Momnesia

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Screw you, Bellsouth!

A.C.1 sent an e-mail to our IT guy, joking that if my computer isn't repaired that I would kill everyone. I get a call shortly after and have to explain that she was joking. A.C.1. overhears this and runs to A.C.2. A.C.2. comes over and wants to know why I'm angry.

Gah! PLEASE TAKE NOTE: I AM NOT ANGRY AT ANYONE! (except A.C.1.)

So I knock some of the Goldfish out of A.C.1.'s hand. She retaliates by chucking some at my head. They land in Tent City, the hovel E.B. has built for herself. E.B. - who walks with a cane - has a perfectly functional pair of arms and throws them back. A.C.2. chucks another at her.

"Don't make me come over there!" E.B. threatens her.
A.C.2. is unafraid: "Oh, it'll take you a half-hour to get here."

Seriously, people. Politically correct? Ever heard of it?

So I'm on the phone with Diane Campbell about Rock for Tots when my (arsehole) computer locks up.
"Uh... hold on a sec. My screen won't move," I tell her.
"Oh."
...
...
...
"Crap. That spinning thing of death won't go away."
"What thing?"
"The thing. The spinning thing. The... sand clock."
"Uh... okay. I don't know what a sand clock is."
"You know. The sand that runs down and... the sand clock!"
"...Okay."
...
...
...
"Hourglass! I mean hourglass!"


All I want for Christmas is a thesaurus.
But I doubt they have an entry for "sand clock."

Scott is snoring so loud that the windows are rattling.
"Honey? Will you roll over, please?"
(snoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorrree....)

"Sweetie? Can you roll over, please? You're snoring kind of loud."
(snoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorrree....)

I shake him gently.
"Scott. Will you roll over? Honey, you're snoring."
"mmmmm."
"Scott? Can you roll over?"
"mmmhmm."

(sigh)
I try to roll him over.
"You're snoring, honey."
It's like trying roll over a gorilla.
"mmhmm." he says.
MMhmm to what?

"Scott. Roll over."
"mmhmm."
"Hey!" I push him again, trying to get him on his side.
"wassa madder?" he mumbles sleepily.
"You're snoring. Can you roll over?"
"Look, everyone around here has chops," he says.
...
"What?!"
"Everyone here-"
"No, I heard you. I just don't know what you're talking about. Can you roll over?"
"No. If you have the ammunition, step forward. If you don't, don't"

Part of me wants to smack him upside the head, but it's too funny. What goes on in his head? I start laughing, which finally wakes him up. He rolls over and looks at me.
"What. are. you. laughing. at."
"What ammunition are you talking about?!"
(dramatic sigh) "Fuck. off."
He tosses himself out of the bed and slams the bedroom door on his way out. I heard the back door open and slam behind him. He's having a cigarette. That's the thing to do when you're half-asleep.

I'm still chuckling when he comes back in, slamming the door, still angry, but I doubt he knows why.
"What are you laughing at?!"
"You!"
"Why?"
"Do you even know why you got out of bed?"
"Um... no."
"There you go."

We quiet down and begin to doze back off to sleep....

(snoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooorrree....)

Zombie attacks!

Laugh if you want, but don't say I didn't warn you.





(UPDATE): SEE??!!!

