You have run an almost impeccable campaign. The only thing I would have done different (as IF I would ever have the intestinal fortitude to run for public office!) would be that when you heard of some dirt on McCain that wasn't true, especially if you found out that one of your supporters was spreading it, you would publicly denounce it AND put it on your website.
That's about it. I have loved how your campaign kept the news going out in text messages, emails, blogging, pictures, etc. I especially LOVE the flickr account that has been set up in your name that has the personal photos of election night (you can see here at the Obama account on Flickr). The picture of you and Michelle on the couch and your feet are up so that your shoes being worn down can be seen. Between the shot and the pensiveness of your face, it makes it my favorite; but all of them are wonderful. I sincerely hope that you can continue to use all these channels to keep talking to the American people as you lead our country back to dignity. Somewhere I read someone suggesting that you survey and poll the american people when major policy decisions have to be made. What a thought -- somewhere the American people can go to let you know what we think of your policies. It is almost mind boggling. Of course, you have been elected our president, and we trust you to rule fairly and abide by the constitution, but it's just the thought that ordinary people could go somewhere and tell you what they think... it's just mind boggling.
I think the thing I love the most about the pictures on Flickr is the comments from around the world, talking to you as if you actually read the comments. Part of me hopes that someone tells you or Michelle about it, so you can see the comments from ordinary people from literally around the world.
Every time I see a shot of you, Michelle, and your children, it just warms my heart and I automatically pray for you all. That's something, coming from me, who rarely prays. But I do pray for you, and our country. God bless the USA and God bless the Obama family!
If you haven't seen the videos of the will.i.am songs, you MUST go watch and listen:
Yes We Can
We are the Ones
Yes.We.Can!!!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
Red and Yellow, Black and White
One of my earliest memories of a black person was sitting in the sunshine, braiding my blonde baby fine hair into corn-rows. It was 1964, I was 6 years old, and our totally white church was situated in the middle of a predominantly black neighborhood in Atlanta. My mother decided she would invite the folks living around our church to come worship with us. The lady that my Mom was visiting had a daughter my age. She was fascinated by my white blonde hair. I remember sitting in the sun, close to this little girl, and feeling her fingers braiding my hair against my scalp. We chattered about dolls and boys while my Mom visited with her mother. My memories of that day are as warm as the sun that lit the day.
My Mom was a little different than the other Moms. In the summer of 1964, my Mom would invite black people to our white church. It wasn’t appreciated. I remember my Mom getting tense and upset during church service, but I didn’t understand what was happening. After church, when everyone left, my Mom went to the pastor and said that Jesus Christ told all men and women to come to him, not just white people. I remember her apologizing to the black lady with tears running down her face, and I remember her being really sad on the way home.
When we got home, Mom gathered my brothers and I around her, and told us she wasn’t a trouble maker for bringing our black friends to church, that God had laid on her heart that she was to witness and bring people to her church. She sang to us “Jesus loves the little children,” and reminded us that Jesus loved all the children – red and yellow, black and white – and told us that there was no difference between us. I will never forget her saying that as human beings, our skin was like a space suit, and it was colored different colors, but underneath we were all the same. When we die, we leave the space suit behind, and we are all the same in God’s eyes.
We lived in a white neighborhood. We had no neighbors of different colors. My Mom’s friends in East Lake rarely came to visit us, unless they were working with my Mom, cleaning our house. As the years progressed, finally a black family moved onto our street. My Mom was thrilled, and invited them over for coffee. Our neighbors were not amused. My Mom would get the cold shoulder if she was lucky, otherwise, everyone felt compelled to ask her what on earth she was doing, allowing her children to play with the black children. Of course, my mom took this as an opportunity to explain that Jesus loved the little children, red and yellow, black and white… but the neighbors weren’t swayed.
In 7th grade, a black girl started attending my school. I felt sorry for her, because no one would eat with her or be friends with her, so I did, because Mom said there was no difference between us, that Jesus loved all the little children, red and yellow, black and white. As more black families moved in, more white families moved out. During the 70’s recession, my father decided to build a house in Fayette County; I was dismayed because there was nothing here but a Dairy Queen and a one screen movie theatre playing old (by Decatur’s standards) movies. My Mom was dismayed because there were mostly white faces to be found. Her black friends would rarely come down to Fayetteville, because the rumor was they had to be out of Fayette County by dark. Dad hired our friend Bo to do the concrete work on the new house, and every evening escorted him out of Fayette County. Dad came home to tell my mother how wrong it was for someone to be afraid of being somewhere due to the locals not being friendly. We moved into our new house the summer I graduated from high school. After being down here for a year, I did the opposite of most whites in the late 70’s – I fled back to the city, and enjoyed my diverse friendships.
In the late 80’s, I moved back with my husband and child due to the excellent schools and to be close to my family. The black friends I had were from work. I hired Tish for a temporary position right before I went out on maternity leave; she was brought in to help convert a mailing list over to a database. She was so skilled that I hired her permanent. She became one of my most dependable workers, who could do anything that I asked, and improved my work group with her knowledge and helpfulness. Along my path as a manager, I hired many more black people; not because they were black, but because they were the best people for the job. They were skilled and competent, and they did a wonderful job for me. I didn’t see this as an extension of what my mother did when I was a child, but I suspect that my outlook was definitely shaped by her example.
