Leap Already

Greetings Friends,

Call me Captain Obvious, but I feel the need to point out that today, February 29, is Leap Day, that pesky extra day of the month that rears its ugly head (kinda like those dinosaurs in the image) in a year when the number is divisible by four. Since it is 2012, it is indeed a Leap Year. Honestly, you can have it.

February is usually a month that passes quickly. March is one that seems to drag on interminably; unless you are a college basketball fan, which I am not. This February, however, has been particularly brutal; not from a meteorological perspective - it has been an exceptionally mild winter. No, this February has been a testament to how frustratingly unpredictable life can be.

Part of the charm of what I do for a living is that I never know where it will take me. This month, I've had some scraps with clients; one fairly new, the other not-so-new. Unfortunately, both of them have been relegated to what I referred to last week as "the black hole that is 'blocked-ness.'" It's unfortunate that I will no longer be able to count on these clients for financial support, but it is not so unfortunate because, really, they were um, not my cup of tea. I'm not suggesting that my clients are like Kleenex - another one doesn't always pop up to replace the one you just pulled out of the box. But, sometimes, for the sake of your own sanity, bidding adieu to someone or something that makes you contemplate taking a flying leap is not necessarily a bad thing.

The longer I live, the more I realize that getting along with people is becoming quite the challenge. I could give you a rather long list of reasons why, but for the sake of brevity, I'll try to keep it short and sweet:

With all the technological advancement and modern conveniences many of us enjoy, life has become exceedingly complicated because of them. What I do for a living is a perfect example. Writing comes easy for me; SEO does not. The more I think about it, the more I'm starting to believe that SEO is like a high-tech version of the board game "Monopoly". If Google doesn't allow you to pass "GO", you don't get to collect $200. Therefore, you are screwed from the starting line. That holds true for life itself these days, no matter what your occupation. You could be a desk-jockey, a factory worker or a stay-at-home parent, and be hard-pressed to find anyone who will tell you that life has gotten easier over the past decade or so. The added pressures of life in 2012 cause many people to look inward, rather than outward, giving them a wide variety of excuses for being unable to look beyond themselves. I'm not begrudging them that - I'm guilty of it too.  Are there solutions to these dilemmas? None that I'm particularly jazzed about; if you have any to offer, please leave them in comments.

In the meantime, I'll be glad when the clock strikes midnight and I'm able to flip the calendar over to March. I don't think I've ever been this welcoming of the month, but with the way February turned out, even college basketball sounds enticing. It's a good thing every year isn't a Leap Year.

Nava

Is Mine the Superior Intellect?

 Greetings Friends,

OK, it's been a slow month topic-wise, celebrity deaths notwithstanding. Sometimes, I have to find a nice ripe bee in my bonnet to motivate me to put metaphorical pen to paper. Today happens to be one of those days.

As an SEO writer, I spend more time Googling than your average Internet user. In the field of SEO (Search Engine Optimization for those not in the know), you have to always be one step ahead of the average Internet user, and as many steps as humanly possible ahead of the brainiacs at Google, whose mission in life is to make the lives of SEO geeks a living hell. Naturally, some SEO geeks are better at playing the game than others.

I've been pretty sore over the past couple of weeks about a job I did for a now former client of mine. The client and I had a profound disagreement over what constituted proper practice in the project I was asked to undertake. He thought he knew best, and I thought I knew better. Alas, we met at swords point and fought to the death. In a world where you can block people from your online life, I now consider him a resident of the black hole that is "blocked-ness". Thankfully, we never met in person, so there is no need to avoid certain geographic locations that might result in uncomfortable encounters.

I don't normally trash-talk my clients, but what lead me to indulge in a bit of bitching and moaning was the "Google Doodle" I was confronted with earlier. Today is the 155th anniversary of the birth of Henrich Rudolf Hertz, the German physicist whose electromagnetic wave research eventually paved the way for radio, television and radar. It seems almost trite to me that Google chose to honour an individual whose work is now literally being undone by the medium most of us now use instead of radio and television. Of course, I learned all about Herr Hertz back in my days as a Broadcast Management and Technology student, and his work is still relevant to many people. But, I can't help but think the folks at Google tend to flaunt what they probably feel is their superior intellect over all us Internet users, and SEO geeks in particular. Twenty years ago, an oscilloscope was an important piece of equipment; today, a lightning fast microprocessor and high-speed Internet connection are the tools of the trade. Or, do they have more in common with the "tools of ignorance", so coined by 1920s Washington Senators catcher, Herold "Muddy" Ruel? Sometimes, I have to wonder.

