Milestones

1. My haircutter told me at my last appointment that my hair is now even on both sides, and he no longer has to cut one side differently to camouflage an inconsistency. He was going to pop some champagne, but alas, no bubbly for me in my condition. (By the way, didn't it take forever to grow out my hair!? No one could tell there was any difference for some time now, but there was. The texture and density were different. Apparently it takes a while for blood supply to return to the follicles so they begin to function normally again. Who knew? Turns out my follicles were more traumatized than I was.)

2. I just drove on the highway for the first time this past weekend. I didn't feel entirely comfortable because turning my head from side to side still triggers the vertigo sensation, so switching lanes is a little unsettling. But it really was time - and it went fine. But if you see me on the roads in a little silver jetta - may want to keep your distance.

3. I cooked something last night. Terry is still in Argentina and I've already finished the package of English Muffins that was in the freezer (I've been getting home from work way too late to have the patience to wait for takeout), so I actually resorted to making something all by myself. Mac n Cheese with tuna and peas. I don't know if you would count this as cooking, but I do since I combined ingredients that didn't originally come together. Plus I had to use the stove top and several kitchen gadgets such as a slotted spoon, a can opener and a collander. Consider how desperate I am: last week I was still hungry after finishing some doggy bag chicken so I topped it off with three spoonfuls of chunky peanutbutter.

4. Terry has ordered the range for the kitchen. There is no turning back. After torturing for several months about whether the love of his life was a Thermador, a Blue Star or an American Range, he went with the American Range. They start ripping out our kitchen on March 10th. Seriously, could I have timed this worse? Taking chaos in stride is going to be an early life lesson for Baby Voltz. Here's a picture of the range. We might include this picture on the birth announcements.

Crazy Like a Fox

I've written before about my affection for the New York crazies in general, and I've talked about one of my favorites, The Naked Cowboy. Turns out he's suing Mars for $6 million. Check out this article in the Journal explaining the situation. Basically, Mars used his likeness in a Times Square ad that attempts to draw people into the Hershey Store there. From what I've heard, the ad has already been taken down. Let's see if they are forced to pay up...

Guest Post From Argentina

While my pregnant wife is hanging around Starbucks waiting for a wink from her fantasy barista, I am riding horses and taking boat trips to have lunch and drink caipirinhas on a private island.

Preggers can't be choosers

At not quite 7 months pregnant, I am suffering from fashion famine. I keep wearing the same five outfits over and over. And with all the cute Spring lines in the stores, I just feel more huge than ever.

So I think it must have been the fact that the 19 year old part time worker behind the Starbucks counter couldn't see my belly - it being obscured by the register - that made this conversation possible. But since it's been at least 6 months since I've felt even remotely cute, I'll take what I can get...

"Yo, that haircut is hot."
"Thank you."
"Seriously. I don't think I've ever seen that hair on a real girl before."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, it looks like a picture you'd see, you know, like on a model, but I've never seen it in real life."
"Oh. Thanks."
"You should always keep it like that. I hope your boyfriend likes that hairstyle."
"Well, yes, my husband likes it."
"Oh. That's cool."

I think I was very close to free lattes for at least the rest of February and possibly one dutch movie date before I mentioned the husband. Who's in Argentina for two weeks, by the way. So maybe I'll hang around Starbucks tomorrow for fun...

What on earth am I going to do this Sunday?

I just can't let it go. I've been keeping all the sports sections from the newspapers this week. I bought The Daily News (which I never read) on Monday because they had a special edition 40 page Super Bowl section. I will savor every minute of the season's last Inside the NFL which will be on HBO tonight. I can't wait for this weekend when I have the time to watch the game again - which I may never erase off TiVO. I am totally smitten with this team of mine and I don't want to face the fact that this unfathomable season is over.

Indulge me one more time. I promise to find another topic to fixate on for upcoming posts (a kitchen renovation or the state of denial I'm in about a child coming to live with us soon both come to mind).

In the meantime, here are some pictures that I find fun:

Our work here is done...

My mother's sage words brought to life, "Super models don't like losers."

New Yorkers line the Canyon of Heroes

It's so great to see these Giants so excited - even cynical, trash-talking Michael Strahan has his video camera out to capture the day. How cute is that?

