Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Go thee hence

I am here to happily report that this blogspot/blogger blog has reached the end of its usefulness. But, fear not, I have migrated my blog to a FANCY NEW PLACE! You can see it by visiting here: http://blog.lanerd.com/. There are tabs along the top to help you navigate to various places. I now have two blogs. One is still named How to Be a Proper Lady, and contains most of the content that this blog had. And the other is brand new, named Extra Ordinary, and will be a magical place of fiction. All that now exists there is a description of what the blog is for (hard to go into here, so you can find out there). Soon, I hope, there will be actual content.

While this is all an unofficial reveal, I may as well mention that the appearance of http://www.lanerd.com/ has also gotten a facelift, as well as a few useful links. Many thanks to the lovely husby for his mad web skillz and ability to take my rough directions of style (fashion!) and make them look pretty.

Anyway, this is all still on the d/l, but I figured faithful followers of this bloggity blog should be the first in the know.

Oh, and also, you should please reset your links or bookmarks, because some day in the near future, I have great plans to oliterate all of my content on blogger.

x Andrle x

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Sodium, Schmodium


I must start out by stating how ridiculously pumped full of goo our food is. America? Are you on crack? Well, our food practically is. The last thing I want is to become one of those people who is handed a jar of food and turns immediately to the nutrition label to see what about it is going to kill me. But in some ways it seems necessary to consider the ridiculous nature of most of our food contents.

Readers of about this time last year (well, perhaps a month or so earlier) might recall a long blog post about my plans to avoid sugar and flour. I never followed up on its results either way via blog. But I can tell you that things went fairly well until a week-long trip to a cabin where meals were planned by a party of six. Not wanting to impose my strict "can't eat" rules talk on the group, four of them new to me, I decided to break out of the no-sugar/flour box and worry about it later. Ultimately, that "diet" didn't have staying power, but from it I learned just how enhanced our foods are.

So now, this year, after doing some quite possibly unnecessary research on the internets, I warmed to the idea of cutting sodium from my diet. As with the sugar/flour party, I am not removing it completely (I would die), just as much as I can. This has proved to be another eyeopener, although perhaps more so than last year. From fast food and fine dining, to many items at the grocery store, so much of what we eat has higher quantities of flour and sugar than seem necessary, and sodium is yet another factor.

To give some context, my quick and unprofessional research has given me the following guidelines: it is recommended that the average person's sodium intake nestles somewhere near 2300mg each day. This is the number the percentages on nutrition labels are based on. Extra-special sodium limiters place daily consumption goals at around 1500mg. But the average american's intake is well over 3000mg per day, often peaking around 8000mg (this is where cold hard facts come in handy, but who has the time to cite sources? Go to any "heart healthy/low sodium" website and they'll concur).

Sodium is a sneaky little ingredient that, based on its levels in items marked as healthy or lowfat, is conveniently being ignored and gets to scutter under the radar. Take Panera Bread Co. It's a healthy alternative to grabbing a burger or chicken fast-food meal, right? Pretty much wrong. Low-fat vegetarian black bean soup? 1590mg in a 13.25oz serving. Lovely! Smoked Turkey sandwich? 1650mg. What, what, what?!

I'm not blaming Panera specifically (although it does put a damper on their newly-opened location near our apartment). I'm blaming what seems to be our trend to compensate for lack of flavor by grabbing the salt and shaking it over everything.

The key is, of course, above all things, balance. As lovely as eating cake for breakfast, cheese and crackers for lunch, and meaty pizza for dinner would be (oh lord, yes), everyone knows it's probably a bad idea long term. But so would be eating nothing but unsalted rice cakes (which, thanks for asking, was indeed my lazy breakfast today. With saltless peanut butter! Wowza!) It is hard, however, to maintain balance when everyday foods are jam-packed with superfluous ingredients. If food companies making products such as meats and cheeses would lay off the salt or make their lower-sodium options more readily available, life for the no-salt consumer would be so much easier. And we might all be a bit better off.

