A threesome

A reader (who obviously cares deeply about my well being, but knows little about how light a sleeper I am) forwarded me an article about a strange occurrence in Oklahoma. A couple woke up yesterday morning to find a burglar sleeping in bed with them (see story here). The man had broken down their door and robbed them of their cell phone and loose cash before snuggling in besides them.

I think my friend is protectively suggesting that I lock my doors carefully each night, but she needn’t worry. This incident could NEVER happen to me. I wake up when the neighbor down the block sneezes. I wake up when the clock passes the hour (I think it’s a tad noisier as the minute hand circumvents the 12). I wake up for any and every reason. Alright, a bit of an exaggeration there, but I would absolutely most certainly wake up if a foul-smelling drunkard pocketed my cell phone and fell asleep next to me.

Continuing on the theme of Spring

Not finding enough happy people around me to exchange spring-related jokes and comments, I googled the words that describe my mood at the moment: “spring madness.”

The predominant listing is for the 1938 movie by that title. Here’s how it is described:

Category: Comedy
Director: S.Sylvan Simon
Cast: Lew Ayre, Burgess Meredith, Maureen O’Sullivan
Running time: 1 hr 20 mins
Summary: A coed’s love for a Harvard editor is threatened when she learns that he and his friends are planning a trip to Russia.

One could really take to task this laconic summary on any number of grounds. I’ll only say this: it recalls the time when it was an anathema for most Americans to call the Soviet Union by its name. Russia, then as now, was only one region. Possibly, the Harvard editor was indeed traveling only to Russia. Few ventured beyond Moscow in those days. But why do I think the choice of the R word was not for reasons of geographical precision, but because the writer and movie itself do not understand the distinction between the SU and R? Or that they did not like that the pre-Revolution Russia became the post-Revolution Soviet Union?

My fears on this are confirmed when I read yet another reviewer’s lovely choice of words (I’m avoiding commenting here on the plot line; this is, after all, a 1938 movie):
This comedy implies that the far-flung plan of a college student to visit Communist Russia has little chance when women conspire to restrain him with the lures of marriage and a good job.

All my childhood days I would hear Americans speak of Russia, the country, as if their souls would turn commie red if they even said the word “Soviet.”

But today, I am unruffled. Spring madness is more than just the movie. BTW, elsewhere on Google, the movie gets a rating of two stars (I can’t say out of how many, but two sounds pretty low under any rating scheme).

I’m not the only one enlivened by the sudden appearance of Spring

A friend who lives in Arizona is equally transfixed. Remarkably, her moment of magic also struck within the last 24 hours. She writes:

“…why do I feel like I want to make a life with more freshness? After all, I have my tender seedlings popping their way into my garden and the flowers are blooming and the quail are kicking up
their feather in anticipation of drawing their mates.”


The imagery is so lovely that I had to look up quail in the hope of envisioning more accurately how their feathers may be kicking up. After sifting through files of photos of quail on a plate, or quail being carried by hunting hounds, I came up with the following far preferable picture.---->

A grass high

It was a night of miracles. The day ends, you expect nothing and suddenly: BLAST! Spring makes a midnight appearance, and the world changes into one big field of green grass. No one should be blogging now. Urgent message to all those living in Madison who can spare even 5 or 10 minutes: GO OUTSIDE AND SMELL THAT AIR!

Ollie is fine, thank you

No fewer than TWO readers wrote this week and signed their message with the following missive; “be nice to your dog, Ollie” (or words to that effect).

Now listen here. I AM nice to the beast. Yesterday I dashed home in between work and book group just to walk him, feed him, and, as it turned out – give him a bath, since he seemed to smell funny. I was late for everything after that. Today – the same: I’m home FOR THE SOLE PURPOSE OF ATTENDING TO HIS ROYAL EVENING NEEDS. I could be sipping an aperitif or a latte on State Street (I have to be downtown this evening), I could be taking a walk by the Union and watching the ebb and flow of water, I could be in an arm chair of the swanky new coffee shop downtown, but NO, I am home dog-tending.

It is interesting that one of the readers explained in her email that she had had a run in with her cat, resulting in “accidental” scratches on her face and some black and blue marks around her eye. When I suggested that she perhaps trade in her cat for a new television set, she leapt to his defense as if I had advocated tying him to a stake with a match underneath to make him squirm and repent.

The idea that I am not an animal fan has to be put to rest. I think pets are cool—especially if they don’t require much care and don’t scratch your face. So, rest assured, Ollie does fine. Basically, he likes to sleep. That is his life. I have absolutely no problem with that.

