Superlatives

I can't decide whether to call what's happened during the last several hours today or yesterday because I've just woken up after four hours and can't seem to get back to sleep. So, I've decided to get some things "on paper". It's 2:55 AM.

So, Friday morning began just about like any other day for me. Coffee, e-mail, Facebook. Then I finished up some layouts for a client and made plans to meet click-boom for lunch. This was a meeting that our mutual friend option-d had suggested to both J.D. and myself a while ago. When I realized that his office was on the south side of Poplar off Germantown Road, I began to sweat because every time I drive to Germantown I get lost. This has been going on for years. Every Super Bowl party at my friend and former colleague's house? Lost. Trying to find the Apple store after it moved? Lost. You name it. If it's in Germantown, I'm adding a half-hour to my trip so I can drive in circles, look at a map on my iPhone and eventually end up where I'm supposed to be, often not without the aid of a telephone call.

The consternation starts long before I ever leave "the parkways," with me fretting over which route I should take to arrive at what part of Germantown Road, which stretches for some 25 or 30 miles from Brunswick (north) to Olive Branch, Mississippi (south). Oh, there's North Germantown Road, North Germantown Parkway, South Germantown Parkway and South Germantown Road, but it's all the same to me. Mind you, as I write this I'm beginning to understand where the "breaks" are, which might help me navigate this wilderness a bit better in the future.

The questions are: do I need to end up in Bartlett/Wolfchase/BFE? Am I trying to get to Cordova? Do I need to be near the Agricenter? Am I trying to get to old Germantown? Or, do I need to be in Olive Branch? For once in the more than 24 years I've lived in Memphis I made all the right turns and ended up in old Germantown but not without a call to J.D. to make sure I was headed in the right direction.

After I arrived at his office, we spent a little time getting to know each other and becoming more familiar with each other's work. We then climbed into his truck headed for lunch. We stopped into the new Breakaway store to see some of Harvest's retail design, which was quite impressive, before walking over a couple doors to the Mexican deli. Before yesterday I'd never been to Las Tortugas Deli Mexicana, but I'd heard about it several times in conversation. In the past whenever somebody mentions Mexican, or even Tex-Mex for that matter, I feel less than enthused. Molly's LaCasita, a Midtown institution, and Café Ole are two Tex-Mex options that I can embrace, but they're not Chuy's. I've been to El Mare on Jackson which has decent Mexican food but is in a questionable area in a dilapidated space leaving me wondering what other creatures are dining there. Taqueria Guadalupana can be good, too, but there's still something lacking to me.

Inside Las Tortugas, where the smell of fresh, good food was almost as overwhelming as how crowded it was, J.D. offered some background about the place. We discussed the numerous photos, newspaper articles and letters from patrons framed and up on the wall. I saw Neola Farms, (local, organic, grass-fed beef found at Memphis Farmers Market, Saturday mornings) listed among the day's specials. I was really feeling good about this place. Then, I met Jonathan.

At J.D.'s suggestion, I told him I was a newbie. Jonathan explained that his father, a native of Mexico City, opened the restaurant, that they serve real Mexican food and that nothing is brought in on a food service truck. When he asked me what I'd like to have, I told him to surprise me, and that I'd like a freshly-squeezed Limeade. After our orders were placed and in between looking through the many signs and anecdotes posted on the glass around the kitchen, J.D. teased me, telling me that Jonathan told him what he was making for me and it was going to be very special.



Surprised doesn't begin to express how I felt when after having his name called, rather than the numbers on our receipts, J.D. returned from the counter with two baskets saying, "this is yours." He went back and picked up his brisket sandwich and we sat down to eat. During conversation I was embarrassed that until he mentioned it, I'd forgotten to congratulate him on his "Best of Show Award" at this years Addy awards. I can be such a dunce sometimes. I thought about congratulating him before I left the house, checking my copy of the winner's book to make sure I was going to call his award by the right name, but then I guess "shiny-object-syndrome" reared it's ugly head and I forgot. Dang it!