Anyway, not meaning to be lecturey. It's a long answer to the question of why you may have publicly seen me lamenting the lack of flavor in my food lately. It's clear my tongue hasn't adjusted and I'm still not used to the slightly sweeter or blander taste that results when one takes an active stand against salt business. My goal is to start cooking fresher and more exquisite meals that don't require salt to make them taste satisfying. Wish me luck!

x Andrle x

{P.S. Salt! Just thought I'd throw one more mention of salt in for good measure. You know, in case you weren't already driven mad by the every-other-second mentions of it. Salt salt salt. Alright, now I'm done.}

Friday, July 15, 2011

I AM the Bird Whisperer

As many of you know, about three weeks ago, I boldly and ever so permanently inked birds on my wrists.


Since then, I've slowly been coming to find that I am - brace yourself - a Bird Whisperer. You certainly laugh at such a statement, but I here and now present full evidence of these matters.

The realization of this first hit as the husby and I were walking from the train, fresh from our red-eye trip home from Boulder/Denver, where I had a few days prior been tattooed. Nearing our apartment, we noticed a bird in the street picking up a piece of plastic matter. As was documented by @UltraNurd in his tweet quoting me, in my groggy, 1.3745-hours-of-sleep-on-an-overnight-flight state, I mumbled, "No little bird! You don't want that, it's plastic!" The bird dropped the plastic to the ground. "He listened to me. I'm a bird whisperer!!!"

The clues have not always been as obvious or witnessed by others. Today, however, while enjoying a delicious sandwich and iced tea out on the plaza near my workplace, another bird-whispering item occurred. This time, my iPhone camera was handy to document.

Along came the bird. Here's a picture of the bird. I'd like to call the bird Winston.



Here is Winston being coy.


Winston reflected silently on his long, hard life as a bird.

I decided to give him a bit of bread from my sandwich. He seemed to like that. I waited a few minutes and then gave him a bit more. The second bit was apparently too much as he took longer to eat it and then flew away.

I sat, soaking up the sun in my dark-wash denim jeans. The day was clear and fine. The water on the reflecting pool of the plaza at work, which I sat across from this lunch time, waved lazily and shimmered in the light of the day. The three birds looked at me hungrily.

Wait, what? Three birds! It seemed Winston had spread the word of his bread bounty. Either that, or I had unwittingly summoned a crowd of birds. I had Bird Whispered them!

I gave neither these new birds, nor my old pal, Winston, any bread. It seemed unwise. And I had just finished my sandwich. They hopped about tweeting. Then started hopping about menacingly. More with threats at each other than at me. Whichever one was to get the bread did not seem likely to share. Another couple birds came over and sat on the other side of me.

I realized the situation I was in. I called upon my new-found Bird Whispering talents and, wordlessly, told them to chill out.

They chilled out.

So, as you can see, I'm clearly a Bird Whisperer. It's a skill I will hone. But it's pretty obvious, and pretty much exactly because of the bird tattoos. So far, my bird whispering talents seem to include communicating the following to birds:

Me:
  • Drop that, it's plastic!
  • I'm eating my lunch outside today and communing with nature. Join me, little bird.
  • You're cute. I'll call you Winston. Here's a crumb of bread.
  • Here's more bread. Go away now so we can both eat in peace.
  • You brought friends? I'm not naming you all.
  • You guys look angry. Go over there in the shade and talk amongst yourselves while I walk away. Peace out, bird dudes.

Because of my excelled bird understanding, I also can interpret the birds' thought processes and responses. Here are the following that correspond with the above.

Birds:
  • This is plastic. I don't want it. Is a bedraggled insane human talking to me?
  • That girl is eating a sandwich. I will go near her in case she drops something.
  • That girl gave me bread. I will stick around for more.
  • That girl gave me too much bread. Fly away to eat in case it's a cruel joke!
  • To his bird friends/enemies, "Here's the girl that gave me bread. She's a weirdo, you might be able to trick her into giving you some, too."
  • To his bird friends/enemies, "I will fight you for all the bread!!!"