Professional stars light up the winter sky with a concert for the holidays

BY STACEY HUDSON

AUGUSTA, GA. - Four professional soloists join the Augusta Opera chorus and the Augusta Children’s chorale this year for their annual holiday performance. The organization draws singers from some of the world’s most prominent opera houses for their shows, “Four absolutely phenomenal international opera talents,” said Managing Director Les Reagan. Returning for repeat performances in Augusta are mezzosoprano Maria Zifchak, from the Metropolitan Opera House, and baritone Corey McKern, from the New York City Opera. Maria Zifchak (TOP) and Corey McKern (BOTTOM) return to the Augusta Opera for their holiday concert. “There are a lot of favorites that people are used to hearing for many years, but we also have some new pieces… some traditional carols that we haven’t done before,” Reagan said. Audiences will remember Zifchak’s stunningly lyrical performance as Suzuki in the Augusta Opera’s presentation of “Madama Butterfly.” Her beautiful tone and perfect pitch provide a rich tapestry upon which to embroider each scene. Fans will recognize McKern as Marcello in last spring’s “La Boheme.” McKern is a former grant recipient from the Sullivan Foundation, as well as the first place winner of Opera Birmingham, Shreveport Opera and Mobile Opera competitions of 2005. Joining the returning singers are two newcomers to the Augusta Opera: Mary Elizabeth Williams, and Mark Panuccio. Williams is an exciting young soprano with a world-class voice whose career is just beginning — if you can count leads on Broadway as newbie entertainment. But in the world of opera, she has performed all over Europe and the United States, including a stint in the young artist program at Opera National de Paris. Panuccio is a singer born with a dramatic expressiveness that adds a visual flair to what is normally an aural experience. He is a world-traveled tenor who spent five consecutive years with Spoleto, Italy’s grand Il Festival dei Due Mondi, under the baton of notable composer Gian Carlo Menotti. Hot young opera talent Mary Elizabeth Williams joins the Augusta Opera for the first time on Dec. 2. Award-winning singer Mark Panuccio makes his Augusta debut in the Augusta Opera's 23rd annual holiday concert The point of listing the performers resumes? We haven't even touched on the half of their accomplishments. It's a chance to see the calibre of performer that only a few groups in Augusta can arrange. Added to the grandeur of world-class soloists is the rich backdrop of the Augusta Opera’s talented local chorus, and the sweet spirit and sound of the Augusta Children’s Chorale. “It’s such an Augusta tradition for a lot of people that words we hear are that it starts the holidays for a lot of people,” Reagan said. “The soloists have some absolutely lovely holiday pieces that they are doing.” Many Augustans can’t trim their Christmas trees until they hear the final strains of Holst’s “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence,” and they can’t even think of boughs of holly until they “Make Their Garden Grow” with Leonard Bernstein’s timeless music from “Candide.” And to facilitate the community spirit of the season, a formal tea in the parish hall will split the two performances. “Some people come to the first show and stay to tea, some come to tea and stay for the second show,” Reagan said. Either way you choose to spend the day, your season is sure to be merry and bright. 23rd annual Edward Bradberry Holiday Concert St. Paul’s Episcopal Church Dec. 2 Shows at 3:30 and 6 p.m. Formal tea at 5 p.m. Show tickets: $39.45 (including tax) Tea: $10 706-826-4710 Augustaopera.com

"Is Alice's car in the shop?"
"No, I was just taking her around back to where she'd parked."
"Oh, good."
"I don't like her to walk back there by herself."
"Me, either."
"She's teenies. She's wee. We have to take care of her."
"I don't think I'd want to mess with Alice. She'd stab you with her pointy boots."
"No, she wouldn't. That would mess up her shoes!"

What is the best caption for this photo?

• He could have used the Force to pick her up.


• Thanks! I needed a little pick-me-up!


• Don't worry; only two more flights to go!


• Manikin Skywalker uses his acting force to ruin another movie.


• How much further is the threshhold, honey?

view results
Free vote poll

"What day is next Thursday?"

Uh, that would be Thursday.

AUGUSTA, GA. - So I'm pet-sitting for a co-worker with two dogs, one cat, two birds and two fish. Sounds like a lot, but animals I'm fine with. It's plants that tremble in my presence. Scott used to try to keep plants when we were first married. After a while, even the cactus died. It was me, trust me, Scott thought so, too. "Stop looking at the plants!" he would shriek. "They know!"

We don't have anymore plants. But we have managed to raise a puppy and a toddler with few problems. There was that stomach ache the dog had, but he got over it.

So they leave on Wednesday, and I go over during Emmie's nap time on Thursday. When I get there, only Porkchop waddles out to greet me. Uh-oh. Usually I'm greeted with great symphonnic fanfare (read: howling).

"Sydney!" I call. "Come here, baby!"

I struggle with the lock on the back door, afraid the key will snap off in my hand. I remember that they only have one key to the house, and that they were forced to climb in a window the last time I pet-sat, because I took the key with me. Calling a locksmith would be slightly more work, so I hold my breath. In the quiet - as I've now stopped talking to myself but not the voices in my head - I hear a high-pitched whining.

I lean over and peek in the doggie door. "Sydney?" I don't see her, but I hear the metal fence rattling. There she is, standing just outside the chain-link fence.

"What are you doing, silly?" I ask. She wags her tail and I unlatch the gate to let her in. She slinks in and wanders mournfully around the backyard. She won't come near me, and won't let me pet her. I decide to let her alone. Better not to force it.

