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Leslie last rambled at 10:59 p.m. on Sunday, April 29, 2001
Story revision
Monday morning, 11:30 A.M., and running late as usual. Evan, ill with a strep infection, would
be anxious to get home from visiting his grandmother. She offered to watch him after I called
her at 6:50 A.M., bawling and loudly blowing my nose into the phone receiver.
"There's no one else to watch h-i-i-i-i-m. I can't miss any more woooooork." I drew the words
out on long, dramatic sobs.
"Bring him over, Les. There isn't much for him to do here, but he can watch T.V., and you
won't be long, will you?" she asked, anxiety tinging her voice. Little boys make her nervous.
Germy, infectious little boys are her worst nightmare.
Evan looked like Dead Man Walking in more ways than one as I propelled him to the front door,
kissed him hurriedly good-bye and ran back to the car.
"He's had breakfast, he's had medicine, he's had his shots," I yelled, backing out of the
driveway. He stood stoutly, expressionless, watching me careen down the street in my
mini-van. The guilt penetrated the headrest and burned two marble-sized holes into the back
of my skull.
And now here I was, later than I wanted to be, later than Evan wanted me to be. He was
laying on the couch, head cradled on his cast, suffering through an episode of The Young and
the Restless. "He got to watch what he wanted most of the morning. It was my turn." There's no arguing
with a 7-year-old. I mean 67-year-old.
She wouldn't accept any money for babysitting him, but had me sign over several pints of
blood and my left kidney should she ever need it. "Come downstairs with me," she said. "I have
some clothes that I think will fit you." She often thanks me this way after my unsolicited
donations of body parts and life-giving fluids. "I was complaining to Bob this morning that I didn't have any room in my closets, and Bob says
to me, 'Why don't you take your stuff to the Goodwill?' 'Goodwill?' I say, 'I'm not taking them to
Goodwill! I'm giving them to Leslie!" I never know quite how to think when she shares
something like this with me. Am I better than the Goodwill, or am I more destitute than other
Goodwill shoppers?
"You worry too much," my husband says to me, but he's never had to wear
any of her polyester, either-- not that I've seen, anyways.
That my mother-out-law wears bad synthetics is a falsehood. She shops at really expensive
stores and buys very high quality items. Items suitable FOR A 67-YEAR-OLD WOMAN! Her
clothing is always impeccably tasteful, stylish, and appropriate-- for a 67-YEAR-OLD WOMAN! I
desperately wanted to offer a gracious refusal, but suddenly I had a stroke. Of inspiration.
"Are you feeling alright?" my M.O.L. asked. "You're looking sort of happy all of the sudden."
I smiled brightly, trying to look more friendly than fiendish. "Yeah, I'm okay. I had a thought,
but it went away. I'm sure glad those don't last very long."
She laughed nervously. She's never quite understood why I didn't quit school after I'd done my
masters. "People with Ph.D.s are odd," she said once, then realizing she might have hurt my
feelings, she added, "but you fit in most places we go. You'll probably be alright."
"I'd really love to take a look at what you've got for me. You have great taste, and it's so nice
of you to think of me!" I gushed warmly. I cannot begin to describe the wide array of dresses and synthetic pantsuits she heaped into
my eagerly open arms-- a two piece gray skirt with matching sweater. The sweater had
tri-colored leather insets across the chest! Loveliness itself. A periwinkle blue floral dress with
the prerequisite elastic waist. Elastic waist pants with long overshirts, cardigan and elastic
waist skirt sets in rich shades of burgundy with metallic gold trim, epaulets on the shoulders.
"Should I ever become a decorated military hero, I'll be all ready," I said.
"I'm glad you like that. It was one of my favorites before it went out of..." her voice slinks off, appropriately embarassed for once.
I ooooh'd, aaaah'd and exclaimed like a pro, exhibiting just the right amount of gratitude and
pleasure. "These are so great!" I said, "Oh, look at this one! I can wear it to church! I always
need church clothes."
"You don't go to church," Evan said soberly.
"You must be perking up there, buddy, making jokes like that an all." I gave him the car keys and the evil eye.