Anyway, Las Tortugas was out of take-out menus and their website says they're in the process of updating it, so I'm sure I won't be calling all of this correctly, but I'll try. In one basket there was an ear of corn, coated with what appeared to be grated cheese and spices, flanked by two lime wedges on a paper liner dotted with a deep-red pepper sauce. In the other basket was a shredded lettuce salad with marinated cucumbers, next to two soft white corn brisket tacos with avocado, a small container of what looked like guacamole but tasted of pepper and lime, a flat yellow corn tortilla covered with spicy, shredded chicken and avocado slices, some homemade tortilla chips and a small dish of white sauce that resembled sour cream but also tasted of cheese. Everything was incredible. And, I promise, this is not me overusing a superlative like I often do. "Incredible" doesn't do the meal justice. In fact, the whole afternoon was amazing. Thank you, J.D.

This reminds me that aside from picking up a birthday card for my sister this morning, I need to refresh my thank you card stash since I still haven't sent my custom cards to press. I see a huge flaw in thought here, but I'm going to have to let it go lest this post become so long that I lose you, if I haven't already. Because I'm not done talking about this amazing day by any stretch of the imagination.

After I came home I took my usual casual approach to Friday afternoon, workload permitting, and took advantage of the sunny, over 60°F day. I took the dogs outside, pruned some roses, sketched some ideas in my journal, pruned the rosemary, read e-mail, tweeted, roughed out an idea for another client, cleaned the brake dust off of my wheels, and ironed a shirt.



At six o'clock I went next door to visit with Gene and Cindie, our long-time friends (and neighbors of 14 years), before we headed to Interim for dinner. Cindie invited me join them, Thursday, when she brought me a cookbook pulled out of other books she planned to donate to the Library. I didn't realize until we sat down at the table last night that they had intended to take me to dinner to celebrate some of the amazing things that have been happening with my work. This meant so much to me. Not only were they taking me to a very special place for dinner, but they wanted to celebrate the success with which I've been blessed in the last five months and they wouldn't let me pay.

With the help of Interim's menu, I'll share. For starters, Gene and I both had Oysters on the Half Shell with preserved lime mignonette and house made saltines, and Cindie had Sweet Potato Soup with crème fraiche, and toasted hazelnuts. For salads, Gene ordered Baked Goat Cheese Salad with arugula, red wine poached pears, sweetened pecans, and raspberry balsamic vinaigrette. I don't recall Cindie ordering this, but since I don't remember poached pears on her plate she must've had the House Green Salad with orange and hazelnut dressing since the only alternative was what I had. The menu says that it was a Tuscan Kale Salad, but if that was kale it was a kale I've never seen. I wonder if the menu has changed in the restaurant but not online? Anyway, with Grana Padano, garlic-herb croutons, creamy Caesar dressing and white anchovies, the salad was delightful. Unlike that of a typical anchovy, the flavor of the white anchovy was somewhat reminiscent to lighter pickled herring. It wasn't salty at all. Noting that, is when I realized that there were no salt or pepper shakers on the table. And, honestly, I didn't miss them.

For dinner, Cindie ordered Fish of the Day, red snapper, with parsnip puree, braised fennel, roasted brussels sprouts & citrus brown butter. Gene ordered the Grilled Beef Tenderloin with roasted garlic mashed potatoes, haricot verts, crispy onions & red wine demi glace, and I ordered the Steak of the Day, a medium-rare rib eye, with parmesan truffle fries, sautéed garlic spinach, & wild huckleberry sauce. Absolutely delicious.

Finally, once we decided to have dessert we each chose something different so we could share. Gene had Warm Chocolate Cake with chocolate ganache & vanilla gelato, Cindie ordered a Chai Green Tea Crème Brulee with what they called Snickerdoodles. But these were amber colored confections that looked nothing like the cookie with which we're all familiar. It was a beautiful dessert. I asked for the Croissant Bread Pudding with blackberry sauce & dulce de leche gelato. I have never really understood the phrase I've heard and perhaps even used, "taste so good it makes you want to slap yo mama," but this bread pudding was unlike any I've ever had.

Once we returned home from this fabulous evening, I took care of the puppies and thought I might like to watch "Big Fish" on the bedroom TV, but I barely made it through the first few minutes. I fell asleep filled with gratitude for all the wonderful things that have happened recently, and the awesome, fantastic, spectacular (superlative) day I experienced today, and the incredible people that make my life what it is. At the risk of sounding greedy, there is only one thing I would have changed: that Cameron was home to share it with me.

