Post Time Out

Like a punished child, I went moping into Time Out a little concerned I'd be like my three year old niece and pop out, yelling that I was done.  Truth be told, I managed to stay disconnected for roughly 15 hours, of which I probably slept about 8 of them.  But by the end of the waking hours, I was actually beginning to feel a little less rattled, a little more able to focus.  Like a small child, I guess I needed time to settle down and refocus, figure out why I'd been "riled up" as I used to tell my kids.

The answer is easy in retrospect.  Like when my kids had lots of "input" (guests, sugar, playdates, travel...) they needed down time to rebalance.  My "inputs" clearly were self-imposed -- email, shopping, phone calls, follow up.  But like my niece, I came out of Time Out feeling more in control, more able to handle things with my "nice manners" on.  You know, when a three year old can walk into a room and sit quietly, looking sweet and charming every adult in the room?

Truly these days if you want to stand out from the crowd, I think we'd all be better served if we took a regular "Time Out" and made sure we entered the room with our "nice manners" on.  Who knows who we could charm?  Gotta' go take a call on the way to my next appointment (with my nice manners)!

Ciao,
Jules

Time Out

I was put in time out today.  Having recently returned from a quick trip to Montreal with what appears to be the onset of pneumonia, my friend suggested I needed a "timeout".  I immediately panicked.  What do you mean "time out". My mind started to race.  No way.  I cannot.  Gifts to buy.  Meetings to take.  "What was that you said?  I'm sorry I can't hear you for the coughing."

That was right before I had to sit down due to dizziness (to which I am not prone).  So maybe she had a point.  What would happen if I stopped running around and just let things "take their natural course" as my grandmother used to say?  (Little voice inside my head:  "Are you crazy?  It's the holidays!")   But I'm going to try.  Here's the plan.

Step 1...turn off the phone.  Step 2...no email, no texting...disconnect for just 24 hours.  Step 3...no lists (I'm a list maker...constantly checking my progress because I'm pretty sure when your list ends, you die...at this rate, I'll live forever -- I procrastinate a lot.)  OK...here goes.  See you at the other end of oblivion.

Ciao,
Jules

Althouse: "Women follow rules better than men do, so the wom...

Althouse: "Women follow rules better than men do, so the wom...: "'But, there is no correlation between doing well in school and doing well in adult life. And there might be a reverse correlation, because s..."

Hat Tip: Thoughts Enroute

Tools Not Rules

Preparing to leave for a quick getaway to Montreal tomorrow, I’m staring at my suitcase with trepidation. There’s a lot of rules I always try to follow about clothes for travel…Rule #1: Not too much, need to carry my own suitcase. Rule #2: No wrinkly fabrics. Rule #3: Try to fit in the gym shoes (need to find a light, small collapsible pair…have been saying this through a decade of business travel). Rule #4: Similar color palette so you can get away with one or two pair of shoes. With all these rules to follow, I usually end up in the same thing…black head to toe. In other words, utterly boring.

Enter my friend Darcey – personal style consultant extraordinaire. She’s got me pawing through my closet looking for something called a “thriller” … you know that one piece that makes you go “Damn I look good.” Her idea is that most people start with the basics and build up. Exactly the wrong tact to take apparently. Rather she's a proponent of "Thriller, Filler, Spiller." You start with the wow, fill in around it, and "spill" a pop of color to add interest. Or so I've interpreted her directions.

So my new Rachel Roy jacket with leather patches and a zipper up the back is about as close as I’m going to come to a thriller. Of course it breaks the rules (bulkier than necessary) and will require another pair of shoes. But then Darcey’s also trying to get me to embrace the idea of “Tools Not Rules,” an interesting principle on every level. Her premise being that if you give people rules, it sets them up to be broken. As opposed to tools, it equips them for success. Probably a lot to be applied here to other areas, but I'll leave that for later.

OK Darcey. Going back to get the bigger suitcase. Especially after reading your latest blog about not knowing what opportunities or new people you might encounter on your travels. (www.darceyhoward.blogspot.com) Off to Montreal!

