Snow

It won't stop snowing. At least once a week, a storm erupts, dumping more and more of the white stuff on the streets, the cars, the small strips of land between house and sidewalk in this neighborhood. And we're running out of places to put it. Streets are plowed, sidewalks are shoveled, and the piles of snow on every available space that isn't street or sidewalk grow taller and taller.

And then work. Each day brings some new challenge, some new development-- but none of the previous storms have yet melted. I nod, and add the next new thing to the pile. I shovel out a space, only to turn and find it's been plowed in by someone else. What happens when we all run out of room?

I have a new mantra: "I want to live a life of quiet contemplation." Or maybe not so new, just newly articulated. Perhaps if repeated oft enough, it will be attained.

In Memorium

What floor, please?

I had a reoccurring dream last night, one I haven't had in a while and had nearly forgotten. In this dream I'm at work, in my 11 story office building, and I've discovered that the building has a secret... if you take the elevator to the 7th floor, where this one specific department is housed, and get off into the elevator lobby, there's a separate special elevator that takes you to a hidden floor at the top of the building. On this floor is a bazaar of sorts... many different booths selling all sorts of exotic foods and crafts, kind of a cross between a bazaar and some sort of fairgrounds, really. The roof is all made of glass, and it's sunny and festive. When you leave the floor, if you take the correct elevator, it's not an elevator at all but an amusement park ride that whizzes you back to the first floor via a roller coaster, first in the dark, but then bursting outside, with spectacular views of the city (what city, I'm not sure, it's certainly not Danvers)... and in the dream I can feel the sort of dizziness that the ride induces.  At the point that the ride ends, I usually wake.

Last night the dream was different, though. Because in real life, the 7th floor is no longer the home of that separate, specific department-- now it has been remodeled... and it's where my own department is now housed. So last night, in the dream, I knew that the special elevator and floor existed, but I couldn't figure out how to get to them, because of the remodeling. I kept traveling from floor to floor, sometimes taking the elevator, sometimes taking the stairs, and never being able to figure out how to get to that secret elevator and floor. At some point, the office building turned into a mall and I continued to wander between floors, searching. A co-worker came up to me and inexplicably handed me a carnation, and I already had a magazine encased in plastic in my hand. I carried both items around with me; even in the dream I was not really sure why I had either one. I decided to make one last ditch effort to find the secret floor, and once again got on an elevator... partway through the ride, the elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Without thinking, I walked through the doors, only to find myself on another elevator that had stopped exactly next to mine, between floors. I turned to go back, but the doors to both had already closed. There was a young business man on the second elevator, and I tried to cover my confusion by making a joke about the fact that I wasn't sure why I crossed over from one to the other... he was polite, but not really interested or amused... and I awoke.

Change Changing Places pt 2

Today we went straight into mid-July.

84 degrees is hot. 84 degrees is especially hot when there aren't any leaves yet on the trees to afford one some shade.

I think it might be Spring in my heart, though... does that count?

Change Changing Places

Today it stopped being Fall, and started being Winter.

[Edit/Add: No, it did not snow. Not to speak of, anyway, although a few flurries have periodically danced on the air throughout the morning. But most of the leaves have finally fallen, and it's very cold (33 degrees), and everything is grey in a decidedly wintery, not autumnal, sort of way. And I feel as though, even if warmer temperatures return, they somehow won't bring Fall back with them.]

Blog Malaise

I wish I could blog while I was driving. See, I write the most fabulous, literate blog postings in my head while I'm driving to work, or when I have some other fairly long road trip, like the one I took this weekend to the South Shore to meet my two college roommates for lunch. (One of whom, we figured out, I haven't seen for ELEVEN years. Seriously. Eleven. This is just wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.) Anyway, by the time I get back to my computer, all thoughts are gone, and I'm reduced to writing lists of recent album purchases. (Band of Horses, Guster, Modest Mouse, Muse, Silverchair, Sufjan Stevens) And wishing I was prolific and disciplined and could write daily postings filled with philosophical musings and interesting life tales that others would want to read. Alas, today, this is all you get. Malaised whining. My apologies.

Letting Go

I have a recurring dream. There doesn't see to be a common trigger, and the dream takes two forms-- one has my grandmother in it. The other, my dog from childhood, Dusty. Yeah, it's a little strange that my dog & grandmother could be interchangeable, especially given the level of emotion associated with the dream, but...

