Campaign advice

It seems as if Obama has been accused lately of being an elitist. Ohhhh, I aspire to such things. But apparently, it is NOT so good for a presidential candidate. Therefore, to help B out…here are several ways for Barack Obama to appear more “blue collar”:

• Create a blog about your family [what – you said “middle class”, not “low class”? OH]
• When attending any party – always be assigned to bring either the cheese plate or the ICE.
• Have I got the ballcap for YOU!!
• Join me on any given softball night
• Before we go any farther…isn’t being “elite” a GOOD thing? As Jon Stewart said…if you are running for president and you DON’T think you are smarter than us…what.the.hell.are.you.doing!?!??! Maybe if we just called them all Eagle Scouts…instead of “elites”…we’d feel better about it.
• Drive Hillary Clinton home after a night of boilermakers
• Have Michelle take a spin through my closet. Nothing like a pair of cammo capri’s to bring your image right back down to earth.
• Create your OWN “employee-only Rose” by mixing that leftover Zinfandel and Sauv Blanc =)

Blog consequences

You know….its not all fun and games here in the blogosphere. There has been some serious fallout from having this blog:

• I now think about attending events solely for their blog-worthiness…(“C’mon Niall – PLEASE take me with you to the NASCAR race this weekend”)
• My niece now only calls me “Mr. Mauve”. (Which I guess is still an improvement over being known as “the aunt that didn’t remember my birthday”)
• My family now insists that McC events are “off-the-record”. [Unfortunate…but out of the question]
• These things take time…I am NOT keeping up with my Law & Order marathons like I used to.
• People feel free to tell me when a post is “not your best”. I’m sorry people, but some days…my life is just a.little.less.absurd than other days.
• I’ve had to change the names of the people I am blogging about.
• Anne MARIE no longer even talks to me
• My mother now routinely asks me whether I have walked into any glass walls lately
• In a critical failure to manage expectations…people now expect me to be [a little] funny (like I write this stuff!)
• In order to avoid offending anyone FURTHER, I can’t even blog about the good stuff. =)

Birthday present ideas

Some of you may have noticed that Friday was a holiday…Rita’s birthday. Since a birthday party in Rio would have been so unoriginal – I had to come up with some other birthday prize ideas.

Here are ideas for my gift to Rita:

• The promise of a present
• Whatever the hell the Williams Sonoma sales rep suggests
• Probably something just like a toddler would give…involving construction paper and elmer’s glue, no doubt.
• Permission not to read the blog today
• A coupon worth a free day of smoking in my house. Oh wait – that’s MOM’S present. Mom – come Mother’s Day – act surprised.
• A homemade birthday cake (well...homemade by SOMEBODY, I’m sure)
• Two zofran
• Will somebody PLEASE get this girl some wine glasses??? Re-using the burgundy glasses between courses seven and eight, indeed!!!! You don’t see that sort of thing happening in Nashville.
• And as alllllll the McConvilles know…my presence is my present =)

Happy Birthday Rita!

Earth Day

I took the Cali girl to Earth Day in Nashville. It was pretty cool once we got past that 30-minute “discussion” with the Jackson County farmer on whether tobacco was really “of the earth”. You say crop…I say crap. “But…umm…RITA...let’s just keeping moving past that part of the electorate that CLINGS to their guns.”

As far as holidays go…how GOOD can a holiday be when its sole purpose is to discourage consumption? At least throw me a green beer or something. And honest-to-god, how bad must a holiday be for its mascot to be “Cartridge Man”…the refillable ink cartridge??? Seriously. How many high school classes do you have to fail before you don a Cartridge Man costume and walk around Centennial Park? Cartridge Man…he looked like a poor man’s Spongebob Squarepants…[did I just say “poor man’s Spongebob Squarepants”? Does that make Spongebob Squarepants the couture mascot???? Oy.].

And I would just personally like to know…why EARTH DAY always ends up having the crappiest weather of ANY of the fourth-tier holidays. I mean…you don’t see the National Weather Service issuing severe weather alerts on Secretary’s Day. It ALWAYS ends up being rainy and windy and blustery on Earth Day. Note to self…celebrate Mother Nature by girding for battle with her.