As I continued my journey through adulthood, Tish became a closer friend, and I had other friends who were minorities, too. I didn’t think about whether they were black or white, all I knew them as were as my friends. They came to my house on occasion, they were introduced to my family, and my parents always remarked on what wonderful people they were. My Dad was especially taken by Susan, who worked her way through Georgia Tech, and was as beautiful a woman that you had ever set eyes on. To this day, my Dad continues to ask about her, wanting to know how she is faring. That they were black was of no consequence to my parents; they still counted their Decatur friends as some of their closest.
Through my friendships, I came to understand why so many black people were angry still, why people of color were wary of white people, and how prejudice still was alive and well in Atlanta. I saw it happen, I saw how my friends faces would close and become hardened, sometimes even toward me, because of my color. I had to face some of my own prejudices that I hadn’t even realized I had, but I appreciated (although shamed) having my eyes opened to what I was doing in ignorance. These lessons were learned at the knee of not only African Americans, but Muslims, Indians, and a rather interesting Australian. Talking with people of diverse backgrounds, I learned so much about how we all work together on this Earth, and how we all needed to co-exist.
My friend Tish died suddenly two years ago. I miss her friendship; I often forget, and think to call her, only to realize that she’s no longer here with us. As this political season runs to the final vote, I feel her presence quite a bit, especially when faced with prejudice. In all my years, I haven’t seen the prejudice that I’m seeing this year in the political race. I feel the weight of all my friendships bearing down on me, especially when I ignore or try to rationalize prejudice that is happening in my presence.
To back up a bit, let me tell you a little more about my larger family. We are West Virginians; Hillbilly proud, as they say. We have our own strong opinions, you have your opinions, and if they are not the same as mine, well, you’re just wrong… My Dad’s family reunions are always a political rally, with half the brothers republican, the other half democrats, and the kids a mix of both and independents -- all strong willed, all pro-military (most are retired military). It got to the point that most of the women just stayed away from the men, because they would all get bull necked, red faced, and start each sentence with “Now, SON, you don’t know what you’re talking about…” The men just loved the debates, to the point that they would debate late into the night, sometimes shouting, pounding the table, and cries of “Now, Son!” ringing from wherever they were gathered, until hotel management would shoo them away to their rooms, and then the next day, all would be joking and joshing with each other, until after dinner, when the debates would begin again.
I tend to be more middle of the road, leaning more toward left when it comes to taking care of the sick, children and old people, leaning toward the right fiscally, all of which drives my Dad, uncles, brothers, and cousins crazy. They never know which way I am going to lean, but it exasperates all of them, democratic, republican and independents alike. I always vote my conscience, and it never makes anybody happy but me.
In 2004, I heard from my friends about a speech given at the Democratic Convention by a young man with a funny name: Barack Obama. I ended up catching small bits of it, and found his speech on the internet and read it. How powerful his speech was, and I was moved by this young man, who was raised with one foot on the white side and one foot on the black side. I thought he was fascinating and intelligent. I’ve read his books, followed his career, and talked about him with all my friends – whatever the color of their skin. My family? Not so much. If questioned, I would say I hadn’t decided yet, taking the chicken way out. When pressed, I would say it was between McCain and Obama… and ignored the flack from family. Actually, I would run from the flack.
Finally, this summer, when it was obvious McCain would be the Republican nominee, I made my choice publicly to my immediate family, knowing that the Republicans would howl (including my Dad and brothers). That I expected, but something happened this summer that has wrenched my soul. At the reunion, I stayed away from the men’s gathering. My favorite Uncle, a lifelong democrat who served in Vietnam, sidled up to me and said he heard I was voting for Obama, and I said, yep, aren’t you? No, he said, as he sidled away from me back to the men. I stood there, stunned. What? I walked into the house, still stunned, and came across another of my Uncles, another lifelong democrat. “Shurree, I can’t believe you’re voting for a N*****.” I stood there with my mouth hanging open for a good 30 seconds, just immobilized. Finally, I said “but… but… you’re a die-hard Democrat!” “I can’t do it,” he said, “I voted for Hillary, but I can’t vote for a black man.” Without thinking, I said “but his mother is white – he’s mixed!”
I still cannot believe that came out of my mouth. I walked away to a quiet part of the house, and just sat there for a few minutes, my face burning. I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself for not fighting back. Ashamed of my family. I felt ashamed, as if all my black friends were there, staring at me, wondering how I could just let it go? How could they be so prejudiced? Of course, if you asked them, they would say “even if he was white, I wouldn’t vote for him because of …” and they would say something about him not being a US citizen, being a secret Muslim, having pals who were domestic terrorists, something along the lines of which we have all seen or heard.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled across a Youtube video of a speech that made me ashamed of myself for not speaking out. You can watch it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QIGJTHdH50. As I watched, I felt Tish’s presence, and as I listened to Trumka, I felt moved to say something, to do something. I realized that only a white person can give these speeches. If anyone of any other color gave this speech, it would be reduced to sour grapes or playing the race card. The reason why Trumka’s speech was so electrifying is because he is white… and he was talking to white people. He wasn’t playing a race card, he was throwing the entire deck.
