Livingston, I Presume

Halloween (NaBloPoMo Post 1)

Although I've been tempted before, I've never actually taken the National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo) challenge. This year, that all changes:

So that means I'll be doing my level best to get in here every day in November, even when I'd rather be watching cheesy TV, to spout off about all thing Livingstonian. This morning I can direct you to Lynn Weaver's unparalleled LIvingston 365 site, where the talented Ms. W. has been taking and posting a different photo of Livingston every day this year. For Halloween, she captured the unbelievable Halloween costume of Chad Petrulis, owner of Chadz coffee house downtown. For all of you out there who think you had an elaborate or creative costume, well, you might have, but you didn't beat Chad.

My costume? Well, I continued my streak by going as a slightly harried, 30-something mother of two. It's scary because it's so realistic.

Honestly, I admire the people who go all-out for Halloween, but I'm just not into it--for myself. (I love dressing my kids up and decorating the house!) Maybe it's because costuming my body is not the easiest thing, or because I resent the tenor of some costumes but I think much of it has to do with my fuddy-duddy feeling that Halloween is for kids.

I'm the grown-up grousing because there is a gaggle of 16-year-old barely costumed boys on my porch shaking me down for candy. I'll smile like crazy and act scared for the tiny vampires and Buzz Lightyears and even the slightly older kids, but once they hit 13 or 14, they're cut off (in my head--I mean, I always give them the damn candy). Older than that and they're likely to be tempted to grab my son's jack o'lantern and smash it on the sidewalk or throw eggs at our cars or do other not-funny-at-all "tricks." I'm not quite sure when I became the crazy old lady yelling at "those damn kids!" but there you go. It's all part of my very convincing costume.

Happy Halloween and happier November, everyone! Here's a bonus shot of my kids, who went as a ninja and a devil. Appropriate somehow:

The cat came back

Apparently I should always send Chip to the vet—with the cat, I mean, not for his own medical care.

I say this because when he came home from the cat’s annual checkup, Chip was blissfully free of the guilt—and accessories—that usually accompany me back to the house from the vet’s office. Although I think we take fine care of our cat—an indoor cat, she gets quality pet food, yearly well-cat visits, and plenty of exercise running away from the newly mobile toddler in the house—there just seems to be a higher standard than there used to be for what constitutes good pet ownership.

Let’s start with the cat teeth brushing. I’m going to admit up front that there is about as much chance of my brushing the cat’s teeth as there is of the cat deciding to yack her hairball on the laminate upstairs instead of the carpet downstairs. That is to say that it could happen, but it probably won’t.

I have two children, both of whom require my care in many things, not the least of which is attention to their dental hygiene. At 15 months, Emerson has more tiny, sharp chompers than my son did when he was twice her age, and, as ZZ Top would say, she knows how to use them. Brushing her teeth with one of those handy-dandy fingertip toothbrushes would be about as smart as curling up for a nap in a bear enclosure, and even the toddler-friendly brushes require some serious wrangling. Connery, at almost 6, is much more cooperative these days, but I still can’t just hand him the tools and walk away.

Since they are my children, I will fight with them and force them to take care of their teeth. But by the time it’s the cat’s turn for Battle Fang, I just don’t have the stamina. And yet, each year at the vet’s office I dutifully take (and pay for!) the kitty toothbrush and salmon-flavored toothpaste. Then they both sit in a junk drawer, waiting for me to have the inclination to risk life and limb to stick my finger in a mouth best suited for ripping apart flesh.

I have also often been sent home with probiotics and vitamins and other supplements that are supposed to be necessary for my cat’s wellbeing. And, you know, if Sotek would sit docilely and lap up these formulations, that would be one thing. But administering anything more complicated than kibble to a cat generally involves two adults, an oversized beach towel and possibly a trip to the emergency room. I just can’t justify the expense and danger.

I guess I feel a little resentful about these new, higher standards of responsible pet care. My parents never had to brush our pets’ collective teeth or supplement their diet with designer nutri-ceuticals. (And I should mention that those cats lived to 21 and 22!) Our pets were valued members of the household, but they weren’t getting oral surgery if we didn’t have the means to get yearly cleanings. That used to be accepted. Now, there seems to be an expectation that if a treatment is available, it’s not really optional. If you really loved your pet—the new standard goes—you would find the money and the time, no matter how much money or time is involved.

Luckily, Chip seemed untroubled by the pressure. He returned home with no One-A-Day For Cats, no Feline WaterPik, no Kitty Kaviar—just a healthy, middle-aged cat anxious to get out of the travel carrier and back into the basement. I presume I’ll be finding the hairball with my bare feet any time now.

(Adapted from a column in today's Business to Business.)

Make someone happy

I'm never going to please everyone with my rants on the state of the world, but I can recommend some light reading that might brighten your day a little, particularly if you are a parent. Looky Daddy is holding Contest the Fourth for creative parental songwriting:

The rules are simple. Take a well-known children's song, a tune we all recognize, and devise your own lyrics.

Here's a concise ditty from The Dad to give you an example:

Potty Training at My House (Row, Row, Row Your Boat)

Sit, sit, sit for hours
Sit and pout and slouch
Then jump up and run top speed
To poop behind the couch

Apparently he has been time traveling to my house circa September 2006.

Entries are in the comments, and there are some very funny offerings. I even threw my (rashy) hat in the ring.

Enjoy!