Well, as of Monday, I guess we're all undefeated. Can't wait for Week 1...

18 - 1

Manning mania

Trivia: 18 sets of brothers have played in the Super Bowl, but this is the first time for a pair of quarterbacks. Obviously, I'm hoping Eli will repeat Peyton's outcome from last year.

Needless to say, I can't wait for tomorrow's game. The family is coming over. My brother and I have watched all the playoff games together, so we can't break the karma. I'll continue to wear 11 and Brendan will wear 10. We're a little superstitious.

I didn't write about it before because I've been busy at work - not a lot of free time for hobby writing - but the NFC Championship Game was a total blast. My family was in Montauk for the holiday weekend, and we watched the game from The Montauket. I don't know if any of you know that place - it's a local bar on the South Fork. It's very hard to find and it's patrons are locals. Not exactly the usual Hamptons scene - no investment bankers, or trophy wives - just fishermen, firemen and off the wall local characters. The place has been there forever and I just love the completely unpretentious atmosphere. Perfect place to watch a Giants game.

Living up to its reputation, the place was filled with some colorful characters. My two favorites were 1. a guy who had tied a bar of soap on a string around his neck. His friends made him lick it everytime he cursed and 2. a guy whom we had seen the night before at another local bar - he was drunk then and was still drunk now. He was spewing language like you could not believe. At one point my mother told him to watch his mouth. Mistake. He apologized and then glommed onto her and decided the two of them were going to Phoenix together. He also asked her if the Giants won, would she streak across the bar naked with him. Unphased, she replied that she had given that up years ago.

Live entertainment aside, the game was not to be believed. I have never come so close to having multiple heart attacks. This was more than luck - the Giants were amazing, and Eli has finally shown all the doubters he really is a Manning. It was so exciting and I just can't even believe we're here. Here are some pictures from The Montauket.

Clearly, this is one classy joint.

Ready for some serious cheering.

Number 72 is the crazy guy with the foul language who wants to take my mom to Phoenix. In this picture he's talking to her while she patiently endures his rants. She taught emotionally distrubed children for 30 years in the New York City Public School system. She handled this guy just fine.

My two sister in laws and my mom are obviously only there because my brother and I dragged them. They try to pretend they know what's going on with the game...


...but by the end even they are caught up in Giants mania.

Here Brendan and I are - praying during the last regular time field goal attempt by Tynes. This one ended in tears.


Guardedly happy when the Giants pull off an interception during overtime. (I look a little manic - don't I?)

Slightly in shock after Tynes is finally successful. On to Phoenix...

Narcissism in action

This is an old story by now, so undoubtedly, some of you have already heard this one. But it's fascinating and creepy, so I'm sharing for those that missed it.

A couple in England was forced to have their marriage annulled after discovering that they were twins! Yikes!

They had been separated at birth and each raised in adoptive families. They ended up meeting later in life. In a true demonstration that we're all in love with ourselves, they fell head over heels and married. ("You're so attractive." "No - YOU'RE so attractive...")

Yuck.

Here's the full story as reported by CNN.

There's a recession coming? Let's embark on an expensive renovation...

Being parents to be, it's normal that we're all wrapped up in nesting right now. Normally I'm the only one who cares about home design, but our kitchen project has dragged Terence onto the bandwagon. The lucky thing here is that we care about totally different things when it comes to this renovation, and our individual obsessions ensure that someone is paying attention to all aspects of this project. (By the way, several people have pointed out the unwise decision to kick off this project at this time. It's a game of chicken, and I'm at peace with the fact that I will be giving birth into a construction zone.)

Terry is the chef in our relationship. I think I've informed you all of this already, but to underscore the point I'll repeat that I have cooked exactly two dishes since I started dating Terry in 1995. I made Guinness based chili for the 1997 Super Bowl and a kick-a#$ lasagna from the Marcella Hazan cookbook for a 2007 holiday potluck gathering at the office. Twice in thirteen years. So perhaps it's my lack of experience that keeps making me call the "oven" a "stove". Terry corrects me with a combination of amusement and concern. Come on. Like he doesn't know what I mean. They're attached for the love of God...

God bless him, Terry has researched all the appliance choices for hours upon hours. He knows every detail about every feature available. Not understanding anything about the advanced functionality of a particular model, I almost wouldn't approve one of his choices because there was a 20 minute period where I thought the knobs only came in blue (you can buy a conversion kit for black or stainless. Design crisis averted.)

