Must-Read Books for 2014: What’s on Kristi’s Kellogg’s Reading List?

As a writer, it is imperative to be constantly reading. What you read informs your writing — and a good reader makes for a good writer. There a million things that can distract you from picking up a book or turning on your Kindle, but reading cannot be forgotten — especially for a writer. It’s as true today as it was in 1940, when F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote “a good style simply doesn’t form unless you absorb half a dozen top-flight authors every year”; contemporary author Stephen King expresses similar sentiments, saying that “if you don’t have the time to read, you don’t have the time or the tools to write.”

I love to read, and I do read, but I could always read more. I’ve found that sometimes there’s so much that I want to read I get overwhelmed by the possibilities and end up reading less than I would have if I’d made a clear reading plan from the very start. In an effort to optimize my reading efforts, I have planned out the books I will read in the first half of the year. Between now and June 31, I will read:

  • Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead
  • The Dream
  • Hatching Twitter: A True Story of Money, Power, Friendship, and Betrayal
  • The Luminaries
  • The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
  • Satisfaction
  • IQ84

Why these titles? Read on to find out why these book’s made it onto reading this for the first half of the year.

Hatching Twitter: A True Story of Money, Power, Friendship, and Betrayal

I just finished Dave Eggers’ The Circle (read my review here), and I’ll continue my social media binge with Nick Bilton’s memoir of how Twitter was conceived, created and came to monopolize the world of microblogging.

Lean In: Women, Work and the Will to Lead

Sheryl Sandberg Part memoir and part lessons in business savvy, Sheryl Sandberg’s novel has been on my to-read list for months — and now it’s on my Kindle. Sandberg is Facebook’s CEO and the former Vice President of Global Online Sales and Operations at Google.

The Dream

Gurbaksh Chahal is my favorite entrepreneur, hands down, and I’ve been meaning to read his memoir for some time. Chahal, now the CEO of RadiumOne, started his own company at 16 and sold it two years later for $40 million. 31-year-old Chahal is also an avid philanthropist and was named America’s Most Eligible Bachelor in 2009.

The Luminaries

Eleanor Catton’s sophomore novel won the 2013 Man Booker Prize, and that’s reason enough for me to be curious. This mystery, set in nineteenth century New Zealand, centers on a series of unexplained events that lead fortune-seeeking Walter Moody down a rabbit hole. The Telegraph labeled “The Luminaries” as “a narrative that from the first page asserts that it is firmly in control of where it is taking us” and called Catton “a mistress of plot and pacing.”

The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

Junot Diaz’s novel won both the Pulitzer Prize and the National Book Critics Circle Award. It’s been on my bookshelf for ages, and I’ve somehow never gotten around to it. Diaz’s 2007 novel unravels Dominican-American through the  Wao’s unique experience of the American dream and “explores the endless human capacity to persevere—and risk it all—in the name of love.”


Southern California writer, surfer and professor Andee Reilly’s debut novel comes out May 6. She was one of my creative writing professors as an undergraduate, and I couldn’t be more excited for her! I recently interviewed Reilly on her achievement for an Ventura County Star article. Here’s an excerpt (read the full article here):

‘Satisfaction’ tells the story of Ginny, a 22-year-old housewife who learns her husband is cheating on her. Ginny, a huge Rolling Stones fan, decides to follow the band across America. She teams up with “free-spirited wild card” Bree, and the two discover “freedom, friendship and much more on the road trip of their lives,” Reilly said.

“The idea came to me when I was buying tickets to a concert years ago to see the Rolling Stones. … I thought: What if I just clicked the purchase button for every single venue across the United States?” Reilly said. “Then I started to think about what sort of person would be willing to leave her whole life behind and follow the Rolling Stones on tour … and I came up with a woman who was seeking satisfaction on her own terms.


Haruki Murakami’s herculean novel spans more than pages and my hardcover copy weighs in at about 10 pounds … now, I’m not one for excuses, but my desire to read this was at odds with my reluctance to lug it around, and it has sat, solemn and dusty, on my book shelf for two years. Now, however, armed with a Kindle, IQ84 can weigh in at a scant 18 oz. — and I can get back my long-time favorite contemporary Japanese author’s  magnum opus.

What are you reading in 2014? Share in the comments.

