My Adult Nancy Drew

September 1, 2010 · 4 comments

in Blonde Ambition,Social Media,Women Are Not Funny,blogging

Last Friday on Women Are Not Funny Radio my featured guest was the delightful Paige Worthy, a woman so accurately named that her parents have developed legendary status and are revered as seers and soothsayers by the knowing and unknowing who know her.   Because her name chosen, as long ago as her birth, is a delightfully descriptive yet modestly complimentary homophone that is perfectly suited to both Paige and her occupation.

Paige worthy is a writer and a writer worthy of the page.

They say, and who are we talking about really but the they who are constantly saying stuff and who then are always quoted as having said whatever they said, or were said to have said, that “every writer needs a reader.”  If Paige is the writer, I will volunteer.  To read.  I volunteer to be her reader.

Because you see, Paige has become my Adult Nancy Drew.

That is what I called her when we spoke on Women Are Not Funny radio.  I just blurted it out and hadn’t even known it was true until I actually said it at the time it came to me as an idea in my my perfectly coiffed head.  An idea that came from where many ideas originate, both welcome and unwelcome with great abandon and spontaneity and energy enough for all.  It could be said and shall be said that I coined an idea, which is a phrase both over used and under used and overlooked by the US Treasury which permits the coinage of ideas and even taxes them if and when they result in income that is reported.

Paige, somehow knowing that this spontaneous coinage was of the truthful and complimentary persuasion, thanked me for saying so and mentioned her own fondness for the other Nancy Drew.

Later in memory and wary celebration she wrote about the incident on her blog at paigeworthy.com, the website where she blogs brilliantly and almost daily.  Paige wrote a post about her Women Are Not Funny appearance and in it she said she didn’t know what it means to be my Adult Nancy Drew.

Generosity being my nature along with my frequently noticed by me adorability and modesty, I shall tell darling Paige and you, my Darling Reader, exactly what it means.

When I was a child, of the girlish nature, I loved to read.  Books of all kinds with prevalent words that could not be ignored because visiting  the words there and inhaling them was the nature and purpose of the enterprise known as reading.  I inhaled.

And much of the time, the words I was inhaling were on the pages of a Nancy Drew book, so called because it was named for Nancy Drew who it was also about: a teen-aged heroine so seductively exemplary of the life we in girldom longed someday to lead that the books in the series were like childhood heroin.

I was addicted to the thoughts that the words in the books inspired–thoughts that I myself might someday drive a red convertible, go to dinner without adults, have a boyfriend exactly like Ned, and, even better, well not really better, but still rather swell, solve crimes.  By being smart and tenacious while having pretty hair and while wearing a fresh, stylish frock.  I inhaled the words and the vision of a life so well lived and well ordered.

And that is my best martini-style explanation for why I would now describe Paige Worthy as my Adult Nancy Drew.  I am addicted to her words and inhale them for their intoxicating richness and enjoy the way they temporarily overwhelm me.  (I was made to be overwhelmed and while some decry overwhelm and well they should, unless they are you, and then it is you instead of them, in need of crying or in the act of decrying or just so overwhelmed you can’t even imagine surfing in overwhelm for the sheer natural joy and hellishness, sought and unsought.  By me.)

But this post is not about overwhelm which was only mentioned by the writer of this post who wishes to shift to third person for the love of pretension and grandiosity which, similar to overwhelm are among the most beloved nouns of this author.

Instead this post is about being somewhat older than twenty-seven, possibly only weeks older, and yet enjoying reading the musings and deep revelations of someone who is, as my Adult Nancy Drew, twenty-seven years old, and imagining myself, like her, who is a character in her own book, hopping on my bicycle and setting off for the train station. Or nurturing and being nurtured by an upstairs neighbor very much like and unlike me and finding common ground above ground.  Or buying  the groceries with the healthiest reputations, instead of the signature cookie dough I constantly desire, and doing so for the physical me, knowing  all the while that it is the emotional me who is in need of nourishment.  Or convincing myself that being alone is doable, see-able, and tenable until Ned reappears or another Ned appears, or however she and I conceptualize such complications as men who are and are not in our lives.