In Nashville, it wasn’t tooooo bad, but it was DEFINITELY windy. At one point, Rita and I were settled into the 100% recyclable picnic area to enjoy our chicken-on-a-stick [why does this relationship sometimes feel like a cultural exchange program?] and all hell broke loose. We were busy trying to keep Molly McDog from attacking cute, innocent children when all.of.a.sudden a huge gust of wind lifted the Ben & Jerry’s tent 3 feet OFF its “foundation” and blew it STRAIGHT into the Farm Fresh Grocer’s booth. It was terrible. I am sorry to report that the Farm Fresh girls took it right to the head. Pandemonium ensued. Cartridge Man…in his frenzied attempt to escape the crashing tent…sent a toddler flying. Oh, the HUMANITY!!!

Not to worry, though, Rita…Nashville’s Fossil Fuel Consumer Festival is soooooooo much funner than THIS holiday.

Obama and my mama

I’m in Evansville VISITING MY MOM [emphasis added] and WHO stops by?? That’s right…B & Chelle. You heard me – Barack Obama in the River City!! Come to Evansville and get to see the most popular person in America AND Barack Obama.

So while my mom went to play bridge, I went to Roberts Stadium to see Barack Obama (and Michelle Obama and John Mellencamp). I managed to score a seat RIGHT down front. I think it was my “I am a Superdelegate” t-shirt. I had ACTUALLY tried to score a seat in the crowd on the podium, but I guess I didn’t look “lunchbucket” enough (it’s a tough standard here in Indiana). I tell you what though, I was only ONE mullet/tattoo/ZZ-Top-goatee away from being on that stage – I KNOW it. Instead...I was the one holding the “Change We Can Believe In” sign right behind B – I’m sure you saw me.

So here are some of my keen observations from my first Obama rally:

• When you’ve just lost Pennsylvania by ten points, “Lonely Old Night” is probably NOT the John Mellencamp song you want to lead with.
• Michelle Obama is one TALL drink of water…I wonder if people always ask HER if she played basketball?
• John McCain is ALSO coming to Evansville…but I think he is going to skip Roberts Stadium and just play bridge
• At the whole event, the only OTHER candidate who had representatives recruiting in the queuing crowd was…Ron Paul. And judging by his representatives, Ron Paul clearly has the unibomber vote sewn up.
• To borrow a word…I HOPE I survive the crowd melee for free Obama signs.
• Coincidentally, Roberts Stadium is ALSO where I saw my very first concert. It's hard to imagine being more excited than I was for Huey Lewis, but Barack’s t-shirts ARE DEFINITELY better.
• Democratic primaries are the only sport that you call the winner at the beginning of the event and then spend the rest of the night calling the score. “Barack 48, Hillary 52” was a HUGE applause line. Apparently….the Pennsylvania over/under was 5.
• When you go to that Obama rally – you are GOING to want to… ummmm….. make.a.note of where you parked your car. Trust me… all.the.hope.in.the.world is not going to lead you to that Nissan at the end of the night.
• John Mellencamp is one small man with one BIG head of hair.
• Concession stands are open during political rallies. Wait.a.second, though…no beer sales?? Oh…that just makes me bitter. Cuz you know what goes GREAT with some secret service…a bunch of drunk Hoosiers. [Next time]

But I DO have to say this…there were over 15,000 people at a Democratic political rally in a state that is redder than my suntan. And it happened to be the most integrated event I have been to in a very long time. Now that….to borrow a phrase…seems like some change we can believe in. Stop the drama. Vote Obama. =)

Calling in sick

I've decided I need to call in sick to the blog bosses. Accordingly, I have come up with some reasons why I couldn't come up with anything to post today:

1. Amazingly….I DO still a have a JOB
   
2. I occasionally go DAYS without walking into glass walls
   
3. Lessee…blog or go birthday present shopping…OR god forbid…blog about birthday present shopping (well...tune in later this week)
   
4. I actually spent the weekend interacting with live people (okay, we all know THAT'S not true…but I refer you back to reason #1)
   
5. I haven’t done a single stupid thing in nearly a week (I’m disabling the comment functionality on THAT one)
   
6. Well…I’m no longer allowed to write about my sisters, my mother, brazilian vacations, or anything anyone EVER said about mom. I’m exhausted by the all-Southwest,-all-the-time blog =)
   