Fashion trumps religious freedom

Another story from across the ocean –three in a row today (the weblog rests proudly on its title)!

According to the Times, in Italy, a northern town is refusing to hire a Moroccan woman to teach in the school because she has stated that she will wear her scarf on the job. Is it a question of stopping religion “at the school house gate?” In fact, I do believe Italians bring Christian symbols and lessons right into the classroom (at the same time that they are one of the least “practicing” predominantly-Catholic nations in the world), thus objections based on keeping schools free of religious messages would not have any place in this country.

Why the negative reaction to the scarf? A director of the school explained that "if she works with her head scarf on, she risks scaring the children." Well of course! Children there are used to a stunningly elegant dress code. Most likely a school would not hire a person in a t-shirt and cut-offs either. It would be too much of a strain for the children to see this anti-modish display on a regular basis.

I have an idea for Odana Road

Madison has some visually attractive neighborhoods. And then it has Odana Road. All the urban renewal in the world could not improve this stretch of incomprehensibly unattractive strip malls. Is there a solution? The British have the right idea.

The Times states that Britain’s big eyesore, the Tricorn Shopping Center in Portsmouth is scheduled for a date with the wrecking ball. This 1960s architectural nightmare has been eloquently described by Prince Charles as resembling a “mildewed lump of elephant droppings.”

With typical British humor, the city had workers begin demolishing the Center to the strains of the '1812 Overture' –a play on the historic significance of the orchestral piece, as when the Center had been built in 1966, its developers called it “an orchestration in reinforced concrete that is the equivalent of the '1812 Overture.'"

[As an aside – does anyone agree that the Center resembles UW’s Humanities Building? Now there’s an architectural wonder! photo credit: Tricorn Corp.]

Odd Recollections

Today is the birthday of my high-school-and-part-college crush (he is NOT a reader of this blog to my knowledge, though Poland has the markers sometimes of being one small town in terms of gossip). It was an on-again off-again dating situation, though for purposes of crush recollection, it was definitely “on” for me for many years. I have been known to comment that one reason I returned to the States to finish my studies in the 70s was really to get away from the shadow of that crush. One has to Take Charge Of One’s Life sometimes.

Mr. Crush and I tangoed our way through Econometrics at the U of Warsaw, though I eventually landed in Law here and he landed in Gregorian Chant in Warsaw (he chants for a living and apparently is quite successfully at it--my devious sister keeps me informed of his progress; this is a Net photo from one of his recent CDs ---->).

Why does one remember odd things of this nature? For instance, I remember that my best elementary school buddy’s mother’s birthday is on October 24th (some years I was tempted to send her a card, but then thought better of it as it, most likely, would freak her out). Or, that my flight bringing me to the United States on February 12, 1972 was delayed.

My crush and I never celebrated each other’s birthdays. His came first, and once I did get him a cute, meaningful little animal figure (we wont go there), but my birthday follows in the next month and he reciprocated by bringing over a “bouquet” of radishes (it was a joke), and so I called it quits on gifts thereafter.

I remember these details well, I just don’t remember quite why I liked him so much.

If it weren’t for environmental toxins, we’d be apes

A fascinating study is described in the NYT Science Section today (here). Researchers are suggesting that a gene mutation may well be responsible for the evolution of the human brain. The Times reports:

2.4 million years ago, a muscle gene underwent a disabling alteration. … This could have made all the difference, leading to the enlarged brains of the lineage that evolved into modern humans. Researchers who made the discovery said this might be the first recognized functional genetic difference between humans and the apes that can be correlated with anatomical changes in the fossil record. As they said, the gene mutation may represent the beginning of the ancestral triumph of brain over brawn.
At the least, scientists said, the small mutated gene probably accounts for the more graceful human jaw, in contrast to the protruding ape jaw and facial ridges.

Why the mutation? The following speculation is offered:

The cause of the mutation was unknown and probably unknowable: damage from cosmic rays perhaps, ingested toxins or other environmental exposures. Other contemporary hominid species could have been exposed to the same conditions, but for some reason, escaped with their myosin gene unaltered — and their jaws as formidable as ever. These robust but small-brain species continued to live in Africa until their line became extinct about one million years ago.

Dr. Minugh-Purvis said it was unclear how the mutation could have become fixed in the species, considering its potentially deleterious effects on survival. Perhaps other agents of change were already at work, like the transition to a richer protein diet of meat. The heavier jaws were required for grinding the mainstays, nuts and plants, in their diets.

