I'm so sorry, whoever you were.

I suspect it happened during a game of Spin the Bottle at somebody's bar mitzvah. I'm sure it involved insecurity and mortification on my part. I'm certain it was a boy I kissed. But honestly, that's about all I can report.

My childhood memories are... spotty. I can remember the physical layout of my childhood home in great detail, inside and out. I remember the name I gave a cactus that sat on my bathroom windowsill (Horatio), probably because I labeled it with a machine like the one shown here. ​I'll never forget the aroma of the disinfectant powder that got sprinkled on kids' vomit at school. I remember my friend Amy's port wine stain birthmark and my friend Stephanie's phone number. I remember a time I saw a huge white rat in our backyard that turned out to be a possum. There are scenarios and personalities and happenings I can pull up, vaguely. But as for recalling exact sequences of events? No way.

So now, when I read (or listen to) memoirs, as I often do, I am just *astonished* by authors' abilities to recall precisely what they lived through. Currently, I'm listening to Small Fry, by Steve Jobs' daughter, Lisa Brennan-Jobs. She recounts in great detail specific conversations she had, when and where she had them, and what each of the interlocutors were wearing. How? How?

Well, she kept journals, which can certainly help. If you read David Sedaris's Theft by Finding: Diaries 1977–2002, you can see that his meticulous (obsessive?) record-keeping is a big part of his skill as a memoirist and raconteur.

I do have a box of old diaries, so I suppose I might be able to jog my memory and recreate a few series of events. But for now, I'm just going to keep enjoying—and marveling at—other people's stories.

P.S. If you love good memoirs as much as I do, let me know your favorites. Some of mine are The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, The Sound of Gravel by Ruth Wariner, and The World's Strongest Librarian: A Book Lover's Adventures by Josh Hanagarne (about growing up with Tourette Syndrome in a Mormon family). Oh, and of course Educated by Tara Westover is great. And all these memoirs by comedians. And so many more.

It was just over a year ago that I blogged here about how much I love The Jackie & Laurie Show podcast, hosted by comedians Jackie Kashian and Laurie Kilmartin​. Well, my opinion hasn't changed a bit—I've listened to every single podcast episode since I posted that blog. 

Also over the past year, I've continued to work at learning Adobe Suite—Illustrator and InDesign in particular. I've taken Lynda classes (which, chances are, you can access through your public library!) as well as SkillShare classes. (If you'd like two free months of SkillShare Premium, which is terrific, you can use this link.) I certainly haven't *mastered* these complex programs, but I can honestly say that I've learned a lot and have significantly more capabilities than I used to.

So, to kill two cravings with one stone, I volunteered to typeset something for The Jackie and Laurie Show: a list of their "Comics of the Week"—female comedians they think are particularly wonderful.

Quick aside: The comedy world continues to be grossly imbalanced, gender-wise. Women comedians still get less credit and fewer opportunities, and are simply less well known than their male counterparts. Therefore,  the "Comic of the Week" is a great vehicle for improving women comedians' visibility, attendance, bookings, and success.

So about a year ago, I took all of Jackie and Laurie's Comics of the Week and used Adobe InDesign to arrange them into a shareworthy list entitled, "Laugh More in 2018." And recently, since the list of comedians had grown to 150, I laid out a new list. And here it is! Give it a good look, and then check out these great comedians. Watch their videos. Listen to their albums. And go see them live—you'll be glad you did, and so will they.

Yesterday, early in the morning, my boss told me to take the day off.

My boss, of course, is me.

I decided I would do three things:

• Enjoy the wonderful weather.
• Get some exercise by taking a long walk.
• Figure out how to use the regional bus system to get to and from Denver (22 miles from my home).

Since I have a membership at the Denver Art Museum, I made that my destination. They have a fabulous exhibition of Rembrandt's prints right now. And although I'd been to it, I hadn't been able to see it all during my first visit.

