The Special People Club

Shop Around by The Captain and Tennille is an outstanding example of seventies pop music. Toni Tennille's broad word chewing and the funky synthetic rhythm stylings of her chapeau-ed balding husband stand the test of time. When the iPod spits this one out, composure be damned. It's time to boogie and lip sync . There's even perfectly timed " Whooo !"- ing . Someone should incorporate this song into a chick flick. You know, they can play it over an independent career woman's series of comically bad dates, leading up to the meet-cute when she encounters her true love (who she initially can't stand) and gives up her hardened ways for the man of her dreams. All the 40-something women like me that used to sing this song into hairbrushes as girls would really dig it. Oh, wait. The song's about relying on yourself and not settling for the mundane. But it's got good beat, and you can dance to it. Quick. Someone call Nora Ephron .

The view of the Koutoubia from our balcony. Each of those "windows" has a blast-horn speaker to shout out the daily calls to prayer. Might-e-fine wakeup call if you want to get up before dawn. Typical of the souks...these are streets, with donkey cart and motor-scooter and foot traffic and all, with restaurants and storefronts just like any other street. But they;'re covered, and they feel like an open air shopping mall with stall after stall of goods. Our green carriage driver, Mustaffa, who took us around the ramparts. He spoke no English, but I smiled and nodded like I understood French. He was sweet, bless him, and really wanted to be of help. A typical tagine, this one with lamb and prunes. In the hotel bar, they served my drinks with a rose garnish because I am a Lady. A cautionary tale on what happens to girls who can't say no. The sad thing is, if I weren't in a job search I would have totally grooved on this and paid to have a really nice one done whi...

I am back from Marrakech , and I thoroughly enjoyed my trip. I love it there. Its exotic strangeness is overwhelming, but it feels comfortable and vibrant and exhilarating, as well. Flew out on Thursday night. I got waylaid by a phone call when I got back from running errands, and since I can never not talk to CP , he told me about the tortilla soup he made, and the beer he'd had for breakfast, and a bunch of other stuff when I actually should have been upstairs packing. Eventually I cut him off, ran upstairs to be sure I had everything important, and flew out the door to the car. The M1 was a parking lot, so instead of the normal 1 hour it takes to get to Heathrow it took 2.5. Pleh . I'd planned ahead, though, so I was still in plenty of time. Once I arrived in Marrakech , I waited like 100 hours to get through passport control. Or perhaps it just seemed like 100 hours because they were playing an Arabic Muzak version of Lionel Richie's "Hello" in a loop. Teac...

I hate that I have to write this. I really hate it. Because I don't want to have to say it. But it's been building up for weeks now, and as much as I've tried to rationalize and beat it out of me, I can't help myself. Hillary Clinton, it's time to go away now. Seriously. Vamoose . Be gone, Satan. Okay. You're not Satan. That was a cheap shot. I'm sorry. In fact, you're an impressive, accomplished woman. You're brilliant. You genuinely care about America. You are willing to have a bit of fun at your own expense on Letterman and The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, and you'll even go on the sub-standard Saturday Night Live and laugh at their stupid no-talent jokes. Hillary, there is a lot to like about you, and I can say I used to genuinely be your biggest fan. And not in a creepy Kathy Bates way, but in a respectful, appropriate-distance kinda way. But now you're a harpy-like caricature of a politician, what with your helmet hair and fash...

Tomorrow is my last day at work. My friend Michelle is taking me out for a celebratory dinner somewhere, then Thursday I fly to Marrakesh (we're staying here - how cool is that?!) to meet my friend Brad for a few days R&R, and next Tuesday the job search begins en force. I'm terrified, but I'm also very excited. VERY excited. It's so odd to be leaving a job with nothing firm to move to. I've done it before. Heck, I've done it several times. And though it's a little easier each time, it's still somewhere between exhilarating and exhausting and bowel- spasmingly frightening. I don't know why - each time I do this I end up better off. The first time I ditched a go-nowhere slacker life in MSP and followed the scent of El Ben to Seattle, which led me to my playgroup and an exciting job at a start-up working for a good-natured lunatic and I got to go to Hawaii several times a year and visit CP for the weekend on the commuter flight to LA. ...

Me. And the Copa. Copacabana. Which, by the way, is hot but not actually north of Havana. The view from my hotel room. My hotel room. (FYI, I could lay crosswise on that bed and neither head nor foot would hang off the edge.) Jesus Christ! That statue is HUGE! Where I spent Friday. Gratuitous nephew shot that I found when I downloaded my pictures. Teaches me to leave a camera unattended. Tom and George at my hometown McDonald's (with Norwegian welcome sign). My brother and his children enjoying a bit of culture at Christmas time.

The last trip of my events career starts tonight. I'm off to Rio de Janeiro with a client. TOTALLY geared. This makes Australia and Antarctica the two continents I'm missing in my efforts to be on all of them, and both of those are do-able as a private traveler. I know these things seem silly, but it's kind of a thing we do in my family...how many states, how many Canadian provinces, how many countries have you been in? (More = better, FYI.) When you work in my industry, traveling gets a bit ho-hum after awhile. Not that you don't enjoy yourself or the places you go, but you go enough places that you don't get the same thrill you do at the beginning, and most of the time you're working so your time isn't yours to spend like you would on a vacation. The hotels are nicer, of course, but you're still working. But Rio is high on my list of places I REALLY am excited about, and so it's a nice way to bid farewell to this part of my life. Back on Sunda...

Which, I guess, technically I was more alluding to things I associate with Paul Weller than speaking of him. Anyway. Wearing pencil trousers and doc martens reminds me of PW, which reminds me to mention that I am currently obsessed with English Rose .

I've been in a bit of post MBA slump. Kind of depressed. Kind of shiftless. Missing my friends. Feeling a bit lost. A bit melancholic. Fighting off a sore throat. The job search is going in fits and starts. In the meantime I've given notice at my current job and am forcing myself to figure something out. I don't know whether to stay here or move back to the states. I have questions. I want more love in my day-to-day life, not just through emails and phone calls. I'm edgy. I feel that deep-seeded sort of restlessness I haven't felt since my 20's. Is this what a mid-life crisis feels like? But it gets worse. Today I wore black pencil trousers, a white oxford shirt, a black leather jacket, leopard print doc marten boots and black and red chunky-framed glasses. It was like I was Enid in Ghost World when she tries to be a retro punk to avoid responsibility. Or like it was 1982. Either way, I'm a little old for that look. Oh well. I'm bohemian, right?