It's now 5:53 AM. Time to make some coffee, tidy up the house and anticipate his return from Tokyo. Have a lovely day, everybody.

It's Craptastic!

Borrowing the above phrase, one which I usually save for reference to Comcast during all too frequent rebooting exercises, I am repurposing the phrase and am relieved to report that the LitterMaid debacle is finally over. I carried the piece of junk to the dumpster no more than thirty minutes ago. It's Craptastic!

Now we're back to using a Booda Clean Dome, the self-proclaimed "best litter box in the World." In this case, I'd have to agree. With it's grand, sweeping, circular steps into the "business" area, which are designed to prevent litter tracking, it reminds me of a theatre. Maybe it needs a marquee: "The Poop Theatre." Anyway, it's probably the least offensive color I've seen in a cat box. The last Booda, which we ditched when the LitterMaid was new and full of promise, was a hideous metallic turquoise color. I liken it's aesthetic to the nasty packaging design of Kleenex® and Puffs® boxes. Thank God for Target and it's monochromatic scheme.

Pardon me, I digress. Not that I would ever consider a litter box an integral part of decorating our home, The new Booda is the color of burnished gold, and it at least will sit quietly in the corner instead of screaming "look at my ugly, metallic [insert a color never intended for home interiors here] self!"

Sorry to cut this short, but I see a white tornado running crazily around the yard. Time to go wipe off "hands and feet," or I'll have to break out the sponge mop. Yes, I said sponge mop. I'd rather dip, squeeze, mop and rinse than swirl the dirt and leave a haze like I would with a Swiffer Wet Mop. We've been there, and done that. Procter & Gamble should have left well enough alone with their wildly successful replacement for the dust mop.

I Found This Lurking in Draft Mode

Much of what I wrote on 2 January 09 still applies, including the turmoil if we change some of the locations. Last year it was China, this year Haiti. The remainder is applicable, too, in spite of the media's non-stop attempt to tell us otherwise. In the end how we respond -- as individuals, as a nation and as a world -- is what counts.

090102

We could approach 2009 with a somber tone if we chose. There are so many lives all over this third rock from the sun in turmoil, and for them the stroke of midnight on December 31 didn't bring magical transformation. In the so-called "news" I hear plenty of 2008-bashing with good reason I suppose. At first considering the quagmire in Iraq, the earthquakes in China, foreclosures everywhere, job loss and the failing world economy the past year looks pretty bad.

Sitting here in the comfort of my home it's easy to say WE make the years good or bad. It's easy to say it's all about attitude or outlook on life. But, it is. When we eliminate from the equation the part of life over which we have no control -- the things with which we simply have to cope -- the year wasn't so bad.

But the economy? The war? Poverty? Ours. It's up to us to be the harbingers of change. And, as for 2008 We had the courage to change the things we could. At least the election resulted in something hopeful.

And, for me, 2008 wasn't so bad after all is said and done. It wasn't without its hardships. That's life. Saying this doesn't mean I'm not ready for the symbolic "mulligan." I pray for serenity, acceptance for the things I can't change, courage to change the things I can, and finally the wisdom to know the difference.

Today is going to be a great day.

How to Write Your Mission Statement

While consulting with a client today I suggested that they might want to include a mission statement as part of their home page especially since they're a newly established firm. I found three articles that approach creating one and they're all worth reading:

From Entrepreneur, lengthy but informational
http://www.entrepreneur.com/management/leadership/businessstrategies/article65230.html

From wikiHow, a more succinct, step-by-step approach
http://www.wikihow.com/Write-a-Mission-Statement

and finally, from FastCompany, a more candid commentary but one definitely worth reading:
http://www.fastcompany.com/magazine/140/do-something-wordplay.html

A Christmas Eve Post in the Middle of January

I nearly forgot that this draft was sitting on my desktop. I have a lot of catching up to do when it comes to chronicling the holidays and I might still get to it. But, hell, our tree and the few other decorations we set out this year came down just yesterday and found their way back up to the attic. While today is a day for reflecting on the legacy of Martin Luther King, Jr., one during which I'd like to pay a visit to the National Civil Rights Museum, my goal for today is to get the C-7 lights off of the eaves and back upstairs where they belong. One final leaf blowing extravaganza before Spring, which can't come soon enough to suit me, will follow.

