The Softer Side of Miss Snark

Today I received a reply to yesterday's email to Miss Snark, the famous literary agent. It was my cleverly designed ploy - which failed by the way - to get into her blog by inquiring on the absence of George Clooney and the presence of one llama-looking creature on her sidebar.

Turns out the little brown creature is not a llama but a baby alpaca and he's on the sidebar because she thinks he's cute, so there, you heard it here first, there is a softer side to the divine stiletto-heeled, gin-slugging Miss Snark. And no, George Clooney has not been supplanted by a newborn alpaca.

12 Steps Please

I need a 12-Step program.

No really, one for the directionally impaired like me.

It started in my childhood where I could never read a compass in Girl Scouts. It worsened when I hit sixth grade and had to start changing classes. I kept losing my classrooms and was always late to class until I finally learned the routes.

Then God help me when I started driving. I'd have to repeat directions fifteen times to be sure I could remember them. It seemed so easy for other people- go east on First Avenue three blocks then north on Carter Street 1.5 miles, turn right onto Morgan, third house on the left. So simple an idiot could find it. Except me.

Evidently when God was handing out directional good sense, he forgot to put that tiny bit of magnetite in my head. Geese got it, turtles got it, my brothers got it but not me. As a result I'm chronically lost.

Mapquest is my best friend- I should buy some stock in it since I've used it enough that it probably goes "Oh no, not her again!" each time I sign in. If only I had a nickel for every visit, I'd be well on my way to a life of luxury.

All this getting lost business is why I'm so excited about the new GPS systems. Every time I turn around there's a new one being advertised. If I buy one I won't be getting lost anymore. But what would be the fun in that? No more scenic routes, adventures, or happy discoveries. I'm really attached to my directional style. Hmm, maybe I do need that 12-Step program after all.

Pleasant Author's Surprise!

Today I had a pleasant surprise as I checked my pathetic MySpace page for email. There was a new comment there from an Internet sort-of friend Simon Haynes, shown left.

Simon is an Australian author who writes the Hal Spacejock series of science fiction novels, amusing romps that are both selling well and well regarded in the fiction community.

He dropped me a line in response to a note I left on his blog about liking some marketing done for his latest book. He's sending me a copy of one of his books! I felt like I'd won the lotto with 4 picks or something. Hopefully it will be signed! Can't wait for the mail from Australia...

Now C'mon Guys

"Drawing Impairment Predicts COPD Mortality"

(Medscape- you must be a member to view the article there but anyone may join)

"An inability to "copy drawings with landmarks," a standard feature of neuropsychological tests, is associated with an increased risk of death in patients with severe COPD, according to a report in the December issue of Chest."

Now c'mon guys, let's get real. I thought this article was a practical joke when I saw the headline but it's deadly -sorry I couldn't help myself- serious.

I'm far from being dead but I cop to a severe inability to copy drawings with landmarks even on my best days at any age. Let me state it more strongly. If I were to channel Leonardo da Vinci I still wouldn't be able to draw anything with landmarks. I max out at stick figures on gallows, and even those look pretty crappy.

Put a drawing pencil in my hand and I freeze, reverting to four years old and that jumbo crayon. Figures of people have eyes on the side of their heads and noses in the vicinity of their left shoulders. Houses have that squiggle of smoke coming from a pointy roof and crosses in something sort of like a square for window panes. Doors are more like hobbit holes. And poor doggies or kitties look like cotton balls on toothpicks tapping their way through the scenery.

Draw? Not I. So does that make me ready to die? I don't think so. I think you need to tie your statistics to something called common sense instead of nonsense, then we'll talk about valid prognosticators of mortality.

The Diet Blues

As promised -or threatened- here are my thoughts on dieting, influenced by recent events in my life.

On December 20th I made my annual pilgrimage to Shands Hospital in Gainesville, Florida, to check on the status of my lungs. I have COPD, Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. It is a progressive disease, slowly (usually) worsening with time. I rely on experts like my doctors to tell me where I'm at as far as possibly needing a lung transplant.

