Recently, someone with whom I attended college received national recognition for a job well done. Those ingnorant of his history might interpret his work as "fresh;" however it is the same tired work he turned in more than twenty years ago. His work literally put me to sleep. When news of his award reached me, I involuntarily screamed, but quickly regained my composure and went on with my life.
This morning, while avoiding writing a paper on George Orwell, I entered a nearly forgotten name into a random search engine, only to discover that another soulless creation has risen to the top of his chosen vocation. Granted, he is now a vice president of marketing at Disney, and such success no doubt carries its own special black rewards. Still, I'd have been happier had I been told that he was toothless and living under a bridge.
That, I realize, makes me a shallow, vindictive prick. But the realization that my petty jealousy over the success of some of God's damaged children makes me also realize that I, at least, still have soul. Bruised and withering, but my soul is still mine. True, I freely admit I am not earning in the mid-six figures, nor am I in any danger of standing behind a podium thanking the little people; and I'd like to be able to point to some monumental success, but can't. Instead, at any given moment I can rattle off a long, long list of my social deficiencies. One need only look at my bank account to understand that professional success has eluded me.
Still, as I reflect upon my connection to these two individuals I am ambivalent. I can say that I envy their success, but I do not covet their exact success. I can only speculate what it cost them to get where they are. The first person never possessed a soul. Never. The second had a soul once, but I watched him sell it. While my "friend" was still in college, he took an older, financially generous gentleman as a lover. They lived together in an Old Town townhouse, one that allowed him to ride a gifted bicycle around the hallways, while he got his career off the ground -- and repaid his student loans. In less than a year this individual was debt free, and dumped his benefactor/lover. The gentleman was crushed. The Christmas following the break up, the gentleman presented the individual with a mountain of gifts with the simple request that my "friend" just not return them for cash. Of course, that is exactly what happened. Shortly after that I lost touch with my "friend." It became very clear that we two had very different values.
The last time I saw him we went to a party together. My friend and I waited tables together and it was a work Christmas party. After about an hour, my friend gave me a quick kiss good-bye. I called a couple of days, but knew he wouldn't return my call. A couple of years later we ran into each other on the train. We spoke briefly as I got off. And that was that.
The knowledge that I've kept my soul and my Mary-Haynes dignity is cold comfort as I sit down to write a pointless response paper to an essay that was written nearly sixty years ago, while these two receive wealth and accolades. I'm not even sure that the hope that future fortune awaits makes me feel better.
On to George...
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Pieces
I started my new class this week. It's being taught by a professor who has the reputation of being something of a pig. I've personally watched him sexually harass another professor. I really wanted to avoid one of his classes, but it's not been possible. After the first session I've decided that he may be a pig, but he can teach. I hate to say it, but this might be my favorite class of the program.
***
Work continues to be dramatic. There is a power struggle a-brewing, and it's really requiring people to take sides. I see only one option. If, in the very unlikely event, my side loses power I'm still likely to have a job. And even if I don't, I am making some pretty powerful contacts who will feel obliged to find me another job.
***
The chorus started rehearsal last week. This is the twenty-fifth season. I hate the first rehearsals because nothing really gets done and there is just a bunch of flitting around and peacocking. There is nothing more boring. I actually am starting to give some serious thought to giving the chorus up. But I'll probably stick with it. For now.
***
The house is almost completely excavated. Housekeeping has never been my strong suit, but this summer it got pretty bad. The kitchen floor needs scrubbing, and the bathroom is still a swamp, but the rest is presentable and I only have three loads of laundry pending. Now, I think I need to take a serious look at renovation. Kitchen or bathroom, one has got to be done within the next year. Bathroom is cheaper, but kitchen is in more need.
***
I really just need to win the lottery.
***
Work continues to be dramatic. There is a power struggle a-brewing, and it's really requiring people to take sides. I see only one option. If, in the very unlikely event, my side loses power I'm still likely to have a job. And even if I don't, I am making some pretty powerful contacts who will feel obliged to find me another job.
***
The chorus started rehearsal last week. This is the twenty-fifth season. I hate the first rehearsals because nothing really gets done and there is just a bunch of flitting around and peacocking. There is nothing more boring. I actually am starting to give some serious thought to giving the chorus up. But I'll probably stick with it. For now.
***
The house is almost completely excavated. Housekeeping has never been my strong suit, but this summer it got pretty bad. The kitchen floor needs scrubbing, and the bathroom is still a swamp, but the rest is presentable and I only have three loads of laundry pending. Now, I think I need to take a serious look at renovation. Kitchen or bathroom, one has got to be done within the next year. Bathroom is cheaper, but kitchen is in more need.
***
I really just need to win the lottery.
Sunday, September 10, 2006
Romantic Melancholia
There are just certain times of year that evoke strong memories, and the first weeks in September take me back to my undergraduate life. I have vivid memories of those four autumns and the sweet, adolescent angst.
At the start of my freshman year I knew only one person on campus, Sarah. She'd graduated from my high school a year ahead of me and gone to Drake. We weren't exactly friends, but she was probably one of the first people to see and accept me as me. I often wonder what happened to her. By the time I got to campus her life was in high drama. I wasn't aware of the details, but she dropped out of school after the first semester of that year. I believe she went into the air force, and years later I heard rumors that she found Jesus in the cornfields back home.
My sophomore year found me determined to make a best friend out of my roommate. It was disasterous and very painful for both of us. He devolved into alcoholism very quickly and left campus after that year. I had a nervous break down. Over the years I heard stories about him and occasionally I Google his name. If I've located the right guy, he's actually an Episcopal priest in New York. I would never get in touch with him, but I read a sermon of his that I think mentions me. If it's not me, he relived the drama with someone else. At least he doesn't put all of the blame on me.
My junior year was probably my best year. I lived on campus, alone, but comfortable with the fact. If I had to pinpoint a moment in time when I began to become a grown up, that fall would be it.
However, my senior year saw some backsliding in the maturity department. The only comfort I have to offer myself is that I'm pretty certain everyone else was living their own dramas to such a level that mine barely registered.
Yet, on rainy Sunday mornings such as this, I just want to put on some Elvis Costello and Elton John and think about what life was like then and exactly how far I've come. There are recurring themes, but they're not as flourescent as they were when I was twenty-one. And now I don't see those themes as disfiguring indicators, imperfections that no one else possesses. They are simply elements that make up me. No real shame or pride, just facts.