Of course, you can't write about "superior intellect" without paying homage to the Khan character from Star Trek. The original 1967 episode of the series was "Space Seed", and was later turned into the 1982 film, Star Trek II, The Wrath of Khan. The story of genetically and intellectually superior human beings is one some of us tend to fixate on, myself included, since in my line of work, there is always going to be someone, or something trying to outsmart me. When you earn your living by attempting to please an electronic entity, it's easy to be blindsided by its intelligence.

Nava

R.I.P. Gary Carter: Last week, the baseball world lost Gary Carter, the iconic catcher for the New York Mets, whose never-say-die attitude lead the team to victory over the Boston Red Sox in the 1986 World Series. Carter succumbed to inoperable brain cancer on February 16, at the age of 57. Fans of the Mets and the Montreal Expos remember Carter as "Kid", the man who donned the "tools of ignorance" with a smile on his face, and the fiercest competitive nature of any man who ever played the game. The team in baseball heaven just got a whole lot better.

Humanity on the Battlefield

Greetings Friends,

It's been a busy week, and I was at a loss for a suitable topic until I realized that this Sunday is the Super Bowl. Madonna, this year's half time spectacle (notice how I didn't bother to refer to her as an "act"), made an interesting comment on Anderson Cooper's talk show when she referred to the Super Bowl as "[the] holiest of holy in America." She's right about that. Even here in Canada, the world stops for this one big game. The same cannot be said of the CFL's Grey Cup; the only other event that comes close is the Stanley Cup finals. 

As many of you know, I am a sports fan. There are times when I enjoy it, and there are times when I despise it utterly. Growing up in New York and having a plethora of teams to cheer for has made sports fandom interesting to say the least, including the unintentional - and admittedly often times intentional - act of picking and choosing your relationships based upon team allegiances. When you fall down the sports rabbit hole as a child like I did, you can't help but judge other people on the basis of which teams they root for. It's shameful, I know, but even in my 40s, I still find myself doing it. Much as I like to think I've become more accepting of the teams I loathe, the bottom line is, I will continue to loathe them as long as I am able to draw breath into my lungs. 

A former friend of mine is a staunch New England Patriots fan. When the Giants beat the San Francisco 49ers two weeks ago to gain entry into this year's spectacle, I decided I would cheer for them; not because I am a Giants fan, but because I'd rather think of my former friend wallowing in the misery of a Patriots loss. It sounds cruel, I know, but that's how sports fans think. We know that the agony of defeat is exponentially more painful than the thrill of victory, especially when you only have one shot at it. Many people malign the playoff structure of other sports because there are multiple game "series" that must be won in order to be declared a champion. In football, you only get one shot. Squandering it is the most prolific misstep in professional sports; for the team on the losing side, there is no tomorrow. 

I was planning to write something snarky about the spectacle the Super Bowl has become: the two week media frenzy surrounding the big game, the ridiculous commercials (which cost an obscene $3 million for 30 seconds this year), the half time extravaganza; everything over-the-top that has become synonymous with the game, except for the game itself. Then I realized, what could I possibly say that hasn't already been said? It is what it is, and much as I hate to admit it, Madonna is right: Americans revere the game as a religious ritual; it is part of what makes America the land of the free and the home of the brave. I just wish it didn't have to be so cheesy. 

Last year, the conclusion of the Super Bowl was marred by a pending labour dispute. You know how I feel about millionaire professional athletes and their unions. I was hoping, as is my cynical way, that the NFL would give itself a black eye by tossing an entire season in the trash. Alas, they did not, and here we are 48 hours away from the big game. Not that it would have mattered in the long run; football fans are the most sheep-like in my opinion: as long as they're alive, there's an endless supply of wool to be shorn. 

