Year-end Review

1. Who has most influenced me during the past 12months?

Chris. It's a very complex thing, but Chris is someone who did not hide his contempt for me as well as he thought he did. Usually dealing with someone who doesn't like me makes me very uncomfortable, but I actually found power in the knowledge and for the first time did not feel compelled to try to change his mind.

2. What did I learn? Skills? Knowledge?

There is not enough space on all the Internet to detail this answer. But, I'd say the most important thing I learned is that I am capable of far more than I imagined.

3. Who did I befriend?

Myself. How narcissistic is that? But I've spent a lot of time alone in the last five months, and I've actually enjoyed every minute of it.

4. What’s better about my primary relationship?

I don't have one of those. Maybe I should look into that.

5. What’s worse about my primary relationship?

I try not to acknowledge lack, but it's hard to pretend you have something you don't.

6. What’s my biggest disappointment?

I'd say my biggest disappointment is that I couldn't make my last job work. But in the final analysis, it was all really beyond my control. There were massive egos -- much larger than mine -- in conflict. As much as I'd like to, I just can't accept responsibility for that.

7. What other disappointments did I experience?

I'm sure there were a few minor disappointments, but none I can't think of any.

8. If I had this year to do over, what would I have done more of?

I would have liked to have traveled more. I really want to go back to Paris.

9. If I had this year to do over, what would I have done less of?

Eat chocolate croissants. I'm beginning to suspect that with one more croissant my arteries will be completely blocked.

10. What was my greatest joy?

Spending the last five months waking up in the morning and feeling free.

11. What’s been the biggest change in the past year?

I don't feel stress they way I did. I feel more engaged and confident that I can really do anything I set out to do.

12. What was my biggest heartache?

There weren't any.

13. What was most annoying to me about the past year?

People who take their dogs to outdoor cafes and allow them to lounge in the only area where people have to walk through the tables.

People who go to outdoor cafes and feel empowered to light up their cigarettes, simply because they're outside, regardless of the fact that there are people eating mere inches from their stink sticks.

14. What was the best book I read this year?

The Best American Essays of 2007

15. What was the best movie I saw?

I don't know if it was the best movie, but I find myself thinking about P.S. I Love You quite a bit.

16. What are my biggest concerns at this point in my life?

My biggest concern is my mother's health. She lives alone in a small town in northwest Iowa and it is at least a full day's travel to get to her. We had a health scare over the summer and it became clear that she needs to be moved closer to either me or my sister. The trouble is she hates both Arizona and Chicago.

17. What do I want more than anything else?

The means to sustain my current lifestyle, but also to make extended trips abroad.

18. What would I like to be more disciplined about?

I need to be more disciplined about doing laundry. I have enough clothing so that I can go months without doing laundry. The problem then is that it takes months to make them all clean again.

19. What would make my life more enjoyable?

I would really enjoy having a second home in Paris.

20. What would make my life more meaningful?

I don't believe the meaning of life can be defined until the end. I'm thankful that I'm not at that point.

21. What would make my life more comfortable?

Our building needs to replace the windows. That would make my condo a little less drafty.

22. What would make my life more challenging?

I don't like to think about this question. It's like borrowing trouble.

23. How am I different from last year?

I think I'm more mellow and I enjoy the things I'm doing more.

24. Where have I held back?

I'm still not as proactive in meeting people socially as I should be. But I also don't necessarily feel compelled to make any more effort.

25. In what ways have I been more giving?

I think I'm more forgiving -- if only by a smidge. I hold fewer grudges, and by that I mean that when someone turns out to be something unexpected, or when they do things that aren't in accordance with my own plans, I accept that and move on. I rage at the gods less than I used to.

26. What worked better?

There's a thought that the universe will keep presenting the same lesson over and over until that lesson is learned. It will also give you the opportunity to face your fears. Well, this is the third time in my life when I've faced unemployment, and this time around I think I did it right. I don't think I'll be unemployed again.

27. What got worse?

If anything, I'd say my bank account. Five months of unemployment is expensive.

28. How did I treat myself particularly well?

I think I've learned to accept responsibility from and for myself, without accepting blame.

29. How did I coast this year?

I don't think I did. In many ways this has been the most productive year of my life. I graduated with a masters degree, I completed three applications for PhD programs, I started a little business, I learned how to market that business -- and for those last two things, I learned everything from the ground up by going to the store and buying several books, I wrote a collection of short stories.

30. How did I climb this year?

See the above. And I still feel like I'm in the foothills.

31. How did I make myself more valuable in the marketplace?

I developed mad skills, not just hard skills like learning Adobe Creative Suite, but I also developed softer business skills. I can tell this by the interviews I've done where the questions they ask are not necessarily the run-of-the-mill "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

32. What was easier this year?

Everything.

33. What was harder?

Nothing.

34. What are my biggest risks?

There are examples of taking risks, but they all boil down to one thing: maintaining my self confidence.

35. In what ways did my primary relationship improve?

As stated above, I don't have a primary relationship with anyone other than myself, and that relationship has improved in that I now think much more highly of myself.

In what ways didn’t it?

I need to eat more vegetables.

36. Have I done anything this year for which I need to forgive myself?

Nope.

37. How did I give of myself without thought of personal gain?

I think this is a loaded question, because I think it is completely against human nature to do something without an eye toward personal gain. However I do think that it's possible to make personal gain a secondary concern, and in that way I'd say that I've been generally supportive of a number of people in my life who have been doing brave new things for themselves.

38. What didn’t work that should have?

I think I might have landed a few of the jobs I interviewed for, but didn't. But I also think that no matter what, I wasn't going to get a job until I had my PhD applications completed. A new job would have been an excuse not to move on with my education.

39. What was the most interesting thing I did this year?

Starting my own business has been interesting. I started it, not out of a sense of need, but because I was interested in photography. Watching it grow and develop, and watching my photographic skills improve has been very interesting.

40. What was the most challenging thing I did this year?

Completing the PhD applications was the biggest challenge. First of all, they're incredibly detailed, but on a personal level the challenge was confronting insecurities that told me I wasn't smart enough or good enough to be considered for the programs I wanted. I may not be accepted into any of the programs, but I know that I am at least good enough for consideration.

41. What was the hardest thing I did this year?

I don't know what the hardest thing was. I know that the easiest thing to do would have been to allow myself to wallow in self pity this summer when I lost my job and had to face my mother's health incident. I've been guilty of that in the past, but I didn't do it this time. It wasn't particularly hard, but it wasn't exactly easy either.

42. How did my net worth change?

My net worth decreased, but my net value increased my a much higher degree.

43. How did my income change?

Yeah. It evaporated.

44. What courses did I take to learn new information and/or new skills?

Outside of the masters program, I didn't take any formal classes, but I read a ton of photography, business, and marketing materials.

45. What health challenges did I experience?

I need to find the motivation to get back to the gym on a regular basis.

46. How am I a better husband/wife?

Does not apply to me.

47. How am I a better father/mother?

Thank God this doesn't apply to me.

48. How am I a better citizen?

I feel like I'm better informed about political events. I'll be making my presidential selection from a much more informed point of view.

49. How am I a better employee/employer?

I'm more confident. I just hope I'm not cocky.

50. How am I a better student, teacher?

I'm interested in just about everything. Every day I enjoy reading more.

51. How am I a better son/daughter?

I'm accepting the fact that my mother and father are human and all that implies.

52. How am I a better sister/brother?

I'm giving my sister more space. I'd like her to be a little more involved with me and her mother.

53. How do I feel about where I live?

I love Chicago, and I love my condo. There's a small chance that I'll move this year, depending on acceptance to a PhD program. I'll be disappointed if I have to do that.

54. What do I have that is unfinished?

I had really wanted to have my collection of short stories completed by the end of 2007, and it's not. But it is becoming a coherent collection and if I can have two weeks to devote to nothing else, it will be finished and brilliant.

55. What am I doing for my community this year that I wasn’t doing last year?

I'm going to pay more attention to neighborhood politics. I think we need a new alderman, or we need to make the current alderman more accountable.

56. What risks have I taken this year?

The risks have been mentioned above, and they've been along the lines of major life change risks. I need to take more social risks.

57. How would I rate this year in terms of happiness?

The year I was sixteen was my happiest year, but this year comes in a very close second.

58. What are the most boring things that I’ve done this year?

I have watched too many Project Runway reruns.

59. Am I as happy as I would like to be?

I think happiness is measured in satisfaction, and I'm very satisfied with my life right now.

60. How was I acknowledged? Awards? Commendations?

In many ways I feel like I'm one of the best-kept secrets in Chicago. But my time is coming. I can feel it.

61. Am I better off this year than last year? Why and in what ways?

I am better off. I'm comfortable with myself in a way I've never really experienced before.

62. What phone call have I been putting off making?

All of them. I hate talking on the phone.