I have been forming this article in my mind for weeks. I have played with it, messed with it, and rewrote it. I’ve been appalled, sickened, and ashamed. I have spoken with the children, because I know they are merely parroting what they’ve heard. I try to use their natural empathy for others to let them see how it would feel to be talked to like that. But to their parents? No, for the most part, I have stood silent, or just said “You’re wrong… That’s been proved false… You need to check Politifact or Snopes…” and other idioms that kept me out of the fray. I’ve played it safe. I’ve played nice. I haven’t fought back. Until now.
So, Tish, this is for you. I hope you’re listening and watching over me.
To the Democrats who are voting for McCain: You may say you have black friends that you work with, go to school with, play softball with, eat dinner with, but you are failing the one test that would prove that you’re not prejudiced. You might as well tell your coworkers and friends to get to the colored section of the bus, restaurant, office, ball park, or church. You should turn your water hoses on them, clearing them of your neighborhood. Why not call them the names you call them in front of your children? Why not? That is what you are thinking. You don’t even take the time to read and learn about what Barack stands for. You know all you need to know by looking at his skin.
I can’t stand silent, because silence means that I agree with you. I do not. It is 2008. Your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren either go or will go to school with children of different colors. Your words at home POISON your children, and make them look at their buddies with different skin color, and make them think that they are better than them. They hear your comments about the Asian-Indians-Hispanics-Blacks. Your children hear you say disparaging things about the minorities, whether it be that they are taking the back-breaking jobs that we don’t want, or taking over the Dairy Queen/fast food/dry cleaner/nail salon/convenience store, or getting educated and taking your job because they know more than you. They are working HARDER than you because it is expected, because anything less affirms the things that you say about them.
Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in his sight… By the time my grandson is my age, he will be in the minority in this country. I hope to Jesus that because of the 2008 election, he will be treated with honor and integrity. I hope that the majority doesn’t treat him as we have treated them when they were the minority.
It is 2008, and a young man, from mixed parentage, who worked hard in school to get the scholarships and loans to help him work his way through college; who took a low paying job because he wanted to help his community, the citizens of his state, to be able to afford to give their children the basic necessities of life – this young man, who believes that every person in the United States of America deserves the unfettered right to the pursuit of happiness and the freedoms granted us by the US Constitution – this young man, I am proud to say, I will vote to be the 44th president of the United States.
God bless America and God bless Barack Obama.
My Mom was a little different than the other Moms. In the summer of 1964, my Mom would invite black people to our white church. It wasn’t appreciated. I remember my Mom getting tense and upset during church service, but I didn’t understand what was happening. After church, when everyone left, my Mom went to the pastor and said that Jesus Christ told all men and women to come to him, not just white people. I remember her apologizing to the black lady with tears running down her face, and I remember her being really sad on the way home.
When we got home, Mom gathered my brothers and I around her, and told us she wasn’t a trouble maker for bringing our black friends to church, that God had laid on her heart that she was to witness and bring people to her church. She sang to us “Jesus loves the little children,” and reminded us that Jesus loved all the children – red and yellow, black and white – and told us that there was no difference between us. I will never forget her saying that as human beings, our skin was like a space suit, and it was colored different colors, but underneath we were all the same. When we die, we leave the space suit behind, and we are all the same in God’s eyes.
We lived in a white neighborhood. We had no neighbors of different colors. My Mom’s friends in East Lake rarely came to visit us, unless they were working with my Mom, cleaning our house. As the years progressed, finally a black family moved onto our street. My Mom was thrilled, and invited them over for coffee. Our neighbors were not amused. My Mom would get the cold shoulder if she was lucky, otherwise, everyone felt compelled to ask her what on earth she was doing, allowing her children to play with the black children. Of course, my mom took this as an opportunity to explain that Jesus loved the little children, red and yellow, black and white… but the neighbors weren’t swayed.
In 7th grade, a black girl started attending my school. I felt sorry for her, because no one would eat with her or be friends with her, so I did, because Mom said there was no difference between us, that Jesus loved all the little children, red and yellow, black and white. As more black families moved in, more white families moved out. During the 70’s recession, my father decided to build a house in Fayette County; I was dismayed because there was nothing here but a Dairy Queen and a one screen movie theatre playing old (by Decatur’s standards) movies. My Mom was dismayed because there were mostly white faces to be found. Her black friends would rarely come down to Fayetteville, because the rumor was they had to be out of Fayette County by dark. Dad hired our friend Bo to do the concrete work on the new house, and every evening escorted him out of Fayette County. Dad came home to tell my mother how wrong it was for someone to be afraid of being somewhere due to the locals not being friendly. We moved into our new house the summer I graduated from high school. After being down here for a year, I did the opposite of most whites in the late 70’s – I fled back to the city, and enjoyed my diverse friendships.