​And so, using three different apps, I managed to get down to Union Station using public transportation. (Yes, I did get on the wrong bus initially, but it all worked out.) I took a nice long walk from the station to the museum. Ahhh—just what I wanted.

The museum has a studio where you can make your own prints right now—to complement the Rembrandt exhibit. Printmaking is something I've always wanted to explore, as I've found the whole process sort of mysterious and confusing. The previous time I'd been at the museum, I'd made this print using just a sheet of styrofoam and the tip of a pencil. (Hold your applause.)

Yesterday, when I returned to the museum, I ended up going straight back into the studio. Rembrandt can wait, I thought. I'm going to carve a linoleum print.

I was the first studio visitor of the day, and I got right to work. Again, I drew a simple bird surrounded by foliage. But unlike the styrofoam print, this time, I would need to carve out everything I did *not* want to make an imprint on the paper. And so began a remarkably tricky and time-consuming process of carving linoleum.

I don't think I raised my head once while I worked.

I heard mothers and small children and teenagers and senior citizens come in, make projects, and leave. I heard a tiny person demonstrate her fatigue with several tantrums. I heard a young girl talk about her tricky science project, involving planets and styrofoam spheres. I kept working.

Even though I overheard several warnings about the sharpness of the carving tools. I started to find them insufficiently sharp. Sometimes they seemed to be tearing the linoleum more than cutting it. But I persevered.

I heard people talk about getting lunch. I knew I should eat something. But I couldn't stop.

At long, long last, I felt like my carving was complete. I chose a paint color, applied it to my linoleum, and made a few prints. I hung one up to dry. I looked at the time—I'd been at it for FOUR HOURS.

It was the wonderful David Rakoff who taught me about this phenomenon of unbroken focus in a piece he did for This American Life called "Martha, My Dear." He introduced me to ​Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and the concept of "flow." Flow is that sensation that's part absorption, part determination, and part hypnosis. It's when you're exactly where you want to be, doing precisely what you want to be doing. And happily, it's how I spent my day off.

​To leave or read comments, just click on the red "comments" link at the top of this post.

I don't mean the horror franchise. Rather, I love it when the 13th day of the month falls on a Friday. Because I am consciously, pointedly, relentlessly un-superstitious. I'm comfortable spilling salt. I have no trouble with the number 666. I've even opened an umbrella indoors within the past week.

I identify as a skeptic. I value facts and science, peer-reviewed studies and reproducible results. I fact-check on Snopes. I question authority. When I lived in Sarasota, I happily fraternized with the Suncoast Skeptics. I appreciate science-based medicine—both the concept and the website founded by Steven P. Novella. And I love the podcast he hosts: The Skeptics Guide to the Universe. And though I like to consider myself a critical thinker, I also know how susceptible all humans are to a multitude of rhetorical and logical fallacies.

So I diligently resist being swayed by myths and mysticism, and instead focus on and embrace reality. Consequently, I live a life free of paraskevidekatriaphobia. So: Happy Friday the 13th, everybody!

​

• This is the audiobook I'm listening to right now. And it is. So. Good.

As discussed in a previous post, I am an audiobook fiend. Also, a great fan of stand-up comedy. So it's no surprise that I adore comedians' memoirs. Following are a few that I have greatly enjoyed (in alphabetical order by the authors' last names). And because they are all in my Audible library, I can send you any one of them for free! Let me know if you'd like me to shoot one to you by text or email—it's very easy to do. And you won't be sorry. (If you click on the titles, you can listen to a sample.)
​

• If at Birth You Don't Succeed: My Adventures with Disaster and Destiny, Zach Anner
• Nothing's Sacred, Lewis Black
• Drunk with Power, Margaret Cho
• Girl Walks into a Bar...: Comedy Calamities, Dating Disasters, and a Midlife Miracle, Rachel Dratch
• Bossypants, Tina Fey
• Dear Mrs. Fitzsimmons (The Audiobook), Greg Fitzsimmons
• A Bad Idea I'm About to Do: True Tales of Seriously Poor Judgment and Stunningly Awkward Adventure, Chris Gethard
• I Can't Make This Up: Life Lessons, Kevin Hart
• Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns), by Mindy Kaling
• Kasher in the Rye: The True Tale of a White Boy from Oakland Who Became a Drug Addict, Criminal, Mental Patient, and Then Turned 16, Moshe Kasher
• I Can Barely Take Care of Myself: Tales from a Happy Life Without Kids, Jen Kirkman
  
