How are sales pipeline software and waterfalls connected?
A waterfall is when water flows over the edge of a rock or cliff or some series of vertical drops. The result is a beautiful cascade of water where you hit your sales goal and collect a fat bonus check.
Then you tell your boss you’re taking the rest of the month off to play golf.
They are also connected because I had the pleasure to write about sales pipeline software and waterfalls. That also meant I had to switch between corporate-style martinis and vacation-esque mai-tais to quench my thirst until my deadlines. KIDDING.
It is sort of a productivity challenge to move from one mindset to another, but that’s also what makes content writing so interesting.
If you’re a freelancer, are you able to make fast pivots when deadlines collide?
For the sales pipeline article, I researched what was available and analyzed user reviews, features, and pricing. There are some really great options available and a couple are even totally free.
Although if you want to unlock all the cool features, you should really look at all the pricing options. Most aren’t cost prohibitive.
But if you’re in sales or you manage a sales team, you would benefit from having a solution that gives you a visual sales pipeline and how to get those deals closed.
The waterfall articles were for the excellent travel blog, Via Travelers. They assigned me a couple of listicles–one for Minnesota waterfalls and one for California waterfalls.
Both states have so many gorgeous ones, it was hard to whittle them down. I really enjoy writing for Via Travelers because travel is something everyone likes to read.
Basically my research goes like this: Google images for waterfalls, say to myself, “Hey, I think this one is pretty,” then figure out where and when the photo was taken.
Even if readers don’t have a trip in mind, the research makes for good inspiration. You’ll see what I mean:
Japan has always been the clear winner when it comes to innovative personal waste receptacles. From experience menus to aftercare, their potties are at the top of the pile. For. Sure.
And, they’ve done it again with a couple of transparent public restrooms so artsy-fartsy, even the demurest of bladders will relax and simply let go.
Don’t mind if I do.
Recently, the non-profit Nippon Foundation set out to create a series of public toilets to serve as the antithesis to the nasty, foul, dank, disgusting WC we’ve all come to know and loathe.
The foundation commissioned 16 of its most innovative architects to renovate 17 public restrooms for “The Tokyo Toilet Project.” All the toilets were located in the parks of the bustling, commercial area known as Shibuya.
The goal was to make the toilets accessible and comfortable for all people, regardless of age, gender and ability.
According to a statement from the Nippon Foundation the intention behind the project was, “that people will feel comfortable using these public toilets and to foster a spirit of hospitality for the next person.”
So far, the toilet designed by Shigeru Ban is getting the most fan-fare.
I see immediately this toilet has a visitor. I’ll wait my turn.
The Pritzker Prize winning architect’s potty projects can be found relieving passers-by in Haru-no-Ogawa Community Park and the Yoyogi Fukamachi Mini Park.
The facilities are made up of three cubicles a piece that are transparent on your approach. The purpose of this feature is so you can easily see through the tinted cyan, lime green, blue, yellow, pink or purple glass if it’s ocupado or vacant.
The Nippon Foundation explains: “There are two concerns with public toilets, especially those located in parks. The first is whether it is clean inside, and the second is that no one is secretly waiting inside.”
The glass is smart technology that automatically turns opaque when the lock is engaged. At night, the cubicles glow and decorate the parks like lovely, colorful lanterns.
Well, yes. In fact, it’s volume 2 of Love in the Time of Corona.
And, who doesn’t need a little escape from all the confusing, polarizing and gloomy news?
Seven authors have virtually come together to release an anthology of novelettes in different genres (and heat levels) that show how love, like life, finds a way.
My story is called “Tipsy” and if you love wines, you’ll love this story about two restaurant employees navigating their furlough.
Barbera Piedmont works in one of Manhattan’s top restaurants alongside a hot sommelier named Cavan Mills. One fateful night furloughs them both and there seems to be no end in sight. To Barbera’s surprise, Cavan contacts her for help keeping his career on track. Through a virtual connection, they share wines along with their fears and dreams. Barbera can’t help wondering what will happen to their digital relationship when life returns to normal. Will her services no longer be needed, or will these strange and dangerous times end in love?
My fellow anthology contributors–Kristi Avalon, Chloe Flowers, Sheridan Jeane, Becky Lower, Judy McDonough and L.A. McGinnis–share my excitement in letting you know Love in the Time of Corona, Vol. II, will be released on April 22.
