PF Life

My fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. Howard, is the single coolest person I’ve ever known. Sorry, JLo … it’s true.

Way back in the early ‘80’s, Phyllis Howard was duly influencing young and impressionable minds. She was nurturing, considerate and kind. She helped countless tweens get through the day-to-day grind of 4th and 5th grade and mentally prepared for the horrors of middle school. And 20 years later at a class reunion, I got to thank her for that.

Back in the day, things moved pretty slowly at Grandview Park Baptist School in Des Moines, Iowa. It was a simpler, gentler time – a time when you’d be banished to hell for even THINKING about listening to the “Xanadu” soundtrack. Unfortunately, I always had a thing for Olivia Newton-John (uh, and I still do). I remember asking Mrs. Howard if I was going to forever burn in eternal damnation for listening to ONJ. Anyone else would have said yes … and included a bible verse specifically linking Olivia to hellfire and brimstone. But Mrs. Howard said, “If it makes you happy … then do it. Just don’t do it in my class or I’ll get smited.” I can’t be sure those were her exact words – but the gist of it was that I could be free to be me … and I had her blessing.

Look back at your favorite teacher/instructor/professor. What made them infinitely cooler than others? Was it something they did? The things they said? I distinctly remember Mrs. Howard had cordoned off part of her room and filled it with books and magazines she thought we would enjoy. It wasn’t nearly as stuffy as the regular library upstairs run by the militant Mrs. Peneger. If I wanted to read about how Blair achieved her perfectly feathered-hair on “The Facts of Life”, I’d go to Mrs. H’s Reading Room. If I wanted to read up on why I was the harbinger of Satan for listening to New Wave music, I’d go upstairs to be chastised by Mrs. P.

Mrs. Howard would allow our artistic capabilities to flow with wild abandon. My doodling skills were sharpened within days. She would encourage random banter and inspire chitchat when warranted. Once in ’79, Pope John Paul came to Des Moines … and the earth stood still in Iowa. Grandview Park Baptist even canceled classes that day – so we could spend time praying for those damn Catholics. In Mrs. Howard’s class, we discussed differences in religion … odd because, up to that point, I thought everyone was a religious zealot like me.

She’d take the class fishing or camping or off for shopping or cooking expeditions. She was a Renaissance-woman-meets-Martha-Stewart. Now Mrs. Howard would have to have released forms signed in triplicate plus insurance waivers lest anyone end up with a fish hook in their head. Good Lord!

A few weeks ago, I had the chance to fawn over Mrs. Howard like no other. I told her she was unequivocally my favorite teacher and that she deserved all the accolades and kudos that go along with that. Or canonization … whichever.

We still got along swimmingly. Some things never change. And the best part of our reunion, you ask? Mere seconds before she and I walked in to Grandview’s chapel, I swear I heard a clap of thunder. Chances are without her next to me, I would have been struck down like the hedonistic, narcissistic Olivia Newton-John-worshipping Satanist that I turned out to be. And I’m a better person for it … and I owe it all to Mrs. Howard.
And so do you.

Besides being a phenomenal Writer/Director here at PlattForm, I’m also a certified (and certifiable) fitness instructor and personal trainer on the side. It’s a commonly known fact because 1) I tell everyone and 2) I cajole a lot of my co-workers to take my classes.

(Suckers.)

Now it’s worth mentioning that people always say the same thing when I mention the fitness thing. They tend to blurt out (always with the same incredulous look on their face), “You’re a fitness instructor??!!” That comment tends to be followed up with three nonchalant blinks and a mouth agape.

I don’t necessarily fit the stereotype of a gym bunny. (Read that: I’m not crazy hella- buff.) Or as my mom often points out, “Your weight fluctuates more than Oprah.” Thanks, Mom.

Typically, I could care less about my weight. I am forever shedding/gaining 10lbs. Sometimes less, sometimes more. My motto: as long as I can still whoop asses in my classes … I’m good to go. That is … until I realized my high school reunion was a month away.

Lord.

These are people I haven’t seen in 10-15 years … and yet they are driving me to having my jaws wired shut next week. I am fully determined to drop some major L-B’s before my reunion. And I’ve heard from a lot of people with a lot of suggestions on how to do it.

Many of my co-workers are on the “Eat What You Can Afford” plan. Maybe I should try that. Others jokingly suggested using Meth. Don’t think I haven’t thought about it … the weight loss is dramatic! So is the hair loss and tooth loss.

But I think I’ll stick to what I know … eat less and exercise more. Two things I loathe in life. My nutritionist pointed out that D-I-E-T is a four letter word. I informed her the first three letters are D-I-E. She finds no humor in that. Probably because she hasn’t eaten a carbohydrate in four years.

Come hell or high water, I am going to be thin(ner) and pretty(ier) for my reunion than ever before. Note the look of determination on my face! Well, there would be a look of determination if my face weren’t recently injected with Botox for said reunion. It would probably be in everyone’s best interest to stay away from me for the next month or so … because things could get ugly. Why? When it comes to losing weight, willpower is half the battle. Liposuction is the other half.

