Insider this

I got a satisfaction survey emailed to me from the W Chicago Lakeshore Hotel.

I was eager to fill it out because:
1. I am a major survey junkie
2. I had some big issues with the W and felt like they of course needed MY valuable input because, as we all know, I am right about everything.

Hidden among the other survey questions was this gem:
Did you feel you were given insider access to the W Lifestyle?

Huh???

I read the question once. Then I read it again. I read it with my head cocked to one side like Nipper the RCA Records dog, thinking THAT might help.

Insider access to the W Lifestyle? Like I need a special pass to enjoy modern furniture and loud music?

Here’s a question back for Starwood Hotels, the W's parent company: did you feel like you were given insider access to the Suebob lifestyle? Or the Oh, the Joys lifestyle? Or the PunditMom lifestyle? Oh, you didn’t? Too bad. You really should try it sometime.

I can guarantee you that no matter how interesting-looking your building is, no matter how carefully you select the elevator music or how great the view is, our "lifestyles" will always be more interesting than the W Hotel.

Given the choice between spending an all-expenses paid day at the W with full "insider access" (whatever that is) and spending an hour having a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee while chatting with ByJane on a park bench, I’d choose the blogger every time. But maybe I just don't understand the importance and magnificence of a lifestyle built on $8 waters and pretty lampshades. But I think I do.

My opinion is that the W does a good job of creating a nice artificial reef for all the pretty people to gather 'round. It is amusing in its way. But it's not a life, nor a lifestyle. It is, after all is said and done, just a place to eat and sleep and pay a lot for the privilege.

If you google "insider access to the W Lifestyle," you’ll see that Starwood Hotels marketing geniuses are all into the idea. They even offer "curated events" like small, intimate concerts, dinners with famous chefs, etc, so those with the means (cash, moola, ducats, bank, green) can make a special memory (after dropping a bale of money, of course).

Some of us are too busy doing what we do to need curated events. The best event I have been to in the past few weeks was an afternoon watching six of my nieces' kids run around on the lawn like maniacs. It was heart-stoppingly beautiful and perfectly memorable. The second best event lately was meeting about 300 great women at BlogHer.

Both required substantial input from me to make happen. No one curated them. I don't have a life concierge. That’s the way I like it. Me. My life where I create my own "insider access" because I am the true insider, the one who knows my insides.

I have met some famous people in my time, usually at work. And I have met plenty of non-famous people, too. Guess what? They’re pretty much the same to hang out with. There is no magic dust that the rich or famous sprinkle around to make life more special or interesting.

My sister used to say "We can have more fun with $5 than most people can have with $1000." She wasn’t exaggerating, either (though it may have gone up to $10 by now). That’s just part of the fabulous Bob Lifestyle, to which insider access is highly restricted and available only to a select few.

My fabulous life. Be jealous.

I live in a multi-cultural neighborhood where I am the multi. I am one of the few non-Latinos around, and I like it that way. I can practice my Spanish, walk to 2 great panaderias, and get chiles rellenos made with real poblano chiles, not those slimy crap canned Ortega things.

In the evening, much of the neighborhood goes out for a stroll. We have a lovely park and a lovely path, and Goldie and I often join in the procession.

Tonight we strolled and smiled and nodded with the best of them. There were several differences between me and my neighbors, though.

They are Latino and I am white. They stroll in families, me with my dog. And their pants were on right-side out, and mine were not.

Gringa loca.

*******

I didn't realize that my fat-ass yoga pants were on inside out until I went to the squirt-it-ur-self car wash and I wanted to put my change in my pocket. Which was outside my pants with the hole on the inside. Ah, the glamour.

I was standing there pondering what to do, the only person at the four-stall car wash. A guy pulled up RIGHT behind me. I was irked. Why didn't he pick another stall?

"Escuuuse me," said the driver, an old man. "But I have these..."(pointing to a pair of grungy crutches next to him on the seat) "and I cannot wash my own car. You can help me, please?"

I looked around. I was by myself. There was this apparently crippled old guy. About a thousand thoughts went through my head.

- Ted Bundy used to lure women in with the crippled routine.
- Is he going to give me quarters, or do I have to pay for the wash, too?
- Is he going to wait until I am distracted by washing the car, then pull a gun on me, drive me away and rape me?
- Am I going to look in the car while I am washing and find him spanking his monkey?

But I am always preaching kindness. I sighed.

"Sure," I said. He handed me some quarters. "Que paso?" What happened?

"Se quitaron la pierna," he answered. He made a cutting motion. He had lost a leg.

I began washing his car. A homeless guy came up and asked me for change.

"Um, this isn't my change," I said. "It isn't even my car." I started to laugh. One good deed at a time, huh, buddy?

I got done with the one-legged man's car.

"All finish?" he asked.

"Si, senor. Dios te bendiga," I said. God bless you.

I got a big smile and about 40 thank yous in return. Some people really just want a shiny car, I guess.

******

In other news, my tweezers are missing since Chicago. If you see a woman with her pants on inside out and a unibrow, chances are it is me.