Read, leave a review, stay safe. Muah, from me (6-feet away) to you.
Eavesdropping on strangers’ conversations is immense fun. How else can you pass the time when you are waiting for something. Aren’t we always waiting for something? To pay for our food, for our Ubers to arrive, or for venti iced coffees with our names misspelled on the cup?
Who in the world is named Janiver??
But eavesdropping is rude.
A better way to wile away the minutes is by literature. Of course, carrying around a book or another device is not always practical. But you would ever leave the house without your phone? Like some kind of animal?
No.
So, how can we combine our passions for eavesdropping, good stories and our phones?
Well, there’s an app for that and it’s called Peek’d. It’s free and fun and it delivers you short stories in all genres a little text box at a time. It’s like going through your friend’s phone. Which we would never do.
Download it and read something. Write your own story and submit. Get published. Live the writer dream. (haha)
That’s what I told myself this morning when I didn’t get a client I wanted. It was the only logical explanation as to why I received their email late the previous evening informing me of their “hard decision” to “go in another direction.”
Since no other reason was offered, I permitted my mind to wander the vast desert of doubt — a place I like to call Doubt Desert — to mull over all the valid reasons why my horrible personality must be blamed.
This was not a cold pitch. This meeting was so warm I could fry an egg on it. I had a personal introduction. Okay, so the person who introduced me doesn’t hate my horrible personality. But to be fair, he is a lawyer (haha).
During the meeting, I brought up all my oodles of experience. I must admit that my experience was not exactly what they were looking for. But all the podcasts to which I subscribe tell me not to let lack of experience stop me. After all, I can speak English and write strings of words down that mean things. Perhaps I falsely deduced that this was good positioning.
Right.
I brought my relevant samples with many of the words in strings that mean things. He oohed and ahhhed as he skimmed them. Asked me if he could keep them.
“Absolutely, I brought them for you.” Because that’s the kind of gal I am. I’m a giver.
But I know my value. I have an hourly rate. Since this was a rush job with some specific needs, I added on another ten. I stated my rate simply. Confidently. He wrote it down with nary a blink.
So far, so good.
Then the Big Guy walked in looking like he hadn’t slept in a week. My nice guy walked out. Shut the door behind him.
Ummm.
“What do you think about this project” He asked in a growl that reminded me of Lou Grant.
“I think it sounds great.” I smiled while the Mary Tyler Moore show opening played in my head.
I’m an experienced woman. I’ve been around. Well, all right, I might not’ve been around, but I’ve been… nearby.
I do that when I get nervous. I have an entire library of silly scenes, montages, music videos and other sundries that my also-me uses to steal my focus. It’s a wonder I haven’t stepped out in front of a bus.
Mr. Grant stared at me like I just served him one grilled cheese with a cockroach on the side.
“Great? What does that mean? You mean great for the consumers? Great for the investors? What exactly do you mean?”
“UhhhhhImeant that consumers and investors alike will benefit from this project as it saves time and money and is poised to be a major player in the e-commerce marketplace.”
I clamped my lips tight together. Didn’t blink, breathe, twirl my hair, check my phone…
I wish I could tell you the above strategy was some Art of War thing. But another thing also-me does is talk a lot so sometimes I have to give her a cup of juice and make her sit in the corner. Talking only to fill in silence is probably not a quality Mr. Grant looks for in a writer. Or human being.
Mr. Grant rubbed under his glasses so hard, I thought he was gouging out his own eyeballs.
“Why do you think people will buy this product?”
I told him why. I told him from the perspective of a mom who needs more hours in her day and as a consumer who now wonders why no one has thought of something so brilliant before.
He looked so tired.
He stood. I stood. We shook hands and he said, “we’ll be in touch,” and walked out and back into the boardroom at the other end of the hall. A room from where, I realized, a lot of yelling was coming.
Product development is high stakes. In that boardroom, sat a couple of guys who had put their personal lives and any wealth on hold hoping for something big. When I say big, I’m not talking Shark Tank big, but billions big.
I left feeling buoyant, high on the entrepreneurial vibrations. I found myself really hoping that my couple thousand words would be the ones that go into a proposal resulting in a shift in the way we think about time and commerce. I’m not surprised a couple of VERY smart post-grads could come up with such an idea. Probably over beers. I bet they still have the cocktail napkin scribbled with the first notes.