63. What are my most valued material possessions? Why?

I think I could walk out of my house with my computer, my camera, and my cat and not really miss anything else. These things feed my soul because they allow me to express myself.

64. What are my most valued non-material possessions? Why?

Without a doubt it's my sense of humor. It may not be apparent from this blog, but I can really crack myself up.

65. What do I have in my life that has eternal value?

I have the love and respect of people who I find endlessly fascinating. There aren't a lot of them, but the ones I like I could spend the rest of my life getting to know.

66. What has been my greatest learning?

All real learning is self discovery. I'm grateful that however deep or shallow I may be, I remain interested in myself.

67. Who have I helped become a better person?

At my last job a woman I was working with let slip that she thought I was stupid. She actually called me stupid to my face. At the time I very nicely and professionally explained to her, first why that was inappropriate, and second thinking you are smarter than everyone else is a very dangerous state of mind.

A few weeks later she gave her notice and came to see me to tell me that she was sorry for her comment, and that she in fact did respect me. I stopped her and told her that an apology was unnecessary, but I also told her that it was very clear that she did not in fact respect me. I told her that it was all right, that I didn't think she was a bad person, but that she had made a mistake on several fronts including her judgement of me and her inability to keep her opinion to herself.

I think I gave her something to think about.

68. If I were accused of being a kind and generous person, would there be enough evidence to convict me?

Yes.

69. What am I most proud of having accomplished this year?

My degree. They can't take that away from me. No, they can't take that away from me.

70. What did I do to make the world a better place for someone other than myself?

I gave money to homeless people on the street.

71. If I were to ask the people who know me best, who I am and what am I about, what would they say? Would I agree with them?

I don't know that I'd ask. People's opinions about me are none of my business because they really say more about them than they do about me. I've come to the realization that people's opinions are really reflections of themselves, and it's none of my business how they see themselves.

72. Am I more organized today than I was a year ago?

Not really. I'm pretty organized to begin with.

73. How would the world have looked if I had not been here this year?

There are but a handful of people whose presence has any impact upon "the world." I do not count myself as one of them, so the world would look pretty much as it does with me.

74. What actions had the greatest payoff?

Buying my first book on photography. It hasn't generated a lot of money, but it has been invaluable in securing peace of mind.

75. On a scale of 1-10 (10 being the best), was my life in balance?

3. While it has been immensely enjoyable, I cannot claim that my life has been balanced. Achieving some degree of balance is of the utmost importance for 2008.

76. What was the best day of this past year? Why?

The entire month of August was pretty great.

77. What was the worst day? Why?

The day I was laid off was pretty bad. But it wasn't the actual termination. The hours leading up to the phone call letting me know that I was on "the list" were a little emotional. It was disappointing that something that could have been so great simply died because of a clash of egos.

78. For what am I most grateful for?

My mind.

79. In whose life did I make a difference?

I have absolutely no idea. That would be an intensely personal piece of information.

80. What activities brought me the most pleasure over the past year and how will I incorporate more of them into my life this coming year?

Reading with a knowledgeable eye. I love reading a story, a novel, an article, or an essay and having an understanding of how it is constructed. I love having that appreciation.

81. What is my greatest fear?

My greatest fear is lack of accomplishment.

82. In what and in who have I invested in this year?

My greatest investment has been in myself. Now I need to generate dividends from that investment.

83. What have I let go of this year?

Fear of being inadequate. I think that is completely gone.

84. Do I really believe that I cause, promote or allow everything I have in my life?

No, but I do believe that I play a big part in it. Every now and then God gives things a whirl just to keep things interesting.

85. What was the funniest thing to happen this year?

I'm completely stealing this from Alex's blog, but this comes pretty close to being funny in itself. When looking at it from a metaphoric standpoint with Linda Day George playing the role of Everyman, this is cosmically brilliant!

86. Who did I hurt this year and how? How can I make amends?

I'm not aware of hurting anyone.

87. What was the most positive experience I had this year?

Being laid off from my job.

88. What was the most negative experience I had this year?

Realizing that my mother is not immortal.

89. What did I do to enrich the life of someone less fortunate than myself?

I think the only real misfortune is lack of self knowledge. I can have no way of knowing if I enriched anyone by helping them attain a level of self knowlege.

90. What did I do this year to develop my spiritual life?

I read.

91. What delighted me this year?

Waking up on a Monday morning and rolling over and going back to sleep.

92. What was first thought to have been negative that turned out to be a good thing?

I can't think of anything because I'm actually pretty good at turning a negative into a positive. It may simply be mental gymnastics on my part, but then again, what in life is not?

93. Where do I want to be next year at this time?

Sitting exactly where I am now, but greatful for a break in my unbearably hectic life.

94. How could I make my primary relationship more fulfilling, happier, meaningful and joyful?

I have GOT to get me one of them!

95. What is my best memory from this past year?

Seeing the website I built for my business launch. That was an accomplishment.

96. What was I hurt by this year? What did I learn from it?

There are a small group of people that I do not like. As I said, that no doubt says more about me than it does them so I'm glad that group is small. There is an equally small group of people that I think of as almost touched by God. I'm endlessly impressed by them. It's irrational, I know, but I realized that one person from the latter group has great respect for another person in the former group. I don't know why, but that realization stung.

97. What was my biggest regret of what I did or didn’t do this year?

I do not believe in regret.

98. What did I buy this year that I have not yet used–and probably won’t? And who can I give it to?

I bought a mini tripod that I'll probably never use. I'll probably just donate it to Howard Brown.

99. What systems did I put in place to become more effective, efficient and organized?

I started using Microsoft Outlook more effectively.

100. Have I been a taker or a giver this year? In what ways?

I think I can claim both titles. I've never been much of a taker, but sometimes the best way to give is to receive and I'm trying to be better about that.

Next year I'll probably use a different list of questions. These seemed to focus too much on the negative. But I think there's some value in taking a few minutes to reflect on the passing year and articulate those things that have been most important.

Have a happy and healthy new year!

Sweeney Todd

The problem in translating a musical to film is that by its very nature a musical is an auditory experience and film is a visual experience. The single biggest danger in the adaptation is guarding against sensory overload. Moulin Rouge, the film that spawned the movie musical renaissance, balanced this by giving us rich visuals that were supported by familiar pop tunes. The audience could listen on autopilot while digesting the visual. Last season's musical, Dreamgirls, struck the balance by being far less daring visually, because it was presenting new (or at least less familiar) music.

This year's musical blockbuster faces some steep challenges. Sweeney Todd is considered by many to be the zenith of the twentieth-century American musical. The score is lush and demanding on the audience. The lyrics are nuanced and brilliant. And it was conceived as full evening of theater, which gives an audience time to digest the work's complexity. The nature of modern movies requires a running time of less than two hours and relentless visual stimulation. The balance struck between material and medium in an adaptation of a musical of such magnitude has got to be razor sharp.

In many ways Tim Burton is successful with his adaptation. The score has been smartly honed and is presented at a brisk pace. Burton remains true to his visual style, which helps the audience in orienting itself to the overall experience. Still, Burton's style at times overwhelms the text, especially in the quieter scenes, and is not up to moments of higher style. The best number from the show "Try Some Priest," which is the peak of the live Sweeney experience, is flat on screen.

But ultimately, whether on the stage or screen, any piece lives or dies with the performers. And, in the final analysis, there's just no getting around the fact that Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham Carter are not up to the demands of Sondheim's text.

Depp, fundamentally a brilliant film actor, is swathed in Burton artistry, glowering from layers of make-up and looking like a bitter, grown-up Edward Scissorhands. But it's his voice that fails the character. Sweeney doesn't require an operatic basso profundo, but it does demand a voice with some gravitas. Depp's reedy pop voice sounds like an over-tired boy bander and not a world-weary tragic figure. Finally, his performance is doomed by Burton's direction, which seems to have been to walk around like a zombie. The power of the material is completely lost if Sweeney isn't charming. The story becomes just another slasher film, this one set to music.

Bonham Carter, while a vocally a good match for Depp is also completely vocally inadequate for the role. Written for Angela Lansbury, herself not a great singer, the role demands vocal character. Lansbury has that in buckets. Character and distinction in the voice is what is demanded by Sondheim. Not a pretty face. Sadly, vocal development and distinction is completely lost from modern performer trainers. Time was that an actor had to communicate to the back row of the balcony. Then microphones made that unnecessary. Now, a performer seems to be required to do little more than move his lips in the same general pattern as the words on the pre-recorded track: a puppet show with a pulse.

However, Bonham Carter is not swamped by the style and actually delivers an interesting, nuanced performance. Her Mrs. Lovett is sexy and needy and calculating and loving and ruthless. It's a brilliant performance that simply fails vocally. Had she been given dialogue instead of lyrics, Bonham Carter's performance would walk away with an Oscar.