7. I haven’t spent time with my brother lately…

=)))

Big Southwest Development

Its come to this…if its even possible – the Southwest snacks have been downgraded. That’s right...they eliminated the Southwest snack pack. Rather unceremoniously, I might add. Just gone. Instead of getting that little care package of LUV containing 3 tasty snacks, the waitress now offers a big bucket of snacks to the passengers who then select their own treats. The choices are all the same 100-calorie/non-refrigerated “cheese” crap – the snacks are now just offered buffet-style to the passengers. This must be some bean counter’s goddamned plan to save a dollar (sorry – was channeling Barney there for a minute). Southwest is obviously hoping that shame/pride keeps us from grabbing all three snacks that we’re entitled to. I mean...they have to pay for those extra maintenance inspections SOMEHOW.

But they apparently didn’t see my post on drink coupons. Cuz all I can say is – “why don’t you just leave that bucket full of preservatives right here in row 9. I’d also like to cash in my drink coupons – I’m having a party”. Seriously, I took two of each offering and an EXTRA fake cheese item for making me “B21”.

Each new Southwest rule, however, seems to confuse the HELL out of their passengers. Seriously, it’s a buffet, lady…just pick! Surely as a member of the Southwest demographic, you’re familiar with the concept of a buffet. I mean…they’re all different kinds of crackers for chrissakes – how much shopping do you have to do?? Just hurry up already – you’re delaying the waitress bringing me my bailey’s & coffee, water and diet coke.

Letter to the Editor

Dear Sis,

Love the blog. Really do. We didn’t think you could embarrass the family any more than you did with that “I-am-a-girl” t-shirt, but I love how you are always stretching for new heights.

And yes, you are an excellent writer (I don’t know what font denotes “dripping with sarcasm”, but please use it when you post this letter – we all know you’ll apply all that punctuation bullshit when.you.post.THIS !!? #%$@^ =) [see…I can punctuate too]. By the way…since you’re so fond of punctuation, why don’t you consider spelling “it’s” correctly once in a while.

I did want to tell you, though, if you post that entry on what I said about mom, the comments go nuclear, got it? Like…”we-know-what-you’re-doing-with-mom’s-401k” nuclear.

By the way, who the hell told you that you were the funny one? We said eccentric – not funny (as if to prove this very point, you went and started a blog). Anyway, the family voted and…ummm…you can take a pass on Mother’s Day weekend. [I should really just say “disinvited”, but we thought this was nicer]. We’re afraid that you may fly there and then we’d have to read yet another post about Southwest (have you ever thought of driving?).

See you at Christmas,
Anonymous

P.S. how are the Ryder Cup tickets coming?

B21

Wow – the 11 a.m. San Diego to Nashville flight is the misfit express. Apparently, all those country-music-surfers unencumbered by jobs are on this flight. The front row had 1) an elderly couple petting and cooing to their miniature poodle and 2) a woman wearing a surgical mask. Either Typhoid Mary was on the loose again or this woman wasn’t about to let her poodle allergies get the best of her. If you don’t get an empty middle seat when you’re wearing a surgical mask then you.never.will. At least the mask complemented her “I’m-still-contagious” t-shirt.

This crew of oddballs also seemed to have ample time to check in for their flights early because I ended up with a “B21” boarding pass – which put me approximately 300th to board. B21?!?!? But I’m an “A-Lister”! This is SW payback for that Jetblue post, isn’t it?

Given my rather common boarding assignment, I was ecstatic to find an open aisle seat at Row 9 – which…as we all know….is precisely where Southwest waitress #2 begins her drink service. Score! I figured the seat was open due to the two matronly women already sitting in this row – which GENERALLY means an unacceptably high risk of drawing a “talker”. But when you’re “B21”, you put on your iPod, get big and hope your natural personality repels any attempted talkiness. So far, so good.

It wasn’t until I was comfortably settled in, with the seat-back pocket crammed with “borrowed” granola bars, that I noticed the.two.small.children in the row beside me. The Southwest equivalent of snake eyes. Listen…if you think that brat is getting my snack pack, you’re crazy.

After saying “they’re so cute”, I did have to add…”I heard the surgical mask in Row 1 is SARS. Do you think the darlings are far enough away from her?”

