Dropping the Ball

His:
Watched the Super Bowl last night for the same reason I always do. The commercials. And if the quality of the spots was any indication, the crumbling of the traditional advertising industry was palpable.

Awkward, off, mostly unfunny. But the ones that really stood out were for CareerBuilder.com and Monster.com. Watching those, I couldn’t help but think the creative briefs were written for the wrong cultural zeitgeist.


There was the guy who worked in a place that was just too casual on Fridays. Coworkers walked around in their tighty-whities. And when everyday became “underwear-only day,” he turned to careerbuilder.com to find a new job.


Let me tell you something. My current office would be underwear-only too, if I could afford to keep my house warm enough. I’d be thrilled to take a meeting in my boxers if it meant a steady paycheck and benefits. And let’s be honest, we consultants do sometimes work in our skivvies.

Then there was the groundhog or hedgehog or some beavery type mammal who played a small fiddle and dreamt big. So big, that thanks to Monster.com and a 30-second trajectory, he ended up on stage at Carnegie Hall. Which left me questioning the viability of a company that believes landing a job is so easy in this market, even a small, furry rodent can do it.


I know the whole point of Super Bowl commercials is to make people laugh. But perhaps seeing something a little less jokey and a touch more inspiring might have made me smile. Something like real live people actually landing real live jobs. Something positive based on our times. But maybe those stories were too hard to find.

No one’s making fun of earthquakes right now. I’m just saying.

Blessing – Two hours commute for a 35-minute meeting was totally worth it this evening.

Thanks for the Mammaries!

Hers:
I’m dense.

Well, let me clarify. My breasts are dense, which means that despite being pulled from my body as far as they could stretch, and then being completely flattened between two cold plastic slabs, the doctor couldn’t get a good read on them.

“Hold your breath!” the radiologist said and I did, praying all the while that my body would go back to its normal shape once I was released from the digital vise. Let’s face it; my elasticity is just not what it used to be.

So with drafty armpits (I had forgotten to tie the back of the floral demi-gown that provided neither style nor privacy) I listened as the doctor recommended I get an ultrasound, as well.

I started to ask, “What’s the cost?” but stopped.

No small feat for someone who drives around looking for a parking spot without a meter; who conducts cost comparisons in every aisle of the grocery store, scanning the shelves for the cheapest box of pasta. Who questioned whether we really needed to replace the brake pads on the minivan. (Can’t I just drive uphill?)

But this is my health. And I didn’t want to (God forbid) have to say to my husband and children one day, “Look on the bright side! I saved $250!”

So, my boobs were greased and groped and pronounced absolutely clear.

I guess if I had to spend $550 on a body part, at least it was one (two) that’s more exciting than, say, a spleen or a big toe.

Blessing – Did I mention my breasts were clear?

Our Job Descriptions

Hers:
This morning, as my five-year-old cleared the breakfast table, he commented on the roles of everyone in our family.

“My job,” he said, “is to clean everyone’s dishes. J (the 9-year-old) folds everyone’s clothes. Z’s job (speaking of the 3-year-old) is to watch TV. Your job is to cook dinner and Daddy’s job is to go on the computer.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I eagerly await the Parent-of-the-Year award for the mere fact that my 4th grade son took it upon himself to fold laundry before breakfast. (This counter-balances the fact that as I type, our 3-year-old is parked in front of the TV.) But talk about some misguided gender stereotypes.

Dave cooks. Why, just the other night he made roast chicken and ratatouille! Maybe the fact that the chicken came out of the oven completely raw, our middle son deemed it necessary to appoint me as the family chef. (Whatever. It was delicious – and cooked – the next night.)

And me? I feel like I’m tethered to the computer. I don’t want my children to look back and think I ignored them in favor of a word doc, but at the same time, I do want them to know that Mommy works. At a computer, not just a kitchen counter.

But I nodded. Because, hey, my middle child was cleaning up after himself, and I needed to get all of them out the door so I could sit down and write.

Blessing: The newspaper delivery guy - whose blaring, thumping, deafening, bass-booming car stereo woke me at the ungodly hour of 5:50am - did not rouse the kids.

Man v. Machine

His:
‘Man hours lost’, for you non-sports buffs out there, refers to playing time missed due to injury. Having just run over 18 miles (and feeling really good afterward!), those aren’t the hours I’m concerned about.

My lost time has been sucked up by my laptop. Yes, that damn computer again. The 2004 Dell Inspiron that has been anything but inspiring.

The past 9-months, I have been relying on a device that often took two minutes to open an email. Yes, it was that bad. So, I have gone from that nerdy guy with glasses and no hair to the cool guy. (With glasses and receding hair.) I’m a Mac.

From the day I met my wife, she has been working on a Mac and I have been attracted ever since. (To both woman and machine, though she’s hotter than a computer.)

So, figuring that time is money, I invested in efficiency. And really cool graphics. Of course, I’d probably be happy with any computer that is six years more developed and just plain works.

But you know what they say holds a marriage together … shared values, shared dreams, shared operating systems.

Blessing: The friends who keep me in their thoughts and forward job openings. AG, BS, others. You know who you are. Thank you.

New York State of Mind

Hers:
Driving the kids home from some activity or another, we got a great view of New York City. (Love that we live within viewing distance!)

“That’s Daddy’s city!” said the 5-year-old.

I tried explaining that the city belongs to a lot of people, not just his father. But he insisted. When Daddy goes there, it’s his city. Fair enough.

“Can we go visit his office again?” the little guy begged. “Please?!!”

Uh, sure. When he gets an office.

Income, security, a 401(k). Those are the things I miss.

The kids just want a place where everyone will say how cute they are and point them towards the leftover cake in the conference room.

Blessing – Found Dora’s Backpack, the $8 library book that had been missing for weeks now and would have cost $25 to replace.

On Solid Ground

Hers:
I had a 40th birthday to remember. The Earth shook. And the devastation has been heart wrenching.

So we’re not contributing to our children’s 529s or replacing the sofa in our living room. Big Deal. We have a roof over our heads and paved roads and clean water coming out of the taps. There's no room in my pity party right now for people who are merely unemployed.

I've always maintained that if you go to bed at night next to your spouse, and neither your kids nor any major appliances are leaking from places they shouldn't be, life is good. How grateful am I to be living the good life right now?

What do I want our kids to remember? No matter how much you may need to tighten the belt, your pockets are always deep enough to help others.

Dumping the Toxic Asset

Ours:
We did something that would seem to go against all rational behavior during recessionary times. We resigned a piece of business. That is, we said “thanks but no thanks” to a client who was paying us a monthly retainer.

And it felt really, really good.

Here’s what we learned:
•    If you’re struggling to see eye-to-eye in forming the contract, that’s a sign

•    If your client admits to you that he didn’t want to hire qualified friends to do the work you’re doing because he didn’t want to ruin a relationship, that’s a sign

•    When emails don’t start with “thanks!” and end with “Best, [client name here]”, that’s a sign

•    When pillow talk with your spouse turns into a daily and stressful analysis of strained communication with said client, that’s a sign

•    When the recommendations you make, the explanations you offer, the education you dispense and the expertise you provide - repeatedly through hours and hours of conference calls  - go disregarded or discounted, that’s a sign

Sometimes, no amount of money is worth it. Sometimes, it’s downright toxic.

Blessing – that giddy feeling you get when you follow your moral compass and not your bank account