2 Apps that Make Holiday Shopping Pay Off

Black Friday is over, but that doesn’t mean the deals, discounts and flat-out free merchandise has to stop. In the spirit of the year’s biggest shopping season, discover two apps that make shopping pay. With Wrapp and Cartwheel, free items and tailor-made coupons are clicks away.


Wrapp is a “social gifting service” that allows users to send their connections free gifts, ranging from $10 H&M gift cards to $5 Office Depot gift cards to magazine subscriptions to special discounts (like a recent $10 off $30 at Victoria’s Secret). The gift cards are redeemed by scanning your phone — easy as one, two, swipe. And all of it is free — and there’s no catch.

The benefit for businesses is an increase in brand awareness. Recently, Clarins offered free $10 cards through Wrapp, and according to a case study, the Wrapp promotion resulted in more than 30,000 Facebook engagements — evidence Wrapp’s “friend-to-friend” model is working. When free stuff is up for grabs, people are going to tell their friends … and blog about it.

My friends and I constantly send these gift cards (including Clarins) back and forth, and it’s always rewarding to have a “wallet” full of free gift cards when you’re out shopping.

Screen capture of Kristi Kellogg's "wallet" in her Wrapp App.

Kristi Kellogg’s Wrapp “wallet” has special offers from H&M, Julep and Etsy.

Brands on Wrapp include:

  • Etsy
  • Sephora
  • Victoria’s Secret
  • H&M
  • Gap
  • Old Navy
  • Office Depot
  • Tommy Hilfiger
  • Teavana
  • BarkBox
  • Hulu Plus
  • Rent the Runway
  • 1-800-Flowers
  • Cheesecake Factory
  • Toys “R” Us
  • AMC
  • National Geographic
  • Lowe’s
  • And many more


Cartwheel is Target’s “new spin on coupons” — with the Cartwheel app, users are able to choose 15 coupons at a time. Coupons are available for every department in the store, including apparel, pantry, electronics, baby and housewares. Cartwheel allows you to easily find coupons for items you’re already going to buy. As with Wrapp, no physical coupon clipping is required — just have your phone ready at the register. According to Target, users have saved more than $19 million globally.

Red Target Shopping Cart

Coupons trending right now include:

  • 15% off Vanity Fair Tableware paper plates, napkins and bowls
  • 10% off Coffee-mate coffee creamer
  • 5% off Market Pantry milk
  • 10% off Quilted Northern bath tissue
  • 5% off Campbell’s Chunky cans
  • 10% off Archer Farms coffee
  • 5% off All Natural ground beef
  • 10% off Up & Up women’s razors/gel

What apps do you use to save? Share in the comments.

The Ultimate Cinnamon Banana Pancake Recipe (ready in 7 minutes from scratch!)

banana pancake up close

Can you think of a better way to start the day than with a homemade cinnamon banana pancake, made with love from scratch?

I’ve been working to perfect this cinnamon banana pancake recipe, and I have finally arrived at the perfect combination of whole wheat flour, banana and egg whites for the ultimate healthy AND delicious pancake.

This cinnamon banana pancake is now my favorite breakfast. It’s sweet and fluffy with a bit of crunch thanks to the almonds! You also get 14 grams of protein in just one pancake — which will keep you full, energized and focused all morning long. 

Cinnamon Banana Pancake Ingredients (Ready in Less than 7 minutes from scratch!)

  • 1 banana
  • 1/3 cup egg whites
  • 1/4 cup whole wheat flour
  • 1/4 cup crushed almonds
  • 1 tablespoon cinnamon
  • 3 packets of Pure Via (sugar substitute)
  • I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray

Cinnamon Banana Pancake Directions

Step 1: Mash a peeled banana in with a fork in a small bowl until the consistency is soft and mushy.

banana whole next to banana mushed

Step 2: Add the egg whites, whole wheat flour, almonds, cinnamon and sugar substitute. Swirl it all around for 30 seconds, or until it’s all mixed evenly.

ingredients for kristi kellogg's banana pancake recipe

Step 3: Over medium heat, warm a small pan coated with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray. When the pan is warm, add the pancake mixture. After two minutes, flip the pancake over and let cook for another two minutes. Note from KK: When flipping the pancake, don’t hesitate — once your spatula is firmly underneath the pancake, flip it quickly. If you flip it slowly, the pancake will ooze midway, and though it will taste good in the end, it won’t resemble a pancake.