In the late 80’s, I moved back with my husband and child due to the excellent schools and to be close to my family. The black friends I had were from work. I hired Tish for a temporary position right before I went out on maternity leave; she was brought in to help convert a mailing list over to a database. She was so skilled that I hired her permanent. She became one of my most dependable workers, who could do anything that I asked, and improved my work group with her knowledge and helpfulness. Along my path as a manager, I hired many more black people; not because they were black, but because they were the best people for the job. They were skilled and competent, and they did a wonderful job for me. I didn’t see this as an extension of what my mother did when I was a child, but I suspect that my outlook was definitely shaped by her example.
As I continued my journey through adulthood, Tish became a closer friend, and I had other friends who were minorities, too. I didn’t think about whether they were black or white, all I knew them as were as my friends. They came to my house on occasion, they were introduced to my family, and my parents always remarked on what wonderful people they were. My Dad was especially taken by Susan, who worked her way through Georgia Tech, and was as beautiful a woman that you had ever set eyes on. To this day, my Dad continues to ask about her, wanting to know how she is faring. That they were black was of no consequence to my parents; they still counted their Decatur friends as some of their closest.
Through my friendships, I came to understand why so many black people were angry still, why people of color were wary of white people, and how prejudice still was alive and well in Atlanta. I saw it happen, I saw how my friends faces would close and become hardened, sometimes even toward me, because of my color. I had to face some of my own prejudices that I hadn’t even realized I had, but I appreciated (although shamed) having my eyes opened to what I was doing in ignorance. These lessons were learned at the knee of not only African Americans, but Muslims, Indians, and a rather interesting Australian. Talking with people of diverse backgrounds, I learned so much about how we all work together on this Earth, and how we all needed to co-exist.
My friend Tish died suddenly two years ago. I miss her friendship; I often forget, and think to call her, only to realize that she’s no longer here with us. As this political season runs to the final vote, I feel her presence quite a bit, especially when faced with prejudice. In all my years, I haven’t seen the prejudice that I’m seeing this year in the political race. I feel the weight of all my friendships bearing down on me, especially when I ignore or try to rationalize prejudice that is happening in my presence.
To back up a bit, let me tell you a little more about my larger family. We are West Virginians; Hillbilly proud, as they say. We have our own strong opinions, you have your opinions, and if they are not the same as mine, well, you’re just wrong… My Dad’s family reunions are always a political rally, with half the brothers republican, the other half democrats, and the kids a mix of both and independents -- all strong willed, all pro-military (most are retired military). It got to the point that most of the women just stayed away from the men, because they would all get bull necked, red faced, and start each sentence with “Now, SON, you don’t know what you’re talking about…” The men just loved the debates, to the point that they would debate late into the night, sometimes shouting, pounding the table, and cries of “Now, Son!” ringing from wherever they were gathered, until hotel management would shoo them away to their rooms, and then the next day, all would be joking and joshing with each other, until after dinner, when the debates would begin again.
I tend to be more middle of the road, leaning more toward left when it comes to taking care of the sick, children and old people, leaning toward the right fiscally, all of which drives my Dad, uncles, brothers, and cousins crazy. They never know which way I am going to lean, but it exasperates all of them, democratic, republican and independents alike. I always vote my conscience, and it never makes anybody happy but me.
In 2004, I heard from my friends about a speech given at the Democratic Convention by a young man with a funny name: Barack Obama. I ended up catching small bits of it, and found his speech on the internet and read it. How powerful his speech was, and I was moved by this young man, who was raised with one foot on the white side and one foot on the black side. I thought he was fascinating and intelligent. I’ve read his books, followed his career, and talked about him with all my friends – whatever the color of their skin. My family? Not so much. If questioned, I would say I hadn’t decided yet, taking the chicken way out. When pressed, I would say it was between McCain and Obama… and ignored the flack from family. Actually, I would run from the flack.
Finally, this summer, when it was obvious McCain would be the Republican nominee, I made my choice publicly to my immediate family, knowing that the Republicans would howl (including my Dad and brothers). That I expected, but something happened this summer that has wrenched my soul. At the reunion, I stayed away from the men’s gathering. My favorite Uncle, a lifelong democrat who served in Vietnam, sidled up to me and said he heard I was voting for Obama, and I said, yep, aren’t you? No, he said, as he sidled away from me back to the men. I stood there, stunned. What? I walked into the house, still stunned, and came across another of my Uncles, another lifelong democrat. “Shurree, I can’t believe you’re voting for a N*****.” I stood there with my mouth hanging open for a good 30 seconds, just immobilized. Finally, I said “but… but… you’re a die-hard Democrat!” “I can’t do it,” he said, “I voted for Hillary, but I can’t vote for a black man.” Without thinking, I said “but his mother is white – he’s mixed!”
I still cannot believe that came out of my mouth. I walked away to a quiet part of the house, and just sat there for a few minutes, my face burning. I was ashamed. Ashamed of myself for not fighting back. Ashamed of my family. I felt ashamed, as if all my black friends were there, staring at me, wondering how I could just let it go? How could they be so prejudiced? Of course, if you asked them, they would say “even if he was white, I wouldn’t vote for him because of …” and they would say something about him not being a US citizen, being a secret Muslim, having pals who were domestic terrorists, something along the lines of which we have all seen or heard.