I just put "Riot Act" on. If I close my eyes, I can see shadows of my old dorm room. Ten years ago I would have been back there and the pinches and twinges I felt then would come become immediate. Now, I just see shadows. I'm not in the room, on the campus, in the classes, saying things I wish I'd said then. I see myself there, frozen like a film. The pinches are now just itching, faded scars. "Oh, remember when you got that one?" Like the six-inch scar down the top of my right forearm: there, visible for all to see, but part of me."
I can look back on all the silly drama and smile a little. Now.
"Just a Memory."
At the start of my freshman year I knew only one person on campus, Sarah. She'd graduated from my high school a year ahead of me and gone to Drake. We weren't exactly friends, but she was probably one of the first people to see and accept me as me. I often wonder what happened to her. By the time I got to campus her life was in high drama. I wasn't aware of the details, but she dropped out of school after the first semester of that year. I believe she went into the air force, and years later I heard rumors that she found Jesus in the cornfields back home.
My sophomore year found me determined to make a best friend out of my roommate. It was disasterous and very painful for both of us. He devolved into alcoholism very quickly and left campus after that year. I had a nervous break down. Over the years I heard stories about him and occasionally I Google his name. If I've located the right guy, he's actually an Episcopal priest in New York. I would never get in touch with him, but I read a sermon of his that I think mentions me. If it's not me, he relived the drama with someone else. At least he doesn't put all of the blame on me.
My junior year was probably my best year. I lived on campus, alone, but comfortable with the fact. If I had to pinpoint a moment in time when I began to become a grown up, that fall would be it.
However, my senior year saw some backsliding in the maturity department. The only comfort I have to offer myself is that I'm pretty certain everyone else was living their own dramas to such a level that mine barely registered.
Yet, on rainy Sunday mornings such as this, I just want to put on some Elvis Costello and Elton John and think about what life was like then and exactly how far I've come. There are recurring themes, but they're not as flourescent as they were when I was twenty-one. And now I don't see those themes as disfiguring indicators, imperfections that no one else possesses. They are simply elements that make up me. No real shame or pride, just facts.
I just put "Riot Act" on. If I close my eyes, I can see shadows of my old dorm room. Ten years ago I would have been back there and the pinches and twinges I felt then would come become immediate. Now, I just see shadows. I'm not in the room, on the campus, in the classes, saying things I wish I'd said then. I see myself there, frozen like a film. The pinches are now just itching, faded scars. "Oh, remember when you got that one?" Like the six-inch scar down the top of my right forearm: there, visible for all to see, but part of me."
I can look back on all the silly drama and smile a little. Now.
"Just a Memory."
Monday, September 04, 2006
Comes Autumn
I hardly feel like I've had a summer and now it's gone. But with fall always comes refocus, and I need that right now.
I just calculated my projections for my GPA when I graduate in June. If all goes well, I should end up with better than 3.9. Not perfection, which was my initial hope, but certainly beyond respectable. This realization has kicked my butt a little. I've gone too far, and way too far into debt, to not begin filling out applications for Ph.D. programs. Since this all started, I've had my eye on four programs here in Chicago. There is only one that I think will be a bit of a stretch to be accepted. Of course, that's the one I want. There are two that I think I've virtually a shoe-in. One of those, if accepted, I'd really have to consider, the other I'd really have to consider passing. I'm too old -- and not old enough -- to go to school simply to go to school. I have to keep a financial pay off in sight and the questionable program would really leave me in serious doubt of landing a teaching position when I was finished.
And then there are the financial considerations. I took my current job thinking there would be a big pay day at the end of three years. I'm beginning to doubt that. And with no serious pay off, I see no reason to stay around if I can get into a good Ph.D. program. But, how will I support myself while I'm working on the degree? These are all questions I can't answer today, and were questions I couldn't answer when I started my master's. You just plow ahead and trust that the answer will present itself.
Do not believe in dead ends.
I just calculated my projections for my GPA when I graduate in June. If all goes well, I should end up with better than 3.9. Not perfection, which was my initial hope, but certainly beyond respectable. This realization has kicked my butt a little. I've gone too far, and way too far into debt, to not begin filling out applications for Ph.D. programs. Since this all started, I've had my eye on four programs here in Chicago. There is only one that I think will be a bit of a stretch to be accepted. Of course, that's the one I want. There are two that I think I've virtually a shoe-in. One of those, if accepted, I'd really have to consider, the other I'd really have to consider passing. I'm too old -- and not old enough -- to go to school simply to go to school. I have to keep a financial pay off in sight and the questionable program would really leave me in serious doubt of landing a teaching position when I was finished.
And then there are the financial considerations. I took my current job thinking there would be a big pay day at the end of three years. I'm beginning to doubt that. And with no serious pay off, I see no reason to stay around if I can get into a good Ph.D. program. But, how will I support myself while I'm working on the degree? These are all questions I can't answer today, and were questions I couldn't answer when I started my master's. You just plow ahead and trust that the answer will present itself.
Do not believe in dead ends.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Kid in a Candy Store
I re-auditioned for the chorus yesterday. A mere formality as even the weakest, most tone deaf are not turned away. The director told me that he was instituting a new policy and instituting a seating chart, grouping all of the strong voices together.
That means I'll probably be sitting next to RP.
That means I'll probably be sitting next to RP.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Those Whom the Gods Would Destroy...
It was another tense week at work. Yesterday I was at my desk at 5:30 in the morning and did not leave the office until after 7:00. The centerpiece of the day was a six hour strategy meeting in which tempers flared and jobs were threatened. It was ugly.
The first half actually went pretty well. I was a little disappointed because a company model was being presented that had virtually been shot down two weeks earlier. But the CEO kept his cool and all was fine. Then lunch. After lunch it was my turn. I had been charged with determining staff reductions in the administrative areas. I basically proposed that none were needed at this time, that the staff was under utilized, and that if they were properly managed we simply would not need to add staff. It was tense, and the CFO, who is scrounging for pennies, was not happy, but I only got a few bruises. My pride was a little hurt, but no real fireworks.