I'm careful to watch for Petey, the cat, who likes to slip out as people slip in the back door. No sign of the feline. Porkchop waddles in with me. The birds are twittering, and Porkchop takes noisily off, galumphing up the stairs.

I check the food and water levels for the dogs, the cat, and the birds, then head upstairs behind the snuffling canine to feed the fish.

Wait... Where are the fish?

Window. And Windowlina. Names easily discerned to have been awarded by a 6-year-old. But now they are gone from the aquarium that sits in her room. I sprinkle fish food in the water and wait for the hungry mouths to appear.

Nothing.

I peer in between the "decorative" rocks, plants and cartoonish structures. No fish. Concerned, I take off the top to look for floaters. Nothing.

**gasp!** PETEY! Oh, god. The cat ate the fish.

I scramble through the house, panicked, looking for the cat as best I can without invading the owners' privacy. No cat. And what would I do if I found him? Pump his stomach? Oh, crap. The cat ate the fish and then escaped.

I run outside to check the area they told me he'd be: first the closet in the mudroom, then the crawl space under the house. No cat.

The cat is gone. The cat is dead. I killed Nola's cat.

Just then, I realize the yard is quiet. Too quiet. Sydney is gone again.

GAH! They've entrusted me with their house, their beloved pets, they've been gone one day and I've already screwed the whole thing up! They're going to kill me.

I spend about 45 minutes driving around looking for Sydney and Petey. I come back to the house and see Sydney waiting at the gate and let her back in with a mild scolding. I search the yard to see how she got out, and I can't find anything. I conclude that the gate must have been improperly latched and take extra care to close it behind me as I leave. I have a turkey in the oven, after all. The cat will just have to wait.

I return that evening, after everyone has gone to bed at my house and the dishes are (mostly) done. Sydney is cuddled in the mud room with Porkchop, and I see evidence that the cat has been eating his food, so I know he's in the house.

But the fish are still gone.


I return the next day to check on everyone. Sydney's gone again, but she's back within minutes. I try desperately to bend the fence back in, thinking that she's squeezing out through the small gap where it doesn't quite match up with the rest of the fence - and I double-check the yard for escape routes. It HAS to be the gate!

The cat's still eating, even though he's turned invisible, and I go upstairs to gaze hopefully, hopelessly, into the fish tank. How will I tell a 6-year-old that her goldfish are with Jesus? Do they have aquariums in heaven? How do the clouds support them? Actually, that might explain some of Britain's weirder weather.

Anyway, maybe the fish are hiding among the stuff. I feed the water diligently and consider making a run to Petsmart. Were they solid orange fish, or were they splotchy? Was there one of each? Oh, Window and Windowlina! I'm so sorry in your death that I didn't pay more attention to you in life!

Maybe a gift card, and she can pick out her own fish, I muse, as I stare out their cool window at the street below. And there goes Sydney. Crap! better get this stuff fixed before they get back or someone gets hurt.

Okay, fine, before a mammal gets hurt.


The next day is more of the same. Where is Sydney? There she is. Where is the cat? No idea. Phantom cat eats invisible foods. Where is Sydney? Oh, she came back.

Porkchop is never hard to find, and birds stay in their damn cage like they're supposed to. So two of the five animals are behaving for me. That only works out to (mumblemumble)%. That's not a passing grade.

Finally, it's Sunday. I think. I've kind of lost track as to where I am in the story...

Anyway, still no cat, that ate the fish, which are gone, and Sydney is all kinds of magic with the escaping like Houdini thing. I don't know how to stop this train wreck and I seriously consider calling Tom and quitting rather than work with someone who hates me for breaking her daughter's heart by setting up her fish for doom. But replacing the fish is all too Saved By the Bell for me, so I just decide to suck it up and own up to it...

maybe. I still have some time before they get home.

I wring my hands and gnash my teeth and worry myself into non-action. So I show up on their doorstep that evening all, "Hey! How was the trip! It's so great to see you! Happy Thanksgiving! Merry Christmas! Happy Kwanzaa! Uh... Happy New Year's and Happy Valentine's Day! Super great! Awesome! Sorry the fish are dead! Pretty Christmas tree! Cool! Love you guys! See you later! Woo-hoo!" like the giant spazmatron that I am.

They tell me that the damn fish died weeks ago.

