Ivan’s stress assessment theory proven during episode of insomnia

Between 2 and 4 am is a strange window of time when I've had just enough sleep to feel physically rested, but not enough to feel mentally reset. I've tried all sorts of techniques to go back to sleep. Many friends have recommended their tactics. I now just give in, and do the one thing physicians don't recommend; I grab my iPhone from under my pillow and start reading the headlines.

Today it was the Telegraph UK's slide show of the World's Weirdest Festivals. Alas, my poor husband is not immune to my insomnia and has to bare with me while I read to him some of the strangest, most idiotic stuff I've ever heard. It went something like this:


Amie: The Testicle Festival - Over 21’s only. Around 6,500 people are expected to attend the 27th annual Testicle Festival at Rock Creek Lodge in Montana. It's a strictly adults-only affair, as although the festivities revolve around the theme of eating bull’s testicles, or ‘Rocky Mountain Oysters', visitors should expect oil wrestling, wet t-shirt competitions and lots of public nudity; 'No Panty Wednesday' sees punters offered a free drink in exchange for their underwear.

BSJ: What a bunch of idiots. Who wants to be naked around people you wouldn't even talk to on a bus.

Amie: Noche de Rábanos (Night of the Radishes) - In the 16th century, after radishes were brought to the Americas, vegetable sellers used to make sculptures of radishes to advertise in the markets. Since 1897 the custom has been celebrated with an annual festival, with the best sculptors awarded cash prizes.

BSJ: Carved out of radishes? like in salads?

Amie: Räbechilbi Turnip Festival - Over twenty tonnes of carved turnips and fifty thousand candles are displayed in this Swiss festival celebrating the humble turnip. The event includes parades of illuminated houses and plenty of music and entertainment.

BSJ: more vegetables

Amie: Boryeong Mud Festival - First staged in 1998, the Boryeong Mud Festival now attracts more than a million visitors to the South Korean city. Said to be rich in minerals, the mud for the festival is trucked in to Daecheon Beach for tourists and locals to enjoy.

BSJ: snoring

Amie: The Baby Jumping Festival - First staged in 1620, this strange event celebrating Corpus Christi sees grown men dressed as the Devil leaping over a row of babies lying in the street.

BSJ: (yelling like someone just tore off one of his fingernails) That is bullshit. That isn't true. What the Fu-no way! (Amie shows picture). What if he trips? Do you know what a 150 pound guy could do to a baby? What a bunch of F*#king idiots. I'd rather eat sheep balls in Montana with a bunch of ugly naked asses.

****

This blog post helps illustrate Ivan's stress assessment tool for better life balance. You see, life can be very sensational. It's hard to determine when it's appropriate to freak out, or just be cool.


Ivan works in the IT support department for a small company. He sees way more unnecessary freaking out than the average person. He has witnessed me melt down the night before "the biggest day of my career." It was in a lifeless, San Francisco-based, hotel-board-room-turned-temporary-corporate-HQ. Hovering over my laptop like it was a sick baby, I said, with the most hideous, trying-to-be-calm tone, "it just won't turn on."

I was freaked. He was cool. He pushed a button. The computer turned on. I know what you're thinking: ID10T


Years later, I ask. What's the secret? Turns out he kinda had this epiphany one day. What's most important? Babies. If babies are being hurt, then do some freaking, otherwise, be cool.


So, anytime your cortisol levels start to rise, ask yourself: are any babies being hurt?


And now we know this works. Cause your cortisol levels really do rise if you're half asleep and hear wind of any tomfoolery festival that puts baby's lives at stake like a bunch of bowling pins waiting for a dumb ass to strike.

The view of the Arno is yours.

Dear readers (AKA Amie's small group of highly esteemed friends whom I wish I could hang out with all the time if I didn't have a damn mortgage).

If you haven't read the book, or seen the movie, "A Room With A View." Please do in May, 2009. Even if you have read, or seen this movie. Do it again. In May.

It's important. I can't explain why. It might have something to do with this line from the film:

I have a pet theory about Miss Honeychurch. Is it not odd that she should play Beethoven with such passion and live so quietly? I suspect that one day...
...music and life will mingle.

How do you like your eggs?

Eggs in a basket circa 1973.

















David Lynch style.
















Like they were made in Nigella's kitchen.

The TP Report on Tissue - part 2

If you've followed thus far, you'll recall the first TP Report on Tissue detailed how to prepare for your inevitable role as shoulder to cry on. In part two, and last of this series, we'll focus on the TP, the toilet paper.

