What Makes Me Laugh

The worst part about Gov. Mark Sanford’s “sparking” affair with an Argentinian woman was not the affair. Oh no. I don’t really care what people do with their pants off. The worst part was reading the love e-mails between the two that the State newspaper published. I cringed in embarrassment at the words, not the deed.

A few excerpts and you’ll see what I mean. From the Governor to “Maria” in Argentina:  

I could digress and say that you have the ability to give magnificently gentle kisses, or that I love your tan lines or that I love the curves of your hips, the erotic beauty of you holding yourself (or two magnificent parts of yourself) in the faded glow of night’s light — but hey, that would be going into the sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse at dinner — and unlike you I would never do that!”

This is way worse than Clinton’s cigar. Way worse. He’s apparently very serious, and all I can think of is, “Is this a joke?” The writing alone disqualifies him from holding office.

Love letters really took a dive with this man. Whatever happened to the lyric prose of Shakespeare’s sonnets, Dante’s poems for Beatrice, Heloise and Abelard’s letters, hell, even Song of Solomon? If it were me, I would have dumped his ass immediately for writing such stupid, sappy blather — and then ending it with “sexual details we spoke of at the steakhouse.” The steakhouse? Honestly, sexual details should not be shared over steak.

Also, what woman wants a man to say that he loves her “tan lines”? Next he’s going to be talking about those cute crow’s feet, or the mole shaped like a heart on her back. Yuck.

Listen, if you’re going to write a love letter do it in longhand, on paper, so that it can be burned later. And don’t sign it. And while you’re at it you might want to cut out magazine letters and paste them onto it and use rubber gloves if you’re the Republican governor of a southern state writing to your mistress.

If you’re not Shakespeare then love letters need to be short and to the point. “I love you. I miss you. You’re beautiful. I had a great time. Wish you were here.” It works, doesn’t it? She knows you care.

Oh, Mark. So many things went wrong in these letters. Let’s get to the Thornbirds part. Again, from Mark to Maria:

“I better stop now least this really sound like the Thornbirds — wherein I was always upset with Richard Chamberlain for not dropping his ambitions and running into Maggie’s arms. The bottom line is two fold, my heart wants me to get on a plane tonight and to be in your loving arms — my head is saying how do we put the Genie back in the bottle because I sure don’t want to be encumbering you, or your options or your life. Put differently, given I love you, I don’t want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.”

First off, I thought Richard Chamberlain’s character in the Thornbirds was not “ambitious” so much as he was a priest. He had taken vows. To God. Just like Mark Sanford had at one time with another woman.

But worst of all is Sanford’s ridiculous inability to never know when to shut up. Stop at “my heart wants to get on a plane tonight and be in your loving arms.” That’s good. That’s really good. So why did he have to go and ruin it by writing, “I don’t want to be part of the reason you are having less than an ideal week in what sounds like a cool spot.”

Less than an ideal week? In a cool spot? The woman is having an affair with a married man who happens to be a conservative politician. Of course she is having less than an ideal week. She knows it’s just a matter of time before she’s dumped.

Let’s move on to next rule of thumb. Don’t talk about heavy equipment in your love letters.

“To me, and I suspect no one else on earth, there is something wonderful about listening to country music playing in the cab, air conditioner running, the hum of a huge diesel engine in the background, the tranquility that comes with being in a virtual wilderness of trees and marsh, the day breaking and vibrant pink coming alive in the morning clouds — and getting to build something with each scoop of dirt… Enough about my love of heavy equipment and woods at sunrise …”

Yes. Let’s get back to you and your tan lines, shall we?

Fortunately, Doug and I have never shared this type of correspondence. We stick to making kissy noises on the phone when we say goodbye from long distances and that’s about as sappy as it gets. But, since this story broke we have agreed that should we ever stretch the bounds of our marriage we will not exchange love letters or e-mails and only need to say, “I’ve hiked the Appalachian Trail. And now I’m back.”

Martha, Martha, Martha. Just when I was starting to like you again. The stories of you picking dandelions in the prison yard and leading yoga sessions for the other inmates made me smile and think how plucky and resilient you are when the chips were down. Now, when I need to make apple cobbler or something with arugula and goat cheese I use your recipe search online, and though I haven’t used any of the organizational tips you e-mail me it’s the thought that counts, right?

Produce from last year's garden - the closest I can get to a Martha Stewart like image

So, why did you have to do an interview with the Washington Post that made you look so out-of-touch with the common woman who doesn’t iron her napkins before each meal? I mean, c’mon, glitter? Just the first line of the article made me laugh:

    ”Martha Stewart has a plan for how everyone can endure the economic crisis: by     glittering, embossing and beading.”

Really? Is that what we’ve been missing? Crafts?

It gets much worse. Another excerpt:

Q: How is the recession affecting domestic life and people making things at home?

Martha’s Answer: People are staying home and enjoying it by crafting and beautifying their home with decorating and cooking. They can’t afford to travel, but they can afford a [$23] glitter kit.

