Long lost twin?

This photo ran in The Mag this week, in a story that was held from the week after Thanksgiving. I've been waiting for it to show up ever since then, because of this conversation on my return from Atlanta.
The Rock to Crislin: So apparently they've decided to hold the story.
Crislin: Oh ok.
The Rock to spacey Me: So that means your picture won't run this week.
Me to The Rock: blank stare
Crislin: Oh yeah, that's true. Well, next week.
Me to Crislin: blank stare
The Rock and Crislin: Hahaha.
Me to both: blank stare
Finally The Rock deigned to explain: We chose a photo with a woman who we all think looks like you to run with the story.
Me: Ohhhh. Ok. (trying to act nonchalant, but secretly dying to see this photo, convinced it's not going to be a flattering resemblance--or worse, someone that I think I look nothing like, but everyone else thinks is a carbon copy.)
The Rock: Of course, everytime someone says you (generic you) look like someone, you always think they look nothing like you.
Me: Yeah, I know. (now nervously) Hehe.
Since then, as soon as the weekly email plopped into my inbox saying that latest issue was in, I'd run to the library to page through the mag to see if the story was there, not even entirely sure what I was looking for--just a photo of someone who might look kinda, sorta like me. But no. Last week, an email came from The Rock with the PDF of the story (it took me a while to figure out which story the photo was running with, but I did, finally). PDF=photo! I immediately opened it, and there it was finally--the photo of my supposed twin, albeit a profile. And to be honest, although I've examined it from every angle, I can't even tell if she looks like me or not. Although, truth be told, I'm not entirely disappointed.
So? Does she? Doesn't she? Shocked at the uncanny resemblance? Or going "what?!?!? How could they even think that?" Or as confused as me?

Kiddie party

Today, we had the kiddie version of our work Christmas party. As I am kiddie-less, I didn't go. But it is impossible to not notice some 20-odd bundles of energy darting about the hallways. I happened upon one of these--stationary this time--near the library. She was standing in the middle of the corridor, about two feet high, her tiny face in a half-frown, half-smile, palms up in a questioning gesture, demanding of the world-at-large: "Where's daddy? Where'd daddy go?" "Hmmm! Where DID daddy go?" I wondered. And, as I watched, the half-frown disappeared, to be replaced by a full grin, as daddy appeared. "There's daddy!"

I went into the kitchen, and stumbled upon another little guy, only slightly older, sitting at the dining table, picking at a piece of pizza, long gone cold, somberly absorbed in the news on TV. Someone came in and asked him where his parents were. He mumbled something shyly, and went back to playing with his food and watching the news. "Hah!" I thought. "A journo in the making!"

And as I walked back to my cubicle, one of The Rock's two daughters, and a boy of unknown parentage, shot past me shouting, "Hide! Hide!" (At first, I thought she was yelling "Hi! Hi!" and I was almost moved to tears that she remembered me.) They rushed into the empty office next to mine, and I tuned out. A few minutes later, my attention was drawn to them again as The Rock and Pendio, a senior reporter, approached the office.

"You know, Pendio here is the BEAR of the whole of The Mag," The Rock informed the kids. Pendio duly growled to show that he was indeed the bear of the office. "Yes, he's the BRAIN of this WHOLE place." Pendio puffed out his chest, and pointed to his head. "So you guys need to be quiet, so he can THINK!"

The kids were clearly unimpressed by Pendio's greatness. "Well, we're leaving now anyway," one of them informed The Rock, duly putting him and all of Pendio's bearness and braininess in place. And, after a little more high-pitched excitement, they did.

Ah, for peace and quiet. Although, I must say, it is fun to have little people around--for a little bit at least-- in such a very grown-up place.

My Christmas pet peeve

This is the season to be kind and giving and forgiving, and generally, I am (I like to think anyway:)If you disagree, SHHHHHH!!!). But one pet peeve that rears its head at this time of year concerns people who whinge about "having" to spend Christmas with their families.