With great power comes great responsibility. But I am armed with the tattoos that evidence my ability to handle this. I can't wait to see what happens when I get a vintage rocket ship and an elephant tattoo.

x Andrle x

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

What I Write When I Write What I Write: An Apology in Advance

Dearest friends, family, people who happened to cross this blog:

I formally wish to apologize in advance for the flurry of random business that may or may not appear on this blog.

Last week I promised myself I would write (something) every day. The wording of my contract with myself was shady and sneaky, and the gist of it was that I was committing to writing every day for the REST OF MY LIFE. As a (wannabe) writer, this is not as tragic as the ALL CAPS may have implied I felt it was.

Anyway, the main point is: some of what I write might end up on this (or another - secret!) blog. It's not always going to be good. I'll try to screen it a little. But only a little, mind you!

That is all.

x Andrle x

"Nancy, I know it has been a while since I..."

When riding the train to work this morning, I accidentally caught a look at the email the woman next to me was composing on her phone. All I processed as she whipped it around was the beginning of her note: "Nancy, I know it has been a while since I..."

What a cliffhanger! A while since you... what?!? My overwhelming curiosity regarding the remainder of that phrase would forever remain unsated, as the phone with the rest of the message was too far out of my natural line of eyesight. And train-riding etiquette indicates that, no matter how fun, blatantly staring at a fellow-passenger's phone screen is rude. Alas! I would forever be in the dark about what it had been a while since this stranger on the train had done, said, promised, enacted, or etc. that either directly affected or would interest this Nancy.

Like any good creative writing student of the past would do with such a prompt, my thoughts went into overdrive developing potential conclusions to that sentence. Many were implausible, assuming that the girl, OK, woman, next to me was instead a middle-aged man. Nonetheless, I list some here for you so you have some options to settle on in case the unknown original intention is eating at you as well.

Nancy, I know it has been a while since I...

...borrowed a dollar from you. It seems strange that I would even bear such guilt for having not paid you back such a seemingly measly amount. However, I am, as you know, the kind of person who is easily haunted by guilt. I keep worrying we'll run into each other and things will be awkward because I'll be worried you'll be wondering if and when I plan to pay you back. Anyway, I do plan to pay you back. Remind me to give you a dollar the next time we run into each other. Or, at the very least, let me buy you a drink to compensate. haha. OK, see you around. Bye.
- Jules.

...moved out of the apartment. I hoped things would not be weird between us. Ryan said he hoped you could forgive him... well "us" really, some time soon. So are you still mad?
OK, later.
Kate.

...have been having issues. But I have been doing better the last couple months. It was only just how weird last Friday was with Ben and his friends being total douche-bees and it totally crushed me that he gets to have so much going on for him while I'm stuck having nothing going on for me. It's like the world is on his side. I hate it. I hate him, you know?! But whatever. I know after I stormed out of the bar and you chased after me and asked if I was off my meds, I started screaming and crying, and that was bad. It's insulting to me though that you imply I should be on meds. I'm always fine. It's just that you always are asking about when I last talked about things with a "professional." Like a "professional" is the answer to everything, or a quick fix. Besides, the person I looked in to talking to is too far away to get to easily and then I'd always want to go to that Indian restaurant after therapy, because it's right there and it smells so good, but the last thing I need after having to talk about my problems for an hour is to go sit in a sit-down restaurant by myself and feel like a loser. It doesn't really matter. It's not like I plan to go there and sit there by myself. Whatever, what I'm trying to say is I'm tired. We should grab lunch today, OK?