"Now you run on out and open the doors so Mommy can put all these gorgeous outfits in! I'll
be there in just a minute."
I loaded my booty and brought it home. My evil plan? One of these evenings, after finals are
over, I'm hosting a fashion show starring me and my mother-out-law's clothing! It will be very
exclusive. Only a very few, very personal, very pharmaceutically-connected friends are invited.
I'll charge a nominal fee-- either a bottle of wine or a few Seconals, rip a Napster CD for
background music, borrow my daughter's disco ball, and I'm all set. Well, almost all set. I can't
believe this, but my M.O.L. didn't accessorize. No straw handbags or hats with gauzy tufts and
synthetic poppies bought from Shriners raising money for burned or crippled children. No huge,
square, chunky sunglasses or sling-back sandals. If I'm going to pull this off, I need
accoutrements, as the French say.
I feel a Salvation Army spree coming on...
Leslie last rambled at 07:20 a.m. on Sunday, April 29, 2001
Leslie last rambled at 06:42 p.m. on Saturday, April 28, 2001
Whoa...
I don't read him religiously, and the author he mentions here is probably a friend of his. Not that I'm skeptical, or anything, but this is a pretty cool blurb from the free will astrologist:
GEMINI (May 21-June 20) Week of April 26, 2001 As we prep you for a possible clash with dopey demons and maladjusted ghosts, we won't go for help to the world's major religions. Their holy books are too serious and grave. None of them seems to have figured out that the number one weapon against diabolical spirits is laughter and tomfoolery. Among the more useful texts are the novels of Tom Robbins. Let me quote an especially sacred scripture from his Jitterbug Perfume: "He'd grown convinced that play -- more than piety, more than charity or vigilance -- was what allowed human beings to transcend evil." At last! Someone who understands me! I'm not procrastinating-- I'm trying to transcend evil! Why don't they give points for that in grad school?
Leslie last rambled at 06:06 a.m. on Saturday, April 28, 2001
Leslie last rambled at 11:08 a.m. on Friday, April 27, 2001
Know what? I'm dressed like a peacock again today, and I don't even CARE!
Leslie last rambled at 10:56 a.m. on Friday, April 27, 2001
This is mostly a repeat, but it is also a revision.
I was checking out some literature for a depressant medication last night. These drug companies really go all out on print support for their product:
They included a nice little packet of print information with their pills, for example. This company had a booklet called, "What to Expect Now That You're Depressing," and "Depression for Dummies." Everything was printed on glossy, white paper with really nice color photos of actual people, living and dead. You know, sort of like "before" and "after" pictures. One particularly nice photograph shows a father hanging a rope over the living room rafter of his family's rustic, log cabin vacation home while his wife and children play board games nearby. They all look so happy!
The company even developed a self-help program called, "Interruptions" to help you take your pill, come down off the 30-story building and return to the rat race. The "Interruptions" program has a toll-free phone number to call if you're feeling blue between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time*. The information after the '*' states, "Oh cry me a river! Look, folks, Interruptions cannot be at your beck and call 24/7 no matter how depressed you are, so get over it. Wait until regular business hours to call back, or chant the following mantra: "I'm on this planet, I belong here, I'm trying to find my way, and with a little help from my really caring, nurturing drug company, I will!" Lotsa luck, bub."
All of the information in the company's helpful packet conforms to the rules of good technical writing. They provide useful content in a pleasing and intuitively understandable format. The part I found to be most helpful is an iconic scale that lets you, "Chart Your Own Depression Progression." The heading on the page says, "Point to Where You're At Today." The first picture shows a frowning stick figure. The next level has the stick figure seated in front of a mountain of soggy facial tissues, an empty booze bottle at its feet. The third picture has the stick figure laying in bed with the empty booze bottle on the pillow next to it and the mountain of tissues on the floor. The fourth picture shows the stick figure seated at a desk writing something on a piece of paper. The tissues, empty booze bottle, and an attractive assortment of kitchen cutlery lay near the stick figure's left elbow. The final picture shows a group of scuba divers playing water polo in the river near a bridge. A large assortment of tin cans, old tires, rusted refrigerators and other appliances lay heaped on the bank. A disappointed looking newscaster is directing his crew to film the pile of junk in the background while the divers from Alpha company celebrate a score over their rivals, the divers from B Company.