There are, however, three performances that stand out. Alan Rickman, always riveting, makes the lecherous Judge Turpin repulsive and absolutely worthy of his fate, as does Timothy Spall as Beadle Banford. However, the best voice comes in the package of the small boy, Ed Sanders, playing Tobey.

But none of these performers held the burden of supporting the Burton style, and at the end of the day that is where the problem lies. Sweeney Todd does not fail. It misses. I went in expecting a ten, and had to settle for a seven.

Have Yourself a Passive-Agressive Christmas

Christmas morning in Chicago was a beautiful spring morning, feeling more like April than December. The sun was shining and lawns were sheepishly blushing green -- the new Currier & Ives.

At the exact point of 9:00 a.m. my door buzzer rang. Who could it be? Christmas guests so early?

"Who is it?"

"FedEx."

"I'll be right down."

I'd made my family swear that they would not buy me any gifts. Five months of unemployment puts some restrictions on budgets and Christmas gifts unfortunately fall victim to such budget consciousness. But perhaps one of my family took pity on me and ignored my edict, sending something to arrive at the exact moment we would normally be sitting down to rip open gifts and bury the living room floor in shredded paper.

"What are you doing working this morning?"

"Right? Sign here."

He handed me a white fibre glass envelope. It was small. I checked the return address.

It was from my old job.

Could I have left something behind that was recently discovered? What on Earth could there be so important that they would pay the exorbitant fees to have something delivered on Christmas morning?

Inside was a small tin filled with almond cookies and a Christmas card, wishing me the very best of the season. From the company that laid me off in July.

What does one say in the thank-you note? "The cookies were delicious. Would have preferred a paycheck."

Or is that ungrateful?

The Unasked Question

Arianna Huffington has written an excellent essay regarding a questionnaire presented to the presidential candidates discussing the extent of executive privilege. All of the credible candidates have answered the questions. The answers are all very interesting and I believe should be read by every American before voting. It's a short questionnaire, so you should follow the link and read the answers.

While there are no real surprises in the answers, nor in who chose to answer the questionnaire and who did not, there is one question that just begs to be asked. I've yet to hear it posed, so I'm going to do so here.

"As president, if you believe that the current administration has overstepped its authority, and in fact taken actions that are expressly prohibited by the constitution, what punitive steps, if any are you prepared to take against members of the current administration in an effort to restore credibility and moral authority to the United States within the international community?"

If I ever get the chance to ask that question of a presidential candidate, I'm taking it.

Pushing Boundaries

I have very distinct memories of thinking about be flung into a lake of fire when I was little. First, my grandmother was a Seventh-Day Adventist. They basically believe that we are living in the End Days and that at any moment we will see Jesus's winged chariot cresting over the horizon in the east. Those who were saved would rise with Jesus into Heaven. And those who weren't...

This apparently did many colorful, screwy things with my mother's head. So, when it came time to baptize my sister and me, my mother went with my father's religion, and we went to the St. John's American Lutheran Church.

After the divorce, my sister and I spent weekends with my father, which meant my grandmother took us to Sunday school. I remember Mike F. We were the same age and when I lived with my father we were always in the same class. We also were in the same Sunday school class. I can't remember exactly what the lesson was, but I do remember thinking that it didn't make any sense. I think it had something to do with angels dancing on the head of a pin. And then I half remember a lesson where they were talking about marriage.

I raised my hand and asked, "What if a boy wants to marry a boy?"

"He can't."

The answer was as simple as that. I was probably about seven years old, because I remember some lecture about having reached the age of reason. Up until that point if we'd committed a sin, God automatically forgave us. But after the age of seven you were on your own (I think the teacher actually used those words) and if you sinned, you would have to beg for forgiveness. Sometimes there were things that God did not forgive, but I could never get a straight answer as to what those things were.

"Well, what if a boy wants to kiss a boy?"

"He can't."

And I remember, as clear as day, thinking, "I can't wait until I'm old enough to kiss someone. I'm going to kiss a boy and see what happens." The bell had rung, and the rest is history.

Growing up, I had crushes on lots of boys. At around the age of fifteen or so I started to get an idea of what those crushes were all about. But I lived in rural Iowa and already was tormented on a regular basis. The last thing I could do was kiss a boy.

But I had these feelings, and I kept trying to see how they could be wrong. They just didn't feel wrong. I thought about killing someone. That felt wrong. I thought about stealing something. That felt wrong. I thought about kissing a boy. No thunder claps, no burning bush. It felt natural.

It was years before I kissed a boy. As I look back on my litany of sins, there are many things I wish I'd done differently. Kissing a boy isn't one of them.

The Last Laugh

Last fall I was interviewed for two "good" jobs in the same week. Good pay, good companies. Lots of potential. In one case I had four interviews, only to be rejected in the typical, modern way. Told they would make a decision by Friday, allowed to wait thinking I would get the job, and then...silence. In the second case I only had two interviews, but I was rejected the next day via a form e-mail.

This past week, both jobs were advertised again.

Guess someone chose the wrong candidate.

No. I did not submit my resume.

P.S. I Love You

I'm a sucker for a romantic comedy. Even the bad ones, I see them all. So, today when I decided to treat myself to a movie there was no real choice. I went to the first showing of P.S. I Love You.

It's not a perfect film. I'm not a Hillary Swank fan. But this is a devastating film. Completely unexpected. While there's humor, this is definitely not a comedy.

And the soundtrack is brilliant. Buy it.

Shut Up Sherri Shepherd

Several weeks ago the country was in an uproar over Bill O'Reilly's comments about his visit to a restaurant in Harlem. Without quoting him directly, his comments did not included the "n-word," but they did convey all of the arrogance and condescension and latent hatred that the smile that usually accompanies that word in polite society cannot hide.

So, Sherri Shepherd goes on television and makes a statement that is equally as racist and loaded with latent hatred. How is this different?

Well, first we allow African American public figures to make racist statements. Western White Culture has a history of domination and hatred and on some level there's a sense that turn about is fair play. A white man calling a black woman a racist does not have the impact of a black woman calling a white man a racist. And it shouldn't.

But let's not kid ourselves. As a public figure on a national television show, Sherri Shepherd is hardly your average African American woman. Whatever her background and upbringing, the fact is she holds a position that the vast majority of America does not, and no doubt she is handsomely compensated for it. I'm sure it's safe to say that if she was typing memos someplace, or managing an IT department she would not be in the position of privilege she is today. It's a little disingenuous of her to refer to a "rich white-person's store."

Of course she's only using terms that many African Americans would have used, but its time that those terms are examined for the hatred that they contain. Is that systemic hatred justified? Yes. But hatred it is, and it warrants acknowledgement.

I Don't Heart Huckabee

Mike Huckabee is really starting the scare me. And deeply, deeply offend me.

First, I resent a potential world leader casually placing his own religious beliefs at the pinnacle of importance. Whether Mr. Huckabee realizes it or not, other religions have significant holiday celebrations at this time of year. And many of those religions have devout members who live in the United States. While it may be the most important thing to Mr. Huckabee and Christians to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ at this most wonderful time of the year, it is not of supreme importance to everyone else. And what about African Americans who may believe in Christ, but celebrate Kwanzaa?

As President of the United States, Mr. Huckabee would ostensibly represent the entire country and in matters that have little or nothing to do with religion. Now, unless he's willing to ride on a completely Christian platform and allow the first plank to be "What would Jesus do?" I'll thank him to keep his religion out of my politics. (Wouldn't that be interesting? To see a Christian candidate run on an actual Christian platform.)

But what was really frightening about Mr. Huckabee's ad is the ease and elegance with which he comfortably stepped in front of a camera with soft light and softer focus and singled out a segment of the American population as his chosen people. Now, he either approved that ad with full knowledge of how the rest of America would respond, and didn't care; or he put that ad together out of complete ignorance of the fact that it was divisive and offensive. Which approach is more frightening from a world leader?

I tend to believe that the ad was completely calculated and far more insidious than anything Karl Rove leashed upon the country. It's tempting to believe that the current nightmare will end with the end of the Bush administration, but I think there's a very real chance that it could become more nuanced with next administration -- whoever may head it.

But of course, both approaches demonstrates in many nuanced forms exactly why the rest of the world views America as arrogant and clueless. What is even more maddening is that such arrogance and blissful ignorance is wrapped up in a folksy avuncular persona and packaged as America's savior. Huckabee's ad might have been a winner if he had simply acknowledged that the Christians do not have a lock on December as a holy month. By invoking the dreaded "Happy Holidays" motif, or even better yet, emphasizing the season's message of peace and love, regardless of religious affiliation, Huckabee could have demonstrated that his administration truly could be a uniting force in the country and the world. That's what Jesus would have done.

Merry Christmas, indeed Mr. Huckabee.

