Flying from Chicago

It's all my fault. We got home from Chicago a day late and several dollars short and it's because of me.

It started Sunday evening when Gizmo and I flew to Chicago. He went for a business conference and I tagged along for the fun of it. It figures that I would be trouble from the very start. Gizmo, having flown countless times over the years, sailed through security. I, on the other hand, having been on a total of six flights in my life before Sunday, somehow got especially chosen by a TSA lady to have my palms swiped by some strips of paper while Gizmo patiently waited. I don't know why she picked me. Maybe there's something suspicious about short, fat, middle-aged ladies who resemble caramel apples. Heck, with this kind of luck, maybe I should start buying lottery tickets.

Gizmo had also picked this time to try out a new rental car company: Avis. We'll never do that again. We waited at least half an hour for the Avis shuttle to get us. Considering this is a system that works so that you're supposed to be able to step right onto the shuttle as soon as you get there, a five-minute wait is unheard of, let alone half an hour. All the while, we stood helplessly as three, four, five shuttles for each of the other car rental companies passed us by. When the Avis shuttle finally did come, Gizmo had to stand in a very long line to get the car.

Anyway, the rest of our trip went fine. The hotel was gorgeous, I got to visit a college friend, I bought some of my very favorite scents of Yankee Candles, and we enjoyed an end-of-seminar banquet at Maggiano's Little Italy. It came with a twist; they'd turned the banquet into a Murder Mystery dinner. We had a great time. Then Wednesday came and it was time to go home. Time for my airport curse to reassert itself.

The same luck I'd had with the TSA agents stood me in good stead again. But this time, instead of simply swabbing my palms and sending me on my way, they unpacked my suitcase so they could get to the ever-dangerous Yankee Candles. The now-familiar strips of paper were swiped over every square inch of the outsides of the candles and those parts of the insides that were reachable. Whatever they found made them want to take my candles and my suitcase away. So I waited. And Gizmo waited, just like he'd been doing ever since he sailed effortlessly through security about a year before. The TSA agent finally brought my contraband back to me and we went on our way.

We'd only been sitting in our seats at the gate for about an hour when we saw that our 4:00 flight was delayed until 4:45, then again until 6:40. Apparently they felt some musical chairs was in order as well, because somewhere in there, our gate got changed, and we had to move down the hall. It wasn't too long after we were ensconced in our new seats that we found out the flight was entirely canceled.

This was the curse at its worst. In all his years of flying, Gizmo had never had a flight canceled on him. Delayed, yes, sometimes for hours. But in the end, he always eventually made it home on the flight he was supposed to. The only difference was that now I was with him, and this was the time the flight was completely canceled. Coincidence?

There were some silver linings. We had a great cab ride from O'Hare to a hotel near Midway, whence our newly scheduled flight would depart early the next morning. On our way out of O'Hare, we passed a guy who had climbed a small tree just outside the airport fence and wouldn't come down. Cops, ambulances, and fire trucks were everywhere. Our cab driver, who was from Nigeria, categorically stated, "In Africa, we would not put up with that. We would bring the tree down and him with it and that would be the end of it. He might hit his head, but he would not die. It would be all right. He would not die, and is that not what matters?" Indeed.

The front desk guy at the Extended Stay America where we stayed was awesome. William printed out our boarding passes, handed us menus for some local restaurants that would deliver to our room, and made arrangements for a cab to take us to the airport the next morning. He even called our room later to make sure everything was all right. We've stayed at expensive hotels that hire fancy concierges to do the same kinds of things, but no concierge was ever so helpful to us as William, the front desk guy.

We also had some fabulous pizza. Giordano's delivered to our room some of the best pizza I've ever had. They have what they call a stuffed pizza, and it was indeed stuffed - with cheese and more cheese! It was one of the rare times when the pizza we had actually matched the picture in the advertisement. Yum! I was sorry we couldn't eat it all and had to leave the leftovers behind.

When our alarm went off at 4:30 in the morning, I awoke wondering what new troubles my airport curse would bring down upon us. As I munched my vending machine Pop Tarts for breakfast, I considered that I really did not want to become the new Monster of the Midway. Fortunately, I sailed through security like a pro (even with my suspicious candles) and our flight was not even delayed. In fact, we got back to Detroit so early that our gate was still occupied and we had to wait for the plane that was still there to leave before we could taxi up to it.

