ad agency in 1960. This was the era of smoking and drinking scotch in the office (if you were a man, of course). This was the era of dressing up to go grocery shopping. This was the era of dressing up to do evvvvvrything!
Meet Don Draper. He's the main character, an up and coming ad man (or "mad man", as the saying goes). He's got a wife and family, with a few chippies on the side - but because he's handsome and has a Cary Grant-esque hairdo, we forgive him all that.
Also - he's not really Don Draper! *gasp* In one first season episode, his long lost brother shows up and confronts him with the real identity that he left behind. Don kicks his brother to the curb and goes on with the show... although his emotional upheaval is starting to wear on the polished image he is keeping up for work.
Meet the girls of Mad Men! On the left, we have little Miss Polly Purebread, also known as Betty Draper. Wife of Don Draper. She's vapid, she's ignoring his indiscretions, and she's trying to avoid getting groped by Don's boss at the company parties. She also has the most excellent wardrobe!
In the middle, there's Joan the Hot Redhead who works at Don's office and screws Don's boss. She's the universal vortex of gossip and she rules the office girls with an iron corset. Don't even try to get anything past her, she's already ten chapters ahead of you, girl, and you'll wind up with your tampon in a knot. Word.
The girl on the far right is Peggy Olson, the office prude (who sleeps with one of the married ad men, gets preggers but doesn't realize it - DUHHH - and has a baby!). 'Nuff said.
THE AD MEN OF "MAD MEN"
From left to right, we have: The Weasely Backstabber and Ladder Climber Who Gets The Prude Preggers, Kinda Smart Kinda Dumb Guy, Don (Not) Draper, Big Closeted Gay Guy, Arrogant Boss With Heart Problem Who Screws Anything That Moves, Some Other Office Guy Who Could Croak And Nobody Would Notice.
For me this is one of those shows that is so well written and slick that it's easy to watch, but the real draw is the clothing, the clocks, the cars, the attitudes - it was so different back then. I was born in the mid 60's, so I recognize a lot of the props and clothing because my parents owned, drove, and wore the stuff! It's just amazing to see it all as it would have looked when it was new. It's kind of sad, too... but that's what nostalgia is all about, I guess.
This is Day Three of Marcheline's Unemployed Arse, but I just wanted to bring a little light-hearted fun into the day and focus on a small, happy thing I can look forward to.
Did you ever have a job interview where you felt better when you walked out than when you walked in? Probably not, right?
Well, I just got home from just such an interview. The lady who owns the business is such a positive energy force field that I can honestly say that I am just glad to have met her, whether or not she decides to hire me.
We talked for over an hour, and maybe ten minutes of that was about the job. She talked about her life, I talked about mine, and we talked about 9/11 and a million other things. We both like to restore antique furniture, and we both overcame fears about flying in airplanes.
She had a really rough life, and she's taken it by the horns and turned it around and made it work for her. A real inspiration.
Of course, I'm hoping that I get this job... not only does she give her employees FOUR WEEKS OFF every year, but free membership to a local gym! Two things my life could definitely benefit from.
Keep yer fingers crossed out there, blog buddies o'mine!
Had coffee with Bear and waved as he drove off to his daily gainful employment, something which I no longer have.
As it was almost two hours before most businesses open, I sat on the couch with my harp and practised the song "No One" (written by Bunny Andrews) until I had little ouchie places on the tips of my fingers.
Called back one of the employers I'd really love to work for, who keeps leaving messages on my cell phone but not answering the phone when I call her back two seconds later.
Went online and sent out resumes for the three jobs that appeared since the last time I checked the job sites.
Got Skyped by my bestest buddy Margs from South Africa, and chatted with her for a bit (which cheered me up perceptibly, as always)
Found a pretty decent government job opportunity and spent the next two and a half hours finding my college transcripts, filling out a four page application in black ink, and one two-sided scantron sheet (also part of the application) in No. 2 pencil, and writing a check for $25 for the application fee
Cleaned the house
Took out the garbage
Washed the dishes
Cleaned the litterbox
Took shit up to the attic which I have been tripping over for the past three months
Went to the post office to mail the application via certified mail
Took the laundry to the 'mat
Went grocery shopping
Made dinner for Bear when he came home
Read people's blogs and got pissed off when I found out that one of my favorite blogs is apparently going under. I HATE when that happens!