Those came when the CFO proposed shutting down our biggest division. It generates the most revenue, but costs are out of control, it's grossly inefficient, and most of the staff of that division have a flagrant disregard for company policies. But it holds our single most valuable asset and the bottom line is we simply cannot flush it down the toilet.
The CEO stopped just short of calling the CFO an idiot (that came later, with me, behind closed doors). Then he went after my boss, the COO. When all was said and done everyone in the room stalked out in a huff, (leaving me to clean up - by the way).
The CEO got even more annoyed with me when I followed him into the office to make sure he was OK. "For the thousandth time," he said, "when I get angry it's with an objective in mind." I get that. What I can't seem to make him understand is that he only thinks he understands how his little outbursts effect people -- believing they motivate his staff in some way -- but he doesn't see the real damage they do to his team, both personally and professionally. And he's really not seeing the damage it's doing to his relationship with his team. We are at the point where he is creating a "me vs. them" scenario, and he's definitely squelching any creative thought or participation. Very shortly the team members are going to get the message that it's not safe to venture any ideas and that we are simply a rubber stamp for the CEO's brilliance.
The first half actually went pretty well. I was a little disappointed because a company model was being presented that had virtually been shot down two weeks earlier. But the CEO kept his cool and all was fine. Then lunch. After lunch it was my turn. I had been charged with determining staff reductions in the administrative areas. I basically proposed that none were needed at this time, that the staff was under utilized, and that if they were properly managed we simply would not need to add staff. It was tense, and the CFO, who is scrounging for pennies, was not happy, but I only got a few bruises. My pride was a little hurt, but no real fireworks.
Those came when the CFO proposed shutting down our biggest division. It generates the most revenue, but costs are out of control, it's grossly inefficient, and most of the staff of that division have a flagrant disregard for company policies. But it holds our single most valuable asset and the bottom line is we simply cannot flush it down the toilet.
The CEO stopped just short of calling the CFO an idiot (that came later, with me, behind closed doors). Then he went after my boss, the COO. When all was said and done everyone in the room stalked out in a huff, (leaving me to clean up - by the way).
The CEO got even more annoyed with me when I followed him into the office to make sure he was OK. "For the thousandth time," he said, "when I get angry it's with an objective in mind." I get that. What I can't seem to make him understand is that he only thinks he understands how his little outbursts effect people -- believing they motivate his staff in some way -- but he doesn't see the real damage they do to his team, both personally and professionally. And he's really not seeing the damage it's doing to his relationship with his team. We are at the point where he is creating a "me vs. them" scenario, and he's definitely squelching any creative thought or participation. Very shortly the team members are going to get the message that it's not safe to venture any ideas and that we are simply a rubber stamp for the CEO's brilliance.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Tick, Tock
So, I check in on a couple of blogs regularly. Two of them are written by people I know very casually. One of them just cracks me up. If what he's posting is intentionally funny, then the guy is a genius. But somehow I think not.
I first met "Jack" in chorus. He was my "orientation buddy." In the first nanosecond of acquaintance I was aware that I disappointed Jack in some way. His face fell. He was polite, but there was a slight possibility that I could have been reassigned to someone else and he tried to take it. But me, being me, wouldn't hear of it. I was assigned to Jack, and he was stuck with me.
As it turns out, Jack and I have a few things in common. We're both from Iowa, both grew up doing musicals... well that's really about it. He works in advertising -- I kid you not -- proudly writing the ad copy used in all that paper that clogs your mailbox. Oh, and he writes a blog. And truth to tell, it's a bit cloying, but he has an entertaining style.
The thing that just cracks me up about Jack is how vain he is. With very, very little justification for that vanity. His initial disappointment at our meeting had absolutely everything to do with my appearance. What else could he possibly have known about me? I don't know exactly what is wrong with my appearance in Jack's eyes, but I do not measure up. I suspect it's because I've committed the unpardonable sin of living past the age of 35 without being appropriately embarrassed by the fact.
During my first weeks with the chorus, I did everything I could think of let Jack know I wasn't interested in him other than to be my orientation buddy. I giggled at his bitchy comments about other people in the chorus -- and he had a lot of them. I oo-ed and ah-ed over his reports of progress in preparing for his first marathon. I complimented him on the pictures he brought of himself dressed in drag. All I wanted was to get to know him well enough that he would introduce me to other "ugly" people in the chorus, and then I could be rid of him.
When he completed his first marathon, I brought him a split of champagne. His response? "I don't drink." To which I took his hand, wrapped it around the bottle and said, "Wash your hair with it."
Then I turned and walked away, unproperly styled head held high.
Over the past two years, I've had rare occasions to smile and nod in his general direction. This summer I had to sing with him, and neither of us spoke to the other. I wouldn't say we share an active animosity, but I've gotten the message that I'm inferior, and I'm content with it. I see no need to try to prove myself worthy.
But I am enthralled by his blog. Now, I completely understand one's reluctance to post anything too personal on a random blog. And Jack's restraint really is commendable. There really isn't anything on the blog too embarrassing. He dithers on about his new condo and his ever-evolving love life. He hints at his slutty behavior that no one is supposed to really know about. Really, it all comes out of the "Being a Chicago A-Gay Wannabe Handbook." Why someone would actively cultivate an image that is being sported by every third queen on Halsted baffles me -- but since every second queen on Halsted is striving for this image, I'll concede there's something to it I don't understand. Except Jack's fascination with posting pictures of himself without his shirt. I'll also concede that Jack clearly spends a great deal of time exercising his body. I'd suggest that he modify his routine slightly -- he has an obsession with his arms. For a man of his age, he looks good. Not startling gorgeous, but good. But, at what age does posting semi-nude photos of yourself go from being silly and vain to creepy and desperate? I'm going to say 30. Up to 30, a man-boy can pull off being silly and vain and it can work. After that, it's time to be a grown up and lose the boy. Jack is 39 and demonstrates all the maturity of a cheerleader mom who hasn't gotten the message that the homecoming game is over.
Am I bitter? Perhaps. Mostly at being dismissed by someone so shallow. I consoled myself in high school with the mantra that when I grew up, people would be different. Turns out, their not. But as my social group ages -- and Jack is aging just like the rest of us -- that lack of evolution is very entertaining.