Dusty was a sweet-tempered mutt, mostly English setter, with a white skunk-stripe running up his black muzzle and forehead, and brown eyebrows gave him a perpetually quizzical expression. He lived to be 14, around which time he started to be unable to keep control of his "functions" overnight, and would have accidents in the kitchen. We would come down in the morning, and he would be absolutely miserable with guilt (even though we of course would never punish him for something he couldn't help). He got worse & worse, and eventually we decided to put him down.

My Gram was my outdoorsy grandmother, my Mom's mom. She used to tell me all about her Scottish grandparents, and how much she would like to have seen where they grew up--- and I like to think my own trip to Scotland a year and a half ago was fulfilling her wish by proxy. Several of my mom's cousins say how much I remind them of her, and if it's true, nothing could make me prouder-- she was an amazing, smart, warm, compassionate, and strong woman. She had what was probably alzheimers later in life, and her mind failed to the point where she didn't even recognize us anymore. Before it got that bad, it was actually worse-- she had moments of clarity where she knew what was happening to her and would beg my mother, terrified, to help her.

Anyway, the dream. In the dream, one or the other (Dusty or Gram) is alive again. Not in that "this is all perfectly normal" dream-acceptance kind of way. In the dream I know that they are supposed to be dead. But alive again they are, healthy & vibrant, and I am filled with joy. I rough-house in the yard with Dusty, playing with the soft fur on his floppy ears like I did as a child. Or, I take walks with my grandmother; she identifies plants & birds for me like when I was in high school.

My joy is short-lived. I become aware with deadly certainty that I have a choice to make. I can let them go now, and they will just quietly cease to exist again, their "real" life being the only one that ever happened. Or I can keep them with me; they'll stay alive this second time, but will have to live... and die... just as they did in the first. Their bodies & minds will fail as they did in real life. Again.

I always make the same choice in the dream. I always choose to let them go, rather than watch them suffer all over again in trade for more time together. But it always breaks my heart. I sob bitterly in the dream as I give them up, and wake up feeling the loss all over again.

My Earthly Pleasures

Yes, I finally gave myself the treat of that trip to BullMoose on Saturday. (Well, first I lay around the house, after JR and Antoine departed their whirlwind stopover at "Chez K", bemoaning the return of the heat yet stubbornly refusing to put the air conditioner back on. THEN I summoned enough energy to drag myself to Portsmouth.) So, the purchases, in alphabetical order by artist:

• Fields, Everything Last Winter
• Maximo Park, Our Earthly Pleasures
• The Polyphonic Spree, The Fragile Army
• Spoon, Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga
• Wilco, Sky Blue Sky

The ritual... what? Karen, a ritual, NO! (I hear you Michaela.) Yes... Drive I95 to Portsmouth, the fastest, most direct route. Park in the garage, and walk to the promised land. Promptly become overwhelmed by vastness of selection, unknown artist blasting overhead, and impossibly beautiful record store boys. (And, alas, they ARE boys, but so cute with their vintage look shirts and carefully careless mops of hair.) Wander the bins, settling in, pulling out all the potential candidates. Shuffling the stack, trying to do math in my head, and making choices based on arbitrary factors like cover art, random song titles, and general whim. Now make my way through checkout, and walk back to garage clutching the prizes, pondering the next big question-- which one to listen to first? Which will grace the beginning of the trip home? The trip home, which is undertaken now not by way of the speedy I95, but down route 1A-- meandering along the shore line and marshes. A pretty ride but also an excuse to listen longer.

So it's Spoon that's first in queue, despite having quite possibly the worst album title EVER. Not exactly what I expected. A little edgier, less accessible... which is not a bad thing, just means it won't be the one I latch onto first. Instead it will be the slow burn that could grab me unawares when I least expect it. Pass a scenic overlook and swap out to Fields. Lush and swirling. Harmonies. Orchestration. Sigh with satisfaction. Then swap out again... and oh god, the immediate choke hold. Maximo Park. I couldn't even remember what snippet put it on The List, but the risk was worth it, this is the one. The one I will be listening to non-stop until I wear myself out and sneak back apologetically to the other purchases to begin letting them in too, bit by bit. Poppy and raw all at the same time and really, can anyone write lyrics like the Brits?