Yes, I understand that families have their problems, and some worse than others. But they're still FAMILY. Unless they've done something horrendous that's scarred you for life, and seeing them is clinically traumatizing, this is the time to put aside your differences and enjoy them. And to be glad that you have them, and that you get to spend time with them. Not to continue to hold grudges and have a bad attitude, and join the throngs that complain about another Christmas at home.

Put these people far far away from their families, where they can't see them or spend time with them. . . and I'm willing to bet the farm* that the majority of them will be singing a different tune.

There! It's out now! My Christmas pet peeve!

Merry Christmas all!!

*I don't actually have a farm. . . but I'm willing to bet Weds instead, if you prefer. And you know he's worth more than any farm to me. . . and to Okia, his real owner--who I'm sure wouldn't appreciate me using her cat as a pawn in my betting!

Unconditional love

By Sam Gross, The New Yorker, Nov. 30, 1998. From cartoonbank.com

Static

Have you ever felt like you're standing in a corner, looking on, while the world whirls on around you? I feel a little bit like that now--I'm static, very much an observer, watching as everyone else's lives change, move forward, on to the next level.

The Bart, Chaps, Lala are all getting married, Jags is legally married already, Oiram is the same, Gio is going to be a daddy, Emsten's starting a new business and trying to become a mommy, and Juff Juff's gotten serious about his relationship. And as I become aware of each development in my friends' lives, I become more and more of an onlooker--a happy one, but an onlooker all the same. Yes, there are changes in my life too (soon, hopefully), but those are more beginning of life changes--new job, moving to new place etc. The others' changes are more, I don't know, "grown-up." Growing up. They're all growing up, and becoming big people, people with families and responsibilities. And I'm still, in some ways, not much different from the 10-, 12-, 17- 23-year-old I was when I met some of them.

It's a strange feeling. Not necessarily a bad one. It's actually fun to see the world, and the lives of people I care about, changing, moving on to the next phase. But it's a strange feeling, nonetheless.

Merry Whatever

Not that I'm on a soapbox or anything. . .


Source: Comics.com

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!

I left the gym in a bad mood today, and fuming and scowling, made my way to the bus stop and back home. As I slipped my key into the keyhole, I heard a strange buzzing noise, coming, fittingly enough, from my apartment. "Ugh, great," I thought. "Just what I needed."

I entered the apartment, and the loud buzzing enveloped me. I promptly burst into tears, and went in search of the source of the annoyance. I found it in a small metal panel, the size of a switch plate, screwed into the wall in the kitchen. I felt the panel. It was warm. "What do I do?" I demanded of myself. I tripped the circuit breaker. Nothing. "Aaargh." And another bout of tears.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. I dialed the management office number, then the emergency pager number. I paged, and waited. A few minutes later, as I began dialing the pager number for the second time, the call came. I explained the situation, then repeated it to someone else. I was ordered to trip the circuit breaker again, and did so. Nothing. Then I was told to go down to the garage and do the same again on my apartment's circuit breaker. I dutifully did so. Still nothing.

They said they were sending someone over to investigate, but he was coming from Jersey City and it would take about half an hour. In the meantime, I should call the electricity company to see if they could figure out what the problem was, and what the mysterious panel was. I did as I was told, spoke to someone clueless, who told me to call an electrician "Erm, I don't think it has anything to do with electricity," I informed her. "Yes, I know. That's why you should call an electrician," came the reply. I gave up, hung up, and decided to wait for the guy from the management office.

About 20 minutes later, after a pointless phone call to Nev--an engineer who informed me that he couldn't diagnose a problem from just a buzzing noise--several confused looks from an annoyed Weds, and a splitting headache in the making, I heard a knock on the door. Wondering why he hadn't buzzed the doorbell, I opened the door. He looked at me, looked at the doorbell, looked back at me, pressed the doorbell, and asked "Is this it?" The buzzing noise stopped instantly. Blessed peace.

He started laughing, while I grinned sheepishly, and apologized profusely. A phone call to the management office and more apologies later, the repair man left. And I kicked myself. Why didn't I think of it? The freakin' doorbell of all things. Figures!