Craving the fantasy of  living her life, even on days when my own life is better, is what keeps me in welcome anticipation of the lovely uncontrolled substance that I so enjoy when I read the worthy pages of my Adult Nancy Drew.

Chinese symbol for "end"Subscribe to my blog via RSS or email and you will never face another sleepless night alone.  Also available on the Amazon Kindle.

{ 4 comments }

Economic Opportunity Be Damned!

August 28, 2010 · 2 comments

in Confusion,Social Media,blogging,features

Every time I think about it, which is an expression that is giving me pause and has thereby evoked the use of a second expression about having been given pause, thus annoyingly requiring me to decide where to meander next in this tortuous process of torturing words, I amaze myself.  And the reason, I believe, that I was given this unsought pause, is that it is substantially possible that I rarely think about “it” at all.  But that is untrue, or at the least, un-truth-y, because I think about it from time to time and am certain in a world plagued by uncertainty that you think about it too.

What we think about, you and I, is this darling blog, New Media Martini, and how astoundingly feature-filled it has become!

Its latest feature which blog management added today, unless it did so earlier without notice or acknowledgment highly likely, is the Misleading Blog Post Title.

Because the truth of the matter is that I, Kay Ballard, LOVE Economic Opportunity, and the last thing in the world I would want to do is to consign it to hell.  Oh no!  That, in fact, is the job of others!

But I must admit that even though I LOVE Economic Opportunity and sing its praises loudly and off key whenever the melody might matter, there was a time in the past, when Paul McCartney and others of us were younger, when I as a parent failed to preserve and protect the rights of my former daughter, currently my sister, to the Economic Opportunity that would have been hers by virtue of disobedience.

Now we might pause here and ponder together the nature of disobedience and whether and when disobedience is a virtue, except for the obvious perilous fact that Deep Philosophical Discussions are not yet an official feature of this feature-filled blog.

So, we shall barrel forth with my story and you and I shall celebrate the fact that my story is finished in the event that it ever is which becomes more and more likely and unlikely with each progressive sentence.  But therein lies one of many problems.  In trying to get this story told, expressions appear, like “progressive sentence,” with meanings to ponder or not.

Oh, my!  More pause evoked.

Here, it is, Darling Reader, because you don’t have the time for pause.  You have proven that amply by not showing up here on rare occasion and you know who you are.  I forgive you.

So here it is:  When my former daughter was a child, she liked to write on herself.

I know that you don’t understand this.  Neither did I.  At the time.

In fact, I found it quite vexing.

My at the time daughter would write words on her hand or on her wrist.  Random words?  Probably not.  Probably the names of boyfriends or candy bars, or perhaps even words of self-encouragement.

So vexed was I about the practice and the way that it interfered with her natural and inherited loveliness, that I bothered not to inquire about the scientific or literary value of her writing.  Instead I merely asked her in the most adorable and persistent fashion that she cease and desist from the practice.  In dulcet tones, I asked her to cease and desist writing on herself over and over again.  Because despite being an occasionally obedient child, (the use of said expression once again tempting us, you and me, to veer off into a philosophical examination of the meaning and value of obedience) she frequently ignored my maternal entreaties.

Eventually, Paul McCartney grew older, signaling to the rest of us the passing of time, and Phoebe, my former daughter abandoned the  practice of hand writing.  Rather she abandoned the practice of hand writing upon her hand.

But now, in retrospect, I believe that my well-meant instruction many have caused my daughter economic harm and loss for which I as a lawyer and former mother officially disclaim legal responsibility.

You see, it is apparently possible to obtain income by writing upon oneself   To receive revenue by advertising for commercial entities in the most personal and unfashionable fashion.  It is an Economic Opportunity for her foreclosed by the training she, my former daughter, received from me, her adorable and modest former mother.