What could have been a major inconvenience turned out to be a rather fun adventure. I suppose I wouldn't blame Gizmo if he were reluctant to take me along on the next business trip, but he should take me. We might hit our heads, but we would not die. And is that not what matters?

Helping Haiti

Americans are some of the most generous people on earth. After any given disaster, we can be counted on to be on the crest of the wave of aid. We physically go to help, we donate tons of food and supplies, and we contribute billions of dollars in financial aid.

But when we hear stories of the corruption that is going on in the wake of the earthquake in Haiti, it's difficult to know the best place to send money. Why contribute to a cause when your dollars will simply line some fatcat's pocket? How can we know the money we give will go to people in need?

That's one of many reasons any money I contribute toward the relief effort in Haiti will go directly to the people I know at Good Shepherd Orphanage. For many years, I was the treasurer for this orphanage. It was my job to collect money from all over the world and send it to Rev. Ernst Cassy, who then used it for the orphanage and schools he runs in Haiti. True men of God are called to be holy, and Rev. Cassy is certainly that. When he walks into a room, the peace that emanates from him is almost palpable. His heart for children is authentic and his stewardship of his meager resources is faithful.

Rev. Cassy and others at the orphanage in Haiti are people I know personally. I can vouch for their integrity and can rest assured that any money I contribute directly to them will be used for the children under their care who have suffered so much as a result of the recent disaster.

I am no longer treasurer, but a foundation has been created to manage the orphanage's financial affairs. Any donations to them are completely tax deductible. If you would like to find out more about the orphanage and how they are handling the disaster recovery, check out their website at http://www.gsohaiti.org/.

I hope that you will consider making your Haiti contribution to the Good Shepherd Orphanage. If you do, you can know for sure that your money is going directly to the people who need it.

Having Your Cake

Cake? Cake?! Did someone say, "Cake"??!!

I love cake. My Twitter friend MuchAdo1 has even written about my special affection for cake in her blog.

Of course, anybody who knows me knows I love sweets in general, but I reserve a special place in my heart and in my stomach for cake. There is something about its velvety goodness that not only tempts the taste buds, but settles the stomach. Let's face it: the best part of a wedding is the cake. Even the word "wedding" looks and sounds like "cake" to me. Similarly, birthday presents are great, but the best part of a birthday is - you guessed it - cake. Like "wedding," "birthday" equals "cake" in my world.

The texture of a cake has to be just right. Not too dry, and not too moist. There must be a certain weight to the structure of the cake so it has some substance. Yet there must be a lightness that allows me to forget about chewing and simply let the spongy, fluffy goodness melt in my mouth. This is one reason I detest having foreign matter in my cake. It makes it very difficult for cake to melt smoothly in my mouth when obstacles like nuts, fruit, or coconut stand in the way. They are intrusive interlopers that have no place in a perfect cake.

The requirements that I have of my cake are exacting because they are what make cake the perfect delivery vehicle for frosting. The cake and the frosting combine to create a sugary bliss of taste and texture that can be achieved by no other dessert. The more frosting, the better, as far as I'm concerned. Layer it on thick! As delicious as cake is by itself, it attains its highest calling as a method of transporting frosting from the fork to the mouth.

And, of course, the frosting has to be the right kind. None of that wimpy stuff that resembles Cool Whip for me. And fondant? Bleah! Don't even come near me with it! Yet while a good, heavy ganache or torte frosting is nice once in a while, give me an old-fashioned buttercream frosting or the lovely sweetness Duncan Hines puts in a can. And for the love of all that's edible, don't put any of the aforementioned foreign matter in my frosting, either! A nice, smooth frosting piled thickly on a great cake is melt-in-your-mouth heaven. What else could I possibly need?

Naturally, the frosting between layers of cake should be at least as thick as the frosting on top. Thin, skimpy crumb coats are for wusses! I also find it an unfortunate trend that many commercial bakeries are going to a fruit filling between layers instead of the substance God intended – MORE FROSTING! Fruit filling between layers qualifies as more of that foreign matter I mentioned previously. It stabs a sharp dagger of intense fruitiness between the ribs of the otherwise-smoothly flavored cake that delivers a fatal blow to the whole cake-consuming experience. If I am unfortunate enough to be served such a piece of cake, I will scrape out the offending fruit filling before dining on the deserving part of the cake.