Tax Day 2008

Okay…how many OTHER people were tempted to celebrate tax day by having their sister break into their house, forage for a check book and write Uncle Sam a check in order to extend their tax returns? What…only me???? You mean nobody ELSE left for a business trip in March and forgot to bring their checkbook? See…you can file taxes electronically, but paying taxes electronically is a different matter. Oh sure, you could use the e-pay function of your checking account – but if I could think THAT far ahead, I probably wouldn’t be the type to forget my checkbook in the first place, now would I? Instead, I think I will jet home across the entire freakin’ country in order to send my love note to George W. in a timely manner.

And paying taxes is the only part of this process that I HAVEN’T outsourced (well, all requests to Nicola to forge my signature to the contrary). See…despite this accountant’s moniker – I’m LOUSY at taxes. Everything I know about taxes I learned from Wesley Snipes. Which should be GREAT comfort to all you McConville’s who previously had their tax returns prepared by me. (Sorry?) Not to worry though Sis – the statute of limitations has expired on all those returns…I think.

When a legitimate tax accountant prepared my 2006 return…the damn thing clocked in at 38 pages (!). Which stood in disturbing contrast to the 7 page self-prepared return from 2005. A 31 page, year-over-year increase in tax return girth cannot be good. I didn’t have a 443% increase in taxable income, that’s for sure – just a 443% increase in audit risk, apparently.

C’mon 2005 statute of limitations…

Easy-listenin'

ONE LAST THING about my visit to the Soprano’s…

During the entire two weeks we were sitting in the glass fishbowl of a conference room, the Soprano’s asked us to keep a radio on so the rest of the office wouldn’t hear us talk about private financial matters (like what office supply came from Victoria’s Secret for $420). I still think it was to drown out the feds’ bugs, but regardless…we were treated to 9 solid days of 102.7 FRESH fm, the home of....honest-to-god....“non-sleepy light music”. “Non-sleepy light music???” Who.the.hell is in charge of your branding….Mr. Rogers? You need to FRANCHISE that shit. I’m changing the blog name…the non-sleepy alternative to work.

Now I don’t know if you have ever listened to an easy listening station for 10.hours.a.day, 9.days.in.a.row, but…sleepy or not…it hurts. Here are some things I noticed in between my naps…

• It is impossible to take the auditor seriously when they are proposing revenue adjustments to the tune of “play that funky music, white boy”
• Okay, Sara Bareilles.…. I can’t take it anymore….. just write the %@$#* love song already, wouldja???
• Do you think Bono would be disappointed to learn he writes “non-sleepy light music”?
• Come to think of it…EVERYTHING sounds easy-listening when it’s sandwiched between Celine Dion and Michael Bolton.
• Those in glass conference rooms should NOT do dances
• I refuse to leave for lunch until after the Sheena Easton marathon is over (it's two songs–you can wait)
• 7 million people bought that Cyndi Lauper album??? What the…oh wait…I was THREE of those (whattya gonna do, it was a fan-club minimum)
• Rod Stewart made a LOT of crap music
• I think I put this EXACT combination of songs on a ninth-grade mix tape
• Wait a second….I seem to know the words to every.single.one of these songs. When did I become non-sleepy and light!?!?!

Jetblue

I try to emulate an episode of the Amazing Race every weekend that I can. Therefore, THIS weekend’s scavenger hunt of a travel itinerary included touching all four corners of the country and making it back to Nashville in time to file taxes. How DOES one get from Lawng Eyelund to Portland OR? Jetblue can deliver you safely in 7 hours (!) – and that’s including the requisite hour and a half on the JFK tarmac (Jetblue loves them some tarmac-waiting). Y’know, when I travel for 7 hours…I’ve come to expect a helicopter ride at the end of it.

But flying Jetblue…shew…I DO kind of feel like I am cheating on Southwest…I don’t know – it’s not like Southwest and I were exclusive. I mean…ever since that business class flight to Rio…Southwest and I just haven’t been as close.