Find me an American band that rhymes hypothetical, alphabetical, theoretical, and dialectical in a refrain so catchy you have to sing along.

Go ahead, I dare you.

2 Pieces of Advice

1. Read The Book Thief.
2. Don't read The Book Thief.

There are expectations that naturally come along with a novel about the holocaust. A novel narrated by Death yields further expectations.

None of these expectations include a happy ending.

So why, encircled protectively in my armor of expectations, was I still so singularly devastated by this novel? To the point where I cried for close to a half hour after reading the final page last night, and remain in a sort of fog today, trying to focus on process documentation and project roadmaps while my mind still lingers on Himmelstrasse.

The Book Thief is beautiful. And terrible.

Read it.

But don't say I didn't warn you.

Long Overdue

It occured to me on my way to work this morning that the last time I went to The Happy Place (otherwise known as BullMoose Records), there was snow on the ground. Yes, snow. Now granted, that winter spree was a particularly good one and therefore had some staying power (Klaxons, Fratellis, Decemberists, Cinematics, Shins and Arcade Fire-- oh yeah, it was ALL good) but still... a new spree is LONG overdue and that must be rectified soon.

Some snippets from The List to consider:

• Editors... have the last one, but a little iffy on the new single. still, potential.
• Muse... gloriously prog. need to fill in the back catalog.
• Spoon... every time i hear the single, i get the inexplicable urge to dig out Basher, the best of Nick Lowe. so maybe i really just want to buy more old Nick Lowe?
• Fields? Headlights? Maximo Park?... heard bits and pieces from various sources and i'm just not sure yet. i always like to take at least one risk within a spree, though, so one may make the cut. my notes indicate a chick singer for Headlights, making it the biggest risk. (yes, JR, my aversion to chick singers still runs rampant.)
• Peter, Bjorn & John... the darn whistling song. do i really want to do this? probably not, but it's on The List anyways.
• Modest Mouse... now that i've given in, one question remains-- start with the current and work my way backwards? or go the other way around? suggestions welcome.
• Wilco... the new one. have all the others. this is a definite.
• The Polyphonic Spree... so wacky, so delicious. so... polyphonic.
• Guster... it goes like this: i hear a song i like. i wonder "who is that"? the dj comes on and says "that was Guster". i think, gotta get me some Guster. and then never do. why is that? i really should support the local boys. at this point, i think i just don't know where to start.
• Crowded House... was skeptical when i heard they reunited. then heard the single. i should have known-- it's Neil Finn for god's sake, how can you go wrong?

Tune in later to see what I end up with!

I give up, I give in...

... to both Interpol and Modest Mouse. I'm not sure why... actually, I do know why, it's that contrary streak that rears its head from time to time... but I've struggled for ages now NOT to like them. Interpol seemed too monochromatic. I need variety. And for a stretch there it seemed like everyone who was actually familiar with the sort of bands I liked would insist that I MUST like Modest Mouse. And there, of course, is where that contrary streak kicks in. MUST like? I think not. I will like what I want to like, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, now I find myself wanting to like Modest Mouse. And trying to convince myself it's not hypocritical to do so. And that I'm not jumping on a bandwagon too late-- we all know I like to stay one step ahead of the masses in these matters. Interpol... well, every song I hear still sounds like a blur of sameness, but somehow it's become comforting instead of monotonous.

So I just close my eyes and jump on...

The more things change...

A recent conversation about blogging made me think "hey, it's been awhile since any of us have posted to Salt Water Chronicles". Imagine my chagrine when I looked at the blog and realized it had been close to TWO YEARS!

I suppose there are things I could have blogged about in all this time, but when I look back, precious little seems to have really changed. I'm still in the same job. Still love it some days, completely bored by it other days, and completely overwhelmed by it on still others. I still live in the same apartment. I'm still single, and still trying valiantly (with occasional success) to be optimistic that the 13 year relationship I ended several years ago was not the end of my relationship career, and that somewhere out there is the right guy who will appreciate my many charms... really, I do have charms...

It's grey, damp, and relatively cool out again today. The weather forecast for the past 4 days has been promising blistering temps in the 90's, and each day has dawned grey and subdued, and in the 70's. The kind of grey that looks like it will burn off by noon except so far, it hasn't. I can't pretend to be upset about the cooler temperatures, because god knows I hate high heat and humidity. But somehow these past days have felt oppressive nonetheless. Oppressive in their sameness. And in the threat that any moment now the veil will lift and the sun will wilt us all in our tracks.