Ciao,
Jules

My Thanksgiving Line

This weekend, on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I had the opportunity to watch an undefeated football team get crushed. This was no ordinary football team. It had won the championships two years going, and was attempting the “never been done before” in league history, a “three-peat”. Combined with the fact they were playing a neighboring town, this was set to be somethin’. Did I mention the players were in 8th grade?

We adults sat watching nervously, victory so close. But as the game wore on, it soon became evident the thrill of victory was careening into the agony of defeat. Player injuries piled up. When the team returned to school Monday, my son shared with me that a teacher who had had a son playing on the other team commented that our line looked like “swiss cheese” with holes so big they plowed right through.

It got me to thinking. Like football, in life, you’ll never be at the top of your game without a really good line. You can be the best damn quarterback in the world, at work, raising kids, whatever it is you do. But without those people who defend your blind side, who block and tackle for you and make sure the guy gunning for you does not get through to you, you’re toast. So during this holiday week where we are thinking of things to be thankful for as the turkey is sliced, I am thankful for all of you on my line. You know who you are.

Ciao,

Jules

The Company We Keep

I found myself on a plane last week with a man I’d met barely two weeks ago. Having recently taken a Board position, it was business. I found him intriguing. Young, brash, charming, intense…and he had a South African accent. What more do you need in a traveling companion? Did I mention he’s half my age? So stop thinking what you’re thinking. But we had a ball…Went to a dive for dinner and had an Arrogant Bastard (sorry, yet again less exciting than it sounds…a slightly bitter beer), we presented together the next morning– had a great time, and were on our way back home, even landed early at the airport Friday night at 5. Most refreshing thing I’ve done in ages despite my original complaint over the dreaded business trip.

Flash forward to last night, having a late night conversation with a dear friend over drinks. We were discussing Linked In – whether it was an improvement when it came to networking. He objected on principal alone, pointing out that there’s more value to a small network where you know everything about the people in your network – where they work, what their kids names are, where they went to school. His attitude was that a “velvet rope” around your life creates demand and intrigue. Does anyone really want what everyone else can get?

Which got me to thinking about my South African friend. While I don’t disagree there is value in a small, tight knit group of friends you know would come bail you out in the middle of the night, I’m not sure I want to rope off others. Had I stayed behind my velvet rope, I certainly never would have gotten on the plane and flown halfway across the country with my new friend. It’s not so much about the quantity of friends behind the rope, it’s about the quality. Do they inspire us? Intrigue us? Charm us? Bring out in us qualities that force us to discover new frontiers and try new experiences?

Life’s short. I think it will be far more fun to fill the space behind the velvet rope with more and more intriguing folks than focus on keeping them out. Maybe Linked In isn’t the way to do it, but I do love the idea of filling my life with interesting new faces from new places…and new accents. So disregard the velvet rope and enter at your own risk. There’s lots of us back here.

Ciao, Jules

The Benefits of Soup

There’s nothing like a bowl of soup to make the world seem just a little more manageable. My friend Laura is an amazing cook and the other day I was feeling rather miserable as I walked into her kitchen. She’s one of those people who always knows just what you need at your lowest moment without making a big deal of it. She looked at me and announced I needed soup, as she pulled the lid off of a delicious, tuscan bean concoction. Sure enough, 15 minutes later, warmed from the inside, I was feeling like I might survive my life for the next 24 hours.

So in the spirit of sharing the tools I find helpful to navigate life, below is my favorite soup recipe (thank you Wendy via Mom). I have high standards for a “favorite recipe” as it has to serve many masters. First, it has to be filling (twin 14 year old boys inhale food like air). Second, it cannot be full of cream and fat…gotta (at least try) to keep a girlish figure. Third, between work, kids, dogs, life in general, it needs to be simple. Martha Stewart be damned…if I can’t find the ingredients at the grocery store in less than 10 minutes, it’s just not happening. Fourth, it can’t be too spicy or too bland according to a 14 year old palate. Fifth, it must smell heavenly as it is cooking. Enjoy!