A few weeks ago, I stumbled across a Youtube video of a speech that made me ashamed of myself for not speaking out. You can watch it at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QIGJTHdH50. As I watched, I felt Tish’s presence, and as I listened to Trumka, I felt moved to say something, to do something. I realized that only a white person can give these speeches. If anyone of any other color gave this speech, it would be reduced to sour grapes or playing the race card. The reason why Trumka’s speech was so electrifying is because he is white… and he was talking to white people. He wasn’t playing a race card, he was throwing the entire deck.
I have been forming this article in my mind for weeks. I have played with it, messed with it, and rewrote it. I’ve been appalled, sickened, and ashamed. I have spoken with the children, because I know they are merely parroting what they’ve heard. I try to use their natural empathy for others to let them see how it would feel to be talked to like that. But to their parents? No, for the most part, I have stood silent, or just said “You’re wrong… That’s been proved false… You need to check Politifact or Snopes…” and other idioms that kept me out of the fray. I’ve played it safe. I’ve played nice. I haven’t fought back. Until now.
So, Tish, this is for you. I hope you’re listening and watching over me.
To the Democrats who are voting for McCain: You may say you have black friends that you work with, go to school with, play softball with, eat dinner with, but you are failing the one test that would prove that you’re not prejudiced. You might as well tell your coworkers and friends to get to the colored section of the bus, restaurant, office, ball park, or church. You should turn your water hoses on them, clearing them of your neighborhood. Why not call them the names you call them in front of your children? Why not? That is what you are thinking. You don’t even take the time to read and learn about what Barack stands for. You know all you need to know by looking at his skin.
I can’t stand silent, because silence means that I agree with you. I do not. It is 2008. Your children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren either go or will go to school with children of different colors. Your words at home POISON your children, and make them look at their buddies with different skin color, and make them think that they are better than them. They hear your comments about the Asian-Indians-Hispanics-Blacks. Your children hear you say disparaging things about the minorities, whether it be that they are taking the back-breaking jobs that we don’t want, or taking over the Dairy Queen/fast food/dry cleaner/nail salon/convenience store, or getting educated and taking your job because they know more than you. They are working HARDER than you because it is expected, because anything less affirms the things that you say about them.
Red and Yellow, Black and White, they are precious in his sight… By the time my grandson is my age, he will be in the minority in this country. I hope to Jesus that because of the 2008 election, he will be treated with honor and integrity. I hope that the majority doesn’t treat him as we have treated them when they were the minority.
It is 2008, and a young man, from mixed parentage, who worked hard in school to get the scholarships and loans to help him work his way through college; who took a low paying job because he wanted to help his community, the citizens of his state, to be able to afford to give their children the basic necessities of life – this young man, who believes that every person in the United States of America deserves the unfettered right to the pursuit of happiness and the freedoms granted us by the US Constitution – this young man, I am proud to say, I will vote to be the 44th president of the United States.
God bless America and God bless Barack Obama.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Mz Palin - Dagity Bo!
I hope everyone is watching Katie Couric's interviews with Sarah Palin. Parts 3 & 4 will air tonight and tomorrow night. As I watched the interviews online, it reminded me of Suel Forrester on Saturday Night Live. Brilliantly played by Chris Kattan, whatever job Suel Forrester worked, he didn't make any sense (see link below). I think they should let him play Sarah Palin in drag, answering questions with nonsense. Seriously, every time I watch the Couric interviews, I get brain swirlies trying to keep track of what I *think* she said. It is truly painful.
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/suel-forrester-southern-lawyer/1342181784/?icid=VIDURVENT08
So I thought that maybe the transcripts would help, since I'm definitely more visual than aural. But even reading the transcripts doesn't help me!
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/09/24/eveningnews/main4476173.shtml?source=mostpop_story
http://video.aol.com/video-detail/suel-forrester-southern-lawyer/1342181784/?icid=VIDURVENT08
So I thought that maybe the transcripts would help, since I'm definitely more visual than aural. But even reading the transcripts doesn't help me!
http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/09/24/eveningnews/main4476173.shtml?source=mostpop_story
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Cat Herding isn't for sissies
I just finished a 80+ hour week finishing up ONE of my proposals. Today, I'll finish another, and Monday will start my third. I'm pooped. Whupped. I've got liquid sloshing between my ears. But with the help of lots of caffeine and an occasional Provigil, I'll get through the next week, and hope that I don't get another for awhile.
Cat herding isn't for those faint of heart. There's nothing like finishing up a proposal, sending it to print at Mimeo.com (GO MIMEO!), and discovering that your proposal has to go through customs and the guaranteed delivery time is 9:00 PM, and the proposal is due at 11:00 AM. That'll get your heart pumping, no matter how tired you are (I was functioning on 4 hours of sleep in a 48 hour "day." Hmmm... maybe functioning isn't the right term). So, after trying every which way possible to get it delivered before 11 am, gave up and went over to the dark side... Fedex-Kinkos. The positives: by printing in Canada, I don't have to deal with customs, and the store will deliver it, too. The negatives: it's Kinkos.