Everyday ethics

Back when I was working for TOL in Prague, we did a lot of online training of young journalists in countries like Kyrgyzstan and Moldova. It was rewarding and educational for me as well, since I (stupidly) did not take advantage of UM's wonderful School of Journalism during my years in Missoula. Ironically, I ended up meeting and becoming friends with the former dean of the J-School at UM in Prague, further compounding my regret over the missed opportunity. Oh well.

What makes me think of all of this is a situation involving journalistic ethics that has come up over the past couple of days. I don't want to go into specifics, and I don't think I've actually done anything wrong, but it reminds me that there are areas of journalism and, less specifically, freelance writing as a profession, that are still a mystery to me, even after years of staff experience as a publication editor (and as a sometimes journalism trainer, no less!) and nearing two years of modestly successful self-employment as a writer.

I try to call on the lessons I learned in the sort of bootcamp journalism practiced at TOL, but let's face it, the ethics are not really comparable. Want to know how to handle the request of a writer for anonymity in Turkmenistan due to legitimate fears of persecution? Worried about the best way to transliterate from Cyrillic to avoid expressing a political opinion about the nature of Ukraine? I can help you with that. But once I get down to the more mundane and practical, I'm adrift. What about working for someone you've written about in the past and are likely to write about again in the future? Can I do that and still be "ethical"? What about finding  corporate clients among businesses I've covered journalistically? Is that kosher?  I'm sure there must be a big message board somewhere I could discuss this with other freelancers, but I haven't found a good, active one yet. In the meantime, I often feel like I'm just muddling along, hoping that any mistakes I make won't be big ones.

Oh, alma mater? If you held some summer workshops on Journalism for Default Practitioners of Journalism, I would be the first to sign up. Think about it.

Awwww, the Nigerian Scam is all grown up!

Waiting in my email inbox this morning was this intriguing offer:

Dear Friend,

I am Prince Fayad Musa H. Bolkiah, the eldest son of Prince Jefri Bolkiah, former Finance Minister of Brunei, the tiny oil-rich sultanate on the Gulf Island of Borneo.

I will save your time by not amplifying my extended royal family history, which has already been disseminated by the international media during the controversial dispute that erupted between my father and his stepbrother, the sultan of Brunei Sheik Muda Hassanal Bolkiah. As you may know from the international media, the sultan had accused my father of financial mismanagement and impropriety of US$14.8 billion dollars.

This was as a result of the Asian financial crisis that made my fathers company Amedeo Development Company and government owned Brunei Investment Company to be declared bankrupt during his tenure in office. However my father was kept under house arrest, his bank accounts and private properties including a crude oil export refinery were later confiscated by the sultanate. Furthermore during this unfortunate period, I was advised to evacuate my immediate family outside the sultanate to avoid further prosecution from the sultan and his security operatives, but before I could do that I was placed under house arrest after a little gun fight by the Sultans security men and I had no access to phone, but I have a laptop from which I am sending you this mail. Some of the guards here are still loyal to me.

Before my Incaseration, I went ahead to dispatch the sum of Four hundred and twenty Million United States Dollars (US$420,000,000.00) in cash with the assistance of a foreign diplomat who now resides in Europe.

The money has now been deposited as valuables into different private security and trust company for safe keeping abroad. The money was split and kept in the following countries in this proportion: US$50 Million is in London, US$160 Million is in china, US$40 Million is in Thailand, US $170 Million in Amsterdam, the Netherlands.

Please if you know you can assist in claiming and investing it in real estate/property to guarantee the future survival of my family, contact me fast so that I'll give you contact information of the security  company in Europe and other parts of the world where the funds are deposited. For your assistance i will compensate you with 25% of the total sum and another 5% shall be set aside to defray any expenses that may arise.

Please I count on your absolute confidentiality, transparency and trust while looking forward to your prompt response towards a swift conclusion of this business transaction through my email address as follows: [[email protected]]:

Thanks & May Allah's blessing remain with you.

I remain yours sincerely,

Prince Fayad Musa H. Bolkiah

I have to tell you that really, this is such an improvement over the Nigerian Scam emails of old! I remember receiving those first hesitant emails with their charming spelling mistakes and odd syntax so many years ago, and here we have a letter that dazzles with its nearly correct usage ["Incaseration" vs. incarceration might trip up a few Americans!] and telling details [I especially like the image of "a little gun fight by the Sultans security men"--almost Bryson-esque in its understatement]. This indicates to me that the Nigerian-type scammers are either enrolled in some serious English classes--like Defense Language Instutite good--or that they are now employing native or near-native English speakers to edit their prose.

So here's my offer to the prince: I'm sorry that I can't help you with your attempts to get your money. It's so hard to find a decent private bank around here, you see. I could, however, edit your future scam emails to help you reach the next level of competence. You're so very close now, but with an experienced native speaker at your side, you could hit the jackpot of scam letter composition. I am awaiting the favor of your prompt reply most anxiously.

Good mail day!

It was a snail-mail excitement extravaganza at our house today! The long-awaited April 18th issue of Woman's Day containing my first-ever story in a major U.S. publication arrived, and there was my story, right on the first page of the Kid's Day section. While I didn't get a mention in the table of contents, the story did! It is on newsstands now for anyone who wants to have a look (page 117!).

The other arrival was a little surprise from my friend Lanny, who has been working at Starbucks as a recruiter for a few months now. He mentioned a while ago that he might send us some coffee, and today in the mail was 16 beautiful ounces of whole-bean Espresso Roast, just for us! And such perfect timing, since Chip ran out of coffee this morning.

I can only think that good things will come from this happy mail convergence.