Temporary bliss

On Saturday, I decided I was going to clean. My apartment was sufficiently covered in cat hair, my sink was sufficiently full of dirty dishes, and my pile of laundry was sufficienty daunting. So, after much hemming and hawing, I decided to finally whip out the hand vac and broom, the cleaning fluid, my pile of laundry quarters, and get to work.

The good thing though, is that once I get started, I go all out. So it was that, three hours later, I had vacuumed, swept, and scrubbed till every corner of my apartment was clean and shiny, and my laundry was spinning contentedly in the dryer.

I showered, made some spicy chai, helped myself to some frozen Fig Newtons, lit an apple cinnamon candle and the scented oil burner, and sat down to enjoy my newly (albeit temporarily) sparkling home. I popped in a "Law and Order: SVU" DVD (not exactly fitting with the whole bliss theme, but it happened to be next on my Netflix list) and sat down to enjoy the lack of mess. Weds clambered onto a cushion on the other couch, settled himself comfortably, and looked just as ready to do the same.

And enjoy we did--until my first sneeze. Followed by another. And another. Now, believe it or not, I STILL DON'T HAVE HEAT!! As I had been moving around earlier, my body had been sufficiently warm. But, as soon as I sat down, the cold hit. And so it was that at the end of a few hours, I was reduced to a sneezing, sniffling mess, surrounded by tissues and shivering like a leaf under my blanket. I was sure that a good night's sleep would do the trick.

But I woke up yesterday, still freezing, still sneezing and sniffling. And even Weds couldn't hold back a sneeze--and a mighty one at that, for such a wee nose.

I think a lawsuit may be in the making if my heat isn't turned on in the next couple of days.

A blissful Weds

12 days of "holidays?"

Wowie. . . lots of posts today. Here's a column from BusinessWeek magazine in favour of putting the word "Christmas" back into our celebrations this year--albeit from a business perspective. I did see a piece on the news recently that more stores/businesses were greeting customers with "Merry Christmas" again this year.

An Unreasonable Fear of Christmas
Our columnist thinks if advertisers want the huge spike in sales that Christmas provides, they should acknowledge the holiday itself
by Steve McKee

I miss Christmas.

The other night I saw a TV commercial for Lowe's (LOW) that was built on a cute premise. A clumsy young guy approached a female warehouse employee and blurted out, "Would you be my wife?" Startled, the clerk hesitantly began walking the man through the store until she realized that all he wanted was a woman's opinion about the gift he was thinking about buying for the love of his life.

But here's where the spot went south: As the young man role-played with the clerk, turning around and presenting the gift (presumably on Christmas morning), he looked at her and exclaimed, "Happy Holidays!"

Happy holidays? Is that really what a husband would say to his wife? By trying to cover all the bases, the spot ended up feeling forced. It was a departure from reality and a prime example of the unreasonable fear advertisers have these days of saying the word "Christmas."

Where's the Emotion?
It used to be that people wrung their hands about the over-commercialization of Christmas. These days we have almost the opposite problem—Christmas is disappearing entirely. Advertisers still want the huge spike in sales that Christmas provides but they're afraid to acknowledge the holiday itself.

It's almost funny to watch them trip over themselves trying to find politically correct substitutions as they avoid saying the dreaded "C" word. But "happy holidays" and "season's greetings" only go so far. They sound hollow and synthetic, and that kind of approach is no way to build a connection with your target audience.

It seems companies have become so afraid of offending some mythical person out there that they're unwilling to express their true sentiments. After 20 years in the advertising business there's one thing I've learned: Every ad is offensive to someone. Still, I find it a stretch to think that wishing your customers a "Merry Christmas" is going to set somebody off. And if it does, well, there's a word for them: Scrooge.

Don't Lump Them
Ah, you say, but Christmas is a religious holiday—what about people from other faiths? It's true that to millions of people Christmas is the most religious holiday of the year, but to millions of others it's all about Santa Claus and reindeer and stockings hung by the chimney with care.

As the song says, it truly is the most wonderful time of the year, even for many who don't celebrate it as a religious holiday. And there's no reason why the recognition of one holiday precludes the celebration of others. Lumping them together only makes each less special.