Whatever you do today, embrace it and do your best.

'Tis the Night before Christmas...

...and all through the house it's pretty quiet. The television is broadcasting the weather forecast. Billie, snoring, is sharing her bed with Georgia, and I am contemplating not only what to write here, but tomorrow's plans as well. I suppose I could recount the day I spent shopping with Becky, but then I'd be giving away some Christmas surprises if I went into too much detail. I guess I can be mindful of that and recount the day.

We started out meeting her daughter, Carly, for breakfast at Lynn's Paradise Cafe followed by visiting Regalo, a shop two doors down that sells unusual gift items, extraordinary jewelry and handbags, some well-designed household items and some irreverent novelties. One of the latter I picked up for Thom was a yellow-plaid dish towel with the recipe for "Sh*t on a Shingle". The way this is spelled is not me being polite, it's the way it was spelled on the towel. I bursted with laughter when I saw it and immediately thought of Thom because he seems to replace his kitchen towels with an almost obsessive regularity. While there, I considered purchasing a charging station that looked like grass in a black planter. It was extremely clever, especially when compared to the myriad wooden box options sold at the likes of Target and Pottery Barn, but in the end I couldn't justify the expense. If I decide later that I want it, I'll look for it and buy it online.



From Regalo, we drove to Market Street to visit Red Tree, then Scout. Red Tree was an eclectic mix of furniture, fixtures, gifts and art, both original one-of-a-kind pieces and others of the mass-produced variety. There were some really nice things there, and a couple that I thought I could use, but in the end I exercised better judgement, saved my money and avoided having to ship things home or risk looking like the Clampetts driving back to Memphis.

Carly had to leave for a matinee performance of "A Wonderful Life," the musical adaptation of Frank Capra's film "It's a Wonderful Life." She's playing, Sam Wainwright's wife. "Yee-hawww." So when she left, Becky and I walked a few blocks to Scout. There, all bets were off. I found Christmas gifts among the unusual things (at least for me) stocked in the store. They sold fantastic smelling candles, one of which greeted us upon opening the door. It smelled of fresh pine but with a hint of a warm fire. I immediately noticed that the music playing was that which I'd heard all during the previous week on Christmas Lounge on SOMA FM. With that, I knew I was going to love this place. Scout offered handmade jewelry, including work from a friend of my brother's, Sarah Balmer, Jonathan Adler pottery, hats, gifts and unusual objets d'art. The store was a visual and sensual overload. They had great stuff in every corner and there were a couple of things that I simply couldn't resist. I truly hope Cameron believes my "find" for him as much a treasure as I do.

After Scout, we drove to St. Matthews by way of the wrong exit from I-64 onto the Watterson Expressway, another exit to Breckinridge Lane, through Dupont Circle -- the back way into Mall St. Matthews. Through the parking lot, out again and another wild turn onto Shelbyville Road landed us half-in and half-out of the left turn lane into the plaza where World Market is located after I realized the line to get into the parking lot ended just one car length from the intersection. I squeezed in as far as I could. I held back my nervous laughter upon seeing the expression on a passing man's face who hadn't been paying attention. His unpleasant surprise at seeing my right taillamp not quite in my lane seemed to pass as quickly as his Bentley.

We had to visit World Market because all three stores in Memphis closed last year. And, I need Key Lime Seasoning for our proscuitto-wrapped grilled scallops. I included the recipe, aptly named Key Lime Grilled Scallops, in this year's update of "Betwixt the Both of Us," the TasteBook cookbook I published last year as gifts to family and friends. They only had three jars of the spice left but I figure that's enough to hold us over until I can visit another World Market sometime in the future. A couple of Nesbitt's orange sodas (without high-fructose corn syrup), a stocking stuffer and two bars of soap finished my excursion "around the world."