I first met "Jack" in chorus. He was my "orientation buddy." In the first nanosecond of acquaintance I was aware that I disappointed Jack in some way. His face fell. He was polite, but there was a slight possibility that I could have been reassigned to someone else and he tried to take it. But me, being me, wouldn't hear of it. I was assigned to Jack, and he was stuck with me.
As it turns out, Jack and I have a few things in common. We're both from Iowa, both grew up doing musicals... well that's really about it. He works in advertising -- I kid you not -- proudly writing the ad copy used in all that paper that clogs your mailbox. Oh, and he writes a blog. And truth to tell, it's a bit cloying, but he has an entertaining style.
The thing that just cracks me up about Jack is how vain he is. With very, very little justification for that vanity. His initial disappointment at our meeting had absolutely everything to do with my appearance. What else could he possibly have known about me? I don't know exactly what is wrong with my appearance in Jack's eyes, but I do not measure up. I suspect it's because I've committed the unpardonable sin of living past the age of 35 without being appropriately embarrassed by the fact.
During my first weeks with the chorus, I did everything I could think of let Jack know I wasn't interested in him other than to be my orientation buddy. I giggled at his bitchy comments about other people in the chorus -- and he had a lot of them. I oo-ed and ah-ed over his reports of progress in preparing for his first marathon. I complimented him on the pictures he brought of himself dressed in drag. All I wanted was to get to know him well enough that he would introduce me to other "ugly" people in the chorus, and then I could be rid of him.
When he completed his first marathon, I brought him a split of champagne. His response? "I don't drink." To which I took his hand, wrapped it around the bottle and said, "Wash your hair with it."
Then I turned and walked away, unproperly styled head held high.
Over the past two years, I've had rare occasions to smile and nod in his general direction. This summer I had to sing with him, and neither of us spoke to the other. I wouldn't say we share an active animosity, but I've gotten the message that I'm inferior, and I'm content with it. I see no need to try to prove myself worthy.
But I am enthralled by his blog. Now, I completely understand one's reluctance to post anything too personal on a random blog. And Jack's restraint really is commendable. There really isn't anything on the blog too embarrassing. He dithers on about his new condo and his ever-evolving love life. He hints at his slutty behavior that no one is supposed to really know about. Really, it all comes out of the "Being a Chicago A-Gay Wannabe Handbook." Why someone would actively cultivate an image that is being sported by every third queen on Halsted baffles me -- but since every second queen on Halsted is striving for this image, I'll concede there's something to it I don't understand. Except Jack's fascination with posting pictures of himself without his shirt. I'll also concede that Jack clearly spends a great deal of time exercising his body. I'd suggest that he modify his routine slightly -- he has an obsession with his arms. For a man of his age, he looks good. Not startling gorgeous, but good. But, at what age does posting semi-nude photos of yourself go from being silly and vain to creepy and desperate? I'm going to say 30. Up to 30, a man-boy can pull off being silly and vain and it can work. After that, it's time to be a grown up and lose the boy. Jack is 39 and demonstrates all the maturity of a cheerleader mom who hasn't gotten the message that the homecoming game is over.
Am I bitter? Perhaps. Mostly at being dismissed by someone so shallow. I consoled myself in high school with the mantra that when I grew up, people would be different. Turns out, their not. But as my social group ages -- and Jack is aging just like the rest of us -- that lack of evolution is very entertaining.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
This Too Shall Pass...
I am emotionally exhausted. Without sharing all of the boring details, I had a minor meltdown at work this past week. No blood was let and shockingly all relationships seem to be stronger than ever. Still, I need to find a way to ask for what I need before there is a crisis.
I guess the big news is that tomorrow my boss is going to be asked to take a six-month sabbatical. He'll have twenty-four hours to accept the invitation. There really isn't an alternative. Much change needs to take place within the organization, which means as much as a third of the staff needs to be removed or changed, and my boss is not emotionally equipped to make the changes needed. Many of the people who need to be let go are almost like family to him, having worked together for more than twenty years, and the dread of having to be involved in those separations has him paralyzed. The list hasn't been finalized yet, but since he cannot be objective, and has demonstated his inertia repeatedly, he will be asked to step aside.
This, of course, means that I will be more intimately involved in these changes than I would like. But, it isn't anything I haven't been through before. And as in the other situations, there will be one or two cases that I will actually enjoy. Several of the people have lived very comfortably without really contributing accordingly to the general good of the organization; and they've gotten quite smug with the idea that they are untouchable. Now, understand, I have very little input in the final decisions, but I have been asked my opinion and of the twenty-three names on the list, I've only objected to three. I anticipate the final toll to be about twelve. October 15 is the projected date.
As almost an afterthought, school is going well. Summer sessions are brutal as they are full classes crammed into half the time. The workload is brutal and I have two major projects due this week. The first is nearly completed, but the second is barely begun and I have almost no interest in beginning it. The past four weeks have been simply work, school and sleep. If I wasn't able to pay my bills online, I'd be homeless. I'm stealing these few minutes to update my devoted readers and prevent them from sending out bloodhounds in search of me.
My next post, God willing, should be a celebration from academia!
I guess the big news is that tomorrow my boss is going to be asked to take a six-month sabbatical. He'll have twenty-four hours to accept the invitation. There really isn't an alternative. Much change needs to take place within the organization, which means as much as a third of the staff needs to be removed or changed, and my boss is not emotionally equipped to make the changes needed. Many of the people who need to be let go are almost like family to him, having worked together for more than twenty years, and the dread of having to be involved in those separations has him paralyzed. The list hasn't been finalized yet, but since he cannot be objective, and has demonstated his inertia repeatedly, he will be asked to step aside.
This, of course, means that I will be more intimately involved in these changes than I would like. But, it isn't anything I haven't been through before. And as in the other situations, there will be one or two cases that I will actually enjoy. Several of the people have lived very comfortably without really contributing accordingly to the general good of the organization; and they've gotten quite smug with the idea that they are untouchable. Now, understand, I have very little input in the final decisions, but I have been asked my opinion and of the twenty-three names on the list, I've only objected to three. I anticipate the final toll to be about twelve. October 15 is the projected date.