So, those whose gene remained unaltered were slated to become extinct, while lucky us, what with environmental toxins and our desire to keep grinding on those nuts and plants (early stages of Nighttime Eating Syndrome, see post yesterday), we get the better brain and a nicer jaw line. I’m going home to remove my lawn sign condemning the use of chemical lawn care products. I don’t want to be remembered as standing in the way of further evolutionary development.

Two comments on paranoia

1. Reading moods

A reader wrote a concerned note about my post of last night where I alluded to intuitively surmising what the mood of the neighborhood was and whether or not I was to be the subject of scorn, ridicule, vengeance or what have you. While sympathetic to the post in general, she suggested that perhaps it exhibits a touch of paranoia. Reassurance: not at all! Perceiving the mood of a place or community can run in positive fields as well. For instance, my neighbor down the block and I were voting in the primaries at the same time and he instantly launched into friendly banter about the Green Party versus the Democrats. He knew and I knew that this was going to be a friendly exchange. No hostilities arose. ON THE OTHER HAND: when I walked down the block and a handful of women suddenly started looking heavenward as I passed, I KNEW they were grumbling and that I was the target of their displeasure. It could be that my little sign, stuck out front by the driveway, saying that ‘healthy children deserve healthy lawns’ (a direct attack at the 75% who still use chemical agents on their lawns in our neighborhood) was being bashed about. Hostility was palpable. No paranoia. Reality.

2. Poland is losing it

Another reader sent me clippings about a different possible paranoia – that which is gripping Poland at the moment. I’ve blogged about Polish fears of a terrorist attack ever since the tragedy in Madrid. Well, the nation is in a state of near panic. There are many reasons for it, some not unjustified, but I think the main source of anxiety rests in the recent switch of leadership in Spain. Poland had felt buoyed by its alliance with Spain – both on the Iraq invasion issue and on the protest to the EU constitution back in December. These two countries were European mavericks at a time when the push was to find common ground for all nations that are and will be part of the EU. With Spain now retreating somewhat (both on the issue of Iraq and on the Constitution), Poland is suddenly appearing awfully alone and vulnerable out there. It can’t feel good. I do think, however, that the Polish government (which enjoyed an 11% popularity rating back in December and now I read that it’s down to 9% --making me wonder if it’s possible to go into negative numbers, because there’s not much more before we’re at 0) needs to make some tough choices both about the Constitution and Iraq. In terms of the first – I understand completely Poland’s objections to the proposed document, but to “Die for Nice” seems ill founded [“Die for Nice’ is the slogan adopted by those that want to retreat to the Nice accords under which Poland enjoyed greater voting parity with the rest of the Western European states than it does under the new proposed Constitution]. A noble death in political parlance is still a death. Poland does NOT need to make enemies at a time when it is economically weak.

Expensive acquisitions

What is it about our species that leads us to be such collectors and proud possessors of things? True, I may not know many who get worked up about jewelry, but I do have a friend who has the largest, oddest shoe collection ever (she occasionally gives tours of her shoe closet for fundraising events). My neighbor collects stamps. My Tucson friend has gems and stones that are unbelievable. All good stuff.

However, I’m not much of a collector. When I first moved to the Midwest and was sure that our house, no other house, just our house was somehow marked and would therefore implode during a tornado, I would take with me to the basement my collection of photographs. That’s it. These days I’d probably also take my lap top. Otherwise I have no special attachment to things. My feeling is that it’s all replaceable and we’d all be better off without it anyway.

Maybe that’s why I never bothered to acquire, one expensive glass at a time, good wine glasses, even though I am a wine enthusiast and track wine trends through a variety of publications (predictably, I do not have much of a wine collection either).

Oh, I know all about Riedel glasses. Anyone who studies wines knows about Riedel glasses. Claus Josef Riedel hit on something big several decades ago when he discovered that the size and shape of a glass can significantly change the wine tasting experience. As an NYT article today says, “he spent 16 years studying the physics of wine delivery to the mouth and taste buds.” His factory began to manufacture distinct glassware – and I mean distinct! There are Riedel glasses for Burgundies, Bordeaux, French wines, old wines, young wines, California wines, you name it, – there is a glass for it.

But that’s not for me. And frankly, it’s not for most wine producers either – at least not the small family-run businesses that I like to visit and read about. Of course, even they would probably use appropriate glassware when opening their one remaining bottle of some 50-year old treasure. But there you are entering into an art form that goes beyond just drinking good wine.