Slowly Grinding Down

Last year was a big holiday year for my family. Because she simply will not fly, travel for my mother is difficult and dramatic. Last year she spent nearly five days traversing the country by Amtrak to get from northwest Iowa to Arizona for Christmas. Since she refused to get a hotel room for a stopover in Omaha, on both legs of the trip she spent an entire night alone in the Omaha bus terminal, and an entire day wandering the streets of Sioux City waiting for connecting trains and buses. Fortunately, she also had a stopover in Chicago and allowed me to take her in for that time, but the poor woman was nearly dead by the time she returned home.

So, it stands to reason that this holiday season would be low key. Add now to the mix the fact that both my mother and I are one very strict budgets and a big holiday blow-out for 2007 doesn't make sense.

And since I'm effectively unemployed, the holiday spirit has not seized me. I'm not a Scrooge, nor a Debbie Downer. This year I'm open to the concept of Christmas, it's just that the physicality of my world has shrunk to a few square blocks, and because one day seems pretty much like the last my sense of time is screwy. I'm repeatedly amazed that it's not still July.

But still, I can feel the world slowly grinding to a holiday halt. There are fewer jobs advertised. People are taking longer to respond to messages. Meetings and interviews aren't being scheduled for next week, but rather after the first of the year. At my old company I had arranged it so that the office would be closed all of next week.

There is a strong sense that every American will participate in the Christmas holidays, if for no other reason than there is simply no way to avoid it. I've had Jewish friends who went on vacation over Christmas and I always thought it odd that they would celebrate the holiday by going away. In point of fact, I now realize, they went away because there was nothing else to do.

Don't get me wrong: Christmas, both the religious and secular/commercial versions, are good things. A religious Christmas -- the concept of peace and love, contemplation of the Eternal -- I view as essential. A chimerical Christmas -- gifts, parties, social connecting and networking -- all play a function in people's lives. But it seems virtually impossible to opt out of the holidays. Even if you simply keep your head down, there are still cards in the mail. There are still Christmas commercials on television. There are those damn year-end-in-review articles everywhere you turn.

And there's a sense of renewal. It's almost like the planet does a little mini revolution within it's normal cycle and New Year's Day is also the first day of spring. Resolutions are made, calendars are started and everything seems fresh and new. Does anything feel more tired and out of date than a lit Christmas tree on January 2?

So, to those who are celebrating, have a happy holiday season. To those who are not, either lighten up or stop and smell the pine needles. The world will revolve more quickly again on January 2.

Rush Limbaugh Asks a Relevant Question

Rush Limbaugh wants to know if America wants to watch Hillary age, presumably he means the amount of media coverage she would receive as president. And the underlying implication being that her age somehow effects her abilities as president?

At first I was outraged at the headline. Just how sexist could that fat bigot be? But then I actually read the quote and took a breath and realized that it's a good question. Can America watch Hillary age? It's not a question of Hilliary trying to maintain a youthful appearance. God knows the last thing I want is for my president to be worried about Botox injections and chemical peels. It's more a question of can the American public accept the fact that a woman can maintain her relevance past the age of thirty.

Even the most accomplished women in the public eye have to at least be aware of their personal appearance, much more so than any man. Cleavage, dark roots, make-up, jewelry, hem length, heel height. None of these are issues that men have to question. Men have to decide: white shirt or blue? Striped tie or solid? Or if he's feeling really crazy does he go with a pattern?

For most of his life, most men are actually more prized as they age. On some visceral level it's assumed that a man becomes wiser as he ages. And if his looks diminish, the acquired wisdoms more than compensates him. Women are socially forbidden to evolve much past the age of thirty, and rarely recognized for being able to do anything more complicated than plan a wedding. Even today, a woman's chief value is measured by precisely how long she can sustain the illusion of youth. Jane Fonda turns seventy. "She looks fabulous." Judi Dench turns seventy. "She's a great actress." Who do you think stands a better chance of being on the cover of any publication in honor of her seventieth birthday? And what do you think the headline will read?

The Girl of Qatif

A young woman, age nineteen is traveling in a car with a young man to whom she is neither related nor married. For some reason the car is attacked by seven hoodlums, who rape both the girl and the man.

The girl is initially sentenced to "several months in prison" and ninety lashes because she was alone with the young man. She appealed the conviction -- and was sentenced to six months in prison and two hundred lashes.

Today the Saudi king pardoned the girl.

What is going unreported is the courage of the girl and the young man, to report the rapes and to press charges. If the girl was meted punishment, you can only imagine what sort of result the young man received.

Oh, and the rapists? They ultimately received sentences of two to ten years.

Being party to the rape of two people = 2 years
Being a woman alone with a man = 2 years
Saudi justice = priceless

This Too Shall Pass

Every now and then it's important for me to stop and realize that the current moment is not the sum total of my life. The existing situation is not the eternal situation, especially in my life.

And, at the risk of being smug, with each interview that I do I become more and more impressed with myself. In comparison to the general population, I've done some pretty impressive, interesting things. I'm always a little surprised at the reaction I get when I tell people that I did a show at Steppenwolf, that I've done two operas at the Lyric, that I taught myself how to build a website, that I'm completing a collection of short stories, and I'm outlining a novel. Hasn't everyone?

Apparently not.

And so, I go into an interview thinking I'm just an average schmoe who can clearly do a bang-up job and come out painfully aware that the interviewer thinks I'm over qualified. And that's after I've taken my humility pill.

Ah, to be fabulous and unemployed. But at least I'm interesting.

Voting

I live in Illinois. There is virtually no chance that Barak Obama will not carry the state in the primaries. In the event that hell freezes over and there is a strong challenger to him, Obama will get my vote.

However, if there is ever a chance to make a statement during a primary for another candidate, its when there is no real decision being made. I don't see a vote for a candidate who clearly is not going to win as a wasted vote. On the contrary: if in fact Obama does carry Illinois, I think a strong showing by any candidate other than Clinton is really a vote for a vice president.

So, with that in mind I've decided that if Obama is a virtual lock going into the primary, my vote is going to Edwards.

We need a statesman who is true to his personal code of ethics. We do not need another politician. Clinton is a politician and she should stay in the senate to assume the Kennedy mantle when he retires. An Obama/Edwards ticket, I think, represents a shift in leadership in this country. It's my generation's turn.

Creating

There's something interesting happening. Sometime in November my photography took a big leap in quality. My pictures became less tortured snapshots with sloppy lighting, and became portraits.

Today I went back to work on a short story, one of the first I've written since graduating. I'm struggling with it, but not in a bad way. It has depth and a lot of layers, many of which I didn't expect. My struggle is coming up with an ending that is good enough.

I've been so focused on logistical crap, I'd been neglecting my art. And I long ago discovered that its my art that feeds my soul. Without it, I'm nothing.

So, I have a collection of sixteen stories, all in various stages of development. My goal is to have a complete manuscript finished by the end of the year. The story I'm struggling with now is the greenest, and it's number six in the collection. Stories one through five are finished. But January 1, I start building my strategy for getting them to a publisher. Another new mountain to climb. And I already have my next novel bubbling in the back of my head. It's a little formulaic at this point, but I can't get distracted from the stories to work it out.

I had another interview over the phone, and have scheduled a face-to-face for next week. Just with a temp agency, but with my life at loose ends at the moment, that may be the best way to go.

Underneath all of the worry and angst about staring into the abyss, I know all will be well. What would life be if it was all routine and safe?

"We'll be in touch..."

I have never understood why people say they'll do something when they have absolutely no intention of following through. Is it better to be known as someone who does what he says, or someone who says what people want to hear, and then have to follow up with a litany of excuses for failing to follow through.

I am very easily lied to. If you tell me something, I will believe you. And I will hold you to your word. FOREVER. Now, I understand that circumstances change and there are times when promises simply cannot be kept. I'm a reasonable, rational person. Just tell me things have changed. Don't leave me hanging.

Yet, it just seems that more and more that silence is increasingly becoming an acceptable form of communication. In the past year, twice, I've had friends who've been rushed to the hospital. In both cases I sent them flowers while they were in the hospital. And in both cases, neither person acknowledged the flowers. I have sent professional requests to people, who simply ignore them. And these are people I see on a regular basis. They simply do not respond.

There was a time when I got upset about such things. But life is too short to waste on people who cannot master the basics of social intercourse, let alone professional courtesy. I simply move on.

Yesterday I met with a recruiter, who repeatedly told me how ethical he was. He viewed ours as a working partnership. I was to send him a revised copy of my resume and he was going to send me information on a job he thought I was right for.

Silence.

I had a phone interview yesterday with a recruiter, who was breathless at my qualifications. "Send me your resume! I want to talk to you about it over the phone." Resume sent. Promises that it would be forwarded to her manager and she'd get back to me today...

Silence.