For some reason, I remembered an odd incident from a couple of years ago on my way to work this morning. I had gone to the mall for something (had to have been Xmas shopping, because I usually try to avoid malls at all costs) and came back to the parking lot to find that someone had parked their car at a crazy angle next to mine, leading me to believe I might not be able to get in via the driver's side, but would have to climb in and over through the passenger door. My initial reaction was a flare of anger and annoyance, and then I realized that the driver of the offending vehicle was still in the driver's seat. On closer inspection, I realized that said driver was a guy about my age, and that he was crying. Sobbing, actually-- the way you only do when you have lost someone, or been given some similarly devastating news. I opened my driver's side door as much as I was able, and did manage (just barely) to squeeze into my driver's seat. And then sat there for several minutes, torn. Should I see if he was OK? (I mean, clearly he wasn't, but should I ask if he needed help?) I wrestled back and forth with myself for a few, and then put my car in gear and drove away. I guess the chances are good that he would not have wanted someone intruding on his obvious grief. But when I thought about the incident this morning, there is still a part of me that wishes I had at least tried to offer some comfort...

For Shame...

In a very uncharacteristic move, I decided to go Xmas shopping on Sunday. (Usually I'm one of those maniacs running around two days before the holiday, buying gift certificates.) But I made a grave tactical error-- items on my list included a CD and a book, so I decided to go to Portsmouth, and... well... you can probably guess what happened next. Wait until while I hang my head in shame... yes, I left Portsmouth after several hours at Bullmoose Records and River Run Books with 6 CD's and 2 books-- for myself-- and no Xmas presents purchased. In my defense, I did LOOK for the 2 items on my list, they just weren't in stock. I know, I know, no excuse. But it does mean another spree list for the blog, so here goes:

(in alphabetical order)

Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Let Love In: When the weather starts to turn cold and grey, Nick just sounds so darn good. Let's face it, a girl can't have too much Nick Cave when staring down a New England winter.

The Cloud Room, The Cloud Room: A band from Michaela's former haunt, Brooklyn. A lot of people seem to like comparing them to Arcade Fire. Probably not a bad comparison. The lead singer has a bit of Bowie to him, I think-- and there's nothing wrong with that.

Doves, Lost souls: Still doing some buying to replace albums lost in the "divorce". Think this oughta do it for the Doves collection.

Elbow, Asleep in the Back: Ditto the explanation for the Doves purchase. Plus, Guy Garvey has the most amazing, ethereal voice-- it gives me chills.

of Montreal, Satanic Panic in the Attic: Yes, the obsession rages on. This one is slightly less disco-rific than the newer one, with a somewhat less "produced" sound, but no less superfantastic. They must tour again soon, and I must be there.

OK Go, Oh No: The video for the single A Million Ways features the band doing a horrible line dance of sorts in their backyard-- it looks like it cost about $50 to make, and is utterly hilarious. It also doesn't hurt that lead singer Damian Kulash is completely swoonworthy. Fun, fun, fun.

OK, alright. I'm heading out Xmas shopping again on Saturday with Mom-- and this time I will NOT buy anything for myself. We're going to Kittery, so that should be safe, right? ...

Geek Novels...

The Guardian recently published a list of the Top 20 Geek Novels (here):

I'm going to bet that Karen will have read more of these books than I have (only read 7 of the 20). There were quite a few books that I'd never heard of, too. But the winner, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, is probably one of my favorite books of all time, and it made me happy to see at the top of the list. :)

Operation "Bearing Witness"

You know how, every once and a while, someone comes up with an idea that takes your breath away and? Well, last week, Stephen e-mailed me to suggest that instead of sending out holiday cards this year, we write just the name, military branch, home town, age, and date of death of the 2,000 soldiers who had died in Iraq, on plain cards and mail them to the White House.

After talking about how to take on this project, we decided that instead of creating cards with the names of the 2,000 people who had already died and sending them in one mailing, we would start with the 96 people who had lost their lives in the month of October, and at the end of each month, would gather the names from the New York Times' "Roster of the Dead" to create and mail cards.