banana pancake on stove

Step 4: Place the pancake on a plate and spray liberally with I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter spray. Cover in sliced almonds and sliced banana and serve!

happy face banana pancake

Cinnamon Banana Pancake Nutritional Information

Calories Fat Sugar Protein
Wheat Flour  100  5  0  3
Banana  105  0  14  1
Egg Whites  44  0  0  5
Almonds  132  11  1  5
Total  381  16 15 14

banana pancake

Cinnamon Banana Pancake Substitutions/Additions

  • Feel free to substitute almonds for nuts of your own choosing (like chopped walnuts or pecans) — just make sure the nut is finely chopped so it blends into the pancake.
  • Chocolate or white chocolate chips also make for a nice additional ingredients.
  • I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter can be substituted for regular butter, of course. You can also use vegetable oil or coconut oil to grease the pan if you’d prefer. Similarly, regular sugar can replace Pure Via if you prefer traditional sugar, and regular flour can replace wheat flour — my recipe was just optimized for absolute healthiness.

#TBT: Love in the Library

My favorite column in The New York Times is Modern Love. Each week in Modern Love, a guest author shares a “deeply personal (essay) about contemporary relationships, marriage, dating, parenthood … any subject that might reasonably fit under the heading “Modern Love.” In 2008, The New York Times issued a call for college students to share their versions of modern love — thousands of students across the nation submitted pieces that told “the plain truth about what love is like for them.” 

Among those students? Me — as a twenty-two year old at CSU Channel Isands. I’ll cut to the chase — I wasn’t the winner. I did, however, share thoughts on a subject I like to steer clear of — my personal feelings on love. I never submitted the essay for publication elsewhere, and therefore retain the rights to it — so today, in honor of #ThrowbackThursday, I’m publishing the unedited version here. Reading it now, I find that my 22-year-old self was perhaps a bit too verbose … but then again, I was an English major, and aren’t all English majors just sesquipedalians at heart?

#TBT 2008: Love in the Library 

Often times, as I sit at one of the computers in the library of my small town college, alternating between MS Word and Myspace, I find myself gazing absentmindedly over the monitor; I glance around, subtly taking note of any and all cute boys present. Occasionally, there happens to be one sitting directly across from my computer, and I’ll catch him glancing back as well.

And so the coy game begins; the making of eyes ensues and whatever scholarly effort one was once attempting to make is superseded by the twinkling inkling of possible romance.

Perhaps a pencil is borrowed, perhaps “hello’s” are exchanged; a trip to the printer becomes simply an excuse to sashay by Cute Boy’s workstation. Invariably, however, one party eventually gets up and heads off to class, and the fleeting chance of love is decimated.

Kristi Kellogg 22

High drama: the author, Kristi Kellogg, as an undergraduate at CSU Channel Islands (CSUCI) .

When I am the one left behind, idly typing in the aftermath of failed machinations, I mentally lament the current state of male/female relations. Where are the gallant men that, as a little girl, I saw in The Movies? Upon seeing a pretty girl, they would simply walk up to her and tell her she is beautiful, and then confidently ask if they can take her to dinner (walk her to class, buy her a coffee, marry her, sire her children, etc.). Surely they are not here, at my college, because Cute Boy across the way usually just gets up and leaves.

Naturally, I can’t do anything myself, because I am, ahem, “The Girl,” and The Movies have also taught me that I must sit, demure and sweet, and one day my prince will come. And we will live Happily-Ever-After; Disney-induced ideologies such as these are hard to escape, even amidst the politics of the 21st century and gender performativity lectures at my university.

But then it happened: just when I was beginning to lose hope of love in the library, Cupid decided to poke some boy right in the rear. And when it happened, I, of course, was oblivious.

The day was February 13, the day before Valentine’s, a Wednesday. Between my morning Shakespeare class and my afternoon Non-West Authors class, I have an interminable three-hour break. After an overpriced salad in the cafeteria, I usually make my way over to the library, under the auspices of studying. Don’t get me wrong, studying does occur, but it is interrupted by email, Google, Youtube, Facebook, Myspace and the like.

