Lost and Found

Have you ever fallen in love so hard that you can't even describe the person? It's so sudden and unexpected that the moment is incomprehensible to anyone but you and the person? You can't even intelligibly recreate even the slightest detail about the initial encounter?

I was that way with a sandwich. I fell in love with a sandwich, and although our days are over, a month has passed, the sandwich is gone, I can't stop thinking about it.

The following are the details that I can recall. I came across the sandwich in downtown Seattle. It was a chance meeting. I was expecting prosciutto. The sandwich was beef brisket. There was a line outside the door; it was lunchtime. Apparently the locals knew that this tiny counter served out generous, sloppy portions of decadent love - and lust - on wax paper. Or did they come in red plastic baskets? I am so struck that I can't even remember.

All I know is that I miss that sandwich. I think about it every day. And I don't want anyone else to have it. I want to keep it for myself. Tomorrow will be our one-month anniversary.

Three Thoughts for You.

1. I don't mind working on Saturdays because the office is empty and I get to listen to my NPR programs: Car Talk, Whaddya Know?, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me and This American Life uninterrupted.

2. I now own a brand new* washer and dryer. I bought said appliances from my company's lawyer for $100. Owning a washer and dryer is, without a doubt, the best thing that's ever happened to me. Except for the time I got those travel vouchers from Northwest Airlines, maybe. And when Tim Friedman of The Whitlams talked to me (and Lainie) at Rancho Relaxo in Toronto, Canada.

* They'd been used for a month.

3. I tried to trick the pharmacy into filling expired prescriptions two times this week, and they didn't fall for my tomfoolery. Where are the dumb people in the pharmaceutical industry working? They have to be out there.

I just had one of our chefs pose with broccoli.

I feel powerful.

A Better Ohio

As I was driving up 315 today, I noticed the trees are starting to change. I believe that I have one of the most beautiful drives in Columbus, during the autumn months. Enveloping the highway, our deciduous little treasures flaunt their colors and hide housing developments and shopping centers. It truly makes for a pleasant drive, even for something as mechanic as going to work in th morning.

But something's missing. Yes, to the left and to the right, you have extraordinary acts of nature. But forward, in the distance, what is there? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I decided this morning that Ohio needs a mountain. If we put it somewhere between Columbus and Cleveland, both cities can look on admiringly. There would be a greater sense of unity in the state. If Cleveland started to get all superior on Columbus because they have public transit or tourist destinations, and Columbus retorted with a slippery slope argument about which city hosts the better football team, we would probably stop our disagreement by simply looking at our fabulous mountain.

I truly think that the Ohio economy would be better if we had a mountain. Mountains attract snowboarders. Snowboarders attract sponsorships and contests. Contests bring in valuable tourism dollars. We could even have sponsors for the mountain. If Coke paid enough money, we could name the mountain after their newest soft drink experiment. And we'd give an equal chance to Pepsi. Don't get me wrong, I'm not biased or anything. I just happen to think that Coke better represents our state, the Birthplace of Flight.

Now I'm sure you're wondering how we're going to get a mountain in Ohio. They don't grow on trees, you might say. Well, it could take millions of years for a mountain to form in Central Ohio. We are, I remind you, on a major fault line. But I don't want to have to wait that long. Besides, if we leave it to nature, it might end up somewhere between Akron and Canton. Or even in West Virginia. And I think we can all agree that they have enough mountains of their own, that they don't need to be stealing ours.

The answer is simple. We build a mountain. This will bring more work to our state, in the least. And the end result will be something we will all be able to enjoy.

So please join me in my fundraising campaign for a better Ohio. An Ohio with a mountain.

People Rage

I was at a hostel in the Redwoods with Maya in August. We were at the halfway mark on our trip up the West Coast. I found the guy running the hostel very annoying. There was something about his voice, the syncopation of his speaking, his posture, his not-quite-there beard that just made my toes curl. We listened to his advice on hiking the Redwoods -- "There's this road that I recommend to people in wheelchairs. You guys should drive that route. It's very pretty" -- and we got the hell out of there. That's when Maya said it. "Jill, you have People Rage."

I'd never thought about it before. But when you spend every moment with someone for two weeks, they might pick up on some traits that wouldn't normally come out, say, at happy hour or hanging out in a park.