This year although my numbers were worse than last year's, I still do not meet the criteria for transplant, thank goodness. But I got some bad news too. If I were to crash and burn number-wise through a sudden worsening of my lungs, I still would not qualify for transplant. The culprit? My weight.

Overweight is associated with poor prognosis for lung transplant, from the surgery itself to the long, physically demanding recovery afterwards. So I have to lose some thirty-plus pounds just to meet the minimum standard for my height. I have to meet this goal weight just in case I run into a problem down the road. I've seen two friends this year go from relatively fine one day to hospitalized and in one case dead in the period of a week. So I have to be proactive.

I foresee an extended period of carrot and celery sticks with a side of major lifestyle changes tossed in for good measure. So I turn to humor for inspiration, hence the poem. If you have any good ones, please send them my way! My grumbling stomach will appreciate it. Weight Watchers and South Beach, here I come!

Diet poem- not by me though. More on this topic later.

It Was the Diet After Christmas
- Author Unknown

T'was the day after Christmas, and all through the house

Nothing would fit me, not even a blouse.

The cookies I'd nibbled, the eggnog I'd taste
At the holiday parties had gone to my waist.

When I got on the scales there arose such a number!

When I walked to the store (less a walk than a lumber).

I'd remember the marvelous meals I'd prepared;
The gravies and sauces and beef nicely rared,

The wine and the rum balls, the bread and the cheese

And the way I'd never said, "No thank you, please."

As I dressed myself in my husband's old shirt

And prepared once again to do battle with dirt---

I said to myself, as I only can
"You can't spend a winter disguised as a man!"
So--away with the last of the sour cream dip,
Get rid of the fruit cake, every cracker and chip

Every last bit of food that I like must be banished
"Till all the additional ounces have vanished.
I won't have a cookie--not even a lick.
I'll want only to chew on a long celery stick.


I won't have hot biscuits, or corn bread, or pie,
I'll munch on a carrot and quietly cry.
I'm hungry, I'm lonesome, and life is a bore---
But isn't that what January is for?


Unable to giggle, no longer a riot.
Happy New Year to all and to all a good diet!

How I Survived the MLM Stalker

The MLM Stalker

Recently a MLM salesperson for Mannatech accosted me in a Kirkland's and then followed me to the mall parking lot, irresistably lured by my portable liquid oxygen machine swinging from my shoulder. I had a mental picture of their sales force following around people in wheelchairs, old folks with canes, anybody with a body part in a cast or with a conspicuous bandage, maybe lurking outside hospitals, doctor's offices and the local all-you-can-eat buffet diner.

With visions of an easy sell twinkling in her eyes, she praised their latest product as a panacea for everything from cancer to headaches, pointedly asking me what my particular health problem was - she'd never even heard of it by the way (COPD, Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease). There I am with the car window rolled down, trying to escape this person who is pressing two tapes into my hand. I'd previously been stupid enough, before she got deep into her spiel, to give her my email and phone number so now I was in some way obligated (I never figured out how) to continue this little scenario out to the bitter, inevitable end.

Before I know it she's at my house with a DVD and a CD. Dammit, now I'm trapped. I agree to watch them and do. I can't help but notice that the music plays continually and loudly in the background of the movie but there are a hell of a lot of edits in the testimonials covered by the music. Then there's the conundrum of famous doctors support this product but most doctors don't know anything about the science of the glyconutrition yet. Huh? Red flag number fifty goes up.

And when I try pulling up info on the "science of glyconutrition" I keep getting disguised ads for Mannatech and no information really on the "science" that's supposed to be involved.

I finally throw caution to the winds and toss "MLM" into Google and up comes QuackWatch. And guess who's listed there as a company to watch out for? You guessed it, baby. www.mlmwatch.org/04C/Mannatech/mannatech00.html

Lesson learned- don't trust MLM stalkers, and watch out for Google too! Now I have to worry about the stalker returning. At least I gave the materials back to her, but I could tell she was pissed off. May have to put a garlic wreath on the door to keep her away...