Here is what the card and envelope look like (the back flap of the envelope reads "Opeartion Bearing Witness":



And here are tonight's cards:



There is incredible power in names, in writing by hand in the act of bearing witness. We do not hold out hope that receiving the names of the dead will make the war stop. But we do hope that whoever at the White House opens these envelopes will read the names and reflect for a moment on the impact of our country's actions.

Sunday Night with the Geek Squad

What's geekier than going to a Yes concert? Going to a Jon Anderson SOLO show! Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows my obsession with that "elfin voice" (as my mother says) but fellow Yes fans can be a little creepy in their devotion. (And coming from me, that's saying something!) Going to a solo show has to move one to a whole other level on the scale.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I have to admit to being less than satisfied by the Yes-men of late. Although they are always a great band to see live, there are only so many times you can hear the same version of Roundabout without wishing they'd mix it up a little, and the last really decent album they put out was The Ladder, which was quite awhile ago. And so there was a part of me that thought this show would be more amusing than anything else-- it was mostly the thought of being able to see Jon at such close range (show was at Avalon) that was too tempting to give up. Anyway, I bought two tickets, and bribed the famed "little bro" to come with.

The crowd was as I expected-- little bro and I were just about the youngest ones there by 10-15 years. Various audience members lamented the addition of Trevor Rabin to the line-up in the 80's. (Two things, people: 1. Yes probably wouldn't still be an entity if he hadn't revitalised the group back then, and 2. That was 20 years ago now, GET OVER IT.) Many insisted on shouting out names of classic Yes tunes at inappropriate times. I lamented having to be associated with these particular people.

But, the music? I went prepared to be amused, and maybe even disappointed. The reality... Jon did what I've wanted Yes to do for several years now-- play some new stuff with energy, and find a way to make the old stuff interesting to someone who has heard it many times over. I am in love again.

P.S. Sorry for the horrifying formatting in the previous post, I seem to be having trouble getting the paragraph breaks to publish consistently. See, now it's happening again-- this P.S. is supposed to have a break between it and the last paragraph... Kla, any clues?

Working on the Weekend

So, with all the craziness at work lately, I had gotten a bit behind on reviews for a couple of staff members-- something I struggle very hard not to do, but it's difficult with 15 people reporting to you. After trying unsuccessfully to block off time to get them completed during work hours last week, I begrudgingly came to terms with the fact that I was going to have to take time out of my weekend to write them.

Then, spent Saturday watching it snow. YES, SNOW. And not just your typical October flurry-- we're talking several hours of steady snow. By mid-afternoon there were over 2 inches on the ground and the streets were even starting to get slick. I'm sorry to say I used this as an excuse to curl up on my sofa with a book instead of my reviews. (Bad, bad manager.) Promised myself I would do them on Sunday come hell or high water (or blizzard) even if it meant I had to actually drive to the office to get myself to focus on them.

Sunday arrives-- epiphany! (And not in the liturgical sense.) I realize that I cannot focus on work in my apartment, there are just too many distractions. (Read: bbc america) But also realize that the solution does not have to include the office-- I just need to find a place to concentrate, and there's no reason it can't be someplace fun. I choose North Conway. Perhaps not the most environmental of choices considering the current gas crisis, but... the pull of several hours in the car with nothing to do but listen to my new CD's wins out. And it is an incredibly beautiful day for a drive-- snow Saturday, warm and sunny on Sunday. Gotta love New England.

Halfway up Route 16, I happen on the ubiquitous "moose crossing" sign. I scoff to the invisible passenger next to me. "Moose crossing, right! I have been to New Hampshire hundreds of times over the years, and I have never ONCE seen a moose-- nor do I ever expect to. Hmph!" Three miles later, cars swerve off the road, drivers leap out, some clutching cameras. Yup, you guessed it-- MOOSE. Not a very big one, I'd estimate it was just a teenager but, nonetheless, there he/she was-- crossing the road, just a stone's throw from my car. Enter Twilight Zone theme here...

And yes, yes, I did actually complete my overdue reviews-- ensconced on the hood of my car in a parking lot overlooking Crawford Notch. Who says work has to be dreary?

3 Reasons

Three reason to love the album Sunlandic Twins, by Of Montreal:

1. Lines like "You’re my mousy aesthete, you’re my bouyant cherub, it’s true. And I never want to be your little friend, the abject failure."