I sit, clad in tight jeans (are there any other kind?) and a black, long-sleeve shirt; it was an ordinary ensemble for an ordinary day. My long hair tumbles over my shoulders, and my makeup is light. I am at a computer next to one of the big windows, and I appear, no doubt, hard at work.

In actuality, I am only checking my email. And then my bank account. Next I switch over to the library website to renew my books (anything to avoid actually working on a paper). Lost in the glare of the glowing screen, I do not notice the young man that sits down next to me, until he taps me on the shoulder, jarring me from my own little world.

I turn, ruffled by this stranger’s foreign finger. I smile sweetly, however, because what else can I do?

“Excuse me, did your computer take a long time to turn on?” the innocuous intruder asks.

I respond with a polite “yes,” and return to my time-wasting pursuits, completely unaware of the crush welling up inside of the student directly to my left. I scroll along my friends’ profiles (Myspace is, after all, “a place for friends”), leaving comments here and there –

He taps me again! He, possessor of the unruly pointer finger, has deigned to enter into my bubble once more. I turn, sweet smile (déjà vu).

“Excuse me,” he interjects, “but, do you know, is tomorrow Valentine’s Day?”

I blink rapidly, as is my habit when I am shocked. Does he really not know it is Valentine’s Day tomorrow? All around campus, the “Associated Students” have posted redpinkwhite flyers with paintheartsglitter proclaiming the advent of V-Day.

Once again, I respond with a perfunctory “yes.” My eyes are no doubt wide, and my expression somewhat daunted, because his own expression belies a little embarrassment. Not wanting the poor chap to feel self-conscious, I sputter out something about him being a boy, and boys never knowing it’s Valentine’s Day. There’s comfort in numbers, right?

Now that conversation has begun, he feebly attempts to make small talk, and I nod and smile. He inquires as to whether or not he has to get his mother a present (I advise him yes), and the situation becomes awkward. How could it not become awkward? It’s the library, it’s quiet; he’s a boy, I’m a girl (it’s really just those last two, I suppose, that truly make it awkward).

At an opportune moment, I turn back to my computer, thinking the chat had come to an end. I was wrong, however, I logged onto my ex-boyfriend’s ex-college account to check the job board (what can I say, that’s where I get all my tutoring jobs?). At this point, the unthinkable happens –

He taps me again. He has risen from what Oscar Wilde would have called his “semi-recumbent position” and is now standing by my side. His entire hand, not just his finger, is now outstretched toward me.

“It was nice to meet you. My name is ——” (I don’t think it right to record it here, and I detest the practice of placing an asterisk at the end of a changed name and footnoting it below, so an ambiguous dash is all you will get).

All at the same time, I am stunned by his quite uncommon politeness, as well as perturbed by his tenacious finger.

We shake hands, I give him my name, and he scurries off. I breathe a sigh of relief. Twenty minutes until class.

Eighteen minutes until class.

Sixteen minutes until class.


I turn. He is back, his dauntless palm once again outstretched toward me, only this time with an ominously folded white piece of notebook paper nestled inside. I don’t have to open it to know what it is.

“Thank you,” I say, the look of surprise on my face genuinely genuine. He grins an embarrassed grin, and leaves as quickly as he came. When I am sure that he is gone, I gingerly unfold the note, and, just as I suspected, seven numbers dance upon the page. I shove the note in my hot-pink backpack and prance off towards the Bell Tower. I run into a friend on the way to class and fill her in on the unusual behavior of the library lothario (boys, in case you didn’t know, are just as popular a topic of conversation in one’s final semester of college as they were in the first year of junior high).

“Can you believe that he just did that?” I ask her. She is as perplexed as I am by this gentleman’s … testosterone. She counters my question with an even more pivotal question –

“Well, was he cute?”

“Kind of. But not as cute as Victor.” Victor, incidentally, is a Shakespearean actor who was visiting our campus from London that very week, and I had become very taken with him and his accent (and a foreign, thirty-something, swearing, ostensibly womanizing Brit that oozes charm is always a viable, realistic dating option, of course).

Chatter continues (Victor, Victor, Victor, library boy, Victor, Shakespeare, Victor, Taming of the Shrew, Victor), she leaves, I go to class, thoughts far away from anything to do with the library for the next few hours.

But at the end of the day my mind wanders back. As I climb into my silver VW bug, I pull out the note. I look at it, and smile to myself. Though I have no interest in dating him, I sincerely think what he did was adorable.