I care obsessively about the really important things like the hardware and the backsplash (which is GORGEOUS). Terry felt I was spending too much time comparing materials here - but I reminded him the backsplash will be the signature of the entire room. He rolled his eyes. (Our designer agrees with me, by the way. He felt my choice took the whole project "up to a new level.")

As for his obsession, after changing his mind several times, Terence has finally settled on the oven/stove he wants for our new kitchen. He's in absolute love because it has a ceramic broiler and some ridiculous amount of something called "BTUs". We have visited it on several occasions in multiple stores over the past month. Two weekends ago, we visited it twice on the same day in two different stores. In that same day I also dragged Terence to a Restoration Hardware, Pottery Barn Kids, Calypso Home and Calypso Home Kids. We were exhausted by the end of the day - but not as tired as this guy waiting for the A train with me. He was snoring loudly - on my hearing side.

Anniversary

It was exactly one year ago today that I tried to jam a quick doctor's appointment in before a conference call and out of the clear blue was told I had a brain tumor. After a few moments of genuine confusion, it sunk in a little and I actually started laughing. I was clearly in shock - although it was a little funny when you consider the tetanus shot story. It was a pretty dramatic start to the year (I skipped the conference call, by the way).

Yes, 2007 was an intense year to say the least. And some of you only know the half of it. It's time to fess up: I've been keeping a secret. Any of you who have seen me recently already know. As for the rest of you, click here.

I've never been so happy to see a grown man cry...

I admit now that I didn't have enough faith. I never thought we'd be here. I did not expect to see the Giants become one half of the NFC Championship match up. But here we are - on our way to Green Bay.

Not only did we beat Dallas tonight in an amazing nail biter of a game that literally could have gone either way until the final nine seconds, but we actually made Terrell Owens cry. I kid you not - in case you missed it, he actually cried at the press conference following the game. There, there. It's ok, TO. You're on vacation. Go enjoy your millions in the off season.

My brother, Brendan, and I watched the game at his place, and neither one of us could believe what happened. After the game was over, we rewound the DVR and re-watched the final four minutes just to be sure. Here's a picture of us after the win.

If anyone wants to watch the Championship game with us, we'll be at The Montauket next week. Join us there. Unless you're a cheese head. In which case - better bring some tissues.

(Side note: This is a switch. Peyton's done before Eli?)

A love hate relationship

Sometimes I love him so much I can hardly stand it. Sometimes he disappoints me to the degree that I wish he'd just get out of my life forever. I'm speaking of Eli Manning, of course. And today I love him.

Let's see how I feel next Sunday at about 7:00 pm. But for now, I'm thrilled that there even is a next Sunday.

In case you haven't heard by now, the Giants beat the Bucs yesterday and won their first playoff game since 2000. It was Eli's very first playoff win since being drafted, in fact, hopefully laying some demons to rest. Next week we play the Cowboys - and here's something that may surprise you: it will be the very first time the Giants play Dallas in the post season. Ever. Weird - huh?

This past week I was discussing the upcoming game with a colleague who asked about my weekend plans. I explained that I had all but written my team off due to an abysmal showing in the second part of the season, but now I had some hope after seeing how they performed against the Pats. I started to continue, but my colleague stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Joan, let me just interrupt you right there. Gay men just don't care about football. Many before you have tried to engage me in this conversation. I can't go there." I countered that I was a little puzzled by that stance since there were so many exceptionally good looking men in the NFL. "It's a bunch of 300 pound men. Not my thing." Still not accepting this, I said, "Well, they're not all that way. The quarterbacks and receivers, for example are very svelte. Look at Tom Brady." I was stopped dead in my tracks with a wave of the hand and a simple statement that I could find no fault with, and indeed, have myself invoked in many situations: "Yes. Well, I just don't have time to sift through all that riff-raff." Say no more...

A picture of my brother and I watching yesterday's game at my mom's house (I went old school with Simms - I felt we could use a little 1986):

Advertising Loses a Legend

It's been a while since I posted an obit, but here's one that affected me.