All cynicism aside, I did read one interesting article on the NFL's Web site. It turns out, the Patriots' and Giants' owners, Robert Kraft and John Mara, were integral to bringing about an end to the league's labour unrest. I did not follow the negotiations closely, so this was a revelation to me. The NFL, the major U.S. television networks, countless advertisers, team employees, etc., all had vested interests in making sure a deal was stuck and the season was played. What tore at my heartstrings was the following quote from Kraft about losing his wife to cancer in the process:

"The team saved me. I never understood what the word heartbroken meant. It's hard for anyone to relate to it. My wife was 19 and I was 20 when she proposed to me. We had five kids right away. Then they left and we became best pals for 25 years. She was 98 pounds, read four books a week and was healthy. I thought she would outlive me for 30 years. This horrible cancer came and it's wrecked my life. Having this team has been a savior for me."

Sometimes, you have to swallow your abject cynicism and shed a few tears for someone. I don't know Robert Kraft, and I still won't root for his team, but I found a human angle to the spectacle in his words. That more than makes up for all the cheese.

Have a great weekend, and Go Giants!

Underneath It All

Greetings Friends,

Yes, that is Mario Lopez in his underwear. Why, you ask? Well...because. That's my answer and I'm sticking to it.

I originally intended for this post to be about underwear. I was perusing my favourite news source this morning (People.com) and came across a video of Mario dropping trou on the "Ellen" show. Of course he's promoting his line of men's underwear, "Rated M by Mario Lopez;" not that the guy is particularly shy to begin with. I can recall a vast number of occasions when I turned on the television and saw him in varying states of undress. If I were a guy and I had a body like that, I'd be showing it off, too. For me, it's a toss-up between him and David Beckham - I'd like to be the turkey breast in the middle of that sandwich. Maybe that should be a topic for another day.

Getting back to the underwear: Mario's "Rated M" line of skivvies is "For Manful Men and Their Very Special Guests." To that I must reply, come on! I'm not a girl who's ever been particularly impressed by a man's choice of undergarments, as long as they're clean and in good condition. I've never looked for a specific message on the waistband, and I sure as hell never want to see a pair of those smiley-faced Joe Boxer boxer shorts on a guy if he wants me to respect him in the morning. I prefer my underthings functional and basic. And just for the record, from a female perspective, that doesn't mean I'm into granny panties. If it's lacy and frilly, chances are it's uncomfortable and not worth the bother. Just so we're clear.

The more I thought about writing a post dedicated to underwear, the more I thought I would be wasting my time, literally and figuratively. What interests me more than "boxers or briefs" is what's underneath it all. What is underneath what we show to the world? Not so much the woman wearing the merry widow under her austere business attire, or the man with the cheeky boxers underneath his monkey suit; it became more about who we are underneath the facade we show the rest of the world. Maybe underwear does have something to do with it, and the fact that the pair I have on right now are red with little penguins all over them says something significant about me. If it does, you'll have to let me know. I don't indulge in that level of contemplation; at least not when it comes to undergarments.

How we adorn our bodies defines us as individuals. We all have a certain "style" and some of us take the concept of dressing much more seriously than others. I enjoy all that but I try not to take it too seriously. If I did, I'd be uncomfortable and bitchy as hell. You'll never find me teetering on a pair of six-inch platform stilettos, nor will I ever subject myself to wearing a pair of thong underwear. Thong sandals, on the other hand, are doable; as long as they're not flip flops. What I am interested in, however, is the person underneath it all - not the clothes, and certainly not the underwear. And even if those unfortunate smiley faced boxers were to make an appearance, I'd be willing to ignore them if the person underneath were possessed of a warm heart and a kind soul. I think that's what we're all hoping to find.

In the meantime, boxers or briefs? Despite my stance on underwear, the question still begs to be asked. 

Nava

Random Winter Wednesday

Greetings Friends,

This was the view outside my window a few weeks ago. Granted, it has not been a particularly harsh winter so far, but there is still a long way to go. January is almost over, February manages to pass rather quickly, and March; ugh! March...I hate March!