I don't really take it personally. I'm quite confident that I'm not the only person they treat this way. But, they tell me to keep checking in with them on a weekly basis. So, I do. I completely ignore the fact that they haven't returned my calls. I leave light, charming messages once a week. And then, when I get a job and they contact me, wanting to work with me...

Silence.

Dreams

I frequently dream that I am back in my childhood home. When I was a kid and after my parents divorced, my mother moved around a lot. Part of the reason was wanderlust, and part of it was that she always thought a new location meant things would be different. They rarely were for very long. I have no doubt that being a single parent is the hardest thing in the world, and when things got overwhelming for my mother she'd pack one or both of us off to live with my father in his small house in a small town in Iowa. As a kid I lived many places, but I only had one home.

The house had originally been my grandmother's. It had been her little love cottage when she remarried late in life. The marriage didn't last long as Grandpa Emil was insane. She ditched the husband, but kept the house. Then when my father divorced, he moved in with Grandma. They shared the house until she died and he bought out his brother and sister.

It was a small, two-bedroom house that sat on a corner lot. It was pink when my Grandmother bought it, but she had it painted white, because that was the only respectable color for a house. I remember when she and my aunts hung new wallpaper in the dining room and living room. It was a green, almost Asian-grass print on three of the walls. On the fourth wall was a bold, gold floral print that took days to hang because the walls weren't square, which made matching the pattern difficult. I remember the day the new pull-out sofa and rocking chair were delivered. Both were immediately covered with coordinating beach towels, to keep them from becoming covered with cat hair.

After my Grandmother died, my father did what he could to maintain the interior of the house, but that really wasn't his interest. He liked to build things. He built fences that marked the division between our yard and the two neighboring yards. He put decorative green shutters on the house. There were at least two old tractor tires that he'd painted white and filled with dirt for flowers. And there was the gazebo.

While it was a corner lot, the official back yard was actually pretty small and Dad filled most of it up with the gazebo. It had originally been intended for picnics and for us to play in when the weather was bad, but it quickly became just a storage shed which Dad filled with bits of scavenged supplies for all of his home-improvement projects.

When we lived with Dad, my sister took over my grandmother's room, and I set up shop in the unfinished basement. If I remember correctly, my father did put down linoleum tile and there was a carpet remnant. It wasn't much, but I have to say that I loved that room. I could move things around, and in the winter the windows would be buried in snow, so the room was always dark. I remember the winter holidays and barricading myself in the basement with my stereo, the old TV, and my round, red transistor AM radio.

When my father died, we sold the house. It was nearly fifteen years before I ever went back. I don't know how many owners there had been since we'd lived there, but most of my father's improvements were gone, as was the enormous oak tree, the roots of which had broken up the sidewalk creating a mini bump that was just right to launch a speeding bike into the air. The house had a new roof, and the sun porch had been enclosed to expand the kitchen. Someone had painted the house brown.

Still, somewhere deep inside me I feel like we will all go back to that house to live. And I visit in my dreams. In my dreams, it's exactly as it always was on Christmas Eve. The tree lit, the floor strewn with torn wrapping paper, and a big pot of chicken and noodles on the stove. There are pounds of fudge in the refrigerator and fresh coffee in Grandma's new electric percolator. My mother, father, and grandmother are sitting at the kitchen table, visiting. And my sister and I would be in our rooms admiring our gifts.

The Worm Turns

Today I dropped the supplemental materials for my application to UIC into the mail, and I nearly had a panic attack in the post office. This application required a sample of academic writing, and a sample of fiction. While waiting in line with all of the people shipping Christmas gifts to the four corners of the Earth my stomach seized and I could hardly catch my breath. I suddenly became aware that I was pinning the hopes for my future on mediocrity. I've never even had the confidence to seriously try to have anything published and here I was submitting a patchwork paper and some shreds of short stories to be compared with the work of some of the brightest minds in the country. But, I turned up the volume on my iPod and went through with it. Nearly forty pages work are floating through the postal system and will land in a heap on someone's desk in a few days. And I will have to wait nearly ten weeks for an answer.

The panic attack was set off this morning when I printed up the required checklist that is supposed to accompany the writing samples. On the checklist, they ask for a list of all of my awards and distinctions. To be honest, I have so few, the list was quite short. I may have been on the dean's list as an undergrad. But, I've never published anything. I've won a couple of service awards, but they aren't really anything special. My GRE scores and my GPA are respectable, but not awe-inspiring. And the work I sent them was solid, but not great.

Yesterday I sent my supplemental packet to the University of Chicago, and I felt better about that. By the end of the week I'll have completed the monster of them all, the packet for Northwestern. Then I'll be done.

Of course, none of this is helped by being unemployed. I'm waiting to hear on two jobs, and I'm meeting yet another recruiter tomorrow. The clock is ticking. Unemployment runs out at the end of the month and then I'm on my own. Later this week I'm going to set up appointments to register with temp agencies and then I'm going to hunker down and wait for the decisions.

Waiting has never been my best skill. I start imagining all of the worst possible scenarios and I can work myself up into an almost hysteria. It might be easier if I drank, but I don't. The only way I can get through this is to take it one day at a time and work through each issue as it presents itself.

But, it's night time, and I'm getting ready to go to bed, which always the worst time. I'll go to sleep, and in the morning I'll feel better. It's a new day and anything can happen.

Treadmill

I have a set pattern of blogs that I rotate through. Some are intellectually edifying and some are entertaining. Some are very instructive.

Without naming names, there is one blog I had been reading because it sounded so much like me in my early twenties. The poor guy was going through hell and writing about it on his blog. Then this summer he stopped. He said he just needed some time to get his life together. Then, sort of out boredom I came across his blog again, and he'd started writing about a week ago. And it's the same crap. The. Same. Crap. Nothing has changed for this poor guy and he's going to continue on this treadmill for at least another decade.

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we get into a loop of drama? Sometimes I think I'm lucky. I know what my loop is. Everything is about me. Every word, every action, every thought that every single person within my sphere of influence -- and that is vast -- has nothing better to do than to think up ways to slight and insult me. The world is full of people who hold secret conventions to discuss every little fault of mine. They are endlessly fascinated with all things that are me.

When that loop starts, there are times it can be brutal and destructive. And looking at past situations I can see there have been times that I have started the loop. There have been other times that random events have happened -- events that have had nothing to do with me -- yet fit very nicely into the loop and I allow myself to use those events as objective proof of my narcissistic, self-destructive little psychodramas.

It's sad, really.

But, lately I'm getting better at identifying the little dramas. Sometimes I can stop them, and sometimes I just have to let them run their course. Sometimes they're harmless and entertaining, but I have learned not to take any of them all that seriously.

Back when New Age was all the rage, I read a Buddhist philosophy that said something like, "Hold life lightly." It's taken me years to understand that, and sometimes I actually think I manage to do just that.

But my poor little blogger has not yet learned that lesson. I'll probably check in on him from time to time, just to make sure he doesn't chew his leg off to free himself from his treadmill, but I can't watch it on a regular basis. There's only room for one diva on this stage.

Living in the Moment

There's something to be said for stopping and enjoying a moment. Since the age of about five, when my parents divorced and I first asked the question, "What happens next?" I've made plans and outlined contingencies, preparing for what happens next.

And this morning I sit at my computer and I find that I don't care. It's not a fatalistic, oh-what's-the-use angst. It's more of a I'm-safe-and-content feeling. It's a feeling that there is something next and it really doesn't matter what because it will be fabulous no matter what it is.

These past few months have been very disjointed. As planned, in order to keep my mind off the fact that I'm unemployed I've kept myself very busy. Applying to PhD programs, building a website, taking pictures, sending out resumes, interviewing...they've all been components of very large, very different plans. In some ways it's been a frustrating time, filled with disappointments: that certain jobs didn't come through, that my writing wasn't going more smoothly, that I lacked confidence in my PhD applications. The list could go on.

But this morning, at this precise second as I type, there is a contentment. Things are good enough. Even the imperfections -- my messy workroom strewn with important papers and dustbunnies, the refrigerator that contains a stick of butter and ketchup, the ancient cat who will not shut up until I open exactly the right can of catfood -- they all seem to fit into a perfect picture. I don't know how else to say it. I'm happy.

Finis

The writing sample is complete. Flawed, but complete.

The problem is a familiar one for me. My eyes were bigger than my stomach, as my grandmother would have said. In twenty pages I try to assert a thesis that really is a great topic for a dissertation that could easily be ten times longer. Instead of being able to discuss how other writers have touched on my topic, I can only mention them in a brief paragraph and then move on. And instead of fully developing a point of minutiae, I've opted for indicating a sweeping new interpretation, and hinting that I have an understanding of the details.

I'm banking heavily upon the assurances from several professors that the paper does not have to publication ready. Because my paper is most definitely not.

Now, there just remains tackling my statement of purpose. I swear, I deserve a degree for simply completing the application processes.