A few posts ago, I wrote about a reply email I had received from the music editor of one of my favorite movies of all time - Original Sin (starring my favorite actress of all time, Angelina Jolie).
Honestly, after I sent my reply, I immediately began censoring myself. I gushed too much, I thought. She's going to think I'm a lunatic. Or a hanger-on. I am never going to hear from her again. I should just forget it - not only is she not going to write another email to me, she is certainly not going to mail me a song that she wrote for (and sang in) the movie! It was too good to be true.
But.... this afternoon.... I received this email!
Don't despair! I'm still here, have written out the tune in rough and still need to turn it into legible for you. I've told a couple of people about your email and they were tickled. I just picked out a key; it's never been in an official key. When we were shooting in Mexico, Thomas Jane was supposed to be downstairs in the brothel playing the song on the piano there. The scene was never used, but it was fun trying to teach him how to play it (he had more luck, actually). Then they had me play it while they were shooting that long scene where A walks into the brothel and AB follows her in at a distance, one long shot. It's a big old echoey building in Puebla, so much fun though of course hot and dusty - and hundreds of people a block away at the barriers shouting "Antonio! Antonio!" I don't often have anything to do with the shooting proper, but that was really something. Since you're a musician you'll be able to transpose it to whatever key you want. I'd like to hear it on the strings; I think the tune would be pretty on one of those Venezuelan harps. A good excuse to go down there and find out. And yes, I agree, Mr. Banderas first thing in the morning would be an enjoyable sight indeed! I'll be in touch soon.
Thanks, Bunny
Holy cow! Not only is she going to send the song to me (is writing the thing out by hand, no less!), but she told her friends about me and they're giggling about it!
I am thrilled beyond words. Honestly, this is so cool. I am half afraid of writing back to her, of breaking the spell, as it were, so it took me an hour to comb over my reply before I hit "send".
I am so in love with movies, with movie making, with music - the thought just gives me chills. This lady has been involved with the soundtracks of so many excellent films - she was ON SET with ANGELINA, for crying out loud! It's just all so exciting.
I am toying with the idea of recording a song that I've written and sending it to her, as a gift in token of her kindness to me. Part of me thinks she might think it's sweet, the other part thinks she might think I'm an eejit. I mean, she's a big-time music editor, and I'm just me.
It's no secret that I have been having a rough time of it lately. I've been crying in my beer (and other people's swimming pools), whining about it on my blog, and losing sleep sitting up nights searching the internet for jobs and answers.
I finally decided to call it a day, after my employer called me from the road yesterday and told me to look for a new job, and that he's "had it with me". I refute that last bit - he certainly has NOT had it with me, and most likely has not had it with anyone in the recent past. If he had, he wouldn't be such a crabby fuck.
But I digress.
I took all my personal items - pictures, plants, and mousepad - home with me when I left yesterday and I just finished typing up my letter of resignation, to be handed in on Monday morning.
No, I don't have another job lined up. No, I don't even have any remote possibilities lined up. No, I do not know where my next paycheck will come from after my last one from this hell hole I work in.
Yes, I am slightly panicked. Yes, I know that I am doing the right thing because I can't take one more second of the abuse I've put up with since February. Yes, I am trusting that whatever or whoever is "out there" will hear my cries and answer my plea for help (although I don't know if "not having any choice" is the same as "trusting"... hopefully my honesty will weigh in my favor here).
I am sending out resumes as fast as I can, and putting out cosmic requests for speedy assistance. As the moon is now waning, I am banishing all negativity, poverty, and hopelessness. You see, I'm hitting this thing full force. I fully believe that if you are sitting on your ass begging for help, it's bullshit. If you require help, you have to already be helping yourself as much as possible for the other stuff to kick in. Plus, keeping busy helps you to keep from screaming and pulling your hair out in chunks.