So this was my first Thanksgiving cooking dinner for guests. It was just Scott's grandparents, who would have praised a turkey sculpted from clay, but we wanted it to be a nice evening for them. They are such awesome people.

So we started prepping on Monday, cooking on Tuesday, brining the turkey on Wednesday and roasting on Thursday. It was a lot of work for really just a few dishes, and a meal where the actual eating time probably took 40 minutes. I was so terrified that I would set the house on fire. I mean, once I exploded a glass baking pan full of stroganoff. It blew open the oven door, and splattered the creamy mixture all over the place - on the ceiling, behind the back door... we've never figured out what happened. But knowing me, if something like that was going to happen again, it would be when it meant the most to me. And after days of careful preparation, portioning, measuring and cooking...

Nothing happened.
Everything was awesome.
Really!
Even the leftovers rocked.

Here's hoping all of your holidays were merry and bright!

AUGUSTA, GA. - Let me tell you about my father. There's no point in bothering him with gifts unless it's golf related. If you want to give him a gift, make it a gift certificate for golf. Or golf equipment. Or golf balls. Men never have enough balls. But after a while, that gets damn boring for everyone involved. Enter the website above: excitations. They arrange for experiential gifts, like learning to do circus acrobatics, or Segway scooter tours of Atlanta, or glider flying or whatever you can imagine. Everything from $50 for indoor rock climbing lessons to the sky's the limit: two fighter plane missions for about $2,000. And they have packages for about every age.

Anyway. I'd recommend it for someone who has a similar predicament (Amy) because they also have gourmet food excursions. Or private tours of the Braves Turner Field. Or... maybe I'll just get a gift certificate to the site and let them choose.

But for me, it's got to be the Aerobatic Bi-Plane Flight. I always wanted to ride in one of those.

We're ranking short stories for the Metro Spirit contest and one of us (who shall remain nameless), is having some problems. The instructions: of the dozen finalists, rank them in order of preference from 1 to 12.

"Uh, you have two twelves, [name redacted]," I say.
"Yeah..." she walks back to her desk.
"And you have two elevens, and two nines..." I'm confused.
"Yeah?"
"Well... you don't have a one," I say.
"What are you talking about? I did what we were supposed to do, didn't I?" she says.
"Um, no, you were supposed to rank them from 1 to 12 in order of which is best," I say.
"Oh, you're kidding me."

She reconsiders and begins counting...

"I just can't do one through 12!" she says.
"I can give you the list of numbers in between," I offer.
A.W. and I spend a few minutes chortling our asses off while she threatens to beat us.
"So, I rank them from 1 to 12, in order of which I like best?" she asks.
"Yes," I answer.
"What if I like one but I think the other is more interesting?" she asks.
"What?" T.G. asks. He's getting frustrated.
"Which would you give $100 to?" I toss out.
"Oh!" she appears settled and gets to work.

"God, I have two twelves," she says.
"Why? There are more numbers to use," I laugh.
"Well, I like them both," she says.
"Uh... you know "one" is the best, right?"
"Oh, are you kidding me?" she cries, exasperated.
"No! One is the best!" I laugh.
"You're doing it backwards!" she says.
"No, we're not!" I run over and snatch the paper off her desk. "I'll just do it for you!" I joke, and hand it back.
"Yes, you are! We did it the other way when we were reading them!"
"Wait, did you score the stories the same way?" T.G. asks.
"Oh, god," I laugh.
"That's what I'm wondering," she says.

Stupid headline of the day: Student Slain to Death Near U of Chicago

Imagine! Someone slain to death!

"So, does anybody know a good body shop?" A.C. asked.
We all looked at each other.
"Did you get in an accident?" A.C.2 asked.
"No. The hinges in my driver's side door have been coming apart for the last nine months," A.C. said.
"Oh, that's not good," A.C.2. said.
"Yeah. They finally came off last night when I was driving home."
"What?! Your door fell off?" I asked.
"Well... technically. It's still held on by electrical wire."

Nice. I was looking at my car this morning and groaning because I haven't gotten minor damage from a break-in and a low-speed deer collision fixed, but now I feel much better.

This company has stuff from designers around the globe to make anyone happy - but primarily people like me, who get hives at the very thought of Thomas Kincaid. I mean, seriously? A snowy cottage in the woods? What century is that from? But anyway... One-eyed alien Santa Claus. That's for me. And Moo has it. And things that are pretty, and kittens, and puppies, but also crap you can't find in a Hallmark store. Things to scare your grandma. So maybe save a kitten for her. But everyone else: one-eyed alien Santa Claus is coming to probe you (and, of course, leave you presents).