However, two years ago, for some inexplicable reason, I broke down and bought 2 Riedel glasses. I picked the shape that would more or less work with bold full bodied reds (like Burgundies), which already is a cheat because you’re supposed to use a SPECIFIC glass for each wine. But the purchase set me back by a month’s worth of salary and so I wasn’t going to humor the Riedel nuts even more.

It was not meant to be. The box with the glasses was opened with some fanfare. The beautiful, delicate glasses were carefully washed, dried and placed in an old china closet (with a loose hinge). In closing the door of the closet, the hinge fell off, the door caved in and 50% of all glassware inside (the cheap stuff as well) was destroyed, including one of two Riedel glasses. I took that to be an omen and have never bothered with a replacement.

I read that Claus Josef Riedel died last week (NYT here). The company is in good family hands, but I do have to say that his was an impressive feat: to create a need that has busted the pocket book of many a person, even though, for the vast majority of wines, drinking from a tumbler will do just as well.

Hundreds down, one more to go

One last student file to read, one last check mark to make, one last scribbled post-it with comments to insert. Having read hundreds of these files this semester I am 1. relieved to be done 2. sorry to be done, in the way that one is sorry when a project has been captivating from day one and now is completed.

Who says only students stay up late to meet deadlines? Readers take note! It is possible to work this late and NOT still be chasing a degree!

Malaise

Both the NYT and the IHT report that Germany is experiencing a ‘malaise,’ a downturn in spirit, a sort of “I had a hell of a bad ride” mood. It has something to do with not being number 1 in everything, and having persistently large unemployment rates.

I’m guessing that it also has to do with the fact that Poland will soon be part of the EU, which eventually will mean greater portability of investments across the eastern German border, straight to Poland, where labor costs right now are one sixth of what they are in Germany.

But what's further interesting is the whole concept of a country’s mood. Was there a survey? Were people asked? Were facial expressions examined? Or does one just KNOW, in the same way that you can tell if your class is feeling hateful, or when your neighbors all seem to be conspiratorially hatching plans to do you in, or your far off friends are morose, or your own dog is in a funk. One can just sense moods. I suppose that the NYT reporter went out for a stroll in Germany, sniffed the air, and came back with these conclusive results.

I wonder what they’d say about Poland. I never thought that Poland ever had a mood, it has 38 million moods, all of them fluctuating wildly around a feeling of fatalism and doom.

Five purple crocuses and “Glorious Spring”

I’ve been seeing the white snow drops for several weeks now, but this is the first day that I have a patch of blooming crocuses out front underneath the birch. The season of cultivating perennial flowers has begun!

I was taking a blog trail break and I came across this story, referenced in Mary’s blog (here; mine is an abbreviated version): There is this horse in Japan. She is beloved by all. She draws huge crowds for each race. She has the wonderful name of Haru-urara (translates: Glorious Spring). A song has been written about her and a movie is in the works.
Is this a remake of Seabiscuit? No, Haru-urara has lost more than 100 races in a row. It’s not even close: in the last race she came in 10th out of 11 horses running.

What brings out this affection for a horse that is a sure-fire loser? The author of the piece speculates that perhaps it arises out of a Japanese fondness for the “hopeless but determined underdog.”

If you are beloved in spite of, or perhaps even because of the fact that you are not at the top of the heap, but still are making the effort, isn’t that the most glorious validation of your character, heartfelt perseverance, and sheer SPUNK? The fans seem to be saying “we’ve come to watch you because of your will to give it all, even though there is likely to be no reward at the end of the race.” Of course, the cliché (yet still lovely) ending is that Haru-urara gets the ultimate reward – the adoration of those whom she aims to impress. It seems that’s worth racing-losing for.

Teaching law

There are days when, simply put, you love your job. You come to class, see most everyone in place, you launch your topic for the day, hardly being able to contain your excitement.

My subject for today certainly remains high on the scale of bleakness: there’s virtually nothing happy to be said about enforcement of child support orders. But no matter. Blame the sunshine, the Spring Break rest, the electric quality of teaching on this day, in this mood, at this time—complete joy.

It’s worth recording this post – just to recall it on those other days, when you’re certain that you are not in a conversation with any of the students per se, but in the triangular communication between you, them, and whatever it is that they’re reading off the Net on their laptops. At those moments I feel the classroom should have a big TV screen on the back wall –sort of like the ones they have in gyms or in bars around town –with a Fox News or CNN headline banner running along the bottom, for when a student is speaking and I find I could use a momentary distraction [a reader and a law student elsewhere recently told me that in her class, when a student asks what amounts to a tangential question, you can see from where the students are sitting all the laptop screens automatically jump to email, CNN, blogs, spider solitaire etc, only to return to the notes page when the exchange is over].