Chinese symbol for "end"

{ 2 comments }

I Have a Daughter, Rather, I Used to Have a Daughter

August 25, 2010 · 4 comments

in Clarity,blogging

It is wonderful thing to be a mother.  At least that is my staunch belief based on my own fabulous experience.  Of course, it is dangerous to base one’s beliefs solely on individual experience–something both more convincing and less germane than any further evidence unimaginable.

Regardless, I am no longer a mother.  You see, my former daughter, Phoebe, reached an age that made her eligible for a prestigious and well-deserved promotion.  So, I promoted her.  To be my sister.  My substantial and uncalled for vanity was at stake.  I came to realize that I was entirely too young to have a daughter her age.

My memories of motherhood are prevalent and fun and possibly delusional.  In my memory I was extraordinarily talented at the mothering game which by referring to it as such, I lost the respect of those who were unlikely to have given my mothering any respect in the first place which is a loss so ferocious that it makes me yawn.

Among my threes and threes of readers, my sister, formerly my daughter, actually reads New Media Martini in useless and sisterly abandoned hope that she will read something I have written that is worthy of thought or glean from me some knowledge I don’t possess or receive some empty optimistic reassurance that a sometimes hellacious world can become a tiny bit cooler after a sip of a new media martini.

That, Darling Reader,  is the end of this post.  Next in the height of pretentiousness, I will paste in the Chinese symbol for “The End,” which will thereby become a new feature of this darling, feature-filled blog, New Media Martini.  I shall do this with the bold unproven claim that I am not Chinese and that I don’t speak nor write in any Asian languages which makes me both more clever and less clever than I would prefer.

Chinese symbol for "end"Now, having ended this post in a totally transcontinental fashion, I can reveal to you what I intend to write about next, as is my unavoidable and largely unheeded custom.  I am planning to write about actual advice that I once gave my former daughter.  It was back at a time when neither of us anticipated that she would soon qualify to become my sister.  This is advice which is largely responsible for her financial ruin had she listened to me which fortunately she did not.

What you have just read could qualify as a “teaser” which might become yet another new feature of this darling, darling blog, New Media Martini, which you are reading shamelessly at this very moment unless you are not.


{ 4 comments }

For the Darling Faith Go: “They Say It’s Your Birthday”

August 22, 2010 · 2 comments

in Clarity,Women Are Not Funny

A well known and well loved feature of this fabulous blog, New Media Martini, is that we tell time and talk about time using the lived-long life events of Paul McCartney, the cutest Beatle, as time reference points.  And we sure as hell avoid birthdays–talking about them, writing about them, and celebrating them, even if they refuse to be avoided and actually happen on a despicably reliable annual basis.  To fabulous women like Faith Go.  And me.

A good eye cream, Faith, Darling.  Because you have eyes and you are now, today, twenty-three with eyes that need to become acquainted with eye cream.  Because your physical loveliness, while substantial, is already sprinting toward the door.  A metaphor hoping not to mix with the other metaphors so tragically trotted out here from time to time instead of sprinting here spontaneously and reminding us that if you move fast the wrinkles won’t show.

All my love to you, Faith. Today and always.

{ 2 comments }

On the Radio

August 20, 2010 · 0 comments

in Blonde Ambition,Confusion,Social Media,Women Are Not Funny

“the only thing I want to hear is that you love me still”

When Donna Summer sang it and you sang along, or discoed along. or both, wearing angel sleeves of silk voile even if you were Daniel Thurston who is forgiven and famous here regardless, you and she and he somehow knew you were singing about me this week in advance of my relentless radio replication.

On Tuesday night I was guest for the hour on “Into the Night” with Chris Wakefield, an affable host and affable artist who invades the lives of global citizens via air waves while slinging digits of pleasant sound from his outpost in North Dakota, as only places like North Dakota permit themselves to be so referred.  We spoke of many things including the Thing who is my Mortal Enemy, Patti Digh. Friends tuned in; some of them listened. Afterward, one even offered up a marriage proposal most insincere.  Should you be so inclined, you may listen here.