So, y’all I’m bummed. I wish I had the Mary Tyler Moore spunk that kept Mr. Grant from firing her. But I’m glad they found a writer who was a better fit for their vision.
Since you asked in your mind, I’m 47. I just typed 46 and had to change it to 47. I don’t know why I got that number down wrong. Except I usually have to pause and try to remember what year it is, what day it is or how old I am. It can take me awhile to check in places, like the doctor’s office or an auto service center, because to me it still feels like 1994, even though I know it’s not. I have to look up and ask someone, “What year is it?”
I’m not particularly proud of anything I did in 1994. It was a pretty basic year. Another nice, round year that often comes to my mind is 2004. Perhaps those years represent the potential of doing Something Important before the hump years of 1995 and 2005 and the subsequent downhill racing toward a new decade.
My favorite decade was actually the 2000s. I got married, bought a house and had a baby. I built a solid career in hospitality sales. At 35, I got to leave the workforce and stay at home with my son. All good stuff.
Lordy, lordy. Look who’s 40
Then I turned 40.
Now I’m not a big believer in making over-the-hill jokes when someone turns 40. Everyone knows 40 is the new 30. Back in ancient times, when my mother turned 40, we had a big birthday party for her and invited all my parent’s friends. Our house was decorated with black balloons and banners with bons mots like “Happy 40th Birthday! RIP Youth.” We had a cake with black icing and all the adults drank too much pink wine, and rum and cokes, and flirted with each other. My sister and I were in charge of the music. We played disco and new wave and everyone danced in the living room because we moved the coffee table to the garage.
Back then, turning 40 was the end of an era.
I’m like approaching 50 and, dammit, I still don’t feel middle-aged. But peering at 20-something strangers over the tops of my glasses while I fill out a form in cursive, or doing something truly crazy and old like writing a check, and asking what year it is does not help my case.
So, here I am, stuck between the heydays of my 30s and the looming of my 50s, in my current state of being, my 40s. My 40s are fine. Thanks for asking. I’m still married. My husband still loves me, God bless him. We’ve made a cross-country move and the baby is growing into tweenage-hood.
But recently, I attempted to revive my old sales career. I turned to the Internet Experts for advice (sigh) on how to re-enter the workforce after SAHP (stay at home parenting).
I’ll just “forget” my blouse and then no one will care when I graduated.
Do not list graduation dates. Delete dates of previous employment. Arrange your CV (What the hell is a CV? I have a rez-oo-mey.) so no one can guess your advanced age. Arrange it by skill. Avoid chronological order like the plague. The plague, you see, is a medieval time, 100-percent fatal disease, which explains why it should be avoided. I’m trying to be inclusive of all ages here, which is more than I can say for all the potential hirers that saw and discarded my RESUME because of all the years listed on it that were prior to the millennium.
I have mixed emotions about removing my years. Wisdom and experience are good things. But, I’m not crying ageism here at all. If anything, I FEEL SORRY for the managers who have to train these youngsters on everything from typing on a desktop keyboard to talking to people on a telephone. I suppose young people work cheaper too. They also bring fresh ideas and energy, but whatever.
As for my 50s, I’m kind of looking forward to them. Anything has to be better than floating through the 40s, where according to the Internet Experts, you can only wear matte makeup and clothes that draw attention away from the neck.
If you haven’t turned 45 yet, just wait. You will hate your neck. Forget your thighs. Necks will be the new thighs.
So bring it, 50s. You’re the next big decade. I’m ready for menopause and having people tell me I look great and to stop telling me I look tired. Something about being in your 40s means you look tired all the time and people feel like they should tell you this. I KNOW I look tired. We had basketball practice until 9:00 p.m. last night, okay?
But no one tells 50 plus-year-old women they look tired. They always “look great.” And you can stop right there. No need for the qualifier of “for your age,” unless you like having a lunchtime martini flung at your face. I’ll do it too. I’m fifty years old. Soon. What year is it?
Put away the pool noodles and hang up the wet swimsuits. Autumn is here and the nights are right for snuggling with a blanket, a little cinema, and a cozy cocktail. Or two.
This movie screams walking with your best friend, with whom you secretly want to make whoopie, in Central Park in the Fall.
Cocktail: Manhattans. Lots of cherries.
Good Will Hunting
Cambridge in the Fall. Fancy-pants college. Smart-alec, super cute, bad boy janitor that sounds all Bahs-tahn.