I guess Kinkos got tired of Mimeo kicking their butt, and finally got themselves a true print to Kinkos software. Too bad they didn't try to make it better than Mimeos. It's a very pale comparison - but, hey! I can print in Canada and bypass customs! So, I go to their site, select international, canada, toronto, ontario. Awesome! It only takes me an hour to upload all 830 pages, select tabs, and another 15 minutes cussing, trying to get a binder (gave up). I go to "proceed," and it dumps me back to the front door, and I lost all my documents. WHAT?!? So, off I go again, browsing, uploading, adding tabs, and hit "proceed," and can't change the delivery address to Canada. Seems it dumped me back to the US portal. $%^&$%^&$%^&$%^&!!! So I have the brilliant idea of calling the Toronto store (it's 24x7), and the guy who answers tells me to send it to KenXXXX@fedexkinkos.com, with directions on how to build the binder. I dutifully spell the email address back to him K-E-NXXXX@fedexkinkos.com. Yep, that's it. Spend 30 minutes painstakingly building out instructions, and hit send. Relief! It's 1:00 am, I'm exhausted, but it's gone. In the email, I asked him to call me when he received. After 30 minutes, I call him. Didn't receive, did I send it to KenXXXX@fedexkinkos.com? Give it another 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes later, they still haven't received it, give it another 5.
I go back to the website, determined to try their software again. This time it worked, got it uploaded and it's told to print 2 sided, 3 hole, color, got it all the way through, got the confirmation email, and it says to call them. So I do, and this time I'm talking to Ken, the project manager, who never received the email from me. Did you send it to CANXXXX? Can? As in Canada? Not Ken? ARGH!!!! Never mind, he got the order from the system, and they can do it and get it delivered Monday before 10 am. Awesome! I forwarded the confirmation email to my account manager in Toronto, and I finally go to bed after 3 am, utterly exhausted.
The office phone starts ringing at 11 am and I sleep right through it. When it rang at 12, I was in the shower. See the message light blinking when I walk past, so I call, expecting to hear that the account manager has done the quality check, paid the bill, and it will be delivered. Nope, he's gotten a call from Kinko's asking if we really want everything 2 sided. Ugh! I very painstaking verified every document to make sure it was 2 sided, 3 hole, and color last night before I clicked "submit". Call the Account Manager, and told him yes, that's what I ordered. An hour later, he calls back -- now they want to know if we want everything in color. AIEEEEEEEE!!!! That's what I ordered in the system!!! The Account Manager has it under control, he's going to go by Sunday and do a quality check of the binder. I'm done. I think.
So, lesson learned again...
1) Don't use KINKOS!
2) Make sure of Mimeo's delivery times to the customer BEFORE final run (GO MIMEO!!!).
3) Refill Provigil prescription.
Cat herding is definitely not for the faint of heart.
Cat herding isn't for those faint of heart. There's nothing like finishing up a proposal, sending it to print at Mimeo.com (GO MIMEO!), and discovering that your proposal has to go through customs and the guaranteed delivery time is 9:00 PM, and the proposal is due at 11:00 AM. That'll get your heart pumping, no matter how tired you are (I was functioning on 4 hours of sleep in a 48 hour "day." Hmmm... maybe functioning isn't the right term). So, after trying every which way possible to get it delivered before 11 am, gave up and went over to the dark side... Fedex-Kinkos. The positives: by printing in Canada, I don't have to deal with customs, and the store will deliver it, too. The negatives: it's Kinkos.
I guess Kinkos got tired of Mimeo kicking their butt, and finally got themselves a true print to Kinkos software. Too bad they didn't try to make it better than Mimeos. It's a very pale comparison - but, hey! I can print in Canada and bypass customs! So, I go to their site, select international, canada, toronto, ontario. Awesome! It only takes me an hour to upload all 830 pages, select tabs, and another 15 minutes cussing, trying to get a binder (gave up). I go to "proceed," and it dumps me back to the front door, and I lost all my documents. WHAT?!? So, off I go again, browsing, uploading, adding tabs, and hit "proceed," and can't change the delivery address to Canada. Seems it dumped me back to the US portal. $%^&$%^&$%^&$%^&!!! So I have the brilliant idea of calling the Toronto store (it's 24x7), and the guy who answers tells me to send it to KenXXXX@fedexkinkos.com, with directions on how to build the binder. I dutifully spell the email address back to him K-E-NXXXX@fedexkinkos.com. Yep, that's it. Spend 30 minutes painstakingly building out instructions, and hit send. Relief! It's 1:00 am, I'm exhausted, but it's gone. In the email, I asked him to call me when he received. After 30 minutes, I call him. Didn't receive, did I send it to KenXXXX@fedexkinkos.com? Give it another 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes later, they still haven't received it, give it another 5.