Vegetable Soup

 2 1/2 pounds ground beef
 2 c. slivered onions
 2 1/2 c. celery, diced
 1 lb. 14 oz. Canned tomatoes, diced
 1 46 oz. V-8 juice
 1/2 c. barley, boiled til swollen
 1-2 Cloves garlic, crushed
 1 1/2 tsp. Salt
 1/2 tsp. Black pepper
 2 c. water
 2 raw potatoes, diced
 1 bag frozen, mixed vegetables

Brown ground beef. Mix all other ingredients. Simmer 2 hours and enjoy the smell!

Ciao,

Jules

Getting to "No"

I invited a legend in my industry to dinner today. He’s quite possibly the smartest person I’ve met in my business, and simply the act of picking up the phone to call him with a question made me shake in my boots. I was absolutely sure I’d bumble and crumble and he’d end up dismissing my juvenile questions with a polite but firm “I have a hard stop.” He didn’t. In fact, this gracious gentleman gave me 45 minutes of his time and at the end, I blurted out “Can I take you to dinner next time you’re in NYC?” (Of course I was mortified in the awkward silence that followed.) Except then this lion of a man said “Why I’d love that…I’m usually dressed up and have no place to go when I visit.”

Now you might ask why I even dared to call him? Well it’s because of my friend Lisa and this “program” she’s put me on. She dared me to “get 10 no’s.” It’s a long story, but essentially she thought I wasn’t pushing the envelope far enough in my career. So she “double dared me” to go get 10 “No’s.” She didn’t tell me how. She didn’t tell me where, or when. Just 10 No’s. She didn’t even tell me they all had to be about my job search. It stuck with me.

So for the last few months, I’ve dared. To say what I think. Do what I think. All in the name of getting to “No”. What’s really ironic? I haven’t gotten one “no” yet. Turns out I was the one saying “no.” Who knew?

Ciao,

Jules

Less Blah Blah, More Boom Boom!

I had the distinct pleasure today of meeting with a friend who is one of those women...you know the kind...leaps tall buildings in a single bound and looks great doing it, all while managing family, friends and work. She's the kind of girl you'd hate if she weren't so damned nice. We were discussing all the things you do with your girlfriends, and I was telling her about my ongoing job search (yes I'm in the middle of one...welcome to the new world.) I was describing the type of place I wanted to find when she said, "Oh, I know what you mean...you want less blah blah and more boom boom!" Omigod did she just say that? Hysterical right? But yes..that's EXACTLY what I want. Not only in my job...IN MY LIFE!

How many of us talk and talk and talk about what we want, yet never do it? How many people do we know who blah blah but never boom boom! In fact, let's face it...much of corporate America, American politics and life itself is blah blah. But boy do we know boom boom when we see it. Steve Jobs boom booms! Oprah Winfrey boom booms! Warren Buffet boom booms! When you meet that special someone, you don't say my heart went "blah blah", you say it goes "boom boom"!

From now on, I'm embracing boom boom, and brooming blah blah. Life's too short not to boom.

Ciao, Jules

Big words

My 14 year old had a homework assignment today...find an article on politics and explain it. I applaud the thought -- I think our kids need to understand the world they will inherit one day. So I pulled out my favorite -- the WSJ. An hour later, I'd spent most of the time trying to explain the vocabulary of politics: "federal subsidies", "healthcare reform", "reelection bids", "liberal" vs. "centrist", "deficit-cutting" and "tea party hero"... When we finished, he commented in a way only a 14 year old can, "Politics needs to be more kid friendly." I might amend that to say "Politics needs to be more friendly." I have several degrees and consider myself an educated person. By the time I got to the end of the article, there was so much speculation and political slang that I couldn't really sum up the article any better than "the mid-term elections" are going to screw things up even more.