Remember A Charlie Brown Christmas? Of course you do, because it's perhaps the most popular Christmas television program of all time. For 41 years this charming (and overtly religious) special has been delighting children of all ages, and it has lost none of its appeal. Why? Because people love Christmas.

The Coca-Cola Claus
And just think of all the warm advertising traditions associated with Christmas, from the Budweiser (BUD) Clydesdales to the Norelco Santa. In fact, not so long ago Norelco (PHG) used to call itself "Noelco" during the holidays, using the tagline "Even our name says Merry Christmas."

Seventy-five years ago Coca-Cola (KO) invented the modern image of Santa Claus, a fact of which—to their credit—they still proudly boast. But even Coke has gotten cold feet; they're featuring Santa on their packaging this year but still won't call it a "Christmas Can" (despite the nice alliteration). Instead, they printed "Holiday Can" at the top. Ugh.

By all means don't be insincere. If you don't want people to have a merry Christmas, don't say so. But if you do, don't be afraid to let your advertising spread a little Christmas cheer. Otherwise, before long we'll all be reduced to humming holiday carols as we open our holiday cards and put holiday presents under our holiday trees. Not to mention dreaming of a white holiday.

To that I say humbug. Merry Christmas!

McKee is president of McKee Wallwork Cleveland Advertising, an ad agency specializing in working with fast-growth companies and businesses whose ad budgets are under $10 million.

Strange Bibles

Here's an interesting story that ran in The Wall Street Journal on Dec. 6 that kind of tickled me. Some food for thought too, I guess.


Heavens, Bibles Are Really Booming
By JOANNE KAUFMAN
December 6, 2006; Page D12

Several weeks ago, Christian book publisher Thomas Nelson Inc. received a curious submission, "sort of an alarmist Bible," recalled Wayne Hastings, a senior vice president of the Nashville, Tenn.-based company. "A lot of it had to do with what recently went on in Israel and Lebanon."

The offering featured headlines that had been snipped from the front pages of USA Today, then pasted below select New Testament verses. Also included was some newspaper boldface about the collapse of the Jessica Simpson-Nick Lachey marriage accompanied by relevant text from Scripture, presumably not Genesis' 2:24 dictum: "a man shall leave his father and his mother and shall cleave unto his wife."


Thomas Nelson, which produces 150 different editions of the Bible each year, arguably more than any other publisher in the world, "gets all sorts of interesting proposals," said Mr. Hastings. Some, like the alarmist Bible and a submission featuring 20 iterations of Scripture woven together -- "It was confusing and overwhelming," he said -- got a thanks but no thanks. The idea of tucking the New Testament between the boldly colored covers of what looked like a teen fashion magazine as a way of appealing to adolescents -- Corinthians and Colossians for the Cosmo girl -- and the notion of a water-resistant Bible, inspired by a leaf of paper sent to Thomas Nelson by a vendor -- well, folks, start the presses.

Always a dependable seller, the Bible is in the midst of a boom. Christian bookstores had a 25% increase in sales of Scriptures from 2003 to 2005, according to statistics gathered by the Phoenix, Ariz.-based Evangelical Christian Publishers Association, a trade group. General-interest bookstores, while declining to give figures, have also seen increasingly strong sales. "Bibles are a growth area for us and we're giving them more space in our stores," said Jane Love, religion buyer for Barnes & Noble. "It's partly because of the way they've evolved over the last three or four years."

Indeed, publishers like Thomas Nelson; Grand Rapids, Mich.-based Zondervan; and Tyndale House in Carol Stream, Ill. -- which together represent an estimated 80% of the Bible market -- have gone far beyond offering the Scriptures between black, burgundy, navy or white covers.

"For a long time the Bible was just the Bible," noted Kevin O'Brien, director of Bibles at Tyndale House. "You put it out there and people bought it. They didn't ask about the options, because there weren't any options. But now, especially in evangelical circles, people are seeing their lives not just in color but high-definition color, and they want the Bible to fit in with that. This is not your mother's Bible."