It wasn’t until a few days later that I realized that I had gotten precisely what I wished for – it was, after all, a young man’s attempt (though failed) to win my hand in the library. I inwardly laughed at myself when I recognized this. I laughed (and laugh now as I write this) at both the hypocrisy of my attitude and the asininity of my daydreams. The library is a place to study, not to woo.

Occasionally, I run into —— on campus; it is painfully awkward. I feel bad, but not bad enough to date (or call) him. I remind myself that sympathy would be perhaps the worst reason to date someone.

In any event, I’ve given up studying in the library. I go out to the grassy courtyard behind the library now, filled with oak trees and weeds and scarcely any people. Out there, I find that I am much more productive, with open space (rather than Myspace) all around. There are no cute boys, only errant squirrels.

Kristi Kellogg as Cecily Cardew filter

Kristi Kellogg, incidentally, as Cecily Cardew in a 2008 production of The Importance of Being Earnest with longtime friend Chris Beatty.

Boys, it seems, are just trouble, whether they be in the library or anywhere else. They were trouble in the first grade when they chased me around the playground, and they have remained trouble to this day. They are a distraction, a bother, a nuisance, a plague – and at the same time, a novelty, an attraction, a mystery, an intrigue. They are, in short, an endless fascination and frustration.

For now, at least, I will focus on my schoolwork. It is my last semester before graduate school, and studies should be my main priority. Which is why it is infinitely better to study outside, away from the beguiling diversions of the bibliotheca.

Besides … it’s much more likely that a horse-mounted prince will gallop into the verdant piazza out behind the library than inside the library itself. And when he glides in atop his steed, I will be here, a modern-day Cecily Cardew, awaiting his arrival amidst my mountain of books.

Postscript: Still happily waiting (:

Worst. Pain. Ever.

Home alone on a sweltering afternoon in September, I was cooking dinner and decided to make a pitcher of green tea. Outfitted in a bra and underwear, I put a pot of water on the stove, and when it came to a bubbling boil, I grabbed a new glass pitcher. With the pot in my right hand and the pitcher in my left, I began to pour the water into the pitcher. Within seconds, the glass exploded and that steaming water was streaming onto my left thigh and stomach.

Never, ever, ever in all my life have I experienced such physical pain – and klutz that I am, I’ve experienced a lot of pain.

Screaming like I don’t even know what, I hurled the pot away from me and fell back into the wall behind me. My skin glowed bright red and it just kept burning. And I kept screaming. And shaking and crying uncontrollably (just like the time I got an electric shock in college).

What exactly did it feel like? Stabbing, searing, seething, unrelenting agony.

Desperate for relief and breathless from wailing, I made it to the bathroom and unleashed a torrent of icy cold water and got inside. The tub filled and the pain grew slightly less sharp as the air stopped hitting the skin and the ice water covered it. Still crying, still shaking, I called my mom, who had trouble understanding what I was saying. She was on her way, though, and that was all that mattered.

Literally hysterical, I tried to calm down. The entire time my skin felt like it was still burning. And burning. And burning. I was now shivering from the cold water, but I wasn’t about to leave the bathtub – the only thing providing a margin of relief from the pain.

Kristi's burns

My leg, in various stages of healing.


Just when I thought I was going to pass out, I heard someone knock on the door. “Mom,” I wailed from the bathtub. I heard the door open and seconds later my friend David, who just happened to be in the neighborhood and randomly decided to stop by, appeared in the bathroom.

I can’t recall a time I’ve ever been so happy to see another person in my life.

I managed a frantic “I hurt myself,” and he knelt by the bathtub and held my hand and tried to distract me with jokes while we waited for my mom to get there.

And then she did. And that’s when the fun really started – because now came the task of leaving the ice water and exposing my skin to air. After an extensive, irrational back and forth with David and my mother about how I could not get out of the water, I finally got enough of a grip to agree. Screaming and crying all the way, I walk-hop-limped to the car, not even cognizant of the fact I was still only wearing a bra, underwear and now, a wet towel. .

Now, you might be thinking, really? Did you have to be that dramatic?

The answer, my friends, is yes. Because every second the skin was in the air it was burning all over again. And it covered a veritable fourth of my body.