Here's a novel thought for all the folks that work in, write about and discuss politics in a public setting. What if we were to challenge ourselves to make the issues understandable to a 14 year old? What if the new rule of politics was that each side had to distill their point of view into a sentence or a paragraph that was so simple even 14 year olds could understand it? Maybe people would think more and expound less. Because this I know. If you can't sum something up -- an issue, a business opportunity, a recipe -- in a succinct, easy to understand manner, your audience might smile and nod but they're not going to get it. And most of the time the person expounding on it doesn't really get it either. If we're ever to hope for an informed, involved and engaged electorate, it's about time we get rid of the hyperbole and the posturing and focus on issues in a simple, straightforward way, free of irony and sarcasm.

Off to address my own deficit spending at the mall in support of our economic meltdown. Ciao. Jules

Friends and Casseroles

My twin 14 year old boys have been on Facebook for the last year (a contentious decision for many I know, but I caved…what can I say?) So I joined the game too. And I’m proud to say I’ve collected a reasonable number of friends…north of 100 but shy of 200. Not bad.

However, within a matter of weeks, my sons lapped me. I pulled up the computer the other day and was greeted with one of their Facebook pages. But before I could dig for the dirt, I noticed a friend of his on the page…repeatedly. There must have been about 200 “Happy Birthday!” wishes from almost every child I’d ever seen in my kids’ school. I shut it down, thinking about the fact that I had never had so many friends wish me Happy Birthday if you added all my Birthdays up!

My contemplation was interrupted by my friend Mary Ann at the door bearing a warm casserole, salad, bread and homemade lemon meringue pie. I’ve had a tough time of it lately and she had emailed out of the blue and offered to bring a warm meal. I took her up on it.

Which got me to thinking about all the hundreds of birthday wishes. What is the value of a friend? Is it better to have more? Are you out of line if you don’t friend everyone you know, from your boss to your ex to your gynecologist? If I was arrested in the middle of the night, would I ask for one “post “rather than one call? None of my hundreds of virtual friends ever brought me a warm dinner.

I suppose both routes to friends serve their purpose, but...If you’re going to be “friends” with hundreds of people, make sure you know the difference between a virtual friend and one who shows up in person with a warm cassarole on a cold night.

I’m still on Facebook, and I still add friends. But I’m sure going not going to write a handwritten note to all 197 of them thanking them for dinner. Gotta find the stationery. Ciao.

Jules

Shock and Awe

Growing up in the Midwest has been the cause of much of my “shock and awe” response to today’s new rules I suppose. We were not the hotbed of bleeding edge, progressive anything…poliitcs, fashion, culture. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that the overriding majority of folks I grew up with looked at the “edges” of life as dangerous, wild, lurid places that if you ventured to in any subject matter, you just might fall off the edge of the earth and get eaten.

I say this because as a mom of twin 14 year old boys, I am in the heart of shock and awe territory on a regular basis. Howard Stern, Bill Clinton, Lindsay Lohan… Take one of my recent “ahas”…Eminem. My boys love Eminem…yep…the ex-con who made my hometown “8 Mile” famous. I grew up doing my best to stay away from 8 mile road…definitely wild, dangerous and lurid. And now he’s mainstream and has more followers on Facebook than Obama. My boys actually put “Mockingbird” on my ipod.

My parents took the approach “don’t ask, don’t tell, and definitely don’t talk approach.” And they weren’t alone. Contrast that with my friend Tegan. She talks about EVERYTHING. She swears. She talks about sex, drugs, death…She doesn’t sugarcoat it…for anyone, her kids included. It helps that she has a magnetic personality, a quick smile, and she’s a therapist. But all that aside, she has a point. Once you talk about it, it sort of paves the way for other conversations that you NEED to have today with kids, particularly teenagers.

So here’s my new rule in this newly unfiltered world -- if anyone is going to talk to my kids about divorce, sex, drugs, ethics…anything…it’s going to be me, scary and uncomfortable as it might be. It’s no longer about protecting kids in this world, it’s about giving them the tools, the smarts and the judgment to navigate it. Because I guarantee you they will ask, they will tell, and they sure as hell will talk. So you better teach them who to ask, what to tell, and where to talk. Or they’re likely to end up in the headlines.