Advertising is a business full of larger than life legends, and this past weekend we lost one of our most revered. I met Mr. Dusenberry in an airport once - introduced by a mutual colleague - and was totally star-struck. Even if you've never heard of him before, no doubt, you've been in contact with his award-winning work.

His obituary as reported in AdAge:

NEW YORK (AdAge.com) -- Phil Dusenberry, the famed BBDO creative known for campaigns such as GE's "We Bring Good Things to Life" and Pepsi's "The Choice of a New Generation," died at his Manhattan home Saturday, Dec. 29, after a battle with lung cancer. He was 71 years old.

The son of a cab driver, Philip B. Dusenberry attended Emory & Henry College, Virginia, on an athletic scholarship. He left after the athletic program was canceled and dabbled in radio before landing at BBDO in 1962, where he launched a career as a creative.

After his initial seven-year stint as a copywriter, Mr. Dusenberry left BBDO to start his own shop, Dusenberry Ruriani & Kornhauser. The business didn't take off with the gusto he had hoped, and Mr. Dusenberry rejoined BBDO in 1977 as an associate creative director. Within the next decade, he was promoted to chairman-chief creative officer of the network's flagship New York office. He was also named vice chairman of BBDO Worldwide and later chairman of BBDO North America, a role he retained until his 2002 retirement from the Omnicom Group agency.

'A gentleman in every respect'
"He was a great person to work for, to work with, and a great friend," recalled Ted Sann, former chairman and chief creative officer at BBDO, New York. "It's really a loss to everybody who knew him, and to the business."

Allen Rosenshine, former chairman-CEO, BBDO Worldwide, remembers Mr. Dusenberry as a consummate gentleman. "He rarely if ever raised his voice in anger, and you never heard a profanity coming from his lips," he said. "Phil was always well-groomed and immaculately dressed. He was a gentleman in every respect.

"Although he was a hard taskmaster in getting the creative product to be as good as it could be, he always shared credit with the people who did the work, and he always celebrated the success of the work," added Mr. Rosenshine. "Being his partner was one of the things I really loved most about being in the business."

Selling with celebrities
With his ability to reel in the most famous names of the day -- Michael J. Fox, Madonna and Michael Jackson among them -- for his clients' ads, Mr. Dusenberry helped set the trend for marketers' inking of lucrative celebrity-endorsement deals. "He pioneered the use of celebrities not just for the sake of having a celebrity, but choosing a celebrity that had relevance ... and that had some emotional attachment to the brand, and was believable as a user of a brand," Mr. Rosenshine said.

He's also credited with changing the creative direction of the agency behemoth, and under his leadership, BBDO was named "Agency of the Year" numerous times by trade publications. Mr. Dusenberry also was known for the role he played on the famed Tuesday Team, whose "Morning in America" commercials helped Ronald Reagan get re-elected in 1984.

Mr. Dusenberry -- named by Advertising Age as one of the century's top 100 advertising people -- published a memoir in 2005: "One Great Insight Is Worth A Thousand Good Ideas." Among the numerous awards and achievements earned over a career spanning five decades, he was a 2003 American Advertising Federation Hall of Fame inductee and in 2007 was inducted into The One Club's Hall of Fame.

Putting Pepsi in popular culture
In an October interview with Ad Age on the eve of his One Club induction, he reminisced about his days on Madison Avenue, saying he was proudest of his work for Pepsi, GE and FedEx. "Those were the accounts I was probably closest to and enjoyed the most."

"Working with Phil produced some of the most enjoyable and rewarding moments in my years at PepsiCo," said Roger Enrico, former chairman-CEO of PepsiCo. "The advertising he did for our brands helped make them icons of popular culture and added significantly to the growth of the PepsiCo enterprise. He was a great ad man and a dear friend."

Until the end, Mr. Dusenberry remained a believer in the holding-company model, citing the "smorgasbord of services" that large marketing organizations can offer as a feature of the business that many clients will always find appealing over smaller, independent shops.

Making 'The Natural'; becoming a legend
His talents ranged far beyond advertising, too. The Brooklyn native and lifelong Yankee fan's screenwriting credits include "The Natural," the classic baseball film starring Robert Redford. His 18-minute documentary film, "Final Journey" became a permanent addition to the Reagan Presidential Library.