2. Song titles like Wraith Pinned to the Mist (and other games)

3. Videos like this one for the afore mentioned song: http://www.mtv.com/bands/az/of_montreal/audvid.jhtml

Ah, obsession.

Non-Hostile Takeover

So, as Michaela is so smitten with posting to her knitting blog that she has horribly neglected The Salt Water Chronicles it has been decided that I must take up the torch. (Yup, had to get one last guilt trip in, Kla!) Of course, this means that gone are the days of highly literate postings about museums and such. Welcome to the days of childish rants about Franz Ferdinand and wild record buying sprees, and perhaps the occasional rapture about the outdoors.

So let's start with the sprees-- the latest took place just before the heavy rains and winds hit this weekend. Most people stock up on canned goods and water when there is threat of a bad storm. I head straight for BullMoose Records. The latest insanity:

Arcade Fire... album:Funeral... Gotta love those Canadians.

Neil Finn... album: One All... I'm on a little Neil Finn kick right now. It started when I went back and listened to Try Whistling This, which I never really listened to when I first bought it numerous years ago for reasons I can only now guess at. I vaguely recall some "bad time" being associated with the album, but since I can't even remember what the "bad time" was now, decided to give it another try. Fell head over heels in love and pretty much listened to it non-stop all the way down to NJ a few weekends back. We'll see how this newer purchase ranks-- hopefully it won't take me 10 yrs to decide to like it as it did with Try Whistling!

Franz Ferdinand... album:You Could Have It So Much Better... The initial excuse for the spree. After the amazing, amazing NYC show which had me exhilarated for days afterwards, how could I not buy the new one? I was so-so on the single when it first came out, but now I think I almost like this album better than the first... except for Matinee, of course.

Frausdots... album:Couture Couture Couture... Europop by Americans. Needs further listening before a decision on its' merits.

The Get Up Kids... album:On a Wire... Really not sure of this one yet. It's not terrible, but might be the most mediocre of the bunch. Oh well, 1 out of 7 ain't bad.

Of Montreal... album:Sunlandic Twins... The best thing since sliced bread and Franz Ferdinand. The Shins took a happy pill, went disco-rific, and added some Alan Parsons Project harmonies-- delicious.

Josh Ritter... album:Golden Age of Radio... overdue purchase of gratitude for a great opening act in front of Keane. After witnessing the TRAGEDIES that passed for opening acts at Franz, I felt obligated to this one.

Off now to see if I can muscle the air-conditioners out of my windows on my own. Yes, they're STILL installed, in spite of the fact that I've had to have the heat on the last few days. But it was only a few weeks ago that I actually used them-- OK, granted, by the end of one particular Saturday I WAS afraid that the air conditioner I left on when I departed in the morning might be competing with the heat that may have come on by the time I arrived home since the temperature dropped SO drastically that day, but...

I Promise Not To Work....

...this weekend...will not work this weekend...will not work this weekend...

I'm tempting fate by sitting in the Starbucks on Boylston Street across from the Pru by logging in via HotSpot for an hour. Really, I can stop after an hour. Honest. And I won't check my e-mail once. (This particular SB is playing an amazing mix of music this morning -- just heard Violetta's "Ah, fors'è lui…Sempre libera” (lovely) -- but the downside of listening to arias in most non-performance settings is that places play compilation albums. You'll hear your great moments of Puccini, Verdi, maybe Mozart, but all strung together and out of their context. It's like listening to just one movement of a symphony. Imagine playing the third movement of Beethoven 5 without the 4th and you'll get the idea. )

So now I can catch up with whatever horrors have been ocurring in the world for the past two weeks. Or (much more likely), I can read through the 1,000 posts waiting for me in Bloglines. Other than brief 10 minute chunks of NPR in the morning, I have no idea what is happening outside of the payroll/db migration project I've been obsessed with for the past month. I don't think I've ever worked so hard on a project in my life.

The most difficult part of this project, though, has been trying to communicate to other people what they need to do, and then letting them do it. I am a classic "I'll do it myself so I know it will get done" person -- but with a larger, more complicated project that involves multiple departments, business units, and people, that approach doesn't work. So if I've learned anything, it's that I have to figure out how to communicate to other people what they are responsible for and when.

And just so you know, I haven't checked my email yet this morning. And Cio-Cio-San is now singing the best moment in all of "Butterfly." Not so bad for a rainy Saturday morning.