• I Know What I'm Doing and Other Lies I Tell Myself: Dispatches from a Life Under Construction, Jen Kirkman
• You'll Grow Out of It, Jessi Klein
• Attempting Normal, Mark Maron
• Born Standing Up: A Comic's Life, Steve Martin
• Born a Crime: Stories from a South African Childhood, Trevor Noah
• Yes Please, Amy Poehler
• You Can't Touch My Hair and Other Things I Still Have to Explain, Phoebe Robinson
• The Bedwetter: Stories of Courage, Redemption, and Pee, Sarah Silverman

Some of the above may not be pure memoirs, and there are countless funny memoirs by the likes of David Sedaris, Julia Sweeney, Jonathan Ames, and others that aren't included because the authors aren't really stand-up comedians. But it's a solid list, and I'd be happy to share any one of the titles with you. (You can contact me directly here.)

I am a member of a meetup of podcast enthusiasts. At our last gathering, I was asked if I'd like to choose my all-time favorite podcast episode for the group to listen to and discuss. It was difficult to choose, but I came up with two favorites. May I highly recommend them both to you, because I predict that they will rock your world.

The first is an episode of Invisibilia called "Entanglement," and specifically a segment called "Mirror Touch." It's about a woman who has a type of synesthesia that causes her to literally feel what other people feel. So, for example, if she were to see someone stub his toe, she would experience a very real pain in her own toe. It has made her life very difficult, and affected her family in profound ways. Listen here.

My other favorite podcast episode is from This American Life, called "If You Don’t Have Anything Nice to Say, SAY IT IN ALL CAPS." There is a segment wherein author Lindy West is hounded online by a viciously cruel troll. And she ends up having a conversation with him. Listen here.

I'd love to hear what you think of these episodes, or if you have favorite podcasts of your own. Do tell!

Much to my husband's annoyance, I am almost always wearing headphones. If I'm not working at my computer or sleeping, chances are excellent that I'm listening to an audiobook or a podcast. The following scenario has happened approximately 2.3 zillion times:

So sue me: I love listening to things. I've been a member of Audible for close to 20 years and have accumulated 321 titles in my library. Here is a sampling of the podcasts I enjoy listening to. Additionally, I listen to programs like Hold On with Eugene Mirman that are technically Audible channels. Oh, and I also have the Audm app, which enables me to listen to great articles from magazines like The Atlantic and The New Yorker.

Why do I love audio so much? For one thing, if I sit down to read a "real" book or magazine, my mind is likely to a) wander, or b) go to sleep. But beyond that, I love listening to voices—the emotion of them, the timbre, the humanness and intimacy. And when you listen to podcasts, there's the fabulous nuance added by thoughtful production: sound effects, audio engineering, conversations, audience reactions, etc. Good podcasts are magnetic.

Earlier in my long advertising career, I got to write and produce many radio commercials, and that was wonderful. I maintain that radio is the most visual medium, because when it's done well, it makes listeners watch stories right in their heads.

So imagine my delight when 99% Invisible, one of the best podcasts out there (and a must-listen for anyone even remotely interested in design), shared this wonderful tale about Clive Desmond's personal history with radio advertising. The episode is called "A 700 Foot Mountain of Whipped Cream," and that evocative title is a testament to the visual power of audio.

If you are interested in advertising or psychology, if you enjoyed Mad Men, or if you just have a strong recollection of the ads of yesteryear, I highly recommend that you listen to this podcast episode. And try not to let anyone interrupt you.