"Our industry has lost a legend. BBDO has lost an inspiration. And many of us have lost a friend," said Andrew Robertson, president-CEO, BBDO Worldwide, in a statement. "Those of us who were lucky enough to work with him knew he always wanted more time to make it better. Sadly, he didn't get it this time."

Mr. Dusenberry is survived by wife, Susan; stepson, Ben Procter; daughter-in-law, Ilana Sparrow; brother Harry, and his wife Marcy; brother Joseph; sister, Jean Driscoll, and her husband, Jack; and a large extended family.

A wake will be held Thursday, Jan. 3, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m., and Friday, Jan. 4, from 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. and 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. at the Frank E. Campbell Funeral Home, 1076 Madison Avenue at 81st Street in Manhattan. A funeral Mass will be held Saturday, Jan. 5, at 1 p.m. at St. Ignatius Loyola, at 980 Park Avenue at 84th Street in Manhattan.

Donations may be made in Mr. Dusenberry's name to the Coalition for the Homeless, 129 Fulton St., New York, NY, 10038, or the St. Jude Children's Cancer Research Hospital, 501 St. Jude Place, Memphis, TN, 38105.

AdWeek Obituary

She eats real food

I went to The Palm for lunch last Friday. Sometimes a girl just needs some fillet and creamed spinach. Guess who was in the booth next to me? Hillary Duff. I could not begin to tell you why she's famous, but I know all the little girls in my family are big fans. My impression: she's cute as a button, eats like a normal person and has great taste in handbags.

She was with her mom and sister - notable since this was the day after those same three had a big enough run in with the paparazzi to make the evening news (not just TMZ - which of course it also made).

Because we were trying not to get kicked out of the restaurant this is mostly a picture of the light fixture, but there you go...

Entrepreneurial spirit: alive and well in the burbs...

I can't remember if I've mentioned this already, but we're renovating our kitchen. Our designer is a former Israeli soldier and we're just a little scared of him. But he's doing his best to keep us on schedule, so I guess we're getting the tough love we've paid for.

Terry and I are both off from work this week and we're torturing ourselves with frustrating kitchen errands to stay in A's good graces. Over the past two days, we have spent a disproportionate number of hours and mental effort attempting to pick out a faucet. We zig zagged all over Long Island from show room to show room and so far the only thing we've accomplished is confirming that we have unreasonably expensive taste. Put us in a room with 237 faucets and we zoom in on the one tucked away in the corner that is the most outrageously overpriced one in the room. The kind of price tag that would make my farm-raised grandfather spin in his grave. Neither one of us can bring ourselves to give in to the urge and just say, "In the grand scheme of the overall budget, it's not that big a deal..." I don't think we can bear the thought of being those people. The people with the cool looking faucet who are in hock up to their eyeballs. So the search continues.

We saw some curious things in our journeys through the suburbs yesterday. My favorite was this duo of stores in Huntington. The first was a themed store I've seen many times before and wondered how on God's earth these businesses stay viable. The picture is a little blurry, but I'm sure you get the idea...


Seconds after passing this treasure trove of bargains, we passed another store almost directly across the street. I can only assume it was launched after exhaustive research - no doubt including a thorough need-gap and SWOT analysis - indicated an open opportunity in the market. The owners of this store seized the day...


Unfortunately, the faucets we like would never be sold in the first store...

Don't mind me, I'm just trying to get home...

Sorry I haven't been posting. I'm caught up in a lot of work demands - and it's left little time for more important stuff like blogging. Because I feel like venting, I'll share a quick peek into one of the more frustrating moments of the past two weeks.

I had to work kinda late last Thursday night, so I took a cab home when I was done. It was a bad, stormy night with a lot of ice on the road, so it was not entirely surprising that my less than timid cab driver got into an accident. Not a bad one - but one that required us to get off the West Side Highway so my driver could discuss the particulars of the incident with the driver of the other car. Stellar. The three main problems as I saw it:

1. My driver (who was clearly in the wrong) and the other driver both appeared to live life on the unsavory side of the fence. As their argument got more and more heated it occurred to me that it was not outside the realm of possibilities that one of these guys could pull a gun. This didn't really worry me so much as annoy me. I had zero time for this nonsense.
2. The accident occurred far enough up the West Side Highway that the exit we were forced to pull off left us in a remote area of town under a dark overpass. Not a great place to bail and grab another cab even were it the height of rush hour, never mind 9:45 at night in an ice storm.
3. The most egregious offense: my driver had left the meter running the entire time.
   