David stayed behind (and as I discovered when I returned home, kindly cleaned up all the broken glass) and my mom and I drove to the hospital. In the passenger seat, I was writhing like a demon burning in hell for the duration of the five minute drive, with my mom hollering at me to breathe.

That’s when I saw a case of water bottles in the back seat. Frantic, I grabbed one, opened in and poured it over the burn and enjoyed thirty seconds of sweet relief. I grabbed another, and another, and kept pouring them out onto my leg and stomach. Just as the case was empty, we pulled up to the emergency room. I rushed into hospital, desperate for water. It was the only thing that made the pain tolerable.

The Hospital

Every other time I’ve gone to the ER I’ve had to wait. But not this time – I was ushered right in. Maybe it was the crying, maybe it was the fact I was nearly naked. Maybe it was the fact that my skin was looked more like a lipstick stain and I was begging for water like my life depended on it.

PrescriptionThey put me in a bed, covered my lower half in about fifteen ice packs. I lay there, breathing like I was in yoga, begging God to make it hurt less. God answered my prayer, in the form of a nurse with morphine and Vicodin.

A doctor came in to look at the wounds, and informed me that the reason the skin still felt like it was “on fire” was that severe burns continue to burn the tissue under the skin after impact. He also said it was a benefit that I hadn’t been wearing clothes, because if I’d had pants on, the hot water would have soaked the clothes and then the water would have sat on the skin longer.

My leg and stomach were covered in ointment and wrapped up, and I was given a Vicodin for the road (plus a prescription). The injury occurred around 4:30 p.m. I left the ER at 8 p.m. By the time I was back in the car, I felt nothing thanks to the morphine. My mom took me to McDonald’s for a happy meal and I recall laughing and laughing. Once home, I fell into a profoundly sound sleep.

Kristi leg burnI missed the next four days of work and laid in a daze in bed. My mom came to see me everyday and my best friend stayed with me every night. I went through I don’t know how many large tubes of neosporin and pack upon pack of sterile gauze, and eventually, my second-degree burns eventually burst and healed. It’s been two months, and part of my left thigh bares a slightly discolored mark – perhaps in time it will fade completely, but even if it doesn’t, it’s okay – I know it could have been much worse.

When doing dishes, I still recoil if the water is too hot, and I have yet to boil another pot of tea. If you didn’t know you can’t pour boiling water into a glass pitcher, now you do – learn from my mistakes. And if you did know this, well … simply enjoy this tale of idiocy.

Lessons Learned:

  • Don’t put boiling water into glass.
  • If you’re going to be doused in boiling water, try to be naked.
  • Sometimes it’s good to leave your door unlocked. Thank You, and Come Again

Why hello there.

You’re visiting because:

  • You’ve read one of my articles on AOL or in a SoCal newspaper or magazine and wanted to find out more about the author.
  • We’re connected socially and you listened to one of my bullhorn suggestions to check out my blog.
  • You’re a close, personal friend who has been badgered into stopping by.
  • You’re my mother.
  • You’re one of my stalkers anonymous admirers.

Kristi Kellogg

Whatever the case, welcome.

This site is for you, from me. Because let’s face it — any modern-day professional journalist/writer/editor should have a blog. Period. And because sometimes I need to do a little more editorializing than my professional articles permit. And sometimes I’d like to be able to flout AP style (I said it!).

What to Expect on

  • will be updated at least once a week. Look for a new article every Sunday by noon PST.
  • Articles concerning:
    • Mover/shakers/influencers/people leaning in. If someone is making a difference, I’m writing about it.
    • A behind-the-scenes look at journalism/media/content creation from a professional writer who lives to tell the tale (i.e. my thwarted attempt to scale the closed 405 freeway to cover a murder; a first assignment consisting of interviewing a felonious active gang member, etc.).
    • Vogue-worthy editorials on anything concerning fashion (did I mention my dream job is writing or editing at Condé Nast?)
    • Miscellaneous musings, including but not limited to: rants on bad driving, recipes (because who doesn’t like a good banana pancake?), and writers like Salman Rushdie (got to put that Master’s degree to work somehow).
  • Engagement. Your comments/questions/rants/raves won’t go unnoticed. Whatever you have to say, I’m listening and ready to connect — on, on LinkedIn, on Twitter, and on Google+. Email me at

I’m glad you’re here, and hope you’ll come again.

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