I go back to the website, determined to try their software again. This time it worked, got it uploaded and it's told to print 2 sided, 3 hole, color, got it all the way through, got the confirmation email, and it says to call them. So I do, and this time I'm talking to Ken, the project manager, who never received the email from me. Did you send it to CANXXXX? Can? As in Canada? Not Ken? ARGH!!!! Never mind, he got the order from the system, and they can do it and get it delivered Monday before 10 am. Awesome! I forwarded the confirmation email to my account manager in Toronto, and I finally go to bed after 3 am, utterly exhausted.
The office phone starts ringing at 11 am and I sleep right through it. When it rang at 12, I was in the shower. See the message light blinking when I walk past, so I call, expecting to hear that the account manager has done the quality check, paid the bill, and it will be delivered. Nope, he's gotten a call from Kinko's asking if we really want everything 2 sided. Ugh! I very painstaking verified every document to make sure it was 2 sided, 3 hole, and color last night before I clicked "submit". Call the Account Manager, and told him yes, that's what I ordered. An hour later, he calls back -- now they want to know if we want everything in color. AIEEEEEEEE!!!! That's what I ordered in the system!!! The Account Manager has it under control, he's going to go by Sunday and do a quality check of the binder. I'm done. I think.
So, lesson learned again...
1) Don't use KINKOS!
2) Make sure of Mimeo's delivery times to the customer BEFORE final run (GO MIMEO!!!).
3) Refill Provigil prescription.
Cat herding is definitely not for the faint of heart.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Iraq War
Those who know me, know that I've been against the war since I found out that we were lied to about the reasons we went to war. BUT... I've been truly conflicted about stating my objections because so many of my family are either military veterans or are serving/have served in this war. At the moment, none of my kin are other there, thank you, God!
I received an email this afternoon from one of my uncles who is a Vietnam veteran, and I believe he supports President Bush, and I know that he definitely supports the enlisted men and women of this country. The email had a link to this video on YouTube. His email states "No matter your political views, etc. this is a powerful 4-minute (or so) piece I think all, as Americans, can be proud of. This hit me pretty hard. If you feel the same after watching, please send to those you feel would be touched."
Well, Unca, it did. Lizzy Palmer, you did a great job. But as I watched, I wondered who would end up the the last enlisted person killed in this war. I hope it isn't anyone I know, because I'm afraid I couldn't stand it. My family has been so blessed in that our family members who served in the wars, past and present, have all come home to their families. All of them. We've never had any deaths due to war. I hope to God we never will.
For those of you who have had this happen to your family, from the bottom of my heart, Thank You and God bless your family.
As the video said, "they did their job." So, no matter what you feel about this war, remember: there may come a time when our military does have to protect us from imminent, legitimate threat. They don't ask whether it is right or wrong. They do their job, just like the fire fighters and police do -- they protect us, they save us, and they don't ask questions while they do it. They put their own lives at risk for us. Support them, and demand that our leaders don't squander this precious resource on anything but legitimate threats.
I hope they all get to come home soon.
I received an email this afternoon from one of my uncles who is a Vietnam veteran, and I believe he supports President Bush, and I know that he definitely supports the enlisted men and women of this country. The email had a link to this video on YouTube. His email states "No matter your political views, etc. this is a powerful 4-minute (or so) piece I think all, as Americans, can be proud of. This hit me pretty hard. If you feel the same after watching, please send to those you feel would be touched."
Well, Unca, it did. Lizzy Palmer, you did a great job. But as I watched, I wondered who would end up the the last enlisted person killed in this war. I hope it isn't anyone I know, because I'm afraid I couldn't stand it. My family has been so blessed in that our family members who served in the wars, past and present, have all come home to their families. All of them. We've never had any deaths due to war. I hope to God we never will.
For those of you who have had this happen to your family, from the bottom of my heart, Thank You and God bless your family.
As the video said, "they did their job." So, no matter what you feel about this war, remember: there may come a time when our military does have to protect us from imminent, legitimate threat. They don't ask whether it is right or wrong. They do their job, just like the fire fighters and police do -- they protect us, they save us, and they don't ask questions while they do it. They put their own lives at risk for us. Support them, and demand that our leaders don't squander this precious resource on anything but legitimate threats.
I hope they all get to come home soon.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Politics and interesting websites
Do you get tired of trying to figure out who is telling the truth and who is fudging during this political season? Check out the St. Petersburg Times' Politifact meter. If I can figure out how to do it, I'll put the meter on the website, but for now you can read about it here. I like it. I like it a lot. It's like a political Snopes!
Also, if you're wavering on who you REALLY want to vote for, check out this site to see who more closely matches your feelings on key issues. Unsurprisingly, my #1 pick according to the site is Obama. Edwards was a tie for second (no surprise), along with -- egads! -- Hillary. Uh, I don't think so.
Hey, can anyone explain to me how to get paragraph breaks to work in blogging? I don't like looking like I don't know how to break my thought and put it in a new paragraph -- I have run-on paragraphs!!! HELP!
Also, if you're wavering on who you REALLY want to vote for, check out this site to see who more closely matches your feelings on key issues. Unsurprisingly, my #1 pick according to the site is Obama. Edwards was a tie for second (no surprise), along with -- egads! -- Hillary. Uh, I don't think so.