The huffing and puffing finally calmed down, my driver got back in the cab and continued on the way as though nothing had happened. Yes - I paid the full fare, but no - I did not tip very well.

Haven't we all been humbled by a cafeteria worker at some point?

I know some of you must be Star Wars fans. You will find this hilarious. Advance warning, there is some bad language in here, but it's not gratuitous, I promise. Enjoy. (A, thanks for sending)

Make yourself at home, just stay out of my way

I've made it well known here that I love New York City. I'm very protective of this town, and don't like to hear people disparage this place as dirty, crime-ridden or no place to raise a child. I know that non-natives can't understand or love it the way those of us who are "hardwired New Yorkers" do, but I do know that outsiders can love it their own way. Trust me, I am not interested in keeping non-New Yorkers out and love the spirit that draws them here in the first place.

Having said all that, this past Wednesday brought the confluence of two events that will require an extra dose of patience for me from now until about January 12th. On Wednesday evening at around 8:00 pm, the tree in Rock Center was lit. Later that same evening, an agreement was reached that ended the strike of the Broadway stage hand workers' union and the lights were up again on the Great White Way.

From past experience, I know what I am in for from the minute that tree is lit until Little Christmas. A glimpse into the patience-trying situations I will be forced to endure over the next month and a half as I go about my every day life: overweight families wearing sneakers will leisurely stroll arm in arm down the sidewalk at a snail's pace - and a width of five across - blocking my dash to get a sandwich before my next meeting starts. Fathers will stand in front of me on the Starbucks line and bungle through a list of intricately customized beverages for their teenage kids who are already mortified to be seen on vacation with their parents, compounding the pressure this guy feels to get the drinks right. He will apologize to me several times as he steps back from the register to confirm details from his family claiming real estate and guardedly clutching their handbags and fanny packs in the seating section. People will stop dead in their tracks in the middle of any sidewalk or subway thoroughfare and look at a map or the top of a building as I nearly crash into them (like most New Yorkers, I read emails on my Blackberry while I walk). It will be harder than ever to find a taxi when I need one, and useless anyway since the whole city is a giant gridlock now.

All of this will make me want to scream at the top of my lungs, "Will all you people PLEASE go back to whatever bridge or tunnel brought you here and get off my island! Oh. And Merry Christmas."

So I had to laugh when this week's issue of Time Out New York arrived in our mailbox and I saw that it's dedicated to the tourist holiday season.

By the way, we both work in Advertising, so my husband I receive many magazines. TONY, Bon Ap and Food and Wine are the only subscriptions we actually pay for. If you haven't been dissuaded by the disdain in this email and you're coming to New York for a visit, pick up Time Out New York on the newsstand. It's a great mag to find some good, non-touristy things to do in town.

See TONY's collection of articles that explain why Tourists Heart Us.

My favorite piece in the issue included highlights from some recent TONY shenanigans. They sent out a TONYPD "cop" to ticket tourists for annoying out of town behavior. (See? This is what I'm talking about! I'm not the only one who can't stand these distractions.) In my opinion, the most deserved ticket went to the couple that was tagged for eating at The Red Lobster. Seriously. I never understand this. Why come to New York and eat in the same crappy chain restaurant that you have in your own Smalltown, USA? Stay home if all you want is a meal at Olive Garden.

Seeing as how my office is across the street from the Gershwin Theater and one of my Clients is down the block from Carnegie Hall, there is no way to avoid the onslaught of the next six weeks. I will try to endure it with as much grace as possible.

Do me a favor. If you're coming for a visit, walk single file and with purpose.

Show me your scar and I'll show you mine...

I have a new appreciation and fascination with medical stories.

Anyone who's known me for any period of time knows I have always been squeamish about bodily interference. I passed out in the nurse's office in sixth grade following a nasty gash suffered at the business end of a linoleum carver in art class. In seventh grade I had to sit down on the curb of the strip mall parking lot after my knees buckled under the weight of my newly pierced ears. I sobbed so uncontrollably when a tetanus shot was administered that my mother was called in from the waiting room to deal with me. This was my college entrance physical. The people in the waiting room were stunned when an 18 year old emerged from the exam room with a pile of bunched up tissues and puffy eyes. I was 34 the first time I had blood drawn (not counting the finger pricks I had endured with great surrounding drama as a child).