Now you know that all of these upbeat promises of returning happiness won't sway the thrifty. That sort of frugal depressive has to have further enticements, so, this company offers coupons! I got $5.00 off for "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Depression" if I send in the UPC code from my first decade's supply of pills. I can also get a ten dollar rebate on a case of flavored vodka if I send in all the necessary information. I would have to allow four to six weeks for delivery, though, so the literature suggests including the rebate check with my will just in case I, "can't wait that long."
Really, I was quite impressed with all the happy, useful information included with this miracle product. I was all for opening the attractively packaged blister pack and downing the entire week's dosage immediately, but then I got to the Question and Answer sheet. Here is the bad news:
Q: What are the side effects of this medication?
A: One of the side effects of __________ is that you will begin to feel more optimistic about the likelihood of world peace in your lifetime. You may start to take an interest again in the situations that originally made you want to set fire to your spouse's clothing. Within as early as two to four weeks after taking this medication, you may notice that your kitchen floor hasn't been mopped in several months, the dirty laundry is holding a rave in your basement, and you are badly in need of a shower and bikini wax. Finally, your appetite will return with a vengeance and you will almost immediately bust out of the fat jeans you were wearing before you freaked out. These feelings will seem unfamiliar at first, but you'll soon get used to them and be back to your carefree, sunny self in no time!
I wasn't minding any of those side effects too much, but the fat jean thing was a slight turn off. I wanted to call the "Interruptions" line and ask about this weight gain thing, but the phone number was experiencing a "higher than normal caller volume." The message was playing a slightly warped version of Enya in the background, and a soothing voice informed me that the wait to the "next available patient medication facilitator was approximately 24 hours." The soothing voice requested that I call back after finals week when most college students would be off of their studying and anti-depressants and on to self-medicating with illegal medications. The message assured me that my call was important to them, and they would be with me as soon as possible.
Aren't they the greatest, most helpful, wonderful supplier of depressing medication in the whole wide world? I can't wait to start giving them my life savings.
Leslie last rambled at 06:58 p.m. on Thursday, April 26, 2001
This past Monday morning, I was at my mother-out-law's house. My son was sick, and she had kept him at her house while I was making sub arrangements at school. I arrived to find him suffering through an episode of The Young and the Restless because my M.O.L. didn't want to miss it. She says to me, "He got to watch what he wanted most of the morning. It was my turn." There's no arguing with a 7-year-old. I mean 67-year-old.
She wouldn't accept any money for babysitting him, but I did sign over several pints of blood and my left kidney should she ever need it. Well, generous, wonderful woman that she is, she decided to throw in some bonus gifts as a "thank you" for my unsolicited donation. She offered to give me some clothes that she didn't want anymore! Truly, I was overwhelmed.
As we're descending the steps to get the items out of storage, she says to me, "Yes, I was complaining to Bob [my father-out-law] that I didn't have any room in my closets anymore. So Bob says to me, 'Why don't you take some of your things to the Goodwill?' 'Goodwill?' I say, 'I'm not taking them to Goodwill! I'm giving them to Leslie!"
Now, I do have to admit that my mother-out-law shops at really expensive stores. She buys very high quality items that are suitable FOR A 67-YEAR-OLD WOMAN! The expensive, tasteful clothing she buys is also very appropriate and stylish-- for a 67-YEAR-OLD WOMAN! I was trying very hard to think of a way to get out of taking the clothes, but a stroke of inspiration seized me at that moment.
"Are you feeling alright?" my M.O.L. asked.
I smiled brightly in a way that I hoped was more friendly than fiendish. "Yeah, I'm okay. I was thinking about something else there for a second. I'm alright. Now, how about letting me take a look at what you've got? You have great taste. It's so nice of you to think of me!"