...have been the kind of husband you expect me to be. I know quitting my job without even talking to you about it was not fair to you. I know it means you're stuck working at your job that you hate. But it means that I can be home with the kids and we don't have to take them to sit around doing nothing at the babysitter's every day. But you know I'm trying to find something new. I'm applying for things. I tried to tell you before you left this morning - I'm having an interview today - heading there now. I wish you wouldn't be so upset about the bills. Don't be angry when I get home tonight, OK? Hopefully I'll have good news.
Love - Mike.

...said we should get together. So how about we do it some time this week, OK? I'm totally free like every night this week except Friday and Saturday. I think I might have something going on tonight, but that would be a boring night to go out anyway. So want to do Thursday? We could get drinks or dinner or like, just hang out at my place or your place. Oh, and I totally have news. Big, big news! I'll tell you later, it's a huge secret for now. :o) :D hah! OK, so totally just let me know what day works for you. Hopefully Thursday. Love you, girl!
xoxoxo Stacy

...took that gig at the studio. I meant to hook you up with some work here, but I'm just not seeing that as possible yet. You have no idea the crazy politics you have to deal with in the acting business. Uuugggh. OK, I'll keep you posted! Come see me at the opening tomorrow night though, OK?
Ciao,
Myndi

...borrowed your red dress for that party. I keep forgetting to bring it to you. Here I am, sitting on the train, totally headed your direction. But do I have the dress in my bag? No! So I'm so sorry. I'll get it to you soon. Do you need to wear it? I'll get it to you!!!

...promised you that link to the video on YouTube. So here is is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5_sfnQDr1-o OMG it's so funny! OK, happy Wednesday. Friday will be here soon!!! - Marissa.

...have been back in the U.S. It's been hard for me to readjust to life here. Europe was just so different. So exclusive. So smart and freeing. I guess maybe I was worried that if we got together too soon after my trip, it would be too much of a slap from reality that I'm back. Don't take this the wrong way, I just don't want to be back. It's not because of you. But you played such a huge role in my life as an American. Now I just want to relish in my life as a European. I know I'm not really European yet. But I plan to go back and work on getting my visa or whatever they call it. But ok, so if you want to get together some time, we could do that I guess. I just wanted to write to let you know that I heard through Bethany that you knew I was back in the "states" and you were pissed that I hadn't looked you up yet. It's not you, it's me. No wait... It's not you, it's America. Yeah.
Later,
Marco

Friday, October 29, 2010

Anyways, I will.

A couple weeks ago I called my friend Carly Rose and left her a message. Unbeknownst to me, she uses Google Voice. Google Voice sent her this. The only way this transcript could have been any better is if they'd actually sent it typewritten. At CR's suggestion, I took matters into my own hands:


x Andrle x

Sunday, October 17, 2010

"i haven't eyes for anyone else"

A good omen.
Since I linked to Nick's blog about our engagement back in July, it seems appropriate to come in with an update on a particular part of the progress for the wedding.

I found my dress! Tada! What I expected to be stressful and painful and awkward ended up being a ridiculous amount of extravagantly-girly fun. Even though it was a little too much "everyone look at Andrle" for my comfort. Eek.

The morning started early at 5:30ish when Rebekah arrived at my apartment after her red-eye from Denver. What can I say - she's a trooper! After chatting and waking up my mom and all getting ready, we all journeyed to grab the yellow mini cooper I'd rented from Zipcar. We zoomed over to Nick's apartment, but not without a minor detour thanks to the ever-confusing roads on the Cambridge side of the river. Bah! When we arrived, we parked, met up with Nick and his mom and sister, and walked to brunch at the very hipster-vintage diner nearby. Despite waiting a ridiculous length of time due to some rude patrons dominating the larger booths well after having finished their meals (seriously! I was tempted to stare at them through the window to make them uncomfortable. But, sadly, I didn't), the brunch was ever so tasty. To top it off, my coffee just happened to arrive in one of their elephant mugs. ZOMG yes.