Sweet.

Their first product, MiniCards, came about when they realized that sometimes, people want to hand out details of web sites, and they just didn’t have a nice way to do it. A business card was too cheesy, too serious, or too… businessy, and didn’t represent people and their sites the way they really are. A hastily scribbled piece of paper is more personal, but who ever has paper or a pen when you want it? People needed something else.

So: MiniCards. Little cards - about half the size of a business card - with your own photos, designs and text on. Made in boxes of 100 with the option of having a different image on every one.

And stickers.

That's Moo. With some of the most innovative products and designs around at affordable, consumer-driven prices. Illustrations from Japan? Check. Photos from Europe? Check. Whatever you want of your own? Why not? Same price.

Lovely.

So I missed yet another social event outside of work because I think work had me so tired that I got sick. I did my normal Saturday morning stuff with Emerson, and the three of us put up and decorated our artifical Christmas tree, but by the time her nap-time rolled around, I couldn't keep my eyes open.

The two of us slept from 1 p.m. to 4:30 p.m., and by 6 p.m., when I'd finished cooking dinner, I was sleepy again. I took a shower and tried to gear up to go out for a birthday party, but my headache and nausea wouldn't go away and I just couldn't wake up. I finally gave up and crawled in the bed at 8:30 p.m. and slept like a rock. I got up long enough today to make Emerson waffles for breakfast, and then as soon as I could, I went back to sleep. I just woke up and I don't feel much better. And now my throat hurts.

I blame long hours at work, but it could be anything. I could just be coming down with something. My boss felt like he was, too, so maybe that's it. But I really need some time out of the house and away from work, and I was really looking forward to the two birthday parties scheduled yesterday.

(sigh)

Not that I don't love my job, because I do. But I loves me some birthday peeps, too. And it seems like every time something fun comes up, I have to back out at the last minute. So instead, I'm spending my day planning Thanksgiving dinner.

Oh, well. At least I'm not nursing a hangover...

No, I'd rather be nursing a hangover.

Available at Fat Man's Forest.

Toothbrushes! That's right, I said TOOTHBRUSHES! Do you have the slightest idea what happens to your toothbrush when you turn your back? I mean, besides what my co-workers at The Metro Spirit are capable of.Like it or not, lots of unpleasant things can happen to your toothbrush when you're not around. To learn more about the secret life of your toothbrush, visit germshappen.com (coming soon!). In the meantime, you need to check out the UV Sanitizers available from area retailers like Bed, Bath & Beyond.The UV Sanitizer helps eliminate millions of germs on your brush head. It sanitizes and stores brush heads for a confident clean every time you brush. Because what good is hand sanitizer when you're sticking dirt directly into your mouth?

Apparently right through stop signs.

Emerson is coughing her little lungs out. She's prone to respiratory infections (it's just a cold, people!), but they make her so sick that she can't sleep, she screeches suddenly, frequently, during the night and generally makes it impossible for me to get any rest...

... and yet, there's my husband, deforesting the whole of the Amazon in his sleep. Tell me: how is it that he can hear his blankety-blank cell phone on vibrate in the kitchen at 3 a.m., but he can't hear his own daughter hacking her lungs out and crying for her mommy and daddy when we share a wall with her? Doesn't that sound like selective hearing?

"Well, if I don't hear her, wake me up," he said to me just now, and all I could think was how conveniently close to my foot his balls were located. How is that supposed to help? I wake up, wait for him to wake up, spend 10 minutes trying to wake him up, during which he repeats "uhhuh. Mmmup." while making no movement to the affirmative, and then finally being forced to get up out of bed, now smoking - literally, smoking! like, smoke pouring out of my ears! - with fury as I try to comfort my now-hysterical 2-year-old. Yeah. Really good plan there, hoser.

I try to explain this to him with a minimum of arm-flapping and high-pitched vocalizations, but I'm pretty sure that all he hears is "CAAAAAAAW! CAAAAAAAW!" I see confusion, revulsion and a touch of fear in his eyes, like he had come too close to an aquarium housing a live cobra right as it attacked the glass.

"Well, I'll try to sleep lightly, but I don't know what to do about it," he said, kissed me lightly on the lips and went to bed.