As almost an afterthought, school is going well. Summer sessions are brutal as they are full classes crammed into half the time. The workload is brutal and I have two major projects due this week. The first is nearly completed, but the second is barely begun and I have almost no interest in beginning it. The past four weeks have been simply work, school and sleep. If I wasn't able to pay my bills online, I'd be homeless. I'm stealing these few minutes to update my devoted readers and prevent them from sending out bloodhounds in search of me.
My next post, God willing, should be a celebration from academia!
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Sims/Real Life
Over the last ten years I have been almost singularly focused on goal achievement. The first seven of those years were spent on career growth, where I essentially tripled my income. That focus however exacted a price in a very severe depression that I spent nearly five years battling.
Now that I'm back in a professional setting, I am once again having to remind myself what is really important. At the moment things are beginning to become tense at work, and it really is going to take some effort to remind myself that this job is merely a source of income, not my identity. I've always had a tendency to take things too personally and in the past that has gotten me into deep trouble. I can see where the tendency is beginning to surface, but I also think I'm self aware enough to avoid the pitfalls.
After my mother, my sister, and her family, nothing is more important to me than school. Then my home and my friends. Then my job. If the job goes away, I'll get another. I'll never have another mother, sister, or education. Those things are irreplaceable.
On a lighter note, last weekend I indulged myself and bought my first computer game, The Sims. Essentially it's an elaborate soap opera game in which you can create the characters and live out their lives. I was going to be really pissed if all of the characters had to be straight, so the first thing I did was starved off the ugly fat woman and her husband. Then I created a gay couple. It took a while for the game to recognized the couple I had created as a couple. It wouldn't let me put them in the same bed. But finally, through a course of interaction, the game offered my an option to kiss. I seized it, and before long my two boys were in the same bed. Soon the game even let them adopt a baby girl. And just like in real life, they can't get married.
It's a stupid game, but I flipped it on this morning, intending to play for half an hour. SIX and a half hours later I quit because I needed food. The game is scored on a number of different categories in which your characters have to perform tasks to keep their energy up in those categories. Much like real life, the key to the game is maintaining a balance. When one thing gets out of balance, the character's whole life suffers.
Everything seems to offer life lessons these days.
I'm exhausted and off to bed. Tomorrow will be a big day at work.
Now that I'm back in a professional setting, I am once again having to remind myself what is really important. At the moment things are beginning to become tense at work, and it really is going to take some effort to remind myself that this job is merely a source of income, not my identity. I've always had a tendency to take things too personally and in the past that has gotten me into deep trouble. I can see where the tendency is beginning to surface, but I also think I'm self aware enough to avoid the pitfalls.
After my mother, my sister, and her family, nothing is more important to me than school. Then my home and my friends. Then my job. If the job goes away, I'll get another. I'll never have another mother, sister, or education. Those things are irreplaceable.
On a lighter note, last weekend I indulged myself and bought my first computer game, The Sims. Essentially it's an elaborate soap opera game in which you can create the characters and live out their lives. I was going to be really pissed if all of the characters had to be straight, so the first thing I did was starved off the ugly fat woman and her husband. Then I created a gay couple. It took a while for the game to recognized the couple I had created as a couple. It wouldn't let me put them in the same bed. But finally, through a course of interaction, the game offered my an option to kiss. I seized it, and before long my two boys were in the same bed. Soon the game even let them adopt a baby girl. And just like in real life, they can't get married.
It's a stupid game, but I flipped it on this morning, intending to play for half an hour. SIX and a half hours later I quit because I needed food. The game is scored on a number of different categories in which your characters have to perform tasks to keep their energy up in those categories. Much like real life, the key to the game is maintaining a balance. When one thing gets out of balance, the character's whole life suffers.
Everything seems to offer life lessons these days.
I'm exhausted and off to bed. Tomorrow will be a big day at work.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Emotional Vampire Royale
Without going into too much embarrassing detail, a major portion of my life has been spent battling vampires. Not the Ann Rice, Bram Stoker variety. I'm talking about the emotional vampire.
The emotional vampire is someone who feeds off the emotions of others. They usually crave a particular emotion, such as anger, sorrow, pity; and they will go out of their way to generate that emotion in others. The more insidious are able to effortlessly manipulate complex situations to their advantage, creating oceans of the needed emotion. Frequently these incubi and succuba are very charming, and can appear carefree until they are ready to strike.
For a time I was something of a emotional vampire-in-training. I didn't realize it, in part because I was struggling with depression. My emotions of choice were pity and anxiety, and the brilliance of my personal strategy was that if I was unable to generate sufficient amounts of pity, I could internally generate an almost inexhaustible amount of anxiety. Then I stopped, and that's another story.
Today I find myself smack dab in the middle of an emotional vampire feeding frenzy at work. It's bloody, verging on operatic in scope and try as I might I can't seem to avoid it. Not for lack of trying. But, being a former incubus myself and a prime provider of emotional sustenance to such creatures in the past, I'm not only attractive to these vampires, I seem to attract them. In this particular case, like Van Helsing himself, I am unafraid and have met one of the old-time vampires at work. My job sort of requires that I deal with these messes, but usually they are on a much lower level with neophyte vampires. The current work situation however can be described as nothing less than a skirmish between good and evil. While I'm not the focal point of this grand tragedy-in-the-making, I have reached the point where I have to declare my allegiance. Choosing incorrectly promises much gnashing of teeth and howling in lakes of emotional fire. Aligning myself with the ultimate winner should be the entre into paradise.
I, quite simply, do not overstate. Let the games begin.
The emotional vampire is someone who feeds off the emotions of others. They usually crave a particular emotion, such as anger, sorrow, pity; and they will go out of their way to generate that emotion in others. The more insidious are able to effortlessly manipulate complex situations to their advantage, creating oceans of the needed emotion. Frequently these incubi and succuba are very charming, and can appear carefree until they are ready to strike.
For a time I was something of a emotional vampire-in-training. I didn't realize it, in part because I was struggling with depression. My emotions of choice were pity and anxiety, and the brilliance of my personal strategy was that if I was unable to generate sufficient amounts of pity, I could internally generate an almost inexhaustible amount of anxiety. Then I stopped, and that's another story.