So. From time to time, I have people rage. Today, I'm going to list off characteristics might make me go buy a pack of cigarettes and puff away for half an hour.

1. People who have an unhealthy love affair with their air conditioning. For example, it's cold outside. But it's also cold inside. Because someone in the office thinks that air conditioning should be on until you have to shovel your sidewalks.

2. People who drive S.U.V.'s and feel that you're going too slow, even if you're driving a nice 10 miles over the speed limit.

3. Ignorant cashiers. So you're at a store and the girl asks you if you want a bag, while putting your stuff in a bag. "No, that's alright. I'll just carry it," you say. And then the girl shrugs, pulls your items out of the bag, and throws it away.

4. People who continue to spread the fallacies that the French are smelly and hate us, that all Mormons have multiple wives and that FOX is news.

5. People who make you look at pictures of their children/grandchildren and force you to say that said child is adorable.

If you fall under one of the aforementioned categories, I wouldn't be too worried. Though I am occasionally guilty of People Rage, the penultimate result is usually painless.

Cover For Me

My boss called us in for a meeting today. He had a newspaper article cut out and highlighted. Usually this is cause for worry. "Now Jill," he'd say, "I saw this article about a clown that entertains children and looks like a pedophile. I think that we should book him for the Bunny Romp." (http://www.markwoodfunshow.com/)

Today the article was about aging. "It says here that the frontal lobe starts to give out when you get older, that you start to lose your sense of humor and problem-solving skills..." Silence. We had no idea where this was going, but hearing him say "frontal lobe" was kind of funny. Jason and I giggled.

"Now, I'm getting up there in age, you'll find it hard to believe," he continues. Jim is 75-ish. But he watches David Letterman and has girlfriends that are in their 40's. We call him The Pimp.

"When I start to go, I need you all to cover for me."

You may ask why I live in Ohio and work for a grocery store. This is why.

Meeting adjourned.

My foray into photojournalism was during the Republican Primaries in '96. I had spent many of my days as a photographer on the school paper taking pictures of the swim team, the women's chorus and rehearsals for "Oklahoma." An alumnus of good ol' HHS offered access to a fundraising rally for Bob Dole. I was to attend, along with Jim Mayr, and capture the spirit of the Republican party with my little point and shoot.

Dressed in a red blazer and a black and white checked skirt, I made my way to the event. (It is important to know that when you're a junior in high school and you're flat-chested, your mother's red blazer isn't all that attractive on you.) Jim and I wandered to the front, to the press area. Balloons, streamers and cocktails were everywhere. NBC, Fox, CBS - all the networks were there. I was in awe. I had never seen so many martinis in my life.

Before Dole started his speech, one of his aides pulled Jim and I aside. We were the youth of America. We were dumb. "When Mr. Dole starts speaking, I want you guys to walk on stage behind him and smile. When we show you the sign, you're all going to say 'Dole cares about education!*' Got that, kids?" We got coralled into a waiting area. I had come to take a picture of some politician wannabe. I would leave a star.

On stage, I had a dilemna. For one, we weren't allowed to take photos while on stage. For two, if I dared do it, about seventeen news cameras were staring right at me. For three, my camera wouldn't load. I stood behind another kid, frantically trying to shove the film into my $150 camera, without letting on to ABC what I was doing. The struggle ended when Bob Dole's speech ended. I forgot to say "Dole cares about education!*" with cheerful enthusiasm. I had more important things to worry about. He was coming to shake our hands. I shoved the camera into the inside pocket of my mom's blazer just in time to shake his...left hand. Bob Dole was a war veteran and didn't have use of his right hand.

As I shook his hand, I felt a special connection with the dude. Sure, he had used me. But we had something in common. He was a politician with a hand that didn't work; I was a photojournalist with a camera that didn't work. We ended up both failing at our goals, but it's not that bad.

He has television commercials. I have writing.

*Maybe we had to say "Dole for President." I'm not sure.

Last night was Girls' Night Out in Columbus, Ohio. We ate, we drank, we danced, we talked about bridesmaid dresses. I wish it would have been more shocking when I looked at all my friends and realized that the majority of them are well on their way to marriage. But it's not. That seems to be the trend these days. Meet someone. Fall in love. Register at Target. Get married.