There’s a tv at every seat of Jetblue…with live TV piped in!! An assigned seat AND Law and Order reruns…I may never leave. My excitement, however, may have been a tad unwarranted… Do you know what’s on that personal, live TV during a Friday night flight…ummm…nothing. We’re talking women’s collegiate bowling….THAT’S what’s on Friday night TV. [I originally had a comment in here about scholarships to female college athletes…but given the demographics of “my readership”…I decided it best to skip that comment]. But I will say this…a rigorous cardio program is obviously NOT a big part of the collegiate bowling regiment. Judging by the team’s physiques, there is a decent chance that Bud Selig hasn’t cleaned up steroids in THIS sport either. Not only could these “girls” beat Obama by about 250 pins, but I think they could beat the crap out of his secret service detail to get to him in the first place.

Another interesting thing about Jetblue is that the waitresses, I mean flight attendants (!) ONLY take credit cards (no cash) for the…ummm…the snacks that you order. Wait a second…I am totally going to have a $33 charge from Jetblue show up on my expense report?? Can you make that show up as “internet access” just like the Marriot did? The [waitresses] flight attendants did look a little funny trotting through the aisles with those mobile credit card machines…not unlike an Artrageous volunteer =) By the way, what’s every.single.reader of this blog doing November 8th? Cause there’s NO WAY I am going to be able to trick Rita into volunteering for Artrageous again this year.

Southwest OR Jeblue, though,…the waiters are still gay.

Back home to Nashvegas tomorrow…it’s a tax day pilgrimage.

Hampton Inn gym

See what happens when you travel like 300 days out of the year? You end up blogging about your accommodations (um, actually…that I blog at all). Not to worry though…I’m not talking about accommodations in a certain house in Southern California [I'm no idiot]…but hotel accommodations.

Here are things I have noticed about the Hampton Inn gym:

The gym at any Hampton Inn is barely one hotel room that management has grudgingly turned into gym facilities….but is maintained in such a way that it could EASILY be returned to a profit center at the drop of a ballcap.

The generic-brand treadmill and a $200 elliptical machine that you threw out were apparently rescued by the Long Island Hampton Inn.

Your workout is entirely dependent on arriving at the “gym” before the Lipitor man from room 425. Honestly…the only other people working out at a Hampton Inn are fifty-year-old guys OBVIOUSLY on doctor’s orders from their last physical. They always work out with the enthusiasm of cleaning the garage.

People in the Hampton Inn gym tend to look at you funny when three layers of your “Irish suntan” are peeling away.

If you have good hotel gym karma, you will have not only TWO whole stations for cardio, but one additional weight machine with which you are supposed to work out every single muscle in your body. You know the machine I’m talking about…it’s roughly the size of a Toyota and can be used in a pinch for stamping out license plates.

You are NOT allowed to provide the Toyota-sized weight machine without displaying a poster-size schematic of Body-Building Barbie demonstrating each of the 124 workouts that the station allows. I LOVE the inner thigh exercise…it requires a fabric ankle cuff and standing on one leg and…ohhhhhhhh….a certain amount of coordination. And the last time cuffs and standing on one leg were involved, I couldn’t drive for a year.

Listen people, I can’t navigate a glass wall…if you think I am going to be able to jump-start the Toyota bench press, you’re crazy.

Well listen, I’ve got to run, or else Gus from 425 is going to beat me to the Kenmore elliptical.

The Soprano's

I wasn’t really kidding about being in an episode of the Sopranos on my trip to Long Island. My clients are half-Italian and half-even-more-Italian. I was here about 2 hours before the f-bombs started flying. Now listen….I am sure I have driven my audit clients to curse more times than I can imagine….but not right to my face. I don’t usually get a “What the $%#?” before my coffee’s even cold (or Diet Coke is warm, as the case may be).

The first day I was here…one of the owners spent our entire lunch talking about the two times he’d been held up at gun point (let me guess…you stumbled upon a trash-can fire, didn’t you???) Very nice Pauley [not even kidding on the name]….but I’m from Tennessee. We just don’t have a lot of guns-stuck-in-your-face stories to entertain everyone with at lunch. But I’m now afraid to walk to my car…thank you very much.

Then THIS week, I sort of…ummm…called them “the Soprano’s” to their face. Yeah….I thought we were bonding….apparently…not so much. Now what could be BETTER for client-relations than walking through their conference room wall??? I KNOW…mistakenly calling them a bunch of gangsters. Excellent. What? I can take my #%@^$ debits and credits and “go marry my cousin”? And did you just call me a “#%@^$ hilljack”?

