I Have Seen Despair and It Is Bridgeport Village

Every media face seems to be worried that we are not buying stuff, which means we are all worried we are in a recession, which means we are all totally in a recession.

We aren't people buying?

I could answer that question if I could lead you around the wonder that is Bridgeport Village (current motto:  Change of Season, Change of You.  For real).  I doubt that it would be necessary to travel to Tualatin, Oregon to experience Bridgeport Village. I'm sure there are similar hell-holes all across the country.  

The hallmarks of these fancy new consumer-towns are that, as opposed to the old-school malls, you can drive your BMW around these.  And if you are in Southern California, there is a good chance that the potted plants play Sinatra music.  And there are no discount stores.  Just Abercrombies, Banana Republics, Crate & Barrel, and the like.  The odd thing is that although you can drive around them you may not park anywhere other than the parking lot/garage, so I'm a little confused as to the purpose of the roads.

Actually, I'm confused about the purpose of the stores.  There are indeed clothes in there.  But they are (a) ugly, or (b) scratchy, or (c) scratchy and ugly.  And I don't think any of the store personnel wished me to purchase any of their products. Maybe they have other plans for them, because they weren't in a hurry to offer them to me.  You would think that they would be worried about their jobs, seeing that I was occasionally the only one in the store on a Saturday afternoon, but maybe they hadn't thought about the connection.  You know, the one between me buying something and the company having enough money to pay them some.

I have to confess that those places put me in such a sour mood that an item of clothing would have to be pretty spectacular for me to wish to leave any money behind in one of those stores.

I went to Bridgeport Village for some training on how to use this Macbook (as I am a recovering PC person and completely clueless).  As it was in the Pioneer Place mall in Portland where we bought it, everybody was in the Apple Store.  It apparently was the one store in the shopping center selling items that consumers wanted to buy.  In fact, the products are so popular, you actually have to make an appointment to purchase them.

Word to American product sellers:  make things that work OR are well-designed OR aren't ugly, and they will come.

More Than You Ever Wanted to Know

It seems I have been tagged, which is proof of love, which is good. Thanks for the sweet words, Seattle Tammy. And here's my entry.

Here are the rules of the game:
Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs. Let them know they are tagged by leaving comments on their blogs.

Now I must give you some trivia re: myself. Although I usually like trivia, I am not my favorite subject, so this will take some mental digging. However, I love using bullet points and numbered lists, so that's enough to get me started. So bear with me. Or skip over to Fanatical Apathy; I'll understand.

Seven Things You Might Not Know About Me.

1. The first dog I owned (apart from family pets growing up) was a long-haired chihuahua named Twinkle Toes. Although I can't claim that chihuahuas were ever cool, this was long before Paris Hilton made them into living accessories for morons. Twinkle Toes (or Twinkie, as she came to be called) showed up at my house by way of a friend who worked at a veterinarian's office. Twinkie was dumped there - tiny, moody, missing some crucial teeth, a little iffy on the concept of "housebroken," and suspicious of everybody except me. As soon as she saw me, she just fell in behind me, and I had a dog. Such as she was. I kept her through no-pet apartments, my marriage to her least favorite human, moves to Austin, Texas, and babies. Drew has been distracting me from getting another chihuahua all these years by keeping me busy with large collies. But I'm sure he knows that it's just a matter of time before I show up with another big dog in a small package.
2. My degree is in psychology. When I was in high school, I wanted to be Bob Newhart (the first one, the stuttering psychologist, not the stuttering Vermont innkeeper). What I learned in college was that, as a psychologist, if you wanted to help your patients more than they would be helped by the mere passage of time, you really need to get yourself a prescription pad, which meant going to med school. Med school was beyond my ambition level.
   
3. I have never smoked pot. I know! I had one chance to try it when I was in high school, but I was afraid I might look like a dork, so I made an excuse. In college, I hung out with brainiacs and athletes. After college, Drew was in the Air Force, which doesn't take kindly to that sort of activity, even if they had paid us enough to afford anything other than food, clothing and sub-standard housing. And no, I don't care to try now.
4. I once went to nursing school but quit the day I realized that I would be expected to slide rubber hoses into old men's penises.
5. I have raised a child and trained a firefighter to be wordsmiths and grammar police. They will never allow me to forget that I once got so carried away trying to make a completely valid point, that I called a perfectly legitimate item of cycling wear "asinine." But, I mean, come on. If your knees are cold, why wouldn't your ankles be cold? Either wear tights or shorts - don't wear "knickers" that come halfway up your calves. That's just...wrong. And unsightly.
6. My stripper name would be Fritzi Laurel (or more literally, Fritzi Laurel Park Drive).
7. I was a cheerleader in high school. I know! Hard to imagine today. But at the time, although I was just as shy, I had that hammy thing that shy people have when they get in front of an audience, and I used the cheerleading squad to perform skits, dance, and generally get attention.

Seven Blogs I Like that were not already tagged by Seattle Tammy.
I don't spend a lot of time reading blogs, but when I do, here is where I go:

1. Dean's blog, because he's a better writer than I am, and leads a more exciting life.
2. The Blogess, because she's funnier than I am, and leads a more exciting life.
3. Two Can Anne (Anne Altman), because she is young and funny and makes me wonder how cool it would be to be young and talented and living in New York.
4. MeMo (Kyrie O'Connor's blog) from the Houston Chronicle. She blogs like she's in your living room with her feet up on your coffee table.
5. Deteriorata (dee), a Fanatical Apathy family member, which means she can think and she can write. My North Carolina news. I think one of my favorite bands of the week, Band of Horses, comes from North Carolina, don't they?
6. Another Monkey we know as Harold. Fan Ap again. Sorry. We like the way we think. And Harold knows stuff. And he has a very cute picture of a dog on his sidebar. What more do you want? A virtual Obama sticker? He's got one of those too.
   
7. Hedera's Corner by Karen Ivy. Okay, one more Fan Ap. But Hedera is from the Bay Area, and it is the only place on earth I would move away from the Pacific Northwest for (but only if somebody left their house to me in their will because I can't afford one). And she is in a choir, and I love being in a choir. And her blog background and writing voice are so soothing.
   

I Kicked Ass on my New Computer Game Today

So I bought this software for my Raspberry that allows me to track my nutrition and exercise. I guess the theory is if you have to write everything down, you may think twice about downing that third brownie, or you might take one more lap around the park.

Yes, I'm calling this a computer game. It's as close as I'm going to get, and it allows me hours of fun trying to fudge the numbers in my favor. Mmmm, fudge.

But today I discovered a new weapon in my fight for domination over this game: gardening. I have been bumming because my "very brisk" walks in the morning are only good for 257 calories per hour. Today I put in about three hours in the back yard, between picking the blueberries, cutting back the grape vines and wisteria, and mowing, so I thought I should get to count that for something.

Imagine my surprise when my game tells me that gardening is worth 320 calories per hour - 63 calories more per hour than very brisk walking! I feel like I found a "cheat."

Between the walking and the gardening I did today, I feel like I am entitled to eat a stick of butter. But I'm going to stick with some leftover pizza and some M&Ms.

I know. The glamour of my life takes my breath away sometimes.