After the incident in part 1, I left the office to check into the Omni Parker House Hotel in Boston. Tired and puffy-eyed, I knew my aura looked less-than-stellar when there was universal agreement among the check-in staff when I requested a room far, far away from the elevators.

"They make a lot of noise."
"Yes, Ms. Amie, we understand. That shouldn't be a problem."
"Thank you."
"You're so welcome. No problem. No problem at all. Our pleasure."

Then, I walked, and walked and walked down a long, Barton Fink-like corridor toward my room. Entered. Flicked on the light. Dumped my luggage.

"Man I gotta pee!" Flicked on the bathroom light and THIS:



Isn't it beautiful?

In my quandary of hopelessness that bordered on self-loathing, I was saved. By a roll of toilet paper wrapped in a lovely pink ribbon.

The takeaway?

Besides the odd, yet effective way this hotel made me feel like a million bucks. I realized that toilet paper wrapped in a beautiful pink ribbon was the solution what made me cry in part one. I'm in PR. I know how to go the extra mile. I know that sometimes it's not so much the message, it's how the message is delivered. I know this, and still let a project-gone-bad get the better of me, and my attitude.

Whether your starting a new job, or trying to hold onto the job you have while the economy tanks. Now is the time to pull out the stops when it comes to presentation. It is the only thing that differentiates you. It may be even be more important than the actual work. After all, I am talking about Toilet Paper here.

My resolution for 2009? "The Amie PR Campaign." Or, "Rolls and Rolls and lots-o-bows."

Feel good photo of the day

I just really like this picture. It's nice that sock monkeys can have friends too.

TP report on Tissue - part one

I'll have to deliver this concept via a series of posts. I want to (hopefully) convey the details without overwhelming you with details. Both incidences occurred in a matter of hours.

Here's a little bit of "detail Din" on tissue. I'll follow up on toilet paper (TP) Din in the next post. Strange series? Not really if you hear me out on why you should take a lesson from this segment of the TP report on tissue.

Last week. I had a bad chills of stupidity moment at work. Right when I thought I'd contained the awkward juju with no visible evidence of distress, a coworker asked if I was OK. Apparently, I'm not that good at masking stress. I'll spare you the details.

Unruffled, she opened her purse, pulled out a little packet of tissue, then distributed sheets and listened while I soaked them up one by one.

People often ask when speaking in public, "what do i do with my hands?" Great presenters pay attention to the details. It never occurred to me that the same is true when listening to someone blubber too. You will never avoid this experience in your life. So go buy a packet of pocket tissues for you and your friends this holiday season.

Think carrying tissue is awkward? I can hear it now:

"Guys don't carry tissues!" (This is probably why guys also have a reputation for being insensitive.)
"Tissues are for blue-haired grannies!"

Take a queue from the fashionably forward grrls and fellas who carry fabulous handbags, kewl urban backpacks, and streamlined messenger bags and accessorize with a packet of tissues to suite your style. This site has the gamut!


I might get a set this set to match my iPhone decal.












Go neutral. Get a Swiss pack!












Make someone laugh with these monkeys!

Notes from the Moleskine

I carry a notebook all the time. Usually it's a Moleskine. I like the back pocket for stuff.

I mainly use it to write down reminders, grocery lists, packing lists, ideas and random stuff I don't want to forget. Sometimes my friends are guest authors. That's always interesting. Some of my notebooks even have prize-winning poetry. I'll post one someday.

It takes approximately 3 months to fill a notebook, so when I read an old notebook, a significant amount of context goes missing. Sometimes I can't even distinguish my own handwriting. Nothing is dated, or attributed. It's a mess. I just found these random bits of Din from an old notebook. Could be from me, could be something I overheard, who knows?

Consistency can be your vice if you don't watch out.

Interesting. Kinda like another way of saying, "you're in a rut."

Ivan eats his bananas upside down

Ivan? Do you remember why I wrote this?

So, I said, "I'll have another." But that part of the story doesn't matter. What I want to say is, "there isn't enough love, and there is too much not giving."

Probably shouldn't have had another.

"What is it with the short people here, it's like bonsai bartender."

That looks like an "overheard in the bar" comment.

Sometimes its not that you made the RIGHT decision. It's that you MADE a decision.

That's not bad advice. I bet it's not mine.