Well, I can see my work here is pretty much done. Another success for the roving ambassador of cultural diplomacy (at least I didn’t call you the Riyadh Rockettes).

Brooklyn Heights

This past weekend I stayed at the Marriott Hotel in Brooklyn Heights in order to visit with my buddies Tim and Dan in NYC. Honest to god, I came downstairs at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning to go for a run…and WHAT am I greeted by in the hotel lobby but 15 women dressed exactly alike in some middle-eastern pantsuit/burkha ensemble with the matching hat/veil. Seriously. All I could think was “Oh, goddammit, did those hallucinogenics not wear off yet?” [Just kidding mom…I mean…I don’t even know what those things are – I had to have Anne Louise explain it to me.] =)

It was either the entire crew of flight attendants from Saudi Arabian Airlines or a very, very conservative dance troupe. Actually, it wouldn’t be Saudi Arabian Airlines seeing as the Saudis aren’t especially crazy about pantsuits…or ummm…women.

And here is this little old infidel trotting through the lobby in her shorts and a ballcap, drawing p—len—ty (!) of stares from the Riyadh Rockettes. If that picturesque waterfall behind them had been more real, I would have been in for a good, old-fashioned stonin’ right thare at the Marriott.

And just to top it all off…there was some adolescent beauty pageant ALSO going on at the hotel. So on one side of the lobby you had a gaggle of 14-year-old girls all trying to purge while lowering their IQs by 20 points and on the other side of the lobby you had Esther Williams and her merry band of synchronized Shii’a. It looked like the United Nations’ Committee on Feminist Trainwrecks had sponsored a multi-cultural version of the West Side Story. ummmm…where the $%#&^ IS this hotel…at the corner of aberrant and absurd?

Finally, I just had to say…look people…I am going to go for a run…and when I get back…I’d like for all the “there-but-for-the-grace-of-god-go-I” characters to have returned to my therapy sessions where they belong.

Blog distribution

So Nicola gave my brother AND my mother my blog address? (!) Dude, what the HELL am I supposed use as material now???

This may be the appropriate time to review the “do’s” and “don’ts” of blog distribution. Otherwise, I am likely to get caught in some horribly awkward situation where I jokingly (jokingly, always a joke) blog about someone (Anne Louise) I didn’t even think was computer-literate (Anne Louise [!]) only to find out they’ve been reading my blog for a month =) [smiley face rule]

So let’s just be clear about who should NOT get access to the “save me the call” blog:

Anyone else who may post a comment calling me a pig-in-heels

Ummm….my boss. I mean SHE thinks I keep missing deadlines because of the complexity of my assignments. Which I guess is true – if you consider blogging about my FABULOUS vacation to be complex

My brother-in-law (just in case)…[oh, c’mon – its just a jooooooeyyyyyy]

Anyone who may have recently funded an incredible vacation to Rio and who may not think I’m as funny as I think I am

Eliot Spitzer. But that poor guy can’t read ANY blogs.

My family. No, no….they can have access to the “save me the call” blog, just not to my other blog…y'know the ”save me the therapy” blog

Anyone opposed to overt acts of plagiarism

Otherwise…feel free to spread this viral happiness (which is probably the only “viral happiness” you should be encouraged to spread)

Another Day at the Office

I’m sitting up here in the Soprano’s corporate offices and this place is nice. The space must be pretty new because all of the main offices and the conference rooms have mahogany and muted colors and glass walls. My co-worker & I are sitting in our glass fishbowl-of-a-conference-room like the main exhibit at the Lawng Eyelund aquarium.

So Friday afternoon…I’m coming back from the fax machine and the door to the conference room was open. Glass walls, open door…you could see how someone could have mistaken the open door for the glass wall and walked.right.into the plate-glass wall. That’s right…undershot the door by a very critical 3 feet and walked directly into the freakin’ plate-glass conference room wall. And not just walked into it – I must have been traveling with some kind of spectacular velocity because I bounced off that thing like i was being repelled by an invisible force. I looked like a sparrow hurtling itself at an enemy aviator only to be horribly, horribly surprised to discover its own reflection. And the collision (“collision”, mind you) was the loudest #%$&^ sound I’ve ever heard in an office – every.single.person still there at 4:45 on a Friday came rushing out of their cube or office to see what was going on. All I could do was stand there like Wile E. Coyote waiting for the entire wall to shatter. “Help me”

Now listen, I am NOT the most intimidating creature on a good day – but careening into a glass wall like Inspector Clouseau is NOT helping with my presentation. Between the sound of the impact and the crimson color of my face, the owner – otherwise known as my client – was prepared to rush me to the hospital. Nice.