Three years ago, a horrific and needless accident claimed the life of one of PlattForm’s video editors, Jon U. And since the Video Production team was a close-knit team, it hit everyone particularly hard. That whole week was a mind-numbing blur of grief, raw emotions and reflection.

You spend 40+ hours with someone each week and you might as well call it an odd marriage of convenience. You work with them for better or worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and in health … and, sometimes when fate plays its cards, ‘til death do we part.

In the past week, two colleagues of mine from my first TV gig in Des Moines passed away within days of each other. Both were dear friends. One died, unexpectedly, from a heart attack. The outpouring of love and support from the community was not only heartfelt, it was palpable.

When Jon U passed, it was the same way here. PlattForm is still a small enough company where everybody knows most everybody. And I still remember how much camaraderie and concern reverberated through the hallways. Jon’s commercials are still seen all over the country … and I catch them from time to time.

In the case of my friend Michelle Parker, her untimely passing was a harsh reminder we only have a small amount of time to make the most of our lives. Because Michelle was a news reporter, she had the chance to touch thousands upon thousands of lives. And she did. And it’s worth mentioning … thousands and thousands of times.

Michelle’s legacy will live on with nearly 30 years of television news reporting under her belt. I’m somewhat comforted in that fact. Well, that and she reminded me every single day for seven years that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And it stuck. Like honey.

Years from now when I go to the Big Manual Typewriter in the sky, I hope people say I lived my life to the absolute fullest. And that I had no regrets. And that I had good hair. Which I pointed out to Michelle every single day for seven years.

Every week, I try to pick a word I don’t normally use and add it to my daily vernacular. Last week, for instance, my word was “rife”. I peppered it in to nearly every sentence I said. Heck, I even used it in my blog. My vocabulary had become rife with the word rife. Oddly, no one ever notices my word of the week … and that’s despite the fact I use it ad nauseaum.

I suppose if I used a word like “Farfegnughen” it would stand out more. Four syllables versus just one. Hmmm, maybe my co-workers are just blatantly dismissing me … even though they all look mildly interested in what I’m saying.

This week I’ve used the word “glean” to excess. And, once again, no one has made mention of it. Frankly, the whole thing is starting to annoy me … if you hadn’t already gleaned that. What do I have to do around here to get my self-appointed word of the week out to the masses? Yell it?

I’m notorious for whistling, humming and singing songs under my breath. Inevitably, someone within earshot will be whistling, humming or singing that same tune within two minutes. It’s called an Ear Worm … and it can cause sheer madness. I like it because it’s simultaneously infuriating and whimsical. If given the opportunity, I could have the whole place chanting “Y-M-C-A” by my use of subliminal Ear Worming.

I have no such luck, however, with my word of the week. Oh sure, I can have the oh-so hyper-masculine company president singing “Fly, Robin, Fly” under his breath in two seconds. But try to get him to use the word “rife” in a sentence? Forget it.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, though. I’m actually considering handing him a green banana and a yellow banana … and asking him to describe them. Inevitably, he’ll say one is “ripe” … which, in my book, is close enough to “rife”. Thus, I win.

Next week’s word, you ask? It’s “pedestrian”. As in … could my pedestrian co-workers be any more pedestrian when it comes to using my lexicon of love?

And, for the love of God, stop singing “YMCA”, will ya’? You’re driving me nuts.

I heart my editor Kevin Kuzma. I really do. He gives advice when warranted and makes suggestions only when absolutely necessary. I borderline cherish him … but only because he’s skillfully mastered the art of the English language. And when I grow up, I want to steal all of his tricks of the trade and use them to my advantage.

Although – a few weeks ago, I noticed something was amiss in nearly all of my articles. Turns out, Kevin had been deliberately and painstakingly removing all of the exclamation points in my articles and replacing them with drab periods. Can you believe that??!! And it wasn’t just periodic period-replacement either. Every time there was a rogue exclamation point, he would banish it with wild abandon.

So I quizzed him about it.

I said, “Kevin, what the #$%^&* are you doing to my copy!!?” And he yammered on some thing about editorializing – which, of course, meant nothing to me. So in order to trump his ace and bring him back down to the real world where people use exclamation points, I want to tell you a true story about what I did last weekend.

A week ago, some dear friends surprised me with a trip to Los Angeles! Even better, they had scored tickets to “The Tonight Show w/ Jay Leno!” It was outstanding! While I was shopping on Rodeo Drive (!!!), I ran in to McSteamy from “Grey’s Anatomy”! I nearly DIED! It was the most, to say the least! I love Hollywood! Don’t you??!!

There. I feel better.

Wait.

There! I feel better!

If you’re going to get in to a knock-down-drag-out fight with the man who controls the destiny of your punctuation, you’d better pick your battles carefully. Seriously … what’s next? I swear … if he starts gratuitously removing my ellipses for no good reason … well, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. Probably revolt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!