Cocktail: Haard Apple Cidahhhs
Rudy
Another fancy-pants college in autumn. Football and the epitome of underdog stories. You ready for this champ? Hand me my Fighting Irish hoodie. We’re tailgating! Ru-dy, Ru-dy, Ru-dy.
Cocktail: Screwdrivers
*Love Story
*Tissue alert. Sniffles come with the autumn territory, so you have a box close by anyway. Put it to good use and get your class warfare love/hate action on. You’re pouring the 70s tonight, baby.
Cocktail: Brandy Alexanders
St. Elmo’s Fire
I don’t understand everything in this movie. How does sitting in a cold apartment kill you? Jules have wet hair or some kind of immune suppression auto-immune thingie going on that wasn’t spelled out for us in the script? These crazy kids aren’t in college. They’re out and don’t have a coping skill among them. Love this one hard.
Cocktail: Light Beer or White Zinfandel
Lookit, you don’t even need a wine-opener. By DimiTalen (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Planes, Trains & Automobiles
Ad exec Neal Page and shower curtain ring salesman Del Griffith team up to get home to their families in time for Thanksgiving. Six bucks and Del’s right nut says they’re not landing in Chicago. This one is as painful and funny to watch as the TSA.
Cocktail: Bloody Marys. Extra-spicy. Extra Stoli.
Dead Poet’s Society
Back to school with this one. Prep school in New England. English teacher, John Keating (Robin Williams) tells you (and Ethan Hawke) to seize the day. I feel like the poets of yore drank whiskey. And so shall we.
Cocktail: Whisky Sours
Sleepless in Seattle
Meg Ryan and Julia Roberts once got into a hair-pulling fight over who was the Queen of the 90s. Kidding. This movie starts on Christmas Eve with a goal of meeting at the top of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. But this is the perfect time of year to watch and get in the mood for All The Holidays.
Cocktail: Champagne
The Nightmare Before Christmas
We’ll end with another screamer. Jack Skellington, King of Halloween Town, wants to bring Christmas to his home. Not as easy as it sounds. Goulish, wicked and lots of fun. We want pumpkin everything!
Thinking of writing a book? The first line is important. The first line sets the mood, theme, style, world and should introduce the main conflict. “Amazing Bonus,” if it foreshadows the end. Above all, the first line should hook an agent, a publisher or two and thousands millions of readers.
Sounds easy.
Image courtesy of Flickr Creative Commons by Reuben Ingber, Some Rights Reserved.
To get you started, here are some plagiarized borrowed lines from people that are already famous. I think these would make perfect openings. The famous won’t mind. Probably (<~Not legal advice). Just think of the possibilities…
Kevin Hart
I used to think guns were loud until I dropped the damn shampoo in the shower.
Laura Kightlinger
I have a rule, and that is to never look at somebody’s face while we’re having sex; because, number one, what if I know the guy?
Image via Flickr Creative Commons by Veronica Belmont, Some Rights Reserved.
Louis CK
I know it’s not popular to say, but I hate balloons.
Betty White
Get at least eight hours of beauty sleep. Nine, if you’re ugly.
Redd Fox
I feel sorry for people who don’t drink or do drugs. Because someday they’re going to be in a hospital bed, dying, and they won’t know why.
via Flickr Creative Commons by Carla de Souza Campos, Some Rights Reserved.
More Laura Kightlinger
I can’t think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone and not being able to remember their name, or how you met, or why they’re dead.
Dane Cook
When I said I wanted to be a comedian, they all laughed at me. Well, no one’s laughing now.
Ah, the 70s. Before helicopter parenting was a thing and smoking was still cool. Yes, as a society, we have progressed. We’ve made huge advances in technology and smaller, but significant, steps toward equality–at least we’re talking about it.
Yet, as a girl who grew up middle-class with working mom and dad, eating pineapple chicken and watergate salad–the 70s loved a can of pineapple–I can’t help but feel nostalgic. Especially now that the movie stars from that beloved time are passing.
We often hear that Hollywood can no longer make movies like those from the 70s anymore. Those movies are racist, sexist and exploitative.
And so freakin’ funny.
Sorry. I’m not racist, sexist or exploitative in the least. But COME ON. Bash me in the comments* but I think we can all agree the 70s were a golden era of savagely funny movies over which the late Gene Wilder had tremendous influence. I’ve listed five of my favorites. Credit details are from IMDb.