Thus, following the gospel of Seventh Avenue, publishers are displaying their wares in the season's hot colors. "This year alone I've seen four shades of purple," said Ms. Love, whose stores have also done well with two-tone Bibles. The pink and brown model has been particularly popular. Bibles are also available in the colors of your college, with a fur cover, a flower-patterned cover, and to appeal to young adherents, with a camouflage cover, a metal cover and a duct-tape cover. Next spring Tyndale House will be bringing out a paperback Bible in a plastic case that looks like a flattened Nalgene bottle.

But Bibles are becoming as much personal statements as fashion statements. "What people are saying is 'I want to find a Bible that is really me," noted Rodney Hatfield, a vice president of marketing at Thomas Nelson. "It's no different than with anything else in our culture."

Responding to such desires, publishers offer compact Old and New Testaments like Thomas Nelson's so-called checkbook Bible and Zondervan's Bible in a Bag, as well as myriad themed Bibles, among them archaeology, leadership and sports. "Sometimes what you have to work with seems quite inadequate," begins one section of the basketball edition. "Consider the plight of Rollie Massimino, the coach of the Villanova Wildcats...Villanova was ranked, well nowhere...Several thousand years earlier there was another underdog group that didn't have much to work with. They were called the Israelites."

There are PDA Bibles; audio versions like James Earl Jones reading the New Testament and Zondervan's just released "Bible Experience" with the voices of such African-American stars as Angela Bassett, Denzel Washington and Cuba Gooding Jr. Coming soon from Thomas Nelson: Johnny Cash reading the New Testament. There are Bibles aimed at children and teens, Bibles aimed at women. There's that water-resistant version of the New Testament -- "Immerse," from Thomas Nelson -- for camping trips, days at the beach, and perhaps baptisms. "We had a customer test it by keeping it in a bucket overnight and it was fine," said Mr. Hastings. Prices range from $1 to almost $200 for a 2,400-page study Bible hand bound in calfskin.

Fortunately for Bible publishers, consumers seem to think that if one copy of the Good Book is good, two or more are even better. "Forty percent of my customers own three to 10 Bibles," said Mr. Hastings. "It's sort of like me and golf. I have Tiger Woods's book and Ernie Els's book. I want all those different approaches to how to play golf. It's the same with Bibles."

The expansion of outlets -- Wal-Mart, Costco, Sam's Club -- partly explains the uptick in Bible sales, believes Paul Caminiti, a vice president at Zondervan. "Our company has seen a 20% growth in the last 10 years because of that," he said. The large array of translations has also played a role, according to Mark Kuyper, president and CEO of the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association. "It means there's more opportunity for them to appeal to groups with different theological perspectives," he said.

In some instances, spiritual leaders are embracing myriad translations and their flocks are following suit. "You go back 20 years and the pastor would stand in the pulpit and say 'you need to have this Bible, this translation. Go to the store and buy it,'" said Thomas Nelson's Mr. Hatfield. "But now pastors are reaching out and grabbing the translation that best suits their point for a particular sermon."

The parlous times are also a big motivator for people to open their wallets. "Part of what we see," said Mr. Kuyper, "is that when there is incredible unrest people are asking themselves existential questions and they're drawn to search Scripture. We saw a huge jump in sales after 9/11. We're not in that environment today, but we're certainly in an unsettled environment."

However interested they are in broadening their customer base, publishers say there is a very distinct line between the sacred and the profane. And don't even get them started on the "Jesus Loves Porn Stars" Bible that was distributed this past summer at an erotica convention in Los Angeles. "We're not going to do anything that is overtly seductive," said Mr. Hastings. "And we are not going to get into centuries-old arguments about denominational preferences between Catholics and Protestants. We're not going to do something to stir the pot. We'd turn down anything offensive to either side, that was either heretical or controversial."

"The question is always how do we create Bibles that people will pick up and use but that will not be too gimmicky," said Tyndale House's Mr. O'Brien. "If you get too trendy you've turned the Bible into a widget."