A $23 glitter kit? I’ve made it 32 years without buying a glue gun, thank you very much, and now I’m supposed to buy a glitter kit?

Oh, but there is more. Martha, again:

“In this time, when people have lost money in their IRA accounts and they may have lost their jobs and are having trouble making ends meet, they can lose themselves in beautiful projects.” 

So, if I’m hungry, and I need to feel better about my situation, I should get some beads, glue, and glitter and just lose myself in beauty. Not whiskey? I don’t know, maybe it could work?

It’s sad to me that Martha has to cut back on her tree plantings this year because of the recession (god knows, we need a few more trees) but frankly, she sounds more than a little miffed that people might (gasp!) bring her a few good brownies for a hostess gift instead of fine wine. Read on:

Q: Your daughter, Alexis, and pal Jennifer Koppelman Hutt, who do the Fine Living cable show “Whatever, Martha!,” did an online poll asking if someone was going to visit you, Martha Stewart, which item wouldthey take as a hostess gift: homemade brownies, a bottle of the finest wine, fresh flowers from their garden or a store-bought cake? The flowers got the most votes online, but what would be your choice?

Martha’s Answer (listen for tone): ”My choice would be a bottle of wine. If you bring flowers, it’s like bringing coals to Newcastle. I have more flowers than most people. I certainly don’t need a cake; I would be making the cake. Brownies? No.”

Coals to Newcastle? Martha also advises her gift-giving guests not to get too distracted by Twittering about it. “Too many of us are sitting around Twittering. How about knitting? Knit me a sweater or a scarf.” 

As for blogging? She can keep up with it via her blackberry and the laptops that are available everywhere she goes. Martha, I’m impressed. Crafts can cure everything.

Here’s the short version:

First, read Martha Beck. Next, set a wildly improbable goal. Then, Google “Win a Trip to Australia.”  Enter contest. Win contest. Travel to Australia.

Here’s the long version:

It started with my niece Hannah, who is studying abroad this year in Australia at the University of Queensland. Before she left last summer, she urged me to come and visit.

Hannah

I love to travel and I love my niece and if I were a millionaire the decision to visit her in Australia would have been a no-brainer.

But as I told her, the $2,000 per ticket price just didn’t fit my particular wallet size, so the likelihood of me getting my butt to Australia was close to zero. About that time I was reading a book called, “Finding Your Own North Star” by Martha Beck.

Martha Beck

I first heard about Martha when she was interviewed on one of my favorite podcasts called Meet the Writers.  I liked her immediately, and picked up her book the next chance I had. I later found out that she is a regular columnist for Oprah’s Magazine and I’ve read almost all of her books now. 

One of Martha’s ideas is to set wildly improbable goals for yourself. These aren’t goals like, “I’m going to win the lottery” or “All the unwanted hair on my body will mysteriously disappear one day” but more to the heart of why you want to win the lottery or have a hairless body. The way I found my wildly improbable goals was to think of things that made me spontaneously smile and light up inside.

The two that I came up with last June were to run a 10k in less than 50 minutes, and to visit my niece in Australia. Believe me, both were wildly improbable at the time, and I’m still working on the 10k time.

Once you set your goals, Martha advises doing a little creative brainstorming and research on all the ways you could think of to meet that goal.

So, the ideas that I decided to pursue to try and get myself to Australia were:

1. Win a contest.

2. Find a way to get there through work (like a work-related conference).

3. Save about $5,000 in 6 months (totally impossible).

I went the “win a contest” route first and googled, “Win a Trip to Australia.” Really, that’s what I did. People look at me a bit aghast when I tell that part, as if just taking that step required a leap of faith akin to walking barefoot across hot coals,  but hey, it seemed easy at the time and I guess I am a testament to the power of Google (and no, they did not pay me to say that). 

Before going further, I should say that I have never won anything in my life. Well, maybe $1 on the lotto card that is still sitting in my desk drawer from 7 years ago. But even when I go to events where there are 20 door prizes and only 21 people show up, I’m the unlucky one. So, I knew the idea of winning a trip to Australia was beyond a long shot for me. Still, I had some hope.

After sorting through the first couple of pages in Google that popped up of previous contests and dead-ends, I found a contest that seemed to be a pretty good fit for me. It was an essay-contest sponsored by Jurlique, an Australian organic and biodynamic beauty products company, and the grand prize winner would win a trip for two to the Jurlique farms in South Australia. The company posted a video to explain the contest.

I had heard about Jurlique when a donor to my former work protecting gray wolves in the Northern Rockies had mentioned that they were the only cosmetics company she would use because they didn’t use nanotechnology in their products. I never followed up on her recommendation, but I had always had Jurlique in the back of my mind to check out.

So, I knew that this was a legitimate company, making a good product, and even better, the essay topic for submission was “personal renewal and the earth” a topic that I could write about with some passion. Advocating for wolves is an unlikely career path for a woman who grew up on a cattle ranch where predators are unwelcome and my personal journey from ranch-girl to journalist to conservation made for a good essay.

Last July, I submitted my essay and linked it to a photo and video of a CBS news segment about wolves where I am interviewed.