*Comments are moderated, just so you know, and will be edited for content and to make me look fabulous. “Idiotic,” will become, “brilliant,” and “should not be allowed near a computer,” will be changed to, “queen of the keyboard.”
The Producers
Writer: Mel Brooks
Story: Producers Max Bialystok and his timid accountant, Leo Bloom, make money by producing a sure-fire flop.
Character: Leo Bloom
Best line: Leo Bloom: [reads title of play for first time] “Springtime for Hitler” a gay romp with Adolf and Eva at Berchtesgaden… Wow!
Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Writer: Roald Dahl
Story: A little boy, Charlie, receives a golden ticket to a magical candy factor and finds adventure.
Character: Willy Wonka
Best lines: Wonka: I don’t understand it. The children are disappearing like rabbits. Well, we still have each other. Shall we press on?
Wonka: Well, well, well, two naughty, nasty little children gone. Three good, sweet little children left.
Mr. Salt: You sure this thing’ll float, eh, Wonka? Wonka: With your buoyancy, sir, rest assured.
Mrs. Teevee: I assume there’s an accident indemnity clause. Wonka: Never between friends.
Wonka: If the good Lord had intended us to walk, he wouldn’t have invented roller skates.
Wonka: Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker.
Charlie: Mr. Wonka, they won’t really be burned in the furnace, will they? Wonka: Hm…well, I think that furnace is only lit every other day, so they have a good sporting chance, haven’t they?
Mrs. Gloop: Don’t just stand there, do something! Wonka:[unenthusiastically] Help. Police. Murder.
Wonka: The suspense is terrible…I hope it’ll last.
Blazing Saddles
Writers: Mel Brooks, Norman Steinberg, Andrew Bergman, Richard Pryor, Alan Uger
Story: To ruin a western town, a corrupt political boss appoints a black sheriff, who promptly becomes his most formidable adversary alongside with his sidekick, the alcoholic Waco Kid.
Character: Jim, The Waco Kid
Best lines: Jim:[consoling Bart] What did you expect? “Welcome, sonny”? “Make yourself at home”? “Marry my daughter”? You’ve got to remember that these are simple farmers. These are people of the land. The common clay of the new West. You know…morons.
Jim: Well, it got so bad that every piss-ant prairie punk who thought he could shoot a gun would ride into town to try out the Waco Kid. I must have killed more men than Cecil B. DeMille. It got pretty gritty. I started to hear the word “draw” in my sleep. Then one day, I was just walking down the street when I heard a voice behind me say, “Reach for it, mister!” I spun around…and there I was, face to face with a six-year old kid. Well, I just threw my guns down and walked away. Little bastard shot me in the ass. So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled inside a whiskey bottle…and I’ve been there ever since.
Bart: Are we awake? Jim: We’re not sure. Are we…black? Bart: Yes, we are. Jim: Then we’re awake…but we’re very puzzled.
Young Frankenstein
Writers: Gene Wilder, Mel Brooks, Mary Shelley
Story: An American grandson of the infamous scientist, struggling to prove that he is not as insane as people believe, is invited to Transylvania, where he discovers the process that reanimates a dead body.
Character: Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. Pronounced FRONK-en-steen.
Best lines: [Frankenstein, Igor and Inga in front of HUGE castle doors] Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: What knockers. Inga: Oh, thank you doctor.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: For what we are about to see next, we must enter quietly into the realm of genius.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein:[singing] If you’re blue, and you don’t know where to go to, why don’t you go where fashion sits… The Monster: ‘UTTEN ON THE ‘IIIIITZ.
Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Well, dear, are you ready? Inga: Yes, Doctor Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Elevate me. Inga: Now? Right here? Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: Yes, yes, raise the platform. Inga: Oh. Ze platform. Oh, zat, yah, yah…yes
Bonus: Best Gene Wilder scene of all time:
Stir Crazy
Writers: Bruce Jay Friedman
Story: When Skip & Harry decided they’ve had enough of New York they decide to head to the blue sky and sun of California. Taking a job as promoters in a bank they get falsely accused of bank robbery and are sent to a tough jail where they form unlikely friendships and they find themselves in the prison rodeo.