“…I can no longer play stupid or be immature
I got every ingredient, all I need is the courage
Like I already got the beat, all I need is the words
Got the urge, suddenly it's a surge
Suddenly a new burst of energy is occured
Time to show these free world leaders the three and a third
I am no longer scared now, I'm free as a bird
Then I turn and cross over the median curb
Hit the 'burbs and all you see is a blur from 8 Mile Road…”
-Eminem’s 8 Mile

Ciao.

Jules

Leather and Lovers

I have a new lover. She is soft and fits me perfectly. She keeps me organized and makes me look kind of cool when she’s on my arm. There’s lots of places where I can hold her, and when I reach for her, she’s the perfect height. This is only my third lover. My first was killed in a steampipe explosion in NYC…covered by asbestos…died a horrible death. My second I still love, but I needed a change. This lover is different…she’s not perfect, she’s a bit classic, a bit rock and roll.

No I’m not a lesbian. And my lover is leather. My new bag. Thank you Michael Kors for crafting the perfect lover. You see, I am a bag snob. It takes me a long time to find love, but once I do, I’m loyal. For awhile. My lover has to be perfect. And she’s definitely female…after all, she has to understand my needs perfectly as we spend more time together than almost any other accessory. I don’t think any man will ever quite understand my love affair with my bag, or my need to be a serial lover on a semi-annual basis.

I spend a lot of time looking for her. Generally I find her in the spring and the fall when all the trendy new girls are coming out. She has to have “feet”…I tend to make her stand in some awkward places – the subway, under tables at restaurants, on the baseball field. And she has to have that perfect “look”…you know, she is just dressy enough without be overdressed, god forbid she’s frumpy, and she has to be able to hide a few extra pounds occasionally. She also needs a signature style that’s just her own. I never want to show up with my lover dressed the same as another lover. Ecccckkkkkk!

My lover is a reflection of how I want people to see me. I want her to be quality but not snooty. I don’t particularly want her to carry a big sign that she was someone else’s first …you know…like “Guess” tattooed across her chest. If she wants a little body art, it better be stylized and hip, like LV…we all know what it stands for but I can at least pretend it stands for Love…and it’s generally well stylized.

As I said, I’m a bag snob. I’m demanding of my lover. But I treat her well. And I will care for her in her old age. If you’re going to spend money on something, learn to love it. We all have way too much stuff. So why not think of your belongings like your loves. Better to have fewer, deeper, more passionate loves that never leave you, that you will treasure in your old age. They will remind you of great stories and entertain you with great memories long after they’ve finished their useful life. And when you think back on them, you will smile.

Gotta go clean my closet and put to rest my last love. Want to make sure she has a warm, clean place to rest. She served me well, and eventually I’m sure we will have a brief rendez vous in the future. After all, who doesn’t like to have “ex-sex” on occasion with a cherished past lover. Ciao,

Jules

p.s. Promise to post pictures of my ex's shortly.

The Age of Indulgence

Standing in the sheets of rain at the train station this morning, I was rueing the fact I’d put off buying a rain hat, thinking it only future closet clutter, cute for all of 10 minutes once a month when no one would see me. A useless indulgence. Then I looked down the train platform. Same height, weight, age… except she had a great rain hat on and had managed to look pulled together, chic AND dry. Clearly she indulged.

Which led me to start considering if I had reached the “age of indulgence.” Yes definitely. In fact, my girlfriend Lizzie had a “moment” last weekend when she commented on this age. She had attended a party the night before where everyone was “her age.” (over 35, under 50…all I’ll say) She called me the next morning distraught, having to report everyone else at the party was OLD. And yes, they were her age, but they were OLD! Many were a little overweight, several had gone “natural” (aka GREY) and none had considered the baggy look went out at the age of 25.

My point is this. When we are young, we join health clubs (often to meet men), we get manicures, we CONSUME fashion magazines (even when we can’t afford 1/10 of what they show). In other words, we are very self involved in the pursuit of what we want – men, career advancement, hell, if we’re honest the envy of other women. But as we “progress”, we get so distracted by others’ needs (kids, husbands, parents…) many of us tend to lose our self focus. We categorize our excuses under “no time”, “no money,” or “no reason.” Well let me tell you ladies, we’re dead wrong.