But let me tell you, brain surgery has changed all that. I won't lie, I still don't love having blood drawn, but there have been some amazing transformations. The fact that I'm even contemplating the follow up surgery to have a snap implanted in my skull to anchor a hearing device onto my head speaks volumes (no pun intended). I've attended enough cocktail parties and dinners in other than museum-quiet settings to know that I will eventually have this surgery.

Beyond this, I seem to have passed comfort into fascination with all-things-medical. I ask inappropriately specific questions of friends - or even people I've just met - about procedures they've had done or are contemplating. I just wade right in and probe on the kinds of details I would have shunned in the past. I also have a new obsession: the plastic surgery makeover show on the Discovery Health channel. Have you SEEN this show? Amazing. There was a marathon on the other day - I could not tear myself away. [Update: I started writing this post last week before the death of Kanye West's mother following a tummy tuck and breast reduction. Did you know her doctor was the host of that Discovery Health show? Turns out he's not even board certified. What the hell!?]

Anyway, here's a story I heard recently that I find totally amazing. I don't know if it's truly fascinating or it's just my newly acquired taste for medically oriented tales that holds me rapt, but you be the judge.

I met two of my good friends for lunch the other day. They are a pair of creatives I worked with up until about 5 or 6 years ago - and I LOVED working with them. They still work together. I try my best to catch up with them from time to time. This was our first gathering since my surgery, so they were asking me lots of questions. Turns out, I'm not their only friend who's been through a recent major surgery, and they recounted this story to me...

Another friend of theirs faced a much more dire situation, but luckily is doing just fine now. This poor woman suffered from lung disease that necessitated a lung transplant. Indeed, she was lucky enough to be the recipient of an amazing act of generosity from a family in their own dire situation. After a successful transplant surgery and recovery, the patient reached out to meet the family. They hadn't sealed the records. Maybe they felt that meeting this person would help them feel their loved one had not died in vain.

During the emotional meeting, the family asked what kind of physical differences the patient was experiencing. She explained that other than the exhilaration of simply feeling healthy again, this lifelong dedicated organic-food worshiper had the odd side effect of an undeniable craving for the fish fillet sandwich at McDonald's. She was horrified to find she couldn't help but give in to the fast food urge once or twice a week.

Of course you can guess what I'm about to say. The girl who's lungs had been donated loved the fish fillet sandwich from McDonald's and ate it all the time.

I'm sure doctors could never explain this. But I think the good ones would not dispute it.

I can't get no satisfaction...

I watched "After the final rose" last week looking for some answers, and I am left utterly unsatisfied. Probably not as unsatisfied as DeAnna, or her father as it turns out, but unsatisfied in a "that's ten hours of my life I'll never get back" sort of way.

My main conclusions:

1. Chris is as appealing in the "grilling host of talk show format" as he is useless in the "facilitator of action as it unfolds" format.
2. Brad is full of crap.
3. Jenni is vapid.
4. DeAnna deserves better, and could be a contender for the next Bachelorette.

The show opens and Chris whets our appetite: "Jenni, DeAnna and Brad are all here. And Brad has some 'splainin to do!"

Because they want to reaffirm The Bachelor franchise as a credible source of happy couples in the face of this season's debacle, and because they need some filler to get to a full hour, ABC trots out some happy couples from years gone by. Of course, Trysta and Ryan lead the parade with their brand new baby in tow. Yeah, yeah, cute baby. Get Brad out here.

Ryan is babbling about fatherhood but I'm more interested in the supers flying across the bottom of the screen: "Jenni confronts Brad" and "DeAnna confronts Brad"

After they bring out Byron and Mary - another "successful Bachelor couple" they finally bring out Jenni.

She hasn't seen Brad since she got the boot. Poor Jenni, they review the footage of her rejection in front of the live audience. I forgot how ugly her cry was up on that pedestal. Yikes.

Chris rubs it in, "You took a huge leap of faith. You told him you loved him. And then he rejected you." I swear he's gloating.