Roll back the clock, this was me!

(or, a pre-breakfast post on the value of breakfast)

A WashPost article (here) describes an old health issue that has been retrieved out of the closet and reconsidered in light of the obesity epidemic in this country: NES (Nighttime Eating Syndrome). According to experts, persons with NES have a tendency to eat most of their calories after dinner (as best as I can understand from the article, there are “chemical-brain” issues that predispose some toward this), they then cannot sleep fitfully, and wake up not especially hungry for breakfast, repeating the cycle over and over again. Ultimately, what gets you in trouble is your messed up circadian eating rhythms (though I’m still not sure if this is the result or the cause of NES).

Looking back over my graduate school years (less so later in law school) I have to say that this describes me to the last inch. It also describes a great number of students I hung out with, and perhaps a great number of people today, since the article tells us that some significant portion of the population manifests symptoms of NES.
One of the solutions, according to the authors, is to reprogram your system by forcing yourself to start each day with breakfast. Of course, a person who is wolfing all sorts of heavy duty calories at 1 am hardly feels like granola at 7 am the next day, but the strategy makes sense to me (and indeed, it is one I eventually adopted since I was later surrounded by breakfast-eaters and did not want to miss out on the morning fun; it took me years to realize that no one ever has FUN at the breakfast table, but by then I was addicted to my morning granola).

It’s nice to know that there’s a label for just about every bad habit that you pick up in life. Had I known then that I was a marked NES-er, I may have felt a great urge to dig myself out of NES-dom. At the very least, I would have tried the breakfast routine.

Does anyone else think this looks like a monster tongue?

Many news services are reporting today the awarding of the Pritzker Architecture Prize to Iraqi born Zaha Hadid (the first woman to ever win the most prestigious prize in the field). The articles are brief – perhaps more will follow in the next days. I’ll be brief as well, though I do want to say that I was amused by the recurring mention of her “difficult personality.” No details are given on this, but I suspect her resolve not to be deferential to all rich clients at all times may have something to do with acquiring the “difficult” label.

I’m posting a quick peek at the much revered ski jump (designed by her) because it reminds me of a cheerful people-eating monster – something to give sweet dreams for the night.

And, a photo of the "difficult" but brilliant Ms. Hadid.

Women, hotels and good snacks in the refrigerator

Recent reports from travel industry sources indicate that women are taking over business travel by storm. I myself don’t believe it. In Asia, business (meaning fancy) hotel lobbies are 95% populated by men. I never enter business hotels in Europe, but I can tell who flies business class, since I am often snuck into the lounge by very nice ticket agents who feel sorry for my frequent-traveler-but-poor-in-funds status and give me a free pass to the business lounge (at least in Chicago). It is ALWAYS filled with men, accompanied occasionally by a wife who'll sit and stroke her fur coat as she awaits departure. These women are actually a nuisance because they disturb the peace as they make their chatty cell phone calls to their friends back in the neighborhood. Everyone else in the lounge is busy doing important things on their laptops like emailing (me) or studying profit reports and stock market prices (others).

Yet, today I read again, this time in the International Herald Tribune (here), that women are not only visible in business hotels, they are redefining the way these places relate to customers. The author of the article uses the Adlon (a top-of-the-line Berlin hotel) as an example. He writes:

Despite the fact that the new Adlon was the scene of Michael Jackson’s baby-dangling escapade from the balcony of the $7,000-a-night presidential suite in late 2002, The resurrected Adlon remains one of the great hotels of Europe. But what struck me most about the hotel on the afternoon I dropped in for a look was that the lobby was crowded with well-dressed women, most of whom appeared to be business travelers, sipping tea or coffee, either alone or in groups of two or three. ‘‘Women with class always know where the best place is to have coffee,’’ Reto Wittwer, the chief executive officer of Kempinski Hotels and Resorts, which numbers the Adlon among its properties, said on the telephone from the Adlon. …

Ask any executive in the hotel industry about the effect of this phenomenon, and you will hear this loud and clear: Far more than businessmen, businesswomen take careful measure of a hotel's amenities, design and service - and they compare notes with colleagues. More so than men, women clearly articulate their tastes and personal preferences in accommodations - and hotels respond. We can thank women travelers for the fact that at most good hotels, the beds are now more comfortable and better appointed than most at-home beds; the bathrooms have become spacious and luxurious; room service has been whipped into shape, and everything from towels to snacks in the minibar has improved.