Today being another day entirely marks the radio debut of the pig.  The guinea pig.  The revered social media guinea pig who calls herself @LilPecan when that is who she is being.  This very day is Radio Day.  National Radio Day. And what better day than that day, or this, since that is what it is, for Pecan, as I shall insist on calling her, and Emma Devlin, the woman behind the genius social media brand that is Pecan, to talk with me on Women Are Not Funny Radio?  Having adorableness and cuddliness in common,  we shall talk about many things uncommon including a future for Emma that includes helping others plan for the future in a way that includes the inclusion of future material wealth.  Should you be so inclined, you may listen here.

And the day will continue through what is known as the rest of the day without end and, with any luck at all will result in a dinner so delicious and juicy it has yet to be imagined or shopped for or prepared but will appear mysteriously nonetheless just prior to a juicy conversation with dynamic radio personality, Paul Lawrence Vann, whose internet radio show, The Wealthy Speaker, has a title that pre-supposes the patently obvious possibility that someone could be paid to talk and paid well or be a trust fund baby or stump one’s toe on a diamond or rob banks without capture or invent the skateboard or other possibilities less obvious and rarely spoken of.  Without end.  On the radio.  On National Radio Day.  Should you be so inclined, you may listen here.

{ 0 comments }

Does Anyone Really Live in Dayton, Ohio?

August 16, 2010 · 11 comments

in Social Media,blogging

This post has a title because that is the convention, and it is in the form of a question which puts me in jeopardy of looming apology.  You see, it is possible that this blog, New Media Martini has a horde of fans in the environs of Dayton, although possibly, like me, no one knows the meaning or exactitude of the word “horde” and joins me in abusing and misusing it frequently to the merriment and disdain of the linguistically superior.

Worse, the forgoing sentence took me right off the track of the purpose of this post which perhaps uncharacteristically has one.

It is to tell you about Molly Campbell, who copiously admits to living in Dayton along with her husband who is rumored to be quite elderly or less so.  Molly is a humor writer and earns that designation frequently and in good spirits despite of her latitudinal and longitudinal preferences here stated.

She writes the popular blog, Life With the Campbells.

In addition to being a writer quite amusing to her readers, Molly is generous with her good cheer and her praise.  I know because I have been the frequent and deserving recipient of both.

All of us who toil in the stratusphere of the blogosphere know that writing a blog is a burdensome joy.  For some of us, just doing so is all that we dare accomplish.  But not Molly and not her old man.  Her husband.  They, Molly and the Aged One, have identified and popularized techniques for living life in a certain way. A gentle way.  A slow way. A way that promotes a certain kind of cool.

I applaud them sincerely and, and hasten to add that part of the reason I do so is that I so enjoy the sound of applause which is accustomed to being near my welcoming ears.

For you see, the Campbells seem to be on the forefront of creating a new Movement that requires very little movement and even less clothing.  Yes, it is a Movement that requires being quite still. The Movement could be called many things but I shall leave the naming of The Movement to others less creative who should have the opportunity nonetheless.

Please read their idea, fresh as anything from Dayton, Ohio, and tell me what you think,  here below.

{ 11 comments }

Women Are Not Funny Radio Has Eaten My Life!

August 12, 2010 · 1 comment

in Blonde Ambition,Social Media,Women Are Not Funny

Actually, it has made me its snack.

And you are feeling queasy because you suddenly realize you are reading the musings of a woman who both claims and admits that she has become the metaphorical celery sticks and blue cheese dressing for an internet radio show.

Stop!

Oh, dear!

We, you and I, are the victims of a failed metaphor.  Because I am nobody’s snack unless they are George Clooney.

Instead, I am the admiral of my ship and the omnibus of my budget.  I am the den mother of my den.  And, I am the creator, executive producer, host, visionary, apologist, technician, head writer and audience for the internet radio show, Women Are Not Funny.

It happens every week on Friday afternoons at 4pm eastern time.

Tomorrow I shall tell you why you should be there and and why you should listen in.