Today I find myself smack dab in the middle of an emotional vampire feeding frenzy at work. It's bloody, verging on operatic in scope and try as I might I can't seem to avoid it. Not for lack of trying. But, being a former incubus myself and a prime provider of emotional sustenance to such creatures in the past, I'm not only attractive to these vampires, I seem to attract them. In this particular case, like Van Helsing himself, I am unafraid and have met one of the old-time vampires at work. My job sort of requires that I deal with these messes, but usually they are on a much lower level with neophyte vampires. The current work situation however can be described as nothing less than a skirmish between good and evil. While I'm not the focal point of this grand tragedy-in-the-making, I have reached the point where I have to declare my allegiance. Choosing incorrectly promises much gnashing of teeth and howling in lakes of emotional fire. Aligning myself with the ultimate winner should be the entre into paradise.
I, quite simply, do not overstate. Let the games begin.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Nanner, Nanner, Boo-Boo!
This afternoon I sang with the chorus for the Sondheim festival in Millennium Park. As we were leaving the stage some Christian hecklers with a bullhorn started shouting that we were all going to burn in hell. So, we returned to the stage and sang our own prideful version of "We're Still Here." It was one of the best moments of my summer.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
I, Helen of Troy
This week I had two grown men fighting over me. I can tell you, first hand, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
I’ll try not to bore you with all of the irrelevant details, but the bottom line is that there is a power struggle going on between the management, led by the new CEO, and the three original founders of the company, led by the Chairman of the Board.
In broad strokes, the Chairman came to me and asked me to do something that is just a tiny bit illegal. I told him I’d look into it, and found a way to accomplish the end result legally. I took my solution to the CEO, who was the one to approve such action, and he asked for my advise. I told him I didn’t want to do anything, and that it really was in our best interest, both long term and short term, to do nothing. He agreed and refused to approve any action.
Well, the Chairman didn’t like that. As is his way, he began back-room manipulations, trying everything he could think of to get his way. This infuriated the CEO. The Chairman claiming I promised that the project would be done and the CEO telling him that he wouldn’t approve it. The Chairman then went on to blacklist me and insist that I be fired. Luckily both my boss the COO, the CFO and the CEO all came down on my side. In a closed, glass-door meeting apparently things got so hot between the CEO and the Chairman that they were gearing up to throw punches and were prevented only by the CFO.
A formal showdown comes on Tuesday, at the official board of directors meeting. At that time I should either be unemployed or have a promotion and a big, fat raise.
Stay tuned…
I’ll try not to bore you with all of the irrelevant details, but the bottom line is that there is a power struggle going on between the management, led by the new CEO, and the three original founders of the company, led by the Chairman of the Board.
In broad strokes, the Chairman came to me and asked me to do something that is just a tiny bit illegal. I told him I’d look into it, and found a way to accomplish the end result legally. I took my solution to the CEO, who was the one to approve such action, and he asked for my advise. I told him I didn’t want to do anything, and that it really was in our best interest, both long term and short term, to do nothing. He agreed and refused to approve any action.
Well, the Chairman didn’t like that. As is his way, he began back-room manipulations, trying everything he could think of to get his way. This infuriated the CEO. The Chairman claiming I promised that the project would be done and the CEO telling him that he wouldn’t approve it. The Chairman then went on to blacklist me and insist that I be fired. Luckily both my boss the COO, the CFO and the CEO all came down on my side. In a closed, glass-door meeting apparently things got so hot between the CEO and the Chairman that they were gearing up to throw punches and were prevented only by the CFO.
A formal showdown comes on Tuesday, at the official board of directors meeting. At that time I should either be unemployed or have a promotion and a big, fat raise.
Stay tuned…
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
You Know You're an Ungrateful SOB...
...when you get up in the morning and discover that your wallet is missing, so you start making the dreaded phone calls canceling credit cards; then, when you've just hung up from canceling the last card, the cabbie from last night rings your door and delivers your wallet. If' he'd just been a half hour earlier...
At least I don't have to replace my driver's license, student ID, gym card, Jewel or Dominick's cards, library card...etc.
But still, whatever happened to good, old-fashioned American customer service? Just another example of how our society has deteriorated.
At least I don't have to replace my driver's license, student ID, gym card, Jewel or Dominick's cards, library card...etc.
But still, whatever happened to good, old-fashioned American customer service? Just another example of how our society has deteriorated.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Vacation Ramblings
* I love online banking. I paid all of my bills in less than five minutes.
* Crime sucks. While at the movies with my friend J. the front wheel to my bike was stolen. Depending on my schedule, I may not be able to replace it until next Saturday.
* Paid vacations rock! I still have three glorious work-free days before I have to head back to the office. I'm pretending I don't notice the little pit of dread gnawning away at my stomach.
* Gaining focus in hard. As I think I've written before, focus requires making choices, and I have difficulty doing that because I want it all!
* Choices I've made this past week include: committing to my return to the gym, walking away from the seductive television set, and cleaning my kitchen. All of these are mature, responsible choices that were made in favor of eating pound bags of M&M's, watching the entire last season of Six Feet Under for the third time, and hosting crawling bugs and emerging diseases.
* Things I've not yet accomplished on my vacation: I haven't written a single short story. I haven't finished Anna Karenina. I haven't gotten to the beach.
* Things I have accomplished on my vacation: I sang two concerts and a memorial service. I marched in the Pride Parade. I reconnected with my friends J. and C. I'm going to visit A&J tomorrow. I reestablished my gym routine. I did all my laundry. I hosted a small dinner party. And I chilled.
The chilling part is really what is most important during vacations, and I've perfected it. But I can feel the siren call of responsibility, so I'm easing back into the routine, and trying not to count the weeks until Labor Day Weekend. I still have nine days that I can take this year, but that just seems so paltry. I'm trying to save up time for next summer and a modest trip to Europe. More on that later.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Disappointment
I've discovered that RP is, indeed, human -- and not a particularly decent one.
From what I can gather: Six months he unceremoniously dumped his boyfriend of six months. Said boyfriend, PL, from all accounts was devastated. Now, understand, I'm not especially a fan of PL's. He's vain and needy and condescending. I have to admit that I got a tiny bit of pleasure from the knowledge that his relationship with RP ended dramatically. To get over the pain, PL threw himself into his work and workouts and managed to find another boyfriend. And now RP is all over PL. Tonight at rehearsal they were virtually inseparable. But because PL is vain and needy and condescending, RP will eventually dump him again; and this time I'm not taking any pleasure in what is sure to be nasty.
