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Posts from the ‘Just Venting’ Category

Please Mr Postman

Do you like to get the old fashioned, luddite version of mail?

Fossil-fuel burning. Ink and paper. Lick and stick.

I confess to ardent worship of the antiquated practice of letter writing. It's one reason I send handwritten postcards to numerous children on every trip. Why I mailed over 100 letters in advance of the release of my novel. Why the proprietress of the local stationery shop turns cartwheels every time I darken the door.

Lately, though, I've been thinking about letter writing for another reason.

I'm sick of being online.

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Blinded By the White 2

It's happening again. I'm having that insidious, looping bad dream. I am blind. Instead of murky pitch, my vision is scrubbed of color. Tones recede until they become intelligible needles at the edges of my sight lines, twinkling a last gasp of varied hues before falling into blankness.

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Burning Down the Blouse

Speaking of nakedness.

I was at a spa. After kneading and sloughing and showering, I wanted to look uber-hot for MTM. I locked myself in the bathroom, and I did what I almost always fail to do at home. I used products. And a hair dryer. And yummy lotions.

All while the curling iron heated its phallic protuberance to a setting called 'hell-hot.'

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The Problem of Contemporary Architecture

Besides being Andra's Mate/Target/Muse, I am also an architect in Charleston, SC. That means I am often asked my opinions about various Charleston buildings, especially works of contemporary architecture.

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Don’t Call Me Maybe

This post is part of the series “A Change Would Do You Good.” Please click here to read the first installment, click here to read the second installment, and click here to read the third installment. Thank you for changing your schedule to include my blog.

DANCER POSE: If I could change one thing about present societal etiquette, it would be the use of the word maybe. I know. I know. I’ve ranted about it before, but that was three years ago.

Since then, I’ve been treated to articles in the NY Times, extolling the virtues of keeping things open-ended. Of giving everyone the opportunity to be fluid with their plans. Of being flexible with my guest list that may be ten people or may be thirty.

I’ve even thrown a couple of parties during that time.

Here’s what I know, and it’s something that won’t change, no matter how much life experience I acquire.

If someone thinks enough of your company to invite you to a party, let them know whether or not you will be there. I don’t give a damn how busy you think you are. I don’t care how overwhelmed your inbox is. It really doesn’t matter to me what your day was like.

Chances are, the person throwing the party is as busy as you. Plus they’re throwing a party. For you. Maybe they took a day off to put the event together. It’s likely they spent no small amount of money on YOU.

Maybe doesn’t cut it as a response to an invite.

It’s rude.

Period.

So, the next time someone responds ‘maybe’ to an invitation, here’s what I’m going to say: Maybe I’ll have enough food. Oh, and the maybes get last dibs on the booze, so if you maybe show up, you might want to bring your own.

Maybe almost always means no. Stop dancing around the issue. Grow a pair. Just say no. Really, it’s a change that won’t make me hate you.

Not like ‘maybe’ will.

Have you ever thrown a party with more ‘maybe’ than ‘yes?’

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