{ 1 comment }

Calling Myself Something New

August 11, 2010 · 0 comments

in Books,Confusion,New Media International,hair

I have spent a lot of time today with my head in my Kindle.

Oh, my!

I think we just ran into the logical limits of the expression “my head in a book.”

But perhaps not, because I never meant it literally, since I am a confusionist.  I am the child of a literal mother, an English teacher, and a whimsical father, a physicist.  That makes me a strangely non-scientific, non-English-conforming confusionist.  And today’s Kindle involvement was not tactile but tangible nonetheless.

Because I am a publisher, Darling.

I am a New Media Publisher.

And for low-volume proof of that very thing, as I write this very blog post, in the very modern way of our time, at this very moment, I am very sufficiently using the word “very” and I am also spending time listening to a very stupid publishing conference call.  The speaker is not talking about the Kindle, nor anything new media related.  In fact, he just now suggested that people sell hard copies of their own carefully crafted book by going door to door.  And, as a special bonus tip, he revealed that Bugs Bunny’s birthday was last week uncelebrated by me unpurposely and unceremoniously.

But hearing about such things of great importance is not why you are here, as you know, because despite having landed here, you are generally in control of your thoughts and activities, unless I have given you too much credit and I am happy to do it.

Because you are my reader and you are entitled to every good thought and every good wish that can leap in your direction from my beautifully coiffed, non-scientific, English-optional head.  And my main wish for you today is that you will soon be reading my book, stress Relief for the High Achiever on your own Kindle and everything I have done today has been done in effort to bring that about.

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Some Things Come Easily For Me, Pretension Among Them

August 7, 2010 · 0 comments

in Blonde Ambition,Travel,blogging

To know me is to know pretension in its rarest form which is a pretentious statement custom made for this blog post because my own dear pretentiousness is of the garden variety and the pleasure it gives me is quite pedestrian which is a delightfully pretentious way to say “ordinary” which I never accuse myself of being.

I delight in my pretension and trot it out on all fours–oops, not dainty enough–or better said, on every occasion.  Please forgive my inelegant lapse so pretentiously identified and described.

So here is your daily dose of my pretension which so totally delights me, although perhaps we should call it pretention because that is an archaic form and, and therefore over and above pretentious.

Let me merely say that I have just learned that this very blog is now in the new Kindle store on amazon.co.uk.

New Media Martini is now finally available through the Kindle Publishing Platform for the UK territory and will be sold on the UK Kindle store by the Amazon affiliate Amazon EU S.a.r.l., which has become a party to the Digital Text Platform Digital Publication Distribution Agreement.

Prior to this, my blog’s many fans in the UK, who desperately wished to read my blog on a Kindle device had no choice but to swim the Atlantic which was not necessarily convenient nor efficient regardless of their non-existence.

{ 0 comments }

Open Letter to Daniel Thurston

August 5, 2010 · 3 comments

in #Soiree,Clarity,Social Media,Travel

Darling,

I am concerned that you are overstepping your substantial and highly questionable authority as an expert in the English language, unable to speak it as we all know if we listen to you which we try not to.

The foregoing was untrue with the added benefit of being unkind.  Or should that be “with the added aspect of being unkind” since being unkind is rarely a benefit to those of us who are down with Buddha.  Which I am not.  Not really. Yet I like the coolness of saying it but think that such things are probably better left to professional resumes and other documents where we certify our self-worth.

If I were really down with Buddha I would be so cool that I could wear Calvin Klein perfume with no apologies, even in elevators.

But you didn’t ask me about that.  You didn’t ask me about anything.  You merely said that tonight you could “sleep like a babe, if only because you (referring to me) used the word ‘glommed’ in a sentence as though it was less than a gazillion miles away from being a real word…”

Darling, the reason I am trusted with real words like glom and radiation and other real words and permitted to use them here at the New Media Martini despite my fractious policy of submitting words to torture here in their unnatural environment, is that I am widely understood to know a real word when I use one, unlike another who lives in Auckland when he is away from Beijing and the adorable and modest young woman who so desires his company.

Love,

Kay

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