And then I waited, and waited, and waited. In November, I received an e-mail from Jurlique that I was a “finalist” in the contest and that I had either won the grand prize, or the runner-up prize – a $1,000 worth of product. Don’t get me wrong, the runner-up prize would have been nice, and a few family members would have found some great face lotion in their stockings for Christmas, but it wasn’t my wildly improbably goal, so when the call finally came, I held my breath until he said, “Janelle, I’m calling to let you know that you’re Jurlique’s grand prize winner!”

Jurlique posted the names of the contest winners and I called my sister and my niece and screamed a little on the phone. And then I waited some more. Originally, the grand prize winners (3 were selected – one from the UK, one from the U.S. and one from Australia) were supposed to visit Australia in January, during the farm’s harvest time, but the scheduling didn’t work out.

So, after some back and forth about dates, Jurlique booked our tickets to Australia for March 20th – April 4th, and we leave tomorrow. We’ll spend the first week with Jurlique in South Australia’s Adelaide Hills, and then the second week we’ll be on our own in Tasmania. Hannah will be flying down from university to join us for most of the trip. I hope you’ll follow along with me on this blog while I realize my very first wildly improbable goal. Thank you Martha! Thank you Google! Thank you Jurlique!

Ok, so I’m still getting the hang of wordpress, and as a result I posted a few items that weren’t complete because I didn’t realize you had to save before publishing. Also, users are having trouble commenting. I think I fixed my comment settings so you don’t have to log in anymore to comment, but do let me know if you experience problems or see an article that is clearly missing something. Thanks!

This post will take a tad bit of explaining. I used to work in Cortez, Colorado, and keep up with news about the community through friends and a great alternative newspaper, the Four Corners Free Press, which runs my columns.

Recently, a Native American man froze to death in the Cortez city park. His death is tragic and not funny in any way. What is depressingly humorous, however, is the predominantly white community’s response to the supposed root of the problem — Native Americans hanging out in the town’s public areas and parks. The hysterics over this “problem” would make someone think that loitering in town parks is one of the worst crimes imaginable. This, in a community whose white residents apparently chop up their fathers and feed the bits to coyotes!

The mental contortions used by white community members to solve this “problem” without using racist language is  really quite astounding and amusing since they only end up reinforcing the fact that they really are racist. A prime example is an op-ed from a citizen who urged the city to think outside of the box and erect tepees for the Native Americans next to the county jail. My favorite quote from the piece: ”While many of us were celebrating the birth of Christ, others were cold, hungry, homeless and with no reason to celebrate anything. Is it their fault? Maybe, but would you want to trade places with them? You wouldn’t, so let’s make a teepee and give those with very little dignity left something to hold onto as their own.” Brilliant!
Other creative solutions to the problem of loitering drunks came up during a City Council discussion and included the idea of making it illegal for local alcohol retailers to sell booze to known drunks and possibly rearranging the town park benches.  I know that rearranging the furniture in my house certainly keeps me from opening a cold beer after a hard day.

To top it off, the Cortez Journal’s publisher, Suzy Meyer (my former boss), writes a less-than-heartfelt editorial about the death of the man in the park. Her opinion? It shouldn’t be happening in 2009. About the only thing reading that editorial would do for someone is to encourage him to go out and kick a loitering drunk and scream, ”Get up, you idiot! Don’t you know people are having to go out of their way to keep you from freezing! What the f*** do you think you’re doing out here anyway in the 21st Century? Quit making problems for all the white people! God!”

No discussion of treatment facilities. No discussion of constructing an actual homeless shelter where people can find a warm place to sleep. Just give ‘em a cold tepee by the jail.

With the unemployment rate the highest since it’s been since 1992 (which begs the question, what the hell was going in 1992? Public radio always announces the phrase “the blah blah rate has not been this bad since X year” with extreme gravitas — as if we all are going to shake our heads and say, ”Wow, man, 1992 – god, that’s awful!”) I thought I would share the most innovative and politically incorrect tip for job seekers I’ve heard in a long time.

First, let me qualify this by saying that this is only a tip for the unemployed who have a little bit of money left in their savings accounts. The truly poor should not take this advice. It’s too risky.  Also, it’s not a form of poorly-advised guerilla marketing where you do silly things like post your facebook status as “looking for work and willing to do just about anything” or where you leave desperate messages with relatives you haven’t seen since the terrible family reunion where you got drunk and threw up all over the dance floor. Not that I’ve ever done that.

Ok, so the answer is … drumroll please … outsource your job search. I’m not kidding. A few weeks back I was listening to a podcast from The Moth – a great non-profit that supports live storytelling — when I heard a story by A.J. Jacobs called “My outsourced life” which he originally wrote up for Esquire Magazine in 2005.

One outraged reader who was out-of-work because of outsourcing wrote to A.J. that he was upset about the article until he decided to outsource his job search to India and had a new job within a week.

Outsourcing is apparently also useful for things like losing your luggage. The  The Huffington Post wrote all about the various ways to use outsourcing to your advantage. Check it out!