But really, all this is just so much piffle. I intended to blog about the two things I learned today. Strangely enough, they both involve Gillian Anderson of the X Files.
1. An anonymous commenter kindly pointed out that the current photo of Gillian that I featured in my last post was majorly Photoshopped, and directed me to the photographs of her in Cannes to view her un-altered proboscis. When I Googled her Cannes appearance, voila! The truth was out there! Her attractively curved nose is intact! I humbly retract my previous commentary (although I had too much fun with the slogan and picture to remove it from my blog - am keeping it for chuckle value), and appreciate the input of the anonymous commenter who set me straight.
2. Since the results of my Google search actually led me to YouTube videos of interviews with Gillian Anderson at Cannes, I was stunned to find out that Ms. Anderson is British! With a British accent and everything! See, I wasn't all that far off with my J.K. Rowling comparison after all! I mean, they're not twins by any stretch of the imagination, but the face shape, deep set eyes, and now the accent...
Bear and I have been making our way through Season One of the TV show "The X-Files", on our way to stardom by watching the entire series, in order.
We've just become aware that this summer there will be an "X-Files Movie". I had seen something to this effect on the cover of a magazine in the grocery store, but the woman on the cover didn't look like Agent Scully to me.
After doing a little investigation and finding out that the woman pictured is, in fact, the original Scully actress, Gillian Anderson, I did a little comparison between what she looked like in the good old days of the TV series and what she looks like now, in the new movie.
And I made a discovery! (Aside from the fact that she now looks more like J.K. Rowling than Gillian Anderson.)
You're in a dead-end, soul-killing job, and you're sending out resumes faster than Bayer makes aspirin, and - WHOOOAAAAA! - you FINALLY get a couple of emailed responses from decent sounding employers!
Yay!!!
And then?
Then you reply, showing interest and asking when an interview can be set up... AND THEY DON'T BLOODY WELL RESPOND BACK!
I ask you. What is the point of sending a response to someone's resume if you're not actually planning to interview them for the job?
As Bear's 49th birthday was on Wednesday this week, we are going to celebrate it this weekend. I plan to take him out to his favorite restaurant, and perhaps go to Borders Bookstore and get him his book of choice. Not the most exciting thing in the world, perhaps, but it's what I can do right now.
For his 49th year, Bear has started something new - it's called "Dying Practise". It's a meditative journey which takes place under the premise of a hypothetical situation wherein he has one year left to live.
The purpose of this practise is not to be morbid or obsess about death, but rather to learn to really LIVE every minute, to be conscious of every day, and not to waste it. To find out what really matters, and let the rest go.
He is keeping a new blog called "A Year To Live", in which he will journal his experiences with this practise and share the things he's struggling with and the things he's learning as this year progresses. For those of you interested in looking through the window, I've added it to my blogroll on the sidebar for easy access.
Although I am not participating in the practise myself, I find that I am also becoming more aware of my moments, my days, and the way they blend into the fabric of my life.
I am finding that when I look at my life through other people's eyes, I come up short and feel cheated. But when I look at it through my own eyes and value it by what is really important to me, I am immeasurably wealthy.
I am SO excited I can barely type this.... okay, calm, calm...
Do you remember how excited I was to receive a letter from the office of Kenneth Branagh, from a peon office clerk, in response to my letter to Mr. Branagh? I still have the damn thing taped to my wall over my computer desk. That's how excited I got.
Anyway, this has nothing to do with Kenneth Branagh. Instead, it touches upon two of my greatest obsessions. Angelina Jolie, and the movie Original Sin (which I just watched again last night for oh, say, the thousandth time).
I got on a jag to find all the music used in the movie (which is not, sadly, all included on the movie soundtrack, which I, of course, snapped up immediately the very first time I saw the film).
Damn, that was a lot of commas.
Anyway, the song I was most "hot" to find was the song "No One", which Angelina's character sings while sitting at the piano during the movie. Only three lines are audible...
"Who is it wakes me from my sleep? Who is it has my heart to keep? No one, no one - but you...."
I have been haunted by this song for AGES... I have played it by ear on my piano at home, and have even learned to play it on my Celtic lap harp, just recently.