Today there is a big masking-tape “X” on the conference room wall where my face-print used to be. Um…"thank you"?

Brazil - one more thing

Okay – this is the LAST note on Brazil, I promise. I am off to NYC for the weekend and that ought to be good for a laugh or two (provided I don’t run into any trash-can fires). But i thought i would include some last random thoughts on Brazil:

It turns out I have a Brazilian ass (They actually get ass-augmentation in Brazil because they value a big backside. I signed up to be an ass donor).

Barry Manilow songs are not as popular in Brazil as we may think.

Wow – that’s some yellow water in that country…no replacing the vodka in the mini-bar with THIS stuff.

Brazilian delivery boys can carry ANYTHING on a freakin’ push cart. I STILL do not know how that guy got that live pig on there, but he was making better time than I was.

Every where you go, Brazilians ask you about Hillary & Obama…and oh yeah, “Eliot Speetzer”. No wonder they think Americans are insane.

When Brazilian men do the samba, they look like the gayest men who could beat the crap out of you.

They will sell you anything on the beach. I ordered a sweater from Land’s End while working on that base tan of mine.

Lawng Eyelund

One day I’m in Rio and the next day I am in an episode of the Sopranos…that would be Long Island, NY for those unfamiliar with my whirling-dirvish itinerary. Let’s see….Rio/Long Island…Rio/Long Island. Nice contrast.

Coming into Long Island, I was scared to death of driving through NYC. For someone who refused to take jewelry mugging in a foreign country seriously, I was CERTAIN I was going to end up as a “fictional” victim on Law and Order. You know…the poor schmuck that Jerry Orbach makes some horrible joke about right before the opening salvo. Seriously, I just figured I’d lose ALL ability to read signs to the interstate and end up down some alley next to one of those trash-can fires. Man, if you end up next to a trash-can fire, you are screwed.

What I SHOULD have worried about was the airport. Remember that post where I said the Albany airport was roughly the size of my living room? Well, uh…JFK is roughly the size of Albany.

Incidentally…never, never, never check your bag to JFK. First, there are about 362 baggage claim carousels in that airport. Second, there are roughly 361 planes ahead of you for baggage unloading. Finally, bags are unloaded by….well, New Yorkers. I mean, did someone RIDE my bag to baggage claim? Didn’t my bag used to have an outside pocket??? Can I please have the aloe back that was in my bag when I checked it??

I’m flying back through Albany.

About that suntan

Okay, apparently the suntan prediction for my trip to Brazil was a tad optimistic. It was certainly not for a lack of opportunity…because I am pretty sure our little island straddled the equator (which probably cost extra).

Let’s just get this straight…I am on a yacht, surrounded by water, straddling the equator. I wasn’t afraid I was going to burn, I was afraid I was going to spontaneously combust. I pretty much took a bath in sunscreen while checking through customs and did not stop at any point throughout the weekend. I didn’t even bother to rub it in…it looked like a primer coat. I mean…I put sun screen on my follicles. By Thursday, I was paler than when I arrived. I looked like I was vacationing in Vermont.

THAT is when I decided to play a little radiation roulette. You know…see if I could stay out for an hour without sun screen just to get a “base tan” (it’s all relative, folks – it’s a tan for me). Not in Rio, baby. I went to the beach without sun screen for THIRTY minutes on Thursday and came away looking like a walking isotope.

Thursday happened to coincide with the tour that we were getting from a Brazilian local. When we were introduced, he just stared at my “base tan”…I don’t think he blinked for about 3 minutes…his eyes were probably seared open from the heat emanating from my skin. I told him it was an Irish suntan and that no, I didn’t need to be rushed immediately to the hospital. He told me I needed to wear sun-screen in Rio, because they are “ultra-violent rays”. very freakin’ funny…please pass me the aloe.

I never had these problems in the tanning bed.