But let us rid our minds of such horrors. I prefer to think instead upon a smooth, velvety cake with piles of sweet buttercream frosting. A great cake built to my high standards is heaven on a plate and ecstasy in your mouth. I am sure to have lots of it at the next wedding or birthday party I attend. If you see me there, be sure to cut me a corner piece with lots of frosting on it. Meanwhile, I have some baking to do.

Celebrating National Punctuation Day

Thursday, September 24 is National Punctuation Day. In honor of that revered holiday, I submit the following:

It seems no one does punctuation properly. Whole industries have grown up around the appropriate use of punctuation, yet despite all the helpful hints and quick and dirty tips we never seem to get it right. Even the experts argue among themselves about the correct application of punctuation. So why not ditch the whole system?

Let’s say we eliminate only those symbols that end sentences. We could save a whole lot of aggravation, not to mention ink. America and Britain could finally stop fighting about whether periods go inside or outside the quotation marks.

On the other hand, we would not know whether a writer is shouting, speaking in a normal tone of voice, or asking a question. Of course, shouting could be easily conveyed by the relatively recent and unfortunate trend of using all capital letters. Perhaps for questions we could make use of another annoying development: that of alternating uppercase and lowercase letters. Leaving a sentence with the standard mix of capital and lowercase letters could indicate a normal tone of voice.

Having solved that problem, how would we then know when to shut up? Without terminal punctuation, sentences would run into each other and soon pile up in a big lexicographical chain-reaction crash. The never-ending babble of words would devolve into nonsense. “I went running. Down the drainpipe . . .” would become “I went running down the drainpipe . . .”

Next, we should consider what would happen if we got rid of those pesky in-sentence indicators of pauses, compound modifiers, and possessives. On the positive side, we would no longer have to agonize over whether to use an em-dash or an en-dash. Disagreements about the serial comma would lose their venom and arguments over apostrophe placement would be a thing of the past.

But without that kind of punctuation, we would no longer know what belonged to whom. Anarchy would reign! We wouldn’t know where to pause, landing ourselves in a suffocating world where breathing is relegated to the status of a rarely-practiced luxury. Worse, we wouldn’t know if a green-legged aardvark had green legs and perhaps a purple body, or if said green legged aardvark were green all over and we were simply commenting on the state of its physical support system. It would be utter chaos.

Of course, there’s the nuclear option: We all stop writing and rely solely on spoken communication. There would be no more misunderstandings over misread tones of voice. Faulty interpretation due to syntactical errors and misplaced modifiers would no longer occur. A golden age of communication would be born and we could all bask in the glow of being perfectly understood at all times.

Then the real world would intrude. Green legged aardvarks everywhere might demand a more exact method of describing themselves, not to mention the poor people who don’t particularly care to run down drainpipes. Maybe our current system of punctuation, even with all its faults and imperfections, is not so bad after all. Whole industries can breathe sighs of relief and purveyors of helpful hints and quick and dirty tips can go right on hinting and tipping.

Perhaps the true utopia lies not in a new age of verbal communication, but in that ideal state where the unlettered masses realize that punctuation enthusiasts are not being annoying twerps after all. Instead, they are holding the fabric of our society together. Let us hope that National Punctuation Day brings us one step closer to that goal.

Visiting Columbus

Usually, when Gizmo and I go somewhere, it is to visit somebody we know or do sight-seeing at some nationally known location. But last weekend, when we went to Columbus, we had no plans to see anything of note and our sole intention was to meet people we'd never seen before in our lives. We were there to visit our Twitter friends.

They treated us like visiting royalty. Our first stop was at the home of @shpef and @UR_AY_GAS. They not only had a wonderful lunch spread (and brownies!!) set out for us, but they invited us to spend the night there. We spent Saturday afternoon visiting with them and @leann_purdy before setting out for the evening tweetup at the Crimson Cup, an excellent little cafe.