So, since I was on this "jag" to find all the songs used in the movie (most of them are traditional Cuban folk songs), I discovered that the words to the song "No One" were written by the producer of the movie, Michael Cristofer, and the music was written by someone named Bunny Andrews.
Thanks to imdb.com, I discovered that Ms. Andrews has been extremely key in the musical side of the production of the following movies:
Original Sin (2001) (music: "No One") ... aka Péché originel (France)
If any of you out there have not fallen asleep and are still reading after that impressive list, I will also tell you this. I discovered that the United States version of imdb.com requires you to sign up and PAY for contact information for anyone listed on their website.
Luckily for me, the UK version of the site is not so greedy. They posted Ms. Andrews' email address FOR FREE.
And so, being the cheeky tart that I am, I wrote to her and asked if the song "No One" existed as a complete song, or whether only three lines had been written expressly for the movie.
Miracle of miracles, SHE WROTE BACK TO ME THE VERY NEXT DAY! I returned from another dismal day at the salt mines today to find an email from her in my inbox, and this is what it said:
Thanks, that's very kind of you. I didn't think anybody would ever have noticed it, really. I've never put the whole thing down on paper, but there is more of it, though not all that long. I was actually going through it the other day. I had thought of submitting it the year the movie came out but didn't - maybe you'll spread it around! If you like I'll write it out for you - I've got the lyrics around here somewhere. It'll take a bit, but I will be happy to send you a copy. Send me your address if you wish and I'll get it out to you. How were you able to find me, by the way? Bunny Andrews
P.S. That's me singing in the movie, another little matter not yet attended to but in the works!
Oh my! Not only an answer, but a previously unknown movie trivia fact about my favorite movie EVER (not counting "It's A Wonderful Life", of course - that goes without saying) from someone actuallyINVOLVED in the MAKING of the MOVIE!
I am so thrilled!!!!
Of course, I dashed off an embarrassingly gushy response and included my mailing address, and now I will sit by my mailbox every day and wait for the song...
THE SONG!!!!!
... to arrive.
This is the most exciting thing that has happened in the life of Marcheline for some time now.
* Getting notification that my homeowners and landlords insurance policy is not being renewed, and not being able to find a company willing to take on the insurance.
* Answering the phone at work to hear a perky twenty-something tell me she's answering the ad posted on the Internet for MY POSITION. WTF!!!
* Realizing that the incentive check from the government is not going to help me pay any bills other than the cost of putting gas in my vehicle to get to the job that is now being auctioned off online to the cheapest bidder.
* Just as the bills are getting nearly unmanageable, the television goes wacky and decides to change channels at will and go to top volume at the most inopportune moments. Television is the cheapest entertainment for those who don't have spending money, but spending money to fix the television (or buy a new one) is out of the question.
* Realizing that your husband's birthday is tomorrow and you have been too worried about making this month's bills to be able to get him a decent present.
* Feeling like there is no light at the end of the tunnel.
If I ruled the world, I would decree that every ethnically-themed restaurant must play music from their country of origin exclusively in the dining room. Any style they choose, but it must be in the language of their homeland. If the kitchen staff wants to listen to LL Cool J, that's all good, but it doesn't get played where the patrons eat.
This, in Marcheline's perfect world, would mean no chomping egg rolls to the tune of "Achy Breaky Heart". No slurping linguine while Celine Dion warbles. No baba ganoush going down the hatch to the sound of Amy Winehouse's teeth falling out.
Honestly, I'd rather eat in a Chinese take-out joint where the music played is "of the people" than sit through a white linens dinner listening to American poptarts.
One of the best dining experiences I know on Long Island is at a little local Turkish grill. The setting is humble, but sparkling clean. The food is more delicious than anything I can describe. The people that work there are friendly, and more often than not Bear and I are the only non-Turkish patrons.
Best of all, they are always playing Turkish music in the background. Whether it's the rich traditional folk music or upbeat pop tunes, it's all in Turkish. Close your eyes, let your mouth and your nose and your ears soak in all the signals, and you're not in New York any more. You're on vacation!
"L"
"O"
"L"
"A"