Jenni shows some impartial critical assessment of the DeAnna situation when she says exactly what the rest of us have to be thinking. She doesn't understand why he didn't say, "I can't propose to you right now, but I do want to see where this can go in real life. I do want to go the movies with you. I do want to talk on the phone with you." Yea! What about dating!?

Oh no! Then we learn Jenni's Grandmother just passed away. I'm so sad. I loved that cranky old woman. They dial up the drama with a video tribute to grandma. That woman was an octogenarian (? at least a septuagenarian) who no doubt accomplished many great things in her life. Yet for millions of people, her lasting legacy will be the three minutes of airtime she got on The Bachelor. Jenni couldn't have been more touched.

Finally DeAnna shows her face. An equal opportunity humiliator, Chris grinds her nose into the dirt as well, "You told Brad you loved him and he couldn't say the same." (Is there a graceful response to that? Was it a question?)

DeAnna laments that most men only get one woman! He had two. How could he not choose one? Chris points out maybe the problem is Brad. Dee has to concur. She summarizes the key issue, "I could understand if he couldn't propose, I don't understand how he could let me walk away."

DeAnna goes on to give us insight to the hell she's been living in the "real world". People keep coming up to her and saying, "I think he chooses you." She reenacts how she smiles through her pain and says, "You have to watch and see!"

I get a hint at the train wreck a comin when DeAnna actually admits that she still loves him. She would take him back. She's there with hope in her heart. Good God. My stomach is in knots.

Brad comes out and is probably encouraged by the lack of tomatoes thrown by the audience. Chris cuts to the chase: "Can you explain what happened? You let them declare their love for you and then you broke their hearts."

Brad provides an evasive answer punctuated with a shallow term of endearment with all the skill of a politician, "I don't have a formula for falling in love, man."

Chris plays the trump card that's been up his sleeve and this is when I know Brad is not going to redeem his reputation, "The audience doesn't know we flew DeAnna's father out at your request because we were that sure that there would be a proposal and then there wasn't. How does that make you feel as a man?"

Not satisfied with emasculation, Chris impugns Brad's character when he gets him to admit Brad knew there was something wrong when he bought the ring. Chris exploits the admission, "So, did you feel like a jerk?"

While Brad admitted that yes, it was hard not to conclude that he indeed, was a jerk, he denied the rumors that he was dating someone else, that he has children and/or is gay.

I'm not yet satisfied with the level of awkwardness. But luckily, as had been promised earlier in the show, it's time for "Jenni to confront Brad."

Jenni comes out and she gives Brad a big hug. They do some awkward touching of each other's knees. In his defense, Brad offers this explanation to Jenni, "I was thinking of her when I was with you and vice versa." This boy does not know how to help himself.

Chris chums the water and prods Jenni to state that she's lost respect for Brad. I love Chris.

Just when we think Brad's anxiety level can't get higher, out comes DeAnna. She looks so shiny and full of hope, and I want to scream, "Run! Save yourself! It's not too late!" She's not sure if she should hug him or not, but she does and it is AWK-ward.

I can't avert my eyes from the lamb's journey to slaughter. With stunning speed, Brad effects the fatal wound, "You deserve someone [else] who's going to tell you all the things you told me: that you're so in love with me, that you want to have my kids." Oh, the bleating. It will haunt my dreams.

Brad tells DeAnna he is just as broken hearted as she is, that he thinks of her everyday. But immediately douses whatever hope that may have ignited with the definitive, "I'm very confident in my decision."

DeAnna sobs, "It still doesn't make any sense. I guess I hoped you wouldn't let me walk out of your life for a second time. You won't get another chance after today." I'm thinking, Brad - her nails are perfectly manicured and that dress is adorable. You may have some crow to eat to get back in dad's good graces, but what are you doing!?

Impervious to the flawless fashion in front of him, Brad continues, "I understand. I can't apologize for not falling in love."

Trying to make a case for not being stoned to death in the parking lot by the studio audience, Brad pleads, "I thought I was taking the high road."

DeAnna assures him, "You made a mistake. Whether you know it or not."

With one last hollow comment, Brad tells DeAnna, "I'll miss you more than you'll ever know." Over his particular brand of bullsh*%t, DeAnna doesn't let him off the hook, "Please don't say that to me right now."

Could DeAnna be a contender for the next Bachelorette?