After brunch, we deposited Nick (and unfortunately his mom too, since I'd unwisely and unthinkingly reserved a rental with a teensy back seat, and there wasn't enough room for all five of us) at his apartment. Then, never mind the incident when the yellow mini cooper decided the red fire hydrant near Nick's apartment was attractive and rubbed its butt on it. (Yeah, yeah, eww, I know.) We drove over more winding north-of-Boston roads and arrived at the bridal shop.

I'm telling you. If you're in/near Boston and need a wedding dress, please give Precious Memories in Malden your business. They were amazing. Even though we arrived about fifteen minutes late thanks to the fire hydrant thing we're not talking about, the sales associates were kind and welcoming and put me at ease. Not to mention, the saleswoman assigned to me was a pro.

After browsing their selection and pulling quite possibly 12 dresses, we went into the fitting room, and she helped me dive into layer after layer of what seemed like thirty-pound dresses.

I shall say no more lest I give too much away, other than that the first dress I tried on was the one. Sure, I tried on about seven more. But in the end, it was perfect. It strays a bit from the standard wedding dress (not dramatically, but enough), and totally fits my style. Woot!

So peeps. That's about it. Yay I have a dress. One less thing to worry about!

x Andrle x

Monday, July 26, 2010

What do you mean, my "Rock Band" band isn't real?

Via the McSweeney's Open Letter format

Dear Harmonix,

It has come to my attention, thanks to the intervention of friends and coworkers, that the dream you sell packaged as "Rock Band" is nothing but a bunch of deceiving and empty hype.

How dare you. How dare you deceitfully lead thousands on with your seemingly-realistic, strangely accessible world of rock fame. Time to live out my rock 'n' roll fantasy, eh? What you failed to explicitly mention is that it would still only ever be a fantasy, no matter how many times I score 100% or how well I hone my musical skills.

I am sure I'm not the only one out there who was mislead by a very deceptively-detailed pre-programed story line. So I represent all the silenced voices and shut-down egos when I ask the question: what do you mean when you say it isn't real!?

What is it about the option in the main menu to choose to go on tour that would not lead one to think they were touring remotely on their way to fame? What is it about displaying bumper stickers with my band name affixed to stop signs and providing encouraging helpful hints in wait screens that should lead me NOT to think I'm gaining real-life recognition?

You should know I agonized for hours over the best name for my band. I needed a title that would capture the hearts and interest of my future groupies, meanwhile looking good written in 90s-rock font on posters under my moodily-darkened silhouette. "Lady Overdose and the Infinite Zeppelin" was both edgy and engaging (and had to be abbreviated). Had that band ever actually debuted, success would have been inevitable.

I was one of the devoted many who practiced until my fingers went numb, tackling chords, note sequences, and solos all in the pursuit of promised rock-celebrity status. I had the ability to increase my popularity and gain more money by doing sets of two or more songs. I don't even want to think about how long I spent mastering the cursed orange key in an attempt to move from level medium to level hard to please more of those ever-elusive, ever-desirable fans. Yes, I took it personally when the crowd booed at me because I couldn't effectively flail my fingers with enough speed or master the complex rhythm of the expert level. But those tears of failure never would have been shed had I known it was merely a pre-recorded response.

Quite frankly, my feelings are hurt. If I'd known no one was watching, I'd never have spent so much time finding the right torso and leg accessories to perfectly feature my animated avatar's hot and virtually unachievable frame. I now live with the isolating knowledge that the multiple times I completely rocked the long and complex (but utterly satisfying) guitar solo in "Lazy Eye," my performance did not move thousands. It fell to deaf ears. When you told me it was an awesome or perfect solo and I had gained 560 new fans, all I was really gaining was a false sense of confidence and pride.