The Wheels on the Bus Fall Off

I have long held the thought when it appears that everyone in the room is an asshole, chances are very good that there is only one asshole in the room and he can't be seen without the use of a mirror. Still, every now and then it's just possible that the room is filled with assholes.

Last July I was laid off. There were a lot of factors that went into that decision, but there was one little detail that sealed the deal. The board of directors held a secret vote of confidence on the CEO. They went to the three major revenue earners and asked if they had confidence in the CEO. They knew the question was coming. The CEO had foretold it. They had every reason to pledge their loyalty to the CEO. Yet all three of them stabbed in the back, ultimately for personal gain. Now one of them has resigned and the death knell for the company is ratcheted one decibel higher.

This earner knew exactly what he was doing. He had no reason to help the company to succeed. He benefits by its failure. But in so doing, he will have effectively put more than fifty people out of work.

Such selfishness is the essence of evil.

Now, understand that we're not talking about making a decision to either help keep a company afloat so or feed your children. We're talking about doing your job and honoring your commitments, or not buying the 2008 Landrover for your family's third car. There really isn't any moral ambiguity here. There is simply greed. As a result, people who devoted more than twenty years to building a company will be walking away with nothing, and one man walks away with a few thousand dollars that he's not even entitled to.

Evil Exists

It is the supreme American ethic that one succeed at all costs. And as is usually the case with such grand missions, all hangs upon the definition of a single word. In this case, it all comes down to how you define success.

In some spheres, success is gauged in terms of dollars. In others it's measured in geographical units, and in still others its by the number of Christmas cards received. Success, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

I've always thought of success as a fluid concept. If life was an Excel spreadsheet and the summation button was hit at any given moment, a person could be evaluated as a success or a failure at that moment. But hit that button a fraction of a second later and the result could change. And success is certainly contextual. Working oneself up from a barren basement bedroom and a high-school diploma to a two-bedroom condo near the lakefront in Chicago is certainly a greater success than coming from an affluent Chicago suburb to fifteen years in a middle management position.

But ultimately the most important term in such a maxim as "Success at any Cost" is how the term cost is defined, and how you answer the question, cost to whom?

Yesterday I had an interview with a recruiter who is so clueless and seems to offer so little value to her customers that I'd be tempted to say that she is stealing from them. She collects resumes, conducts a five minute interview, and then decides whether to pass the resume on to her client, without comment. Basically, she says little more than, "I actually met this person. He has a pulse. But I have no idea if he has any talents or skills that would be useful to you."

Yet, sitting there without a job and facing the month of December when virtually no hiring is done, I felt infinitely more successful than the people who are still working at my old company. I won't go into the details, because they're too tedious to type, but essentially the level of duplicity and arrogance, and self delusion is breathtaking. While I worked there, I had two bosses, and about four weeks ago the second of those bosses was let go. But they did it such a passive-aggressive manner, telling him that they'd use him as a consultant and that he could continue to use his office while he looked for a job. Then when he went looking for pay check, they told him that he'd actually been fired three weeks earlier. Because I know the people involved, I can guess how this all played out, and how the powers that be 1) convinced themselves that their actions were in the best interests of the company, and 2) laughed themselves silly at the confusion, blaming my boss instead of their own inability to effectively communicate.

In my life, on more than one occasion, I've been told I'm an arrogant prick who thinks he's better than everyone else. Those comments have stung, so I am particularly sensitive to situations where I am aware that I'm being judgemental. Still, it's hard not to feel a twinge of moral superiority to people who blatantly lie and go out of their way to hurt other people. Then, when their deeds are done, convince themselves that it was the "right" course of action, that the ends justify the means. But then again, we seem to live in an era that could best be summed up as "The Ends Justify the Means."

Still, in my little unemployed world, willfully inflicting pain, consistently lying. continually assessing the material value of each and every relationship, both personal and professional, is just reflective of the most insidious form of evil imaginable.

Liars

As you may know, I've been hitting the job trail. When I first came to Chicago I needed to find a job -- any job -- and I think I went to every recruiting firm in the city. I had no skills, and they had no interest. I got it, and didn't really blame them. I wound up working in a restaurant, settled into a routine and before I knew it ten years had gone by. I realized that things like health insurance might be necessary, so I hit the job trail again. I still had no skills, other than being able to bring a plate of eggs to a table, but I sat myself down at a computer at the Harold Washington Library and taught myself Microsoft Word and WordPerfect. And I managed to build a typing speed of thirty-four words per minute with sixteen or seventeen errors.

This time, when I went in to recruiters, they had minimal interest, and again I understood. Eventually I landed a job, but I got it for three reasons: 1) she liked the way I handled myself on the phone, 2) she felt guilty because she'd gone to lunch and forgotten the interview, leaving me to wait for nearly two hours, and 3) the computer broke while I was taking the typing test. When I offered to retake it, I told her that I would probably score thirty-four words per minute,(leaving out the number of errors part). She looked at me for nearly a minute and said, "No, I heard you typing. That's good enough." And from that humble moment a human resources star was born.

And over the years, as a human resources manager, I was contacted, and contacted, and pestered, and harassed and stalked by recruiters wanting to place the perfect candidates with me. It was at this time that I realized that recruiters were by and large scam artists. I would place an ad, looking for a secretary, and the next day there would be three or four recruiting firms with ads very similar to mine. I would get an avalanche of resumes, and the next day I'd have recruiters calling me trying to sell me the very same resumes.

On the very rare occasion that I did use a recruiter it was either because I needed someone very quickly, say a Microsoft guru who spoke English and Mandarin, in three days (not kidding) or because my company had a long-standing relationship with a recruiting firm and I was told that they were miracle workers. They never really were.

Now I'm back on the job market and because of the grad school thing I'm not really looking for an HR job. I'm focusing on executive-level administrative work. The pay is virtually the same and instead of having to be the best friend of one hundred and seventy-nine people, I only have to manage three or four. This time around, though, I'm a Microsoft guru knowing my way around Word, Excel, PowerPoint, Publisher, and Outlook, as well as the Adobe Creative Suite. And I type seventy-three words per minute with six errors. I hold a masters degree in writing. In a word, in terms of executive-level administrative candidates, I'm hot shit.

And this time around, I have recruiters drooling over me. There is one in particular, from an agency that I've applied to and interviewed with at least four times over the last fifteen years as well as used to fill a position on one occasion. We'll call that agency Gloss. Every single time I've gone to gloss they've promised they could find me a job. Two months ago they actually sent me on an interview. I landed a second round of interviews. I landed a third round of interviews. I've been called on a weekly basis to be assured that the hiring manager is still "very interested" but just meeting other candidates. The calls go something like this:

"Scott, this Gail from Gloss. I just talked to Julie at Stupid, Slow, and Shit-for-Brains. She's been really busy sharpening pencils and there's just no movement on this job yet. You've been there, you know how it is."

"Sure, I totally understand. Say, Gail, are you sure they just aren't going with another candidate?"

"No. I've asked them point blank. I've told them that you're really interested and that it's really not fair to you to string you along this way."

"Well, I understand. When you need to sharpen pencils, all else really has to be put on the back burner."

"And look, I've worked with Julie for years. She's a straight shooter. She'd tell me if they weren't interested."

"OK. I saw that you had some other jobs posted that I'd be right for."

"Oh, I'm working on those, but they're not ready to interview yet. I'll definitely submit you."

And then, of course, nothing.

And now, I have this same relationship going with four recruiters, and every week to ten days each one of them calls me with the same patter. And each week I smile and chuckle at the difficulty of their positions, telling them I totally understand. And I do, probably better than they do.

High Hurdles

What I'm calling the semi-final draft of my writing sample is almost ready. While I don't think its brilliant, it's a long way from the piece of crap it started out to be. Sometimes, if you polish hard enough, you can get a nice little sheen on a turd.

And the little side business marked two little milestones this week. If I haven't mentioned it, the side business is a little photography service, and this week I had a picture printed in the Chicago Tribune, and two pictures printed in the Chicago Reader. Of particular note is the fact that the Reader photos carried my name! I think that's pretty good progress for just two months in business.

Now back to work on the paper. It's going to be a long evening.

The Other Boelyn Girl

This summer, as a respite from Michele Foucault and Edmund Burke, I picked up what I thought was a pulp novel, the kind my mother used to bring home and then let lie around the house for my sister and me to read. One I remember was entitled To Near the Throne, a pot-boiler about some poor girl named Jane, who wore voluminous yellow silk dresses and had to marry the man her father chose instead of the man she loved. I thought the book I'd picked up, The Other Boleyn Girl would be similar. In many ways it was, but I had no idea that Phillipa Gregory was a "New York Times Best-Selling Author."

Although nearly seven-hundred pages long, the book was a surprisingly quick read, but I really couldn't fathom why Ms. Gregory had become a NYTBSA. I'm always suspect of authors who allow the main character describe themselves. At times Gregory's writing is a little purple. Yet, she is very good at creating intrigue, and the story is gripping even though the events are well-known.