Cutting to the chase, I don't have a specific topic worthy of devoting an entire post to, so here is another one of my mixed bags:

Cinema Blasé

The Oscar nominations were announced yesterday, and I have not been to see any of the nominated movies. So, that means I am totally devoid of any opinion about who or which movie should win which award. A sentimental favourite, however, is Meryl Streep for "The Iron Lady." Any actress willing to spend many hours deliberately transforming herself into the likeness of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher is deserving of any award she can get her hands on. 

Make That Coffee to Go

Another example of Canadians sorely needing to get a life is the hubbub surrounding the introduction of a new, larger size extra-large cup at Tim Hortons. Yesterday, the ubiquitous coffee chain rolled out its new 24-ounce extra-large cup and eliminated the small 8-ounce (I believe) size. Being a regular cross-border traveller, I've known for some time that U.S. Tim's locations have had the 24-ounce cup for a while. Indigenous Canadians are somewhat outraged. Not me; I prefer my coffee in a container significantly larger than a shot glass. That and my bladder is sturdy enough to allow me to hang on to all that liquid much longer than the average person. 

What's Next? Blood and Urine? 

Yesterday, Google announced the unveiling of new changes to its privacy practices that will allow it even more access to your information. What's more is that these practices will be in place across all the company's sites, including the Android smart phone operating system. The beauty part is, there is no opting-out of any of it. You're either in, or you're out in the cold. It's scary how far the Evil Empire will go to violate our right to privacy. What's even scarier is that we continue to allow it. 

Good Luck, Gabby

I can't think of a more inspirational individual than former Arizona congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords. After making a miraculous recovery from the injuries she sustained when she was shot in the head last year, she is the most prolific example of a person who, when they put their mind to it, can overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. She resigned her congressional seat this week to focus on her continued recovery, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who can't wait to witness what this exceptional woman will do next. 

Save a Piece for Me

Every once in a while you need to offer yourself up to someone or something else. I wrote about it recently as "A Leap of Faith." The journey continues...

Nava

The Friendship Tango

Greetings Friends,

Friendship is a complicated topic I've ruminated on for most of my adult life. I'm of the mindset that to truly be a friend, and to have friends, is much more difficult than it appears. Friendship, like any relationship, requires work; if either party in the friendship drops the ball at any point, mayhem can ensue, transforming the friendship into a rivalry, or worse - turning the friends into enemies. 

I always begin my blog entries with the salutation, "Greetings Friends" because I like the way it sounds. A friend, to me, is someone who will take the time to read what I write, regardless of whether they mention it to me or leave a comment. I'm not looking for validation; nor do I believe that all my readers are truly my friends. It's just something I like to do. We have reached the point where the word "friend" is bandied about irresponsibly; the real definition has been bastardized by things like MySpace and Facebook - places where we have "friends" but they might be people we barely know, or don't know at all. The term "acquaintance" has all but disappeared from use, leaving us to attempt to decipher who these people who call themselves our friends really are. That's a fairly new conundrum, which I won't even pretend to know how to address at this point. I'm one of those rare individuals who is willing to admit that I might prefer life before social media, even though I've met many lovely people through the medium. 

A solid friendship between two people is something to cherish. The friendship can be between two men, two women, and a man and a woman. Personally, I don't discriminate. A friend is a friend regardless of skin colour, sex, gender, what have you. What makes friendships complicated is not "the sex part" as Billy Crystal attempts to explain to Meg Ryan in the clip I've chosen from When Harry Met Sally... Well, sex can complicate matters, but more often than not, friendships are torn asunder for many different reasons, with sex never entering into the equation. Women can be particularly adept when it comes to wrecking friendships; and as a woman, I've had it happen to me a few times. Specific reasons notwithstanding, I find it much more difficult to be friends with a woman than I do with a man. That's just me. 

My best friend in the world is G., and we've known each other since kindergarten. She's been the one constant in my life for almost 40 years, and no matter what life throws at us, we will always be there for each other. But, she's my only female friend. I have other female "acquaintances;" none that I would categorize in the same way I do her. That's just the way it is. Men friends, however, have always been much easier to come by. I have a handful of those and the friendships have been very rewarding; and completely platonic. None of this "friends with benefits" crap or other juvenile terminology that's pervaded the vernacular since the advent of social media. Just friends - no muss, no fuss. 