OK, sure. There were some signs that through counseling I am now learning I might have turned a blind eye to. It was crazy how my band mates were constantly changing. Fans still cheered me on even when a couple missed notes startlingly cut a void of silence into the track. No one was surprised or commented when I sought variety and suddenly switched from being an expert lead vocal to a beginning drummer. It seemed mildly infuriating that even with all my earned wealth as a musical entertainer, I could only ever put those funds toward specific outfits and an outrageous variety of new instruments. Not to mention how easy and free a change of paint on those instruments were.

You know, I was dismayed when my band went on tour to Europe and I had to stay behind playing remotely. But it was a sacrifice I was willing to make as long as I was still dependent on my day job. It seems as if my aspirations to make it big and quit my current employment will never be realized. My life suddenly seems even more bleak than it had before - and for this, I blame you.

Sirs and madams at Harmonix, your company is in the business of selling false hope. I hope one day someone lets you down in some severe manner so you finally understand the miserable nag of failure and emptiness of lost dreams.

Yours sincerely,
Andrle Pence
Lead Guitarist, Bassist, Drummer, and Singer
Lady Overdose and the Infinite Zeppelin

Monday, July 19, 2010

Make it so!

This post is a link to Nick's blog, where he formally announces (with photos!) our excellent news:
http://bit.ly/Makeitso

Thursday, June 17, 2010

The (Imagined) Tales of Andrle vs. the Street Fundraisers

Street fundraisers. If you live in a semi-populated area at all, chances are you've encountered them. You're walking down the street, innocently thinking about what you're going to make for dinner, and then, WHAM! You don't have enough time to reach for your cell phone to fake a call. There's too much traffic to cross the street. You're in a crowd of people, but you can see from the determined look of the fundraiser that he is focused 100% on YOU. His eyes widen a bit, his face takes on a generically friendly expression. You look around a little self-consciously. Then, feverishly, you try to think up all your best excuses. What worked the last time? But it's too late. He's greeting you like an old friend and asking if you have a couple minutes to learn about dying puppies. You imagine big puppy eyes looking at you in desperation asking merely for a couple minutes of your time and a couple bucks from your checking account each month for the rest of your life. You're trapped.

Here's the thing. While I'm sure I'll come off as biased against, I know there are pros as well as cons to the whole "street fundraisers" phenomenon. In general I assume these people are trying to spread the word about potentially important issues. Sure, it's not just out of the kindness of their hearts; they're being paid to do it. But can you blame them? Money's money. People (poor students) need jobs.

My problem is that, at least in Boston, they seem to be EVERYWHERE. I encounter them no matter what I'm doing. Walking to work. Walking around on my break. Walking home. Walking to the grocery store, to the gym, to the subway. And they always seem to single me out. I'm sometimes able to (not too obviously) evade them. Usually I get stuck. I've gotten decently good at knowing the right ways to get beyond their spiel, but sometimes I mess up and can't get out. The problem is, I'm not the kind of person who can be directly rude. I can't ignore them. I wouldn't flip them off. I don't want to make noises to block out what they're saying until I'm a safe distance away. They know there are nice people like me. They can probably tell, looking at my semi-friendly, girly face that I'm that kind of person. Blast.

The times I am roped into a conversation, I generally feel like it's an opportunity for the individual to grill me on how much I like the environment/children/ponies/etc. and for me to feel guilty because I don't have enough money to give to them, even though maybe I look like I do and am just being selfish.

Here's a sample, fairly-fictionalized interpretation of what's actually being said in these interactions:

Dude: You look like a friendly face! Do you have a moment for children?
Me: Uh, not right now, sorry.
Dude: (sneering) Don't you like children?
Me: No, I do! I just have to...
Dude: You pretty much hate kids, don't you?
Me: It's not that. I just have no extra money right n...
Dude: I noticed you're wearing nice clothes and you have a designer purse and your shoes made clicking sounds when you walked.
Me: Actually, that's just because these shoes are old and the soles are worn down.
Dude: Please! You spend your money on things for YOURSELF! Don't you want to set aside your self-indulgent nature and save CHILDREN!?
Me: That would be nice, but I honestly already give as much money to the world as I can right now.
Dude: (Looking disappointed, maybe accusatory, like I've just stolen bread from an impoverished child.) I'm sure you do. Have a nice day.
Me: ...