The weather was perfect and we sat outside sipping beverages and munching goodies. My drink of choice was the frozen hot chocolate, which I highly recommend. I was amazed at the number of people who came out just to meet little old us! As cohesive a group as the Columbus twitterers seem to be, I was surprised at how many in our little group said they weren't following others who were also there. Of course, they pulled out iPhones and other twitter gadgets to rectify that situation that as soon as they could. There was even one who created a Twitter account on the spot!

Gizmo and I were thrilled to meet @taz288, @leann_purdy, @hesster56, @aharperhess (who runs the @crimsoncup account), @jlh_photo, @cherylharrison, @1datarecovery, @jconley21, @alonglens, @nicolegiaco, @billygiacomelli, and @1grrlrevolution and her family. Seeing how they mixed together made it obvious why the Columbus social media scene works so well.

Sunday morning saw us at Christian Life Church with @rockson and @mrsrockson. People at the church greeted us like long-lost friends (and commiserated wryly about our mutual friendship with @rockson). Lunch afterward at the historic landmark Bun's Restaurant in Delaware was delicious. I actually let some of the others at the table have some of the bread that was served.

Crowning the weekend was our Sunday dinner at BJ's Restaurant and Brewhouse with the Mind Bleach crew: @alonglens, @Goodguy76, @jconley21, and @klab. Goodguy's wife and two daughters were there too (the sons were occupied elsewhere), and it made for a great dinner. The highlight of the evening was when a zealous server knocked Goodguy's beverage all over Conley, making for an uncomfortable evening for the poor fellow.

But we didn't let that get in the way of a good time. We talked together as if we'd known each other all our lives, and the capper of the evening was Gizmo and I going to @alonglens' apartment for the live broadcast of the Mind Bleach podcast. We sat in the comfort of @alonglens' living room with a laptop computer typing snarky comments to the podcast's chat room while @alonglens attempted (mostly successfully) to do the podcast with co-host @Goodguy76.

Overall, I'm happy to report that all the people we met are exactly as they seem online: warm, friendly, funny, and willing to do anything for you. In addition to being my online friends, I am proud to now call them my real life friends as well. The residents of Columbus, Ohio are fabulous people and they live in a great town. (It's not college football season yet, so it's OK for a Michigan fan like me to say that.) Thank you for an unforgettable trip, everyone!

P.S. Go Blue!

Remembering the Moon Landing

Forty years ago today, men landed on the moon. I was five years old and I'll never forget it.

We were at Grandma's house in Vincennes, Indiana. She had a black-and-white TV that received only three stations (as opposed to the whopping eleven stations we got at home in Ypsilanti, Michigan), but that's all we needed. Since Neil Armstrong's first step took place somewhat later at night than I'm sure my parents would have allowed me to stay up at that age, what is in my memory must be replays that aired the next day. Nevertheless, I watched in wonder as Walter Cronkite narrated the adventure for the world. I don't specifically remember Neil Armstrong saying, "That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind," but I distinctly recall thinking how funny he looked as he bounded across the moon's surface as if he were on some strange trampoline.

Later that night, Dad took me outside to Grandma's front yard where we could see a waxing crescent moon shining down on all of us. He pointed to it and said, "Those men are up there right now." I strained my eyes and swore I could see little dots walking around on the surface.

Those were heady days. Gas stations gave away Apollo glasses that were fun to drink out of. Anything associated with the space program had a certain thrill to it. Astronauts who drank Tang and used Fisher Space Pens were heroes to a country in desperate need of them. The event became a byword. "We can put a man on the moon, but we can't ______ (fill in the blank - usually reserved for some mundane, even stupid, task)."

The excitement that gripped the nation inspired a five-year-old girl to think beyond the here-and-now to a future that is not only possible, but probable. I learned that pie-in-the-sky dreams are attainable if you but have a craft that can reach them.

To all of today's Chicken Littles who would have us huddle in fear of everything and everyone, I say, "Phhbbbbt." These people cannot possibly have lived in a time when dreams were achievable and risks were worth taking. Or if they did, they did not learn its lessons.

But for the rest of us, the world is full of adventures, and we have only to stretch our hands out to grasp them. Aim high and reach for the sky! What a great attitude. What a great way to live life! What better legacy could the first manned moon landing bequeath to us forty years later?

Untangling a Mystery

Earbud update: the Sock Alien caught in the act!

http://sknygrydg07.posterous.com/caught-in-the-act-6