On top of that, for the first time, ever, I am standing next to RP for one of the songs, and he took some rather thinly veiled digs at me. And with the same amount of lilt in my voice I dished it right back.
Of course I knew the character I'd created in my head didn't really exist, and have been prepared from the beginning for the sad moment when RP would actually become human. I guess the disappointment is that the fantasy that I've enjoyed for over a year is dissolving and there's nothing on the horizon to replace it. Ah, back to Ben Affleck.
From what I can gather: Six months he unceremoniously dumped his boyfriend of six months. Said boyfriend, PL, from all accounts was devastated. Now, understand, I'm not especially a fan of PL's. He's vain and needy and condescending. I have to admit that I got a tiny bit of pleasure from the knowledge that his relationship with RP ended dramatically. To get over the pain, PL threw himself into his work and workouts and managed to find another boyfriend. And now RP is all over PL. Tonight at rehearsal they were virtually inseparable. But because PL is vain and needy and condescending, RP will eventually dump him again; and this time I'm not taking any pleasure in what is sure to be nasty.
On top of that, for the first time, ever, I am standing next to RP for one of the songs, and he took some rather thinly veiled digs at me. And with the same amount of lilt in my voice I dished it right back.
Of course I knew the character I'd created in my head didn't really exist, and have been prepared from the beginning for the sad moment when RP would actually become human. I guess the disappointment is that the fantasy that I've enjoyed for over a year is dissolving and there's nothing on the horizon to replace it. Ah, back to Ben Affleck.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
The Ticking Clock
It's oppressively humid this morning, the sky like wet cotton balls pressing down. The kind of days I hate. You tell yourself that things would be better if it rained, but you know its a lie. It literally is not the heat, it's the humidity.
I slept late this morning, getting up at about 8:30, and then wandered out in search of breakfast. My love affair with my waffle iron is on the wane. I've been through four boxes of mix and I've had enough for now. I'm sure it will rekindle again in four or five years. But at the moment, the only thing in my kitchen is dirty dishes and canned peaches. I'd order more groceries, but I will barely be home this week. Next weekend is the final concert with the chorus for the season, and it's the week before my vacation so things will be hectic at work. But then I will have nine consecutive, glorious, paid days off.
Those nine days are taking on increased significance for me. In particular, this morning I became acutely aware of the ticking clock and all of the things I want to accomplish that simply are not getting done. This post for one thing is a product of that awareness. I must take my writing more seriously. To that end, I've been doing a great deal of reading and have mapped out both my reading and writing summer. I've just finished Jane Smiley's book on writing novels. In it she lists one hundred books to reference in creating fiction. I obviously cannot read all one hundred this summer -- it took Smiley three years -- but I have identified three that Smiley refers to lavishly in her book: Anna Karenina, Don Quixote, and Beloved. I've started Anna and I'm almost to the point where I stopped reading the first time I picked it up, which is not very far. Smiley did Anna in a month. I've given myself two weeks. Also, by the end of my vacation, I want to have five short stories roughed out as well as a preliminary outline for a novel. My next class starts on July 18, and by then I want to have two more stories roughed. If I can get one more done by Labor Day, I'll be cranking, but then I'll have to put aside all writing as I'm anticipating the fall term to be almost unbearable in work load. The holiday break should complete the collection in preparation for the beginning of shopping it around after the first of the year.
There. I've posted the schedule on the web for all the world to see. If history repeats itself, that virtually insures that New Year's Eve will roll around and I'll have nothing to show for my time. But my relationship to time seems to be changing. I feel it tightening. A day isn't as long as it used to be and the list of things I want to accomplish just seems to extend into infinity. If I try to see the end of the list, I get dizzy; so the best course of action is to take the first step and not look up for the rest of the year.
Also, I'm trying to make the committment to at least one blog post a week. I must keep my loyal readers entertained!
I slept late this morning, getting up at about 8:30, and then wandered out in search of breakfast. My love affair with my waffle iron is on the wane. I've been through four boxes of mix and I've had enough for now. I'm sure it will rekindle again in four or five years. But at the moment, the only thing in my kitchen is dirty dishes and canned peaches. I'd order more groceries, but I will barely be home this week. Next weekend is the final concert with the chorus for the season, and it's the week before my vacation so things will be hectic at work. But then I will have nine consecutive, glorious, paid days off.
Those nine days are taking on increased significance for me. In particular, this morning I became acutely aware of the ticking clock and all of the things I want to accomplish that simply are not getting done. This post for one thing is a product of that awareness. I must take my writing more seriously. To that end, I've been doing a great deal of reading and have mapped out both my reading and writing summer. I've just finished Jane Smiley's book on writing novels. In it she lists one hundred books to reference in creating fiction. I obviously cannot read all one hundred this summer -- it took Smiley three years -- but I have identified three that Smiley refers to lavishly in her book: Anna Karenina, Don Quixote, and Beloved. I've started Anna and I'm almost to the point where I stopped reading the first time I picked it up, which is not very far. Smiley did Anna in a month. I've given myself two weeks. Also, by the end of my vacation, I want to have five short stories roughed out as well as a preliminary outline for a novel. My next class starts on July 18, and by then I want to have two more stories roughed. If I can get one more done by Labor Day, I'll be cranking, but then I'll have to put aside all writing as I'm anticipating the fall term to be almost unbearable in work load. The holiday break should complete the collection in preparation for the beginning of shopping it around after the first of the year.
There. I've posted the schedule on the web for all the world to see. If history repeats itself, that virtually insures that New Year's Eve will roll around and I'll have nothing to show for my time. But my relationship to time seems to be changing. I feel it tightening. A day isn't as long as it used to be and the list of things I want to accomplish just seems to extend into infinity. If I try to see the end of the list, I get dizzy; so the best course of action is to take the first step and not look up for the rest of the year.
Also, I'm trying to make the committment to at least one blog post a week. I must keep my loyal readers entertained!
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Cosmetic Procedures
So, yesterday I went to the dentist for a second time in a month. The first time was for my first check up and cleaning in three years. No insurance, no check ups. At that exam he told me I had my first cavity in thirty-five years and that my fillings needed to be replaced. Yesterday I went in to have the new cavity filled and one of the old fillings taken care of.