Character: Skip Donahue
Best lines: Skip Donahue: This filthy, roach-ridden reality is inspiring…what did that second policeman say to you when he grabbed you by the throat? Harry Monroe: Man, I don’t fucking believe you! Skip Donahue: “Man, I don’t fucking believe you!” Fabulous! Harry Monroe: You don’t get it do you, Skip. You think this is The Count of Monte Cristo or something. We’re in deep trouble. This is the real deal. We’re in deep shit.
Skip Donahue: Aren’t you amazed at the quality of the vegetables – in a prison.” Harry Monroe: I’m amazed at what’s crawling around in my soup!”
I’m thinking film festival really hard right now. Read this to get ideas of hosting your own Gene Wilder Film Fest and The Progression of the 70s After Discussion.
Rest in peace, Gene. The 70s couldn’t have gotten any wilder without you.
For every Olympic Games, a discussion arises regarding which events to include. Many feel that the subjective events like gymnastics and diving shouldn’t be included. Only sports that have points based on game rules or races that don’t require human judgment are fair enough to include.
I beg to differ. Gymnastics and diving are beautiful. The judges are fair too. I think the world can tell if some 16-year old messes up her double lay-out, full in, full out.
I get that it’s easy to see who won based on the rules of competition. Archery, weightlifting and badminton are straightforward. Team sports are even easier to judge. Basketball, water polo and beach volleyball have points and rules and there you go.
But I think we should open our minds to the possibilities of including other, lesser known and off the beaten path sports in the Olympics. But better known than, say, canoe slalom and trampoline (DVR set for those? Didn’t think so.).
Want to know which popular sports worldwide are not included in the Olympics presently?
Cricket (blah)
Netball (what is this?)
Speak Takraw (not making this up)
Floorball (please no)
Bandy (okay, moving on)
I am preparing to submit my own highly logical, highly entertaining, highly competitive list of potential Olympic sports. These are games that I hold close to my heart and country. They are from our childhood.
They are…
Lava
Rules: Players move from one piece of furniture to another in the living room of a house without touching the lava, i.e. the ground. If a player touches the lava, the player dies. This game lasts for hours until your little sister touches the lava. Then she is dead and you win.
Back Of The Sofa Gymnastics
Rules: Again, using furniture (can be the same pieces from Lava; see above) as apparatus, contestants perform a routine combining traditional gymnastics moves with circus acrobatics. Points are earned for form as well as the level of danger. For example, cartwheels along the back of the sofa are worth one point. Cartwheels along the back of the sofa not pushed up against a wall are worth two points. Events include Recliner Somersaults, Sofa Cushion Vaulting and Arm-chair Flips. Dismounts are everything! Stick the landing! Always!
Diving
Rules: Public pool diving is less about no-splash and more about making the biggest splash you can. Belly flops, cannonballs, acting like you are drunk and staggering off a diving board are some of the events that earn points at “diving.” Extra points for getting your mother wet after she told you not to.
Synchronized Swimming
Rules: Grab your “camp” best friend or little sister and start training! Yes, I know this is already a lovely, lovely, albeit subjective sport. But it’s too Olympic-fied. We need to get back to basics. And by basics, I mean more hand stands in the pool and waggling your feet above the water like you’re drowning because you’re hair got stuck in the drain. Extra points for matching bathing caps and red-popsicle “lipstick.”
Rules: Great sport for the hottest part of the day during the Summer Olympics. Participants will walk or ride their bikes to the local library in their bare feet and create a pile of books. They will have sticky fingers and they shall find a beanbag chair in the library and read until they hear an ice-cream truck outside. Everyone’s a winner in this event.
Lip Syncing
Rules: Players will select a Top 40 song, preferably from the decade in which they were born. Players will have a homemade costume, a hairbrush mic and a, “stage,” fashioned by bed sheets and appliance boxes or tree branches. Players must include elements such as how they use their mother’s make-up while she is at work, choreography and hair flipping.
Hide and Seek
Rules: We all know how to play this, but the Olympic version is highly dramatic and super serious. The rules are too difficult to get into in a blog format. But suffice it to say, they are usually made up on the spot as the game progresses.
During my 37-minutes of research, I’ve discovered that to petition the Olympic Committee, I must start an international federation.
Sounds easy enough.
Then I have to fill out a 100-page questionnaire about gender inclusiveness (sure), global participation (hmmm) and fan passion (uh, YEAH).