In other news, Built to Spill is playing tomorrow night. I've yet to buy my tickets. People can be separated into two categories, concerning this band: those who have never heard of them, and those who are going to the show. For the most part, the former catergory consists of my co-workers. Tomorrow evening's show will be a reunion, for sure. A back-to-school for music lovers. "What did *you* do this summer? I didn't see you at Ben Harper." Etc.

As for the bridesmaid dresses, I'm voting for periwinkle.

I saw a commercial last night for my planters physitis (sp?) medicine, Vioxx, during *West Wing*. A friend once called *West Wing* "A Liberal's Wet Dream." He was right. I just love that show. I always end up getting choked up; I sometimes even cry. There I am, sitting on my old lady chair, hugging a pillow and quietly weeping, while telling my cat to get the fuck away from me because he makes my eyes swell up.

At any rate, all the people in the Vioxx commercial were men. Old men. And they were catching clams near the ocean. I'm thinking it was the East Coast, because they don't really let you near the water on the West Coast. The whole commercial was very *Dawson's Creek*. It made me want to order some clothes from L.L. Bean or J. Crew. Because of the placement of the commercial, I'm assuming that old liberal men watch *West Wing* and take Vioxx.

I watch *West Wing* and take Vioxx.

I'm an old man.

But the show is good, and Vioxx sure does work.

Today, in an effort live healthily, I'm drinking a beverage called "Fuze." For only $1.39, you too can drink something with guanabana, agave, selenium and vitamins in it. Of course, I have no idea what most of the aforementioned things are. Nor do I know the ingredients boasted on the bottle of my fancy Aveda shampoo. But the packaging is attractive and has those "earthy" colors. So therefore, I believe that what I'm putting in and/or on my body is good for me and the earth.

And that makes me feel good.

So I've been thinking. Knowing that these marketing gimmicks work, couldn't I utilize them for causes that are *actually* good? Imagine tomatoes from family farms packaged in a cardboard-colored box with sliced tomatoes scanned in and grey-scaled in the background and a nice serif font in green or brown that said "Wilson Family Farms. Bringing the natural back to nature." Or something like that. You'd buy it, wouldn't you. Even if you were paying $20 for three tomatoes.

I know I would. And those tomatoes would be dinner for a week.

This is a fabulous day in the history of this blog. With the help of the Columbus Bar Association (in that it provides little to no work for Sarah), people can now comment.

I went to see *American Splendor* last night, perhaps the best movie with "American" in the title to have graced cinemas in the last two years. It holds a special place in my heart, as it's set in Cleveland. It accurately depicted the city as Someplace No One Would Ever Want To Go To. I'm going to petition Cleveland's Board of Travel and Tourism to adopt the movie as one of its marketing tools.

So. Outside the theater, there were pins that read, "Genuine Nerd", a reference made in the film. Sarah and I promptly put them on, grabbed our $5.50 cokes and found some seats. Lost in the fabulous world of documentary, we forgot we were wearing the pins.

After the movie let out, I drove over to my neighborhood Speedway to buy a pack of cigarettes. I needed to displace my depression over the J-Lo and Ben breakup, and a Camel Light seemed like the right answer. As I signed the credit card slip, I looked down and saw the pin. I was in public, outside of a movie theater, wearing a "Genuine Nerd" pin. It was too late to take it off. So I touched it, thanked the gas station attendant, and walked to my car.

I smoked two cigarettes and gave the pack to a co-worker this morning. She is visably upset about the breakup and clearly needs them more than I do.

Instead of smoking today, I bought Twizzlers, a Crunch Bar and a Heath Bar. As I checked out, the cashier looked at me and said, "Are you starting your period?" I asked, "Do you ask *all* of your customers that?"

What I wanted to say is "You wouldn't know what a period is, bitch. You're always pregnant."

And "the Heath Bar is for my co-worker."

I helped contribute to the Ohio economy yesterday by only spending money on things that came with the new service tax. My car is happy with $50 worth of antifreeze, oil and air filters. My hands and feet are happy with $50 worth of clipping, cutting and painting. And now my soul is happy knowing that I contributed to education reform. Or healthcare reform. Or good ol' fashioned road fixing. I should be named Ohio Citizen of the Month.