Without giving too much away, however, I do have one significant complaint about the book. The book suggests that George Boleyn discovers his homosexuality at court, and that because of his "deep, dark shame" he was susceptible to all types of blackmail as well as "other sexual perversions." Gregory's court of Henry VIII is incredibly puritanical, and she creates a world in which homosexuality carries all the stigma of the "other sexual perversions" he was later charged with.

There are a number of very creative and speculative aspects to the novel, yet for some reason Gregory chose to incorporate a speculation of Boleyn's sexuality into the story, presumably to help give plausibility to the incest charges that ultimately destroyed him. For the record, George and Ann, along with several other young men, were charged with any number of allegations. All of them are believed to have been proven false. Yet, none of them were homosexuality. Why, then, incorporate this into such a tragic figure as George Boleyn? Either way he becomes a fag who gets what he deserves, or another homosexual victim.

Above is a trailer for the film. It's one of those trailers that basically lays out the entire movie. From what I can tell, The Tudors is better -- yet neither seems to be concerned with historical accuracy. Still, I'll probably wander into a theater to see this one. Here's hoping the film takes the same number of liberties with Gregory's book that Gregory took with history.

Contradictions*

The chorus rehearses on Sunday nights. (The concert is coming up. Do you have your tickets?) After rehearsal I've begun the habit of wandering over to Whole Foods and picking up a tasty treat to nibble while I watch whatever must-see Sunday night TV the cable is offering up. (The current favorite is Dexter, and if you don't have Showtime, you should at least to go out and get the first season on DVD. One of the top-ten best shows of all time.)

So, each Sunday I wander up and down the aisles looking at the "organic" food, all of which is much more expensive than the "corporate poison" I'll find in my Dominic's, which is in turn more expensive than the lower-end brands I'll find in the little Mexican vegetable market. Then suddenly it hit me. All of this socially superior nourishment is packaged in plastic! So, the message is: The polar ice caps can melt, but I'll be so healthy I can tread water until the next ice age.

Sometimes the hypocrisy of the self-important, upper-middle classes is stifling. The hubris and ignorance is like one long, continuous fart waiting for someone to simply light a match and make it all go away. These same baby-on-board, pre-suburbanites who will live in the city just until little Morgan or Conrad either gets into the right private school or they are forced to the flee the city for the better suburban schools have bought the message that the world is their oyster. They can, if they think they can, and damn anyone else who may have to pay the consequences.

I have no problem with wanting to eat healthier foods and I support anyone whose beliefs take them down the vegan path. It's commendable. But just don't load all of your precious, nutritious ashram-grown sprouts wrapped in plastic take-out containers into your Hummer, to drive three blocks to your Lake Shore Drive condo and think for one second that you're "sticking it to the man!"

*This post may have been written while in an over-caffeinated state. Long live Diet Coke!

In the Moment

Time is a strange thing. In many ways, in my head it's still July and I'm going to have get up tomorrow and drag my ass to a job where everyone is trying to destroy everyone else, and in other ways it's already January 2, 2008 and I'm planning for the coming year.

It's the right now that I'm struggling with. Struggling, but making progress: serious resumes are going out and getting response; teeny, tiny buds for my new little business are emerging; the paperwork for my major life shift is getting done, if only in fits and starts; and for the first time in a long time I'm really enjoying my life. Yes there are moments of stress, like when I realize that student-loan payments loom, but then I take a deep breath an realize that I'm projecting myself into the End Days and I settle back into the reality of the moment, rededicating myself to my multiple projects.

And last night, for the first time in at least two years I went to a live theater production. Since retiring from the stage nearly a decade ago, I haven't really felt compelled to return to the theater as a civilian. Too frustrating. Too much energy expended mourning what woulda, coulda, shoulda been. But last night it felt like being visited by an old friend. What was particularly pleasant was the fact that the theater was at the end of the block and I could take a nice, quiet stroll home and slip into bed.

The production was in a wildly inappropriate space, long and narrow; the audience seated in one long row of cheap folding chairs against the wall; the set, mere scavenged pieces of furniture suggesting locales; the lighting grossly inadequate; the costumes, pulled from the actors' own closets, were uninspired; the script at least one major re-write away from being good; and the acting a spectrum of amateurish gesticulation and subtle, heart-breaking nuance.

I loved it!

This may have been the first time since I was sixteen that I went to the theater and was able to manage the critic in my head. During the performance I didn't second-guess the director or the actor; I didn't tell myself in some form that they were damn lucky to have me in the audience; I wasn't simultaneously creating my own production of the script in my head while I watched this one unfold in front of my eyes; and I wasn't cursing myself for not actually being in a New York theater -- where REAL theater happens -- and holding court on the inadequacies of whatever production was lucky to have me as an audience member.

I simply watched the play and enjoyed it. It was what it was. Yes there were flaws, and yes it might have been slicker had there been more money behind the production. But it had a freshness to it. There's an old Stephen Sondheim lyric -- an actress is quoting one of her first reviews that says, "At least she's sincere..." -- a hint of condescension. Yet, this production had a sincerity and vibrancy that wasn't colored with ambition. Perhaps it's my own personal baggage, but I found that thrilling. This performance was ephemeral and just for the eight people in that room last night. There was no one in the audience who might help these actors build a bigger career. This production isn't a stepping stone for anyone. It was sincere.

The cast included five actors. There were eight of us in the audience. At thirty percent capacity, last night's performance might have been considered a big crowd for most productions in Chicago. The play started with an actor and actress both giving declamatory speeches to the audience, and both had been panned in recent reviews. I can tell you that when a production receives a bad review the cast has a very hard time working up even the most fundamental level of enthusiasm for a performance. This cast was no different. But as the performance progressed and the cast got the sense that the audience was with them, they warmed, and by the second act even the weakest actor was "living in the moment" and giving a fine performance. There was nothing but the actor, the text, and the audience, and that second act might be one of the best I've ever seen.

Don't get me wrong: I have no interest in returning to a life in the theater -- at least at this moment. I'm too busy trying to be an entrepreneur/writer/human-resources manager/singer/scholar to want to be an actor again too. But an occasional visit to a black-painted room filled with found furniture and aluminum folding chairs isn't necessarily a bad idea.

Make It Work.

I'm pooped. Half of my writing portfolio is ready to go and the other half is a creative shambles. I have to whip into some sort of readable format by 11:00 tomorrow morning. A professor who has agreed to write me a letter of recommendation wants to see the paper before she writes her recommendation. I had planned on at least another six weeks, but instead I had less than forty-eight hours. Yikes.

Applications

Right now my life seems to be completely about applications. Job applications, my PhD applications, etc. I have the professors lined up for the recommendations, but one of them wants to see my writing sample before she does the recommendation. The writing sample isn't nearly ready and I have to have a coherent draft by Thursday, noon. It will be tight, but I think I can do it.

The business seems to be flowing. My work, I think is steadily improving and my clients seem to be genuinely impressed. I'm not taking any new appointments over the holidays, and since I've been assured that no one does any hiring between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day (in spite of the fact that I always hired someone during that time) I'm preparing for a semi-official vacation. The school applications will be done in the next week or two. I won't have any clients. I'll be decorating my house for Christmas. So all that will be left is to finish up my short story collection.

Frankly, I could use a vacation. Though much of the work in the past two months has been more of an investment than a stream of income, I've been working very hard, and I have to say that as I look back on the year I have to put 2007 in the win column. True, for nearly half of it I have been "unemployed" but I don't think I've ever been more productive.

Tomorrow there are bound to be more inane calls from recruiters, so I'd better get to bed.

What Have You Been Doing...

So, I'm getting called for interviews now, in spite of the fact that things "slow down as we go into the holidays" and they all ask, "So, what have you been doing since July?"

"Well, I've been writing this paper on the institutionalization of whiteness, focusing on Edmund Burke, but drawing interpretive parallels to Malcolm X and Michele Foucault. And in my spare time I started a side business, which required that I research the business, and teach myself the skills necessary to perform the services I wanted to offer as well as the marketing skills necessary to launch the business. In addition I've been editing my collection of short stories.

"Oh, and looking for a job."

And still they invariably let that little silent pause in to indicate that they think you're a slacker.

Lions for Lambs -- Spoiler Included

I'm going to discuss the Robert Redford film Lions for Lambs. While I'm going to talk about to some degree about the artistic merits of the film, this is not a review, and therefore I do not feel compelled to keep the ending a secret. If that matters to you, stop reading now.

Before I went to the theater, I read Roger Ebert's review. Lions for Lambs is a hard film to review on its artistic merits because, quite frankly, there aren't many. It's a very talky film. I like talky films. The characters are not complex, the story is hardly subtle and ideology behind the film isn't even thinly disguised. Still, I walked out of the theater thinking about the movie.