I cannot begin to describe the wide array of dresses and synthetic pantsuits that she heaped into my eagerly open arms-- a two piece gray skirt with a matching sweater, and get this: the sweater had tri-colored leather insets across the chest! Loveliness itself. A periwinkle blue floral dress with the-- you guessed it-- prerequisite elastic waist. Elastic waist pants with long overshirts, cardigan and elastic waist skirt sets in a rich shade of burgundy with metallic gold trim and, get this, epaulets! I hope I spelled that right. I'm too lazy to look. I ooooh'd and aaaah'd and exclaimed like a pro, exhibiting just the right amount of gratitude and pleasure. "These are so great!" I said, "Oh, look at this one! I can wear it to church! I always need church clothes."
"You don't go to church," my son said.
"Oh, Evan! You little jokester, you!" I gave him the car keys. "Run on out to the car to open the door so Mommy can put all of these gorgeous outfits in, dearie. I'll be there in just a minute."
I loaded my booty and brought it home. My evil plan? One of these evenings, after finals are over, I'm going to host a fashion show starring me and my mother-out-law's clothing! It will be very exclusive. Only a very few, very personal, very pharmaceutically-connected friends are invited. I'll charge a nominal fee-- either a bottle of wine or a few Seconals, rip a Napster CD for background music, borrow my daughter's disco ball, and I'm all set. Well, almost all set. I can't believe this, but my M.O.L. didn't accessorize the outfits she gave me. No straw handbags or hats with gauzy tufts and synthetic poppies bought from Shriners raising money for burned or crippled children. No huge, square, chunky sunglasses or sling-back sandals. If I'm going to pull this off, I need accessories.
I feel a Salvation Army spress coming on...
Leslie last rambled at 12:57 p.m. on Thursday, April 26, 2001
Another euphemism for pissy and moody: artistic. How about creative? Excellent. I love them.
Leslie last rambled at 11:37 a.m. on Wednesday, April 25, 2001
Okay...I was checking out some literature for an anti-depressant drug last night. These drug companies really go all out on print support for their product. Check this out:
They include a nice little packet of print information with their pills, with booklets like, "What to Expect Now That You're Depressing," and "Depression for Dummies." Everything is printed on glossy, white paper with really nice color photos of actual people, living or dead. There's one that shows a dad hanging a rope over the living room rafter of his family's rustic, log cabin vacation home while his family plays a board game nearby. They all look so happy!
The company even developed a self-help program called, "Interruptions" to help you take your pill, come down off the 30-story building and return to the rat race. "Interruptions" even has a toll-free phone number to call if you're feeling blue between the hours of 9:00 a.m. and 4:30 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time.
All of the information conforms to the rules of good technical writing, ie. useful content and aesthetic appeal. The nicest part is an iconic scale that lets you, "Chart Your Own Depression Progression." The heading on the page says, "Point to Where You're At Today." The first picture shows a frowning stick figure. The next level has the stick figure seated in front of a mountain of soggy facial tissues, an empty booze bottle at its feet. The third picture has the stick figure laying in bed with the empty booze bottle on the pillow next to it and the mountain of tissues on the floor. I couldn't see the remaining two pictures. The publisher stapled those pictures into the fold of the booklet. Bad press procedure, don't you think?
But anyway, here's the best part of the entire packet of stuff: coupons! They give you a $5.00 off coupon for "The Complete Idiot's Guide to Depression" if you send in the UPC code from your first decade's supply of pills.
I was really impressed with all the happy, useful information included with this miracle product until I got to the Question and Answer sheet. Check this out:
Q: What are the side effects of this medication?
A: One of the side effects of __________ is that you will begin to feel more optimistic about the likelihood of world peace in your lifetime. You may start to take an interest again in the situations that originally made you want to set fire to your spouse's clothing. Within as early as two to four weeks after taking this medication, you may notice that your kitchen floor hasn't been mopped in several months, the dirty laundry is holding a rave in your basement, and you are badly in need of a shower and bikini wax. Finally, your appetite will soon return with a vengeance and you will almost immediately bust out of the fat jeans you were wearing before you freaked out.
I wanted to call the "Interruptions" line and ask about this weight gain thing, but it was experiencing a "higher than normal caller volume," and requested that I call back after finals week when most college students would be off of their studying and anti-depressants and on to self-medicating with trendy flavored vodkas and exotic beers.
Leslie last rambled at 10:45 p.m. on Sunday, April 22, 2001