Ms. Kaufman writes about the arts and culture for the Journal.
URL for this article:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB116536078510241660.html

Six months at The Mag

As of this past Tuesday, I've been at The Mag for six months. SIX MONTHS! These same six months last year seemed to drag on forever. Time indeed passes quickly when you're having fun. And fun it has been. When I've worked at huge companies and publications in the past, I've often felt lost and confused, more superfluous than anything else, like an unwanted pet that has to be taken care of, and that care given grudgingly.

When I started at The Mag, that was what I feared--no, was sure--would happen. The tight deadlines, the layoffs which had happened a few months earlier, and the fact that it's part of a huge corporation, all made me sure that I would be no more than a pain amidst the hustle and bustle of life here, and that busy editors would see me as more of a hindrance than help. And I fretted and worried.

But I've been proved so wrong. I've been taken seriously, given daily responsibilities, stories to work on, and encouraged to develop my own ideas, even outside of my assigned section. I've pitched stories to editors, who have painstakingly worked with me to develop and shape them into comprehensive stories. When my job offers were being rescinded, editors joined together to ensure that I had enough work to keep me on while I figured out my next move. When I've helped reporters on stories outside of my section, I've had more than one editor say, "If they don't give you a byline for that story, let me know, and I'll deal with it." I've felt depended on, useful, and anything but unwanted.

These have been a strange six months. But this job has been a haven, and I believe, in God's own way, the withdrawal of the other job offers was a good thing after all.

NOTE: I try to stay away from work-related entries, but since I am at my six-month point, thought I would be justified in making an exception.

Forgiveness

At church this Sunday, the worship leader sang this song by Hillsong United. I used to go to Hillsong church in London, so have a soft spot for all things Hillsong. But this song, in particular, struck a chord. I've been irked by my tendency to go on "sinning binges" and trying to find a balance between questioning the nature of my relationship with God, finding excuses for my actions, and wondering if I take my salvation through Christ for granted.

And even as I contemplated this, this song reminded me of God's unfailing love and His grace through Christ, and that, even if we don't, He does indeed forgive "seventy times seven."

All for love, a Father gave
For only love could make a way
All for love, the heavens cried
For love was crucified

Oh, how many times have I broken Your heart
But still You forgive if only I ask
And how many times have You heard me pray
Draw near to me

Everything I need is You
My beginning, my forever
Everything I need is You

Let me sing all for love
I will join the angel song
Ever holy is the Lord
King of glory, King of all

Oh, how many times have I broken Your heart
But still You forgive if only I ask
And how many times have You heard me pray
Draw near to me

Everything I need is You My beginning, my forever
Everything I need is You

All for love a Savior prayed
Abba Father, have Your way
Though they know not what they do
Let the cross draw man to You, to You, to You

Writer's block, and a bad novel

Lack of motivation, writer's block and brainfreeze brought on by the sudden onslaught of winter are deadly in combination. Particularly when you write for a living, and have a huge story--which you've been (supposedly) working on for the past 1.5 months--to start, er, I mean, finish.

All I want to do is curl up in bed and read a novel--no, not the one I've been reading for the past three months, and refuse to give up on because I want to start my book review blog (yes, yes it's still on its way) reviewing what might be the most unsuspenseful suspense novel ever written. And I hardly ever read novels, except as treats. I know, I know. I couldn't write one to save my life. But then, I don't claim to be a writer of suspense novels, do I? I'm just a deadly dull journo with writer's block.

But I may, in the spirit of Christmas, extend some grace to the author, and be a little less mean when I review it. If I finish it before Christmas, that is. And if I actually review it. Or I might extend him some more grace, and stop reading it altogether. I'm sure he'd be hugely relieved.

Big foot problems

Note to self: Do not buy shoes smaller than your abnormally gigantic feet--even if they are only half a size. Especially if they are the high-heeled, pointy-toed ones. Because, that would mean not only limping around the office, drawing curious stares, but also sitting in your apartment in your PJs, wearing two pairs of thick workout socks, with your feet stuffed into your too-small shoes, fruitlessly attempting to stretch them.

Just accept that you have big feet. That would solve a lot of problems.