The characters really function as representatives of the major forces that combined to form the American involvement in Iraq. From a "liberal" point of view, the iconic characters speak the "truth." Still, the real question is the implied question, that never is voiced.

Robert Redford, who also directs, plays a university professor of political science who one morning confronts a bright student about his apathetic attitude. The student's fundamental response is very existential: what is the point if the result is the same? Throughout the movie, the professor and the student circle around this question, and the best answer that the professor can give is "At least you will have done something."

The student's response then is, "Well, why shouldn't I live the good life? It's not my fault that I'm smart enough to figure out how to live the good life." (I paraphrase here.) To which the professor responds, "What good is a $90,000 Bentley if there are no roads to drive on? If there is not gas to fill the tank?"

And, of course those are valid, important questions.

But the deeper question really is, "What have you done, or what will you do that entitles you to the Bentley in the first place?" The better question is, "At whose expense do you receive that Bentley?"

Those are the fundamental questions that I think many people, particularly of my generation, are afraid to answer. I am, therefore I'm entitled. When I graduated from college there was a shocking number of my classmates who moved right back home to Mom and Dad. One of my friends died at home. They did so because home was comfortable and it eased the responsibility of repaying student loans.

But, is the easy way the best way? I wonder what might have been lost in their characters by not learning to fend for themselves. I wonder what might have been lost in my character because of the struggle I endured establishing myself. And then I compare my struggle to real struggle in other parts of the world and I'm ashamed that I would even begin to compare the challenges I faced in the same light of a contemporary in another part of the world.

Essentially, the film ends posing the question, "What are you going to do with your privilege, power, and wealth?" Yes, it's an easy political question, an obvious question. But it's a question that really has to be asked and the American people are responsible for answering, and we are responsible for avoiding it.

Revived

There is nothing I like worse that being at the end of my rope. I need a plan of attack. I need a mission. I have to be working toward an end.

They won't make a decision on the job until next week. Apparently I am the only candidate they've seen, but they're still interested. They're just not ready to make the decision yet. In my experience that could mean anything, but I actually trust this recruiter to cut me loose if they weren't interested.

In the meantime, I've started my applications. More waiting since I sent several professors requests for letters of recommendation. It's Friday, and frankly none of them really work on Friday, so it may be next week before I hear. But transcripts have been ordered, test scores will be sent, applications are in process, and the writing sample doesn't seem as if it's going to take as much time as I thought.

So, even though I still feel like I'm pulling this sled all by myself, I'm feeling much better about it. I have a couple of other projects in mind once these applications are completed.

Things are good again.

Paying Bills

Paying bills when you're unemployed sucks. The bank account is holding, and I'm good for nearly a year yet, but still...

Eye on the Ball

Have you ever made a leap of faith without a net? I have, several times in fact, and I can tell you with absolute authority that it does not get easier with each leap.

This week has been absorbed with job interviews. After weeks of being virtually ignored, suddenly I was being considered for four different jobs. None of them are my ultimate calling and none of them fit into my overall objectives, but each one of them would give a modicum of security and relief, but also a token of approval. Every now and then, no matter what anyone says, a person needs a little validation.

These past five years have really been about doing things without a net. Buying a home, enrolling in a masters program, quitting a secure job, then taking a risk on a company that had the possibiity of failing (and did), being laid off, starting my own little business, and finally applying to PhD programs. These may be just logical steps to most people. To me they are milestones.

Growing up, when my father was angry -- which was much of the time -- he would tell me that I was retarded. No amount of scholastic achievement would really ever convince me otherwise. And because of my size, as an actor I was frequently cast as characters with subpar intelligence.

When I was a boy, maybe five or six years old, I asked my mother if I was handsome. She told me that I wasn't movie-star handsome, but that I wasn't exactly ugly. That sounds pretty harsh, and it's difficult to imagine a mother saying that to her son, but that's how I remember it. Whatever the actual wording, I do remember feeling like I wasn't good enough.

And as a kid, I adored my sister. She was charming and pretty and made friends easily. And she hated me. I never knew why, but I just knew that if I fell off the face of the earth she'd never miss me. And as adults, that has sadly been pretty much proven true.

So, much of my adult life has been about disproving these notions or disspelling the feelings these notions generate. I write this, not in some sort of self-pitying revel, but to help me get a handle on how I want to move through this next period in my life.

One of the jobs that I interviewed for this week could provide a little haven where I could essentially hide from the world. There would be no stress, a comfortable income, and I'm reasonably assured that I would be very successful and much appreciated in the role. It's a situation that could conceivably carry me through to retirement. I could write my stories, and maybe even get published. And by all measures within my family history I would be considered a success.

By all measures, that is, except my own.

Now, I no longer have any doubts about my intelligence. At the very least I'm relatively sure I'm not retarded. And I've long-since past the age where being matinee-idol gorgeous has been an obsession of mine. And I've almost gotten past worrying about what people think of me or what I do. Still, I've started down a path toward something that had always been a goal, and I'm getting cold feet. Tomorrow I'm going to start the applications for the PhD programs and I'm terrified of not being accepted and terrified of failure if I am accepted. I'm not applying to easy programs, and I've never really tested myself on such a scale before.

But, then I realize that these doubts are almost always fed by fatigue and inaction. What I've realized is that to be successful all I need to do is identify the goal and then just put one foot in front of the other until I'm there. If I look up to see how far away the goal is, I'll be lost.

Still, it must be nice from time to time having someone on the sideline, cheering you on.

Democratic Debate

The Democratic debate just finished. What became clear to me is that I do not want Hillary Clinton in the White House. She is a politician. She is a statesman. She belongs in the Senate, and that's where I want her to stay.

Barak Obama will make a great president. Someday. The sad truth is that the next president has to be willing to get his hands dirty. I admire and respect his desire to maintain the high road, but if a candidate cannot speak frankly and directly in a campaign debate, I do not believe he can speak frankly and directly once in office. And frankly, we're facing a transportation crisis in Chicago and he is missing in action on this issue.

Richardson, Dodd, and Kucinich have virtually rendered themselves irrelevent.

That leaves me with Biden and Edwards. And here's where my dilemma comes in. I actually believe that Biden would make a better president. But I believe that Edwards is more electable, particularly in the primary. So, do I vote my principles and vote for Biden, and thereby help insure a Clinton candidacy, or do I vote for my number two choice and go with Edwards who I think can beat Clinton in the primary?

Everyone talks about the election being decided by Iowa and New Hampshire, but the truth is that this election will be decided in Ohio, Florida, and Pennsylvania. Just like the last elections.

I've decided that if I had to vote today, I'd want a Biden/Obama ticket. That's the ticket that I think would be best for the country. I think an Edwards/Obama ticket could win.

Dear Dominic's

Dear Dominic's:

I am writing to you today to tell you that the reason I shop at your store on Howard Avenue is because it is the only supermarket within walking distance from my home. In fact, I'd hazard to say that better than half of the people who shop in that store do so because of the proximity to their homes. Yes, you have a mammoth parking lot, but I have to say that I've never seen it full.

With that said, I'd like to encourage you to take a look at the clientele of your store on Howard Avenue. In particular, you might just stand at one of the check-out lines and notice how many of your customers are paying with a Link card. In case you're not familiar with the Link card, it is Illinois's food-stamp program. I can tell you that virtually every time I've been to your store, the person in front of me and the person behind me pays with this card.

Now, I ask you: do you think these customers care about mood lighting in a grocery store? Yes, the apples gleam and look quaint in their rustic baskets, but does that manufactured charm really justify charging a dollar and a quarter for each apple? Am I really paying four dollars for a gallon of milk because that's how much you need to charge to make a fair profit, or is it to pay for the soft track lighting that makes my reflection from the cooler look ten years younger? Do you really think that romantic lighting is necessary for the customers who wander to the back of the store to purchase their forty ounces?

I've been shopping at your store for nearly five years. In that time I've established a pattern. I know where everything is. Or, I knew where everything was. Now I have to wander up and down the aisles in a daze looking for the staples that usually stock my kitchen. And for the record, why do you not carry Coco Wheats? Beef boullion cubes? Non-aerosol Scrubbing Bubbles? Why don't you carry the boxes of frozen broccoli? I've purchased these things in the past, and now suddenly you've stopped carrying them?

And while we're on the topic, what is up with the meat department? The meat literally glows with all the dye and the new track lighting. And that dye must really taste good and be very expensive because I can walk around the corner to the little independent vegetable stand and buy the same cut of meat for nearly thirty percent less.

On the plus side, I have to say that conceptually I'm against genetically engineered food, but in practice I've become addicted to those apple/pear cross breeds. But, for nearly a month you were out of stock and I went through withdrawal right there in your produce deparment. But I looked radiant under the new lights while I did it.

Thank you for your kind attention and patience.