Further into the piece, the author does admit that in terms of sheer numbers, business women travelers are in the minority. Still, they remain instrumental in redefining standards, down to the fridge contents in the hotel room. [I wonder just a little bit what that means – what is a “woman” food or beverage? Less whiskey and more white wine? Cashew nuts instead of beer and pretzels?]

Is this recent hotel acquiescence toward women travelers an important phenomenon for us to reckon with? No, not really, but it beats blog-writing about the testy White House response to the Clarke assertions today. Hotels are such charming and benign spots to consider. News stories about them take the mind off of everything else that happens once you step outside the hotel doors.

Pills, airplanes and vodka

A friend just returned from a Spring Break vacation in Colorado. I hadn’t known he was going anywhere. His big vacation break was to have been in the Caribbean Islands in February. He told me that he decided to go because he got a few free coupons from Northwest after his Caribbean experience. He had been flying south for his holiday and was nearing his destination when he, along with all passengers sitting on his side of the plane, noticed that one of the engines was on fire. The plane began to drop altitude. The pilot came on to say that they would shut down the engine and try to extinguish the flames. They would also make an emergency landing at the nearest Florida airport.

My friend said that everyone was silent and cooperative as they all went into emergency preparations.

In the end, it was the smoothest landing my friend (who is a very frequent flyer) had ever experienced. Any reflections on the incident? He tells me: “I was sorry that I didn’t get to finish my beer because the attendants swept away all loose debris during the emergency preparations. It was a good beer.” Any thoughts about flying? “The pilots are like anesthesiologists: most of their work is boring. They train for these emergencies. They did a good job, even though the fire extinguishers inside the engine did not work properly and so we wondered if the fire would eventually spread.” Wondered???

Perhaps we should all be flying these days with a small supply of tranquilizers. Not because I especially think flying is unsafe, but I do think you can get crazy with anxiety when the unexpected happens (an engine on fire in mid-air would qualify). I bet many hearts were racing on my friend’s flight. Though, when I was 10 and flying over the Atlantic, two of the prop engines of the small plane died in mid-flight. We had to make an emergency landing in Gander. It was freaky to be flying and looking out the window at the still blades. My recollection is that by the time we were over Gander, we were down to only one spinning propeller, but I could be off by a blade in this. As the drama unfolded, fellow passengers from the Soviet Union (it was a cheap charter flight, full of very frugal Eastern Europeans) opened several bottles of vodka and sang very loudly. There was an almost jovial atmosphere as we spun to our demise. Of course, we didn’t crash, but it wasn’t a terribly fearful experience.

A thought for future travel then: either pills or vodka in the flight bag. And the confidence that pilots can indeed land a broken down piece of metal with malfunctioning fire extinguishers.

An anniversary of sorts

As I start a new week in my “daily planner” book, I notice that today marks 8 full months (that’s 35 weeks) of rewriting the same basic list of general “to do” items in the side bar. This column has items that are of medium to low priority. Nonetheless, the assumption is that I will get to them for sure that week. (I start a new planning calendar each year toward the end of July, since that is when publishers of academic planners throw the new batch on the market.)

So what from this general list did I fail to accomplish yet again last week?

1. fax a copy of a statute that was requested by someone back in June (excuse: it would take me a long time to find the person’s fax number).
2. Ask for a refund of the deposit I gave to a hotel that I did not visit in the year 2002 (excuse: low likelihood of success, even though they do owe me the $230).
3. Check to make sure there isn’t radon in the basement (excuse: if our lungs have been damaged in the 15+ years that we have lived here, they can stand one more week of poison. I know this is a lousy excuse, similar to the justification for your own three-martini lunch offered in the line about the grandmother who drank whiskey daily and still lived to be 100; I do intend to get to this item. Really.)
4. Write a “congratulations” note and send present to a former student who notified me of giving birth last summer (excuse: I have since had two more students letting me know of similar events in their lives; if I wait a little longer, perhaps I can get a discount on a half-dozen cute Baby GAP overalls. That plus a baby book to start the kid reading is the standard Nina-gift-to-parent-of-newborn. If any of you are reading this, know that the gift & card WILL someday make it to your doorstep).
5. and so on.

A smart reader may point out that I should just write these items on a page in the back or front of the planning book rather than rewriting them each week. But the act of re-writing is guilt-inducing and so I will continue this practice until July 22 2004 at which time I will reevaluate my strategy for accomplishing things.