I think what I'll do is put his cell phone in the other end of the crib, then hit "redial" whenever Emmie cries. Yes. This experiment will be lots of fun...

No. I will wait until tomorrow when I have my camera.
Trust me, Emmie will still be sick.

A.W.: "I was telling my friend about the hubbub around the office about the Avett Brothers. I said, 'You would have thought that Davy Jones was coming.' ... It was all I could think of."

From Sylvia Cooper's "City Ink" Column:

HAUGHTY CULTURE: After months of delay, the Georgia Golf Hall of Fame board voted last week to allow the city to operate the gardens for the next six months, but there won't be much to see.

"It was very depressing," said Augusta-Richmond County Extension coordinator Sid Mullis, who went to survey the gardens on behalf of the city. Weeds and dead azaleas were everywhere.

City officials say the Hall of Fame has taken the statues, killed most of the plants and expects the city to give it 25 percent of the revenue generated from events held there, and approve any new ones the city proposed.

Usually I try to refrain from talking about these people. I'm not all that rational when I watch them make decisions that screw up the place where my husband and I were married. But I don't see how links to already-published stories can do them much more damage.

So this site lets you earn Points for doing what you already do online; shopping, reading emails, playing games, searching the web, taking surveys, and more. I've been a member for five years, and I've redeemed my points for hotel stays, retail gift certificates and gas cards.

Check out these handpicked highlights:

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A.W.: "Your hair looks cute, Stacey. I would have never thought you'd done it yourself."
Me: "Thanks!"
A.W.: "I would have thought Emerson did it."

A.W.: "My father is a guitar collector, and every family vacation we took revolved around guitars. So I have as much interest in guitars as I have in getting the clap, or something."
Me: "And yet your brother plays guitar..."
A.W.: "Well, he can't say the 12 months of the year in order." My mother always said, 'He's got a piece missing.'"

Thanks, Duane!

A.C.: "Did you hear about the toys made of GHB?"
Me: "Oh, yeah. That's insane!"
A.C.: "How does that happen?"
Me: "I don't know."
A.W.: "Are y'all talking about those beads?"
Me: "Yeah."
A.C.: "They're supposed to be these hot items for Christmas, too!"
Me: "They're a stupid toy. I saw a commercial for them when I was at my parents house and I thought, 'That's just dumb.'"
A.C.: "Yeah."
Me: "I'm only going to let Emerson play with sticks."
(laugh)
Me: "And rocks. Rocks and sticks. And then she can join Hamas."

Look! They're still for sale!:
Here
Here
Here
Here

What, exactly, does "RECALL" mean to these people?

So after a rough night of Emerson waking up every hour, I woke up yesterday morning looking quite a bit like this:
But Scott looked at me lying on the bed with Emerson, having one of our nonsensical conversations, and said, "Emmie, isn't your mommy beautiful?"
Emmie patted my face and nodded. "See's lite shunshine."

I thought for a while that I had gotten the wrong baby at the hospital. This child is too good to be true. But now I remember that I ate a Little Debbie Nutty Bar every day that I was pregnant, and washed it down with Diet Coke. Because nutrition is important to me. The chocolate, peanut butter, sugar wafers, caramel syrup and caffeine must have bonded together to mold the ultimate sweet: Emerson. She's kind of like a Powerpuff Girl that way. Without the beating people up part. And the flying. Although that would be cool. I could tie a rope to her leg and carry her around like a balloon.

The Mayo Clinic released this very informative article. I don't remember medical information being this funny...

ikordo is a free online meeting planner that negotiates with attendees to find the perfect date and time for your meeting.

Tell it when you want the meeting to happen, for example, 'next week between 9 and 12pm, please'. It goes back and forth with your attendees and finds a match, mails confirmation and also sends SMS reminders to everyone. ikordo does this by sending out meeting invites and by interpreting plain English e-mail responses to build a picture of everyone's availability.

Here are a couple of quick facts about ikordo:

* ikordo is a free service
* ikordo is fully time zone aware (it understands that 9am on the east coast of the US is 2:00pm in the UK) and communicates with invited attendees in their local time.
* ikordo can text reminders to you and all of your meeting attendees when the meeting is planned and just before the meeting.

I hope that soon ikordo will offer synchronization with plaxo and with outlook. That would make it even more useful. But for now, it's a great alternative to the S.O.P.