I might sound like a raving narcissist for making this statement, but here goes: I know how to be friends with a man. That's not something I've ever been able to explain, nor would I attempt to offer my advice in a workshop setting to women who would twist whatever wisdom I would offer into fodder for how to turn a platonic relationship into a romance. That's why we have Cosmopolitan. That's never been my M.O. A friend is a friend, sex and/or gender be damned. What we do have to keep in mind is that friendships sometimes evolve. When that happens, you have to work even harder to figure out where the relationship is going in order to guide it along the path it has chosen to travel on. That's not an easy task, but it can be accomplished. Again, the two parties involved have to collaborate in order to make it work. Maybe that's the reason why so many friendships and romantic relationships fail: the parties involved are not willing to invest the time and effort required to make them work. Our lives have become all about instant gratification, and most times, we have no idea what we're missing. On the other hand, we have to be realistic with ourselves and acknowledge when a particular friendship is perfect just the way it is. 

None of this is easy, but nothing worth having ever is. I leave you with that to think about. 

Nava

In Praise of Fried Cheesecake

Greetings Friends,

The entire North American continent is in the midst of an apoplectic fit over Paula Deen's announcement that she is a Type 2 diabetic. The woman who brought us fried cheesecake and hamburgers with glazed doughnut buns has the ailment brought on  by eating a steady diet of such foods, but it took her three years to share that information with her fans and the world at large. She's currently making the talk show-rounds because not only is she a diagnosed diabetic, she's also the paid spokesperson for the pharmaceutical company Novo Nordisk. She claims she had to "figure things out in her head" before she went public with her diagnosis. My take is that she had to negotiate the contract equivalent of a metric ton of butter before it was worth her while to do so. I know that sounds cynical, so let me tell you why:

I've watched countless episodes of Paula Deen's Food Network shows. I've made exactly none of her recipes. For me, watching those shows was therapeutic in the sense that they settled my brain during a time when life was extremely stressful. Watching her flit about in her kitchen between her griddle and her deep-fryer was something that relaxed me. Sure, I wouldn't refuse a plateful of whatever it was she was dishing up, but to make those Southern culinary delights myself was not something I was willing to do. It was entertainment for me, pure and simple. I know, however, that for others, it is a lifestyle; one that can be harmful if taken too seriously. 

Paula insists that she's no doctor, but not once did I ever hear her utter (or should that be "udder" in her case?) to her audience that her food is best consumed in moderation. She's claiming that's been her message all along, and she's in no way responsible for the North American diabetes epidemic. There are extenuating circumstances when it comes to that disease, absolutely; it runs in families and can strike even the fittest of people when they least expect it. The thing is, eating a steady diet of deep-fried foods and butter-laden dishes is the quickest way to acquire it short of chugging bottles of straight high-fructose corn syrup. The majority of cases don't just appear out of nowhere.

Unfortunately, our tendency as human beings is to blame others for our misfortunes. Instead of taking responsibility for our own actions, we like to scapegoat others for our shortcomings. Paula Deen has long been vilified for encouraging us to eat fat-laden, southern-style foods, even though she comes off as the doyenne of southern hospitality and folksy charm. She has been skewered (pun intended) by the likes of food snob Anthony Bourdain and others, who don't seem to get the entertainment value of her programs. Well, I get it. The thing that doesn't sit right with me is the fact that she waited until she had a deal in place to surface as the saviour of Type 2 diabetics the world over. I've always believed that anyone can sell anything if the price is right. Paula Deen is now just another in a long line of those kinds of people.

I once said I would gladly watch Paula Deen fry up a pair of old tennis shoes. I wouldn't eat them of course, but I would eat a slice of deep-fried cheesecake - once in a blue moon. What I won't do is accept her seemingly altruistic stance of wanting to help the diabetic masses. To be genuinely altruistic never involves a dollar figure. Batter that up and stick it in your deep-fryer, Paula.

Nava