What's worse is when I actually am on my way to do something self-indulgent. Like buying coffee. I'm always petrified they'll see my purchase and reprimand.

Dude: WHAT IS THAT!?!
Me: Uhm, coffee?
Dude: You'd rather spend 5 bucks on bean juice than spending 5 bucks on CHILDREN?
Me: Actually, it was $3.05.
Dude: You know what, if you stopped getting coffee all the time you could totally save lives.
Me: How do you know how often I get coffee...?
Dude: Silence! If you stopped feeding your Americanized caffeine addiction, you'd have more funds for the world.
Me: But... I only get coffee once a week now...
Dude: Liar!

No one's actually called me a liar. But I've heard stories where the street fundraisers are pretty darn accusatory and rude. One time I actually took an alternate route back to the office when I had run out for lunch because I didn't want them to see me with my lazily-procured meal.

I did a bit of research mostly because I didn't know how to refer to them. Their general title is "Street Fundraisers" (which to me doesn't sound right - like it should be Street Fundraising Workers or something like that). But they've also been tagged with, what I consider to be fairly rude, the term "chuggers" which is "charity muggers" smooshed together. I'd like to avoid being that harsh and will stick to "street fundraisers" for lack of a better term.

I figured this occupation was not limited to Boston alone, and indeed, it's a far more global trend. The Guardian did a video piece taken on the streets of the UK that's pretty interesting: http://bit.ly/czZu59

To avoid further ranting, my issues, in brief:
  • The sheer quantity of street fundraisers plaguing the streets is overwhelming. Be it one or five different foundations, having them everywhere is just too much. One day I ran into no less than seven different fundraisers all for the same foundation, all within a three-block walk. I was "singled-out" by them three times.
  • I don't like having to explain to strangers that I don't have any extra money. Not only that, but that I already give what I can to various foundations.
  • Money shouldn't be the end-goal. If the primary goal is to spread the word about a cause, do that, but don't press me to give money I don't have. Do I have two minutes to listen about a global cause? Sometimes. Do I have two minutes to be guilted and talked out of my money? Never.

I've twice been "sweet-talked" into signing up on the street. The first: Greenpeace. Once I was signed up, they started sending way too much junk mail. And I wasn't really sure I was Greenpeace (or financially well-off) enough to send them money every single month. So I wrote and sent a nice letter and a month or so later was freed. The second: Children International. The dude who talked me into this would NOT take no for an answer. Talk about a pro (conman). It was rather unsettling. I even explained that I was moving into a more expensive apartment and didn't have any money budgeted for extras. His response was something about how we all find ways to shift money for the important things. Really? In retrospect, I'm kind of angered that I relented. A month later I realized I really couldn't afford it, and wrote an email explaining my support of the idea of their foundation, but my inability to continue making contributions. They responded politely and I was let out of the commitment relatively guilt-free. The terrible thing about this case though, is that about a month or two later, I was running out for lunch and that same man confronted me again. He talked his talk, and when he finally paused enough for me to say something, I told him I'd already signed up once but had had to cancel because it was too much. Then he looked pointedly at my really nice jacket and purse (I'm not kidding) with a face full of skepticism.

It's not like anyone's lives are being ruined by having to talk to strangers about whether or not they're willing to donate to a cause. It's just the frustration and endless nature of the whole street fundraising business. In an ideal world, the interaction would be few and far between, and would go smoothly. Something like this:

Dude: Do you care to hear about such-and-such?
Me: Thanks, but not right now.
Dude: OK, here's a pamphlet with more information. Have a great day!
Me: You too!

But I guess in an ideal world, we wouldn't have need for charities, because everyone would be fed, animals would be unharmed and happy, and human rights would be unoppressed.