Getting all meta on you

Some questions - and I would love to have your answers, too:

Do you read blogs that don't allow comments?
I don't, usually. Dooce is an exception. For me, it is a huge step backward in communications - it takes me back to the days of reading great columnists in newspapers. They would inform, inspire or madden me and then I would have to write a letter and mail it if I wanted to say something back to them. I am kind of done with one-way conversations.

What do you do if you leave comment after comment on a blog and they never respond or reciprocate in any way?
I am probably more guilty of this than I like to admit. There are so many blogs in my reader that I am kind of reluctant to add more, so it might take me a while to get over to a new commenter's blog.

But conversely, if I am one of less than 10 readers a blogger has, I can get pretty cranky if they don't ever reply or comment on my blog. I'm all "Dude! How self-centered can you BE??" And then I delete them. Because I am self-centered, too.

WTF is wrong with your google feed, Suebob??
I don't know and I wish I did. I had a word with them at BlogHer, and they promise they will get back to me in a week or so.

I love that they told me earnestly "You need to click the box to enable feeds." I am no computer genius, but even a dumbass like me can figure that one out.

I almost started shouting "I was writing CODE when you were a FETUS," but then I remembered what kind of code I used to write, and I thought I had not better go there. Let's just say it was enough to earn me a C in Computer Science in the 1970's, back when they were handing out Bs just for showing up and not being too stoned in class.

*******
Proof that I actually worked at BlogHer

On the other hand...

After yesterday's much bleaker post, I must also say that I love this crazy blog world.

Mrs. Chicky has had a death in the family, and her commenters include Her Bad Mother, Kevin Charnas and Blog Antagonist among other bloggers I "know" and love.

It's nutty, isn't it, this virtual space we have created for ourselves to say what we need to say and to be who we need to be.

Kevin Charnas hates his neighbor and that's okay. Christina's daughter melts down and her mom can't do anything to stop it and no one says she is a bad parent. Suburban Turmoil decides to ride out a bad situation - because she knows it might make good blog fodder, and it does. Oh, how it does.

What I love about blogging is this: alchemy. The old alchemists sought to turn lead into gold. Blogging turns the horrible dross of life into comedy gold, into a meaningful narrative.

When I was on the phone with Dollar Rent-A-Car for 2 hours, the only thing that made it bearable was knowing "OMG, this is going to be a fun blog post. (Getting $175 in credit afterward worked for me, too).

Now when anything bad happens, I have a seed of joy in my heart. Because in blogging, the bad turns to the good, and it makes everyone happy. Given lemons, blogs make lemonade. THAT is why I keep doing this silly thing.

******
There is also a new post up at Linkateria

Mea culpa

I did BlogHer all wrong this year. I wanted something totally different and because of poor follow-through, I got a big freaking headache and a small existential crisis.

My original plan was to go, miss the conference stuff, and just basically hang out and chat people up as they meandered by. This fantasy also involved a rooftop pool area with cabana boys and fruity drinks.

Then I was possessed by demons and decided to volunteer at the conference, so I had to be there at least half a day each day (beginning at 7:30 AM -- 5:30 Cali time -- on Friday, ooof).

And there was no rooftop pool and certainly no cabana boys.

So, like last year, it ended up being a manic rocket ride, chatting with 300 people for 30 seconds each. Meeting everyone is always good (well, not everyone - there were a couple people I could have lived without) but the frenetic pace was just so wrong for me. I also got on the red stapler portrait train and couldn't get off. I am like a border collie with a tennis ball when I get a project going.

Ironically, the best times I had at the conference were not at the conference.

My favorite memories:
- Wandering the streets of Chicago with Vodkarella herself, Karen Rani and then riding the speedboat with her and the Kaiser on Lake Michigan . I came close to peeing myself when Karen pointed out that the guy in front of us had earlobes that flapped in the wind...it was like being 12 years old again.

- Sitting on the lawn waiting for the lighted boat parade (we missed it - oops) with Suzanne of CUSS, Count Mockula,Alex Elliott, and Super Des. It was so good to be out of the screaming noise and confusion, just enjoying a summer night on the lakefront and bullshitting like old friends, which is what it felt like. Then there were the world's best fireworks. Even I liked them.

- Hanging out on the pier with Devra of Parentopia, Goon Squad Sarah and The Kaiser, just feeling like tired tourists instead of manic conferencers.

If it wasn't for that stuff, the real stuff, I wouldn't go again.

It's not BlogHer's fault, but the event makes me question what the hell I am doing with blogging, and some of those questions aren't terribly comfortable for me.

Am I hiding from real life behind my keyboard?
Am I using the excuse that I have "blogging friends" to keep from interacting with real people?
Am I commenting on people's blogs and linking them just to get them to like me?
What the hell AM I doing?
What IS this?

And I hated the emphasis on celebrity - ooh, Amy Sedaris! Everyone gushes over her even though her crafts are something any 8 year old could do and she said she likes to use "ching-chong" googly eyes to decorate with.

There were 50 crafters in the room who could have kicked her ass at creativity and who could have gotten through 75 minutes without any racist slurs, but whatever, she's semi-famous, so we should just appreciate that she showed up to see lil' old us. Feh.

Can you tell my PMS is kicking in? Yikes.