We live in a visual society. People make judgments everyday about who they want to surround themselves with, date, play, work. While not ALL of that is based on looks, anyone who tells you it doesn’t matter is LYING. I’m not saying your external presentation is the ONLY consideration, but don’t relegate it to the boxes stored in the basement either. As we “progress”, our personal appearance takes more and more work. And yet we often object to those things that would make us feel the best – exercise, sleep, make-up, good hair or a hot dress. So stop looking down your noses at those women heading off to the dermatologist or sneaking Lucky in their bags. And get your ass to gym. Don’t do it for others, do it for yourself.

When you reach the age of indulgence, indulge. Whether it is a new hair color, personal trainer, great bag, or Botox – at a certain point, this is not an indulgence but as necessary as food and water to your soul. Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not about the mirror or finding a date, it’s a matter of self respect. In this YouTube world, we are all personas.

You may think you’re past the age where it matters. But here’s a newsflash. Economies tank and you might need a job. Divorce happens and you might need a date. Kids go to college and you might need a life. Indulgence is your insurance policy that you will not be left in the dust. If you choose to ignore this, more power to you. But then I do not want to hear you complain about your husband (or lack thereof), your social life, your sex life, your job or your lack of “life” in general. Gotta’ go…Sephora just opened. Ciao.

Jules

Welcome to the New Rules of the Game

My mother always told me the only thing that would really get me in trouble was my mouth…  Turns out she was only partially right.  My mouth plus a keyboard will likely be my downfall.  So be it!  Here goes…Welcome to www.RulesbyJules.com -- where I intend to start a conversation about the “new rules” out there that admittedly, I usually break.  I wish it was because I was like my friend David who claims to be an anarchist, but I’m not that colorful.  I usually break the rules because when I try to play by them, I generally find out they changed and no one told me.  Don’t believe me?  Let me give you an example.  Let’s take a simple one—your job.  If you were like me, you grew up in simpler times.  I grew up in Detroit, need I say more?  The city of “entitled lifetime employment” where following the rules of conformity was sure to lead you to a guaranteed retirement, a condo in Florida, healthcare benefits til you died, and at least one freakin’ vacation a year.  Work hard.  Be modest.  Your actions speak louder than your words.  Let others shout your accomplishments.  Turns out…the rules changed, eh?  Maybe playing by the rules at your job isn’t so wise? 

Contrast this with the disparaging remarks senior managers often make  about the “next generation” – they’re self-indulged, they need immediate gratification, they want to start at the top, they’re not willing to earn their stripes.  Hell they were the products of helicopter parents who could ring the world twice over with store-bought trophies to reward midget soccer teams and  Little Leagues.  Hellooooo!  Remember Detroit?  If you knew you could only expect two to three years out of a company before they “reorganized” you out of a job, wouldn’t you want to start at the top?  Wouldn’t you want immediate gratification?  Wouldn’t you make sure you took every day of vacation you had knowing that putting it off held no value?  If you are shaking your head in despair, shame on you.  You created these creatures! 

So here’s a way to think about what the new rules might be at work today.  Work hard.  Then spend an equal amount of time talking about it, promoting your work, and publicizing it.  Chances are in a few years, you’ll need the notoriety to get hired again.  Grow the company’s brand, and equally if not more importantly, grow your own. 

Just a taste of the many conversations I’d like to start. 

So as I navigate my incredibly complicated life as a mother of twin teenage boys (who I am sure will be horrified by this experience if anyone ever reads this blog besides me) living in a large metropolitan area with no extended family, fabulous friends, a sister on the other side of the country who leaps tall buildings in a single bound,  and Lulu my slightly neurotic golden retriever, I’m going to share the “new rules” I seem to stumble upon daily

And I’m hoping that a few friends out there might share their new rules with me.  Because in the end, if you’re going to change the world, you kind of have to understand where it stands today, and what your world COULD look like if you played by different rules.  Ciao.

Jules.