Hey, can anyone explain to me how to get paragraph breaks to work in blogging? I don't like looking like I don't know how to break my thought and put it in a new paragraph -- I have run-on paragraphs!!! HELP!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Reason to Hope...
My grandson came to visit yesterday afternoon, and so my hope meter got replenished. He looks so much like his Mom, that it takes me back to when she was my baby, my Pookie, and how sweet and adorable she was, how much hope I had for her future. His temperment, however, is not like hers was/is. She was always such a happy baby, hardly ever cried, always content to be, whether she was being held or when she was in the floor exploring.
My grandson -- Chubawubba -- on the other hand, is more like his Aunt in temperment. My other daughter, while adorable and beautiful in her own right, was called Sweet Pickle. Everything set her off screaming. She was born screaming at the top of her lungs and didn't stop until she was 12 weeks old, and I went back -- gratefully! -- to work. Getting Sweet Pickle to laugh and be happy was the crowning accomplishment of any day. Luckily, my Mom has the patience of Job, and both Mom and my Dad adore babies -- cranky or not. I am blessed to have my parents living close by, and so my daughters spent their days at Mamaw & Papa's while I worked. So both of my daughters grew up with loving adoration beaming down on them every day. Luckily, my grandson gets to see his Papa and G-G every day, and their adoration continues to the next generation. Pookie decided not to go back to work after Chub was born, so he gets a quadruple dose of adoration (parents, grandparents, Aunt, great-aunts and uncles, and great-grandparents) on a regular basis.
So, yesterday my hope was lifted by getting to see and play with my grandson for a few hours. It's funny... when my daughters were young, I was so into saving the environment for them, recycling and conserving, and here comes my Chubawubba, and now I'm all focused on righting wrongs, recycling again (I'm proud to say that my recycle bags regularly out number my garbage bags on Pickup day), and wanting to make sure that our leadership changes to bring us back to the point where we can be proud of our country again.
For Chubawubba, who doesn't deserve to inherit this mess that we've made.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Honest and Straightforward?
I just finished reading Lou Dobb’s column today on cnn.com. The first sentence in the last paragraph, “And let's be honest and straightforward, as I hope our president and the candidates for president will be…” struck a nerve. I can’t remember the last time I believed anything the government said was “honest and straightforward.” For the past week, whenever I’ve seen a headline that talks about some government official saying WHATEVER, I immediately dismiss what they are saying as a lie or twisting the truth. We're not in a recession? Yeah, roight. Winning the war in Iraq? Snort!
Last week, the CIA said that Benzair Bhutto was killed by some tribal leader with ties to al-Qaeda. I thought, right… the government would say that since Musharraf is our puppet. I'm sure that someone in DC looked the other way while Musharraf's people buried evidence that they assassinated her. The same folks who manufactured evidence on WMD probably are working overtime to cook up some to keep Mush's fat out of the fire.
Will I ever be able to listen to our President or even the candidates and believe what they are saying? Have I become so jaded by this President and his administration that I will never again trust someone in power to tell me the unvarnished truth?
I hate that I am feeling this way... last night, my college student daughter pushed me to go onto Youtube and listen to Barack's speech at Ebenezer Church on Sunday. I was too busy last night working, but listened to it this morning. Man, that man can orate! I listened to him and I thought again that this was someone I could believe in, someone -- FINALLY! -- that I can vote for without qualms. I was really feeling hopeful, and then between projects, checked CNN.com. Learned Heath Ledger, who I really admired for his talent and his looks, had died at 28. Bam, down goes the hopeful meter. Then read Lou Dobb's column, BAM, down goes the hopeful meter.
I, and I think America, needs someone to believe in, someone that we can trust to tell us the truth, after two terms of deception and lies. Someone who will give us hope for tomorrow. I'm in need of some hope. Anybody got some to spare?
Last week, the CIA said that Benzair Bhutto was killed by some tribal leader with ties to al-Qaeda. I thought, right… the government would say that since Musharraf is our puppet. I'm sure that someone in DC looked the other way while Musharraf's people buried evidence that they assassinated her. The same folks who manufactured evidence on WMD probably are working overtime to cook up some to keep Mush's fat out of the fire.
Will I ever be able to listen to our President or even the candidates and believe what they are saying? Have I become so jaded by this President and his administration that I will never again trust someone in power to tell me the unvarnished truth?
I hate that I am feeling this way... last night, my college student daughter pushed me to go onto Youtube and listen to Barack's speech at Ebenezer Church on Sunday. I was too busy last night working, but listened to it this morning. Man, that man can orate! I listened to him and I thought again that this was someone I could believe in, someone -- FINALLY! -- that I can vote for without qualms. I was really feeling hopeful, and then between projects, checked CNN.com. Learned Heath Ledger, who I really admired for his talent and his looks, had died at 28. Bam, down goes the hopeful meter. Then read Lou Dobb's column, BAM, down goes the hopeful meter.
I, and I think America, needs someone to believe in, someone that we can trust to tell us the truth, after two terms of deception and lies. Someone who will give us hope for tomorrow. I'm in need of some hope. Anybody got some to spare?
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