After her show, Carly met us at "eyedea" in Butchertown. It's a consignment/antique store loaded with some fantastic furniture, lamps and art. There I found a miniature New Albany Train Station for Thom, who collects miniature architectural gems. The train station was a beautiful, triangular shaped structure that stood for decades on Vincennes Street begging to be restored and put to another use. But fire would destroy it before it's renaissance could happen and I knew that Thom was heartbroken as he listened to the news of it's demise on the radio one morning on his way to work. I also picked up two vintage bottlebrush trees with foil stars. The whole lot was just over $10!


The New Albany Train Station

From eyedea we went to Butchertown Market to visit Canoe and Work the Metal. Canoe featured Turkish clothing, rugs, huge urns and lighting among some gift items. What they sold there was beautiful, but nothing for which I'm in the market. Work the Metal sold gifts, furniture, lighting with more of an irreverent, modern approach. It occurred to me that the shops to which Becky and Carly took me were ones I don't remember seeing the likes of when I moved to Memphis from Louisville in 1986. It was great seeing such forward thinking and progress in what I once considered my sleepy hometown with tons of unrealized potential.

We finished the day at an at least new-to-me location of Bristol Bar and Grille, located at the Sheraton in Jeffersonville. As the sun set the lights of Louisville's skyline began to twinkle. Becky's husband, David, met us there and it was great sharing dinner and the evening with my former classmates and their beautiful daughter.

Must-See Cars at the 2010 Detroit Auto Show

Must-See Cars at the 2010 Detroit Auto Show

For many years I've wanted to go to the Detroit Auto Show. And every year when the reviews start rolling in, I think, "crap!" I've missed it again. The editors at MyRide have done a nice recap of what they consider highlights of the show. My favorite quote is about the new Lincoln MKX: "The MKX gets the awkward Lincoln face." I saw what I consider a few awkward faces in this year's offerings, but I'm happy to see that automakers are getting away from the "me-too" smiley faces of the 1990s.

An Open Letter to the Makers of LitterMaid

Dear LitterMaid,

I thought I'd write today to tell you how enthusiastic I was the day I brought home the special edition LitterMaid I purchased at PetCo about a year ago. I bought an extra package of waste receptacles and the litter to go along with them. I simply knew that upon the recommendation of a friend, and the marketing propaganda I'd read in the past, that this automated cat litter box was a magical device. It was going to change our lives, both mine and Edith's (the cat).



As soon as I arrived at home I began making the transition from the Booda Clean Step (which up until then had been the best covered litter box I'd owned in more than twenty years in spite of the fact that it was a big, cumbersome bitch to clean) to the new LitterMaid. Following the sometimes tedious instructions, it was relatively easy to assemble. I set the digital clock but not a "sleep" time because I knew my cat would use the thing while the rest of the house was asleep.

The next morning, I immediately began to find cat litter strewn all about the house. Vacuuming constantly I vowed to change the litter to something that wouldn't track as badly. When it came time to purchase more litter, I cleaned out the box and started all over again with Fresh Step clumping litter. It didn't track as badly, but clumps adhered to the box like superglue, rendering the rake and the box itself useless. The motor would cycle continually in an attempt to rid itself of clumps to no avail before finally shutting down.

That noise you hear isn't the box running constantly. It's me groaning with aggravation in another room because that means I have to drop whatever I'm doing and remove the offending obstruction. The promise of having to deal with the cat box 1 or 2 times a week had been dashed at this point. Hell, I was cleaning the catbox more times per day than I ever had. It seemingly had become my reason to wake up every morning. Otherwise, the stupid thing would run constantly and clean nothing.

So again, I was faced with looking for another litter choice. I've tried corn. I've switched between two different clays. I've tried wheat. I've even tried using Fresh Step crystals. I thought I'd had a "Eureka!" moment until the first fill of these magic chunks reached their saturation point a day or so later. And, when they're done absorbing, they're done. Period. The LitterMaid became a disgusting smelly mess within hours that needed to be emptied completely and cleaned with Nature's Miracle and dried before it could be refilled, starting the ordeal all over again.

We've been using Arm & Hammer Essentials for about two weeks now. It's wrought with it's own set of problems, but it's livable until I decide I've just had enough and throw the whole damned mess in the trash. I have decided that the money I spent on the LitterMaid was the biggest waste ever. I will make sure I let anyone who is considering a LitterMaid purchase about the problems I've had and encourage them to get a Booda Clean Step.

Yours very truly,

dminmem

Finally, A Post

I received a SiteMeter report in email yesterday that showed that my few reader numbers were just about flat. Lately, I've been thinking often about what I might write and have just been coming up blank. I had three unfinished posts started.

One draft began: "The Queen" is finally in the DVD player after it sat on the shelf for more than a month. I'm not getting my money's worth out of Netflix if I don't watch it and send it back, or just send it back without watching it. Sitting on the shelf just as long is some lesbian flick, "All Over Me." I must've been interested in seeing it at some point or I wouldn't have put it on my queue. Supposedly, tonight, I watch them. Regardless, they're hitting the mailbox tomorrow.

I ended up watching "The Queen." It was ok. Helen Mirren was great. I didn't watch "All Over Me." They were both mailed back the next day.

Another draft began: "My last post was October 1, if you can call it a post. It was more like parroting. Or regurgitating." Or in another case, assumption that "the writing was on the wall." I am freelancing again after leaving my 10 year position at CS2 advertising. October 15 was my last day there. I have my Federal tax identification number and have posted a website: davidmaddoxcreative.com. I have been working on logos for various companies and am working on plans for some other things. It's been very exciting, sometimes overwhelming, but always empowering.

Yet another draft was titled, "Accidental Conspicuous Omission." It began, "More than a year has passed since I committed to quit drinking." During that year I spent much of my time reading, researching, seeing a therapist and learning about the challenges of growing as an adult child of an alcoholic. I have been amazed, surprised and ultimately changed by the experience and will continue to work toward being a better person. The biggest revelation, though is dealing with this thing called self-loathing. I have always been told that I'm too hard on myself, but I just didn't understand the implications of such thinking. I'm learning to give myself a break.

As I ponder how my life has changed I consider the people I have chosen to leave behind. I no longer have time for the dishonest, deceitful, or self-absorbed. Some friendships have been exposed as the toxic situations they have been and I can't be pulled down by them anymore. For this I'm grateful, but very often I think of these people and wish the situation were different. Because in spite of the bad I really have cared for them. My motivation may have been warped, seeking approval from people I admired for one reason or another, but I can't afford to give up my well-being in order to be liked by someone who's not worthy of my care, affection or love.

There are others in my life who deserve more of my attention. Because Cameron was going to be flying over the holidays, I planned to spend Thanksgiving with my sister who is house-bound, recovering from back surgery. I left here around 9 AM, Tuesday morning, with my favorite cooking utensils packed, TripTik in hand, and Billie and Georgia comfortably positioned on their cedar-filled bed atop the folded down back seat.

As I drove south on MS-49 toward Hattiesburg, listening to the Martha Stewart Thanksgiving call-in shows, I witnessed a horrible accident. As I approached the car that had been impaled by pine timbers on a flat-bed truck, I dialed 911. I found a young man unconscious at the wheel. Others stopped and helped. A man with leather work gloves was able to break out what was left of the windshield, switch off the car and get the door open. We put the boy on the grass, elevated his feet and head, covered him with a blanket from my first aid kit. A woman kept direct pressure on the gash on his right cheekbone while an off-duty Air Force medic asked him questions to determine how badly in shock he was. The young man was lucky to be alive. Another responder got the boy's family phone number and called his mother. We reassured him that he was going to be fine. His mother sent instructions to take him to Forrest General and asked that he be told "your mother says she loves you." As the paramedics put him in the ambulance, I realized I had witnessed a miracle.

It wasn't a miracle in the way Beauregard Jackson Pickett Birdside burst into Mame Dennis' apartment, phone book in hand, exclaiming "it's a Christmas miracle" upon finding the right Dennis. It was a real miracle, one that I believe I was meant to witness. It made the the thought of how our lives can change in the blink of an eye very real to me.

So, it's with faith I sit at this desk contemplating my next move. I pray that my mind stays open to possibilities and that I remember that what's meant to happen will. The Christmas holidays are upon us and that, in and of itself, is reason to celebrate. With that, it's back to work because I have a lot to accomplish today.