The bill for those two simple visits was nearly $600. My portion was a little over $90, but my dentist doesn't use silver fillings anymore -- the only kind covered by my insurance. Instead he uses a porecline concoction that gives the teeth of seventeen year old. The receptionist told me they'd submit the claim to the insurance and if they didn't cover everything they'd send me a bill for the balance. Somehow I'm not comforted by that.
The bill for those two simple visits was nearly $600. My portion was a little over $90, but my dentist doesn't use silver fillings anymore -- the only kind covered by my insurance. Instead he uses a porecline concoction that gives the teeth of seventeen year old. The receptionist told me they'd submit the claim to the insurance and if they didn't cover everything they'd send me a bill for the balance. Somehow I'm not comforted by that.
Saturday, June 10, 2006
A New Attitude
I haven't fallen off the face of the earth. I'm in the midst of spring hibernation. Saturday comes and it's all I can do to drag myself out of bed. I'm better on Sunday and then Monday rolls around again and I'm good to go. But Saturday is my day and I don't feel like sharing right now.
The chorus has gotten smaller for this Pride concert, but the music is great. Fewer distractions, although RP is still here -- unaware of my existence. I've said it before... he'd flirt with a cucumber. It means nothing. Still I get all floopy when he even looks in my general direction. The concert is in two weeks and then we have the entire summer off and apart.
School starts again in mid July, and I plan to have at least five short stories ready for a publishable collection. My fall class promises to be exhausting hell, so I'm not even going to pretend to write anything again until the holiday break. My goal is to have a collection ready for submissions by June of next year. Very doable. Once that's done, I'm going back and fixing my first novel and then finishing my second. I really need to get back into the discipline of the gym and writing.
Three years ago I was in a brilliant groove, getting up at 4:00 or earlier and getting some writing done before I hit the gym and then to work. Now the alarm goes off at 4:00 and I don't even remember turning it off. OK. Tomorrow is the first day of my productive routine. And for that to happen, I must to bed.
The chorus has gotten smaller for this Pride concert, but the music is great. Fewer distractions, although RP is still here -- unaware of my existence. I've said it before... he'd flirt with a cucumber. It means nothing. Still I get all floopy when he even looks in my general direction. The concert is in two weeks and then we have the entire summer off and apart.
School starts again in mid July, and I plan to have at least five short stories ready for a publishable collection. My fall class promises to be exhausting hell, so I'm not even going to pretend to write anything again until the holiday break. My goal is to have a collection ready for submissions by June of next year. Very doable. Once that's done, I'm going back and fixing my first novel and then finishing my second. I really need to get back into the discipline of the gym and writing.
Three years ago I was in a brilliant groove, getting up at 4:00 or earlier and getting some writing done before I hit the gym and then to work. Now the alarm goes off at 4:00 and I don't even remember turning it off. OK. Tomorrow is the first day of my productive routine. And for that to happen, I must to bed.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Self Control
Out of desperation I've scheduled a week's vacation at the end of the month. The job is eating my life and sucking my soul, but in a year I'll have student loans to worry about, so I must press on. For years I've let work dramas cripple me with frustration and paranoia and I think I've finally hit my limit. I quite simply have no more energy for bull crap of any shade or scent. Let the company close. Fire me and leave me begging on the street, I don't care. Just don't involve me in any more drama because I'll tell you what I really think, and that isn't pretty.
This week, after two months of interviews, we finally made an offer on a crucial position, only to have the "perfect" candidate freak out when I told her that we were going to do a background check. So, I'm back to square one interviewing candidates and pretending to be enthralled by decades of management experience. Combine this frustration with the weekly lectures I recieve about only hiring bilingual prom queens and I've come to the realization that I need some time away before I hurt somebody.
And then I came home to find my student loan check in the mail. Now that I have a real job, I don't need these checks for living expenses, and I have a bank account in which to safely store them. But then, on the other side of the globe there is Paris beckoning. But I'll be good and stay in Chicago. I really do need to see my family at Christmas, and there are some renovations I need to do on the condo. Still, a week in Paris...would run me nearly three thousand dollars, and I just can't do it.
I'm on a five-week break from classes. They start up again mid July, and then with the exception of the winter break of three weeks, I'm back at it full swing until graduation in a year.
And the student loans loom. I checked my balance and the number is so large I can't even comprehend it. I checked into loan consolidation, and I can have the life of the loan extended to twenty years. It will literally eat up every tax return and bonus from work for the next five years. But I'll have a masters degree.
And so I sat down to exercise my new found intelligence by trying to bang out a draft for a short story, but I think I'm just going to crawl into bed with a book. It's unseasonably cool this evening for a June in the middle of the global warming debacle and all I want to do is sip tea and turn pages.
I promise to be more faithful in posting.
This week, after two months of interviews, we finally made an offer on a crucial position, only to have the "perfect" candidate freak out when I told her that we were going to do a background check. So, I'm back to square one interviewing candidates and pretending to be enthralled by decades of management experience. Combine this frustration with the weekly lectures I recieve about only hiring bilingual prom queens and I've come to the realization that I need some time away before I hurt somebody.
And then I came home to find my student loan check in the mail. Now that I have a real job, I don't need these checks for living expenses, and I have a bank account in which to safely store them. But then, on the other side of the globe there is Paris beckoning. But I'll be good and stay in Chicago. I really do need to see my family at Christmas, and there are some renovations I need to do on the condo. Still, a week in Paris...would run me nearly three thousand dollars, and I just can't do it.
I'm on a five-week break from classes. They start up again mid July, and then with the exception of the winter break of three weeks, I'm back at it full swing until graduation in a year.
And the student loans loom. I checked my balance and the number is so large I can't even comprehend it. I checked into loan consolidation, and I can have the life of the loan extended to twenty years. It will literally eat up every tax return and bonus from work for the next five years. But I'll have a masters degree.
And so I sat down to exercise my new found intelligence by trying to bang out a draft for a short story, but I think I'm just going to crawl into bed with a book. It's unseasonably cool this evening for a June in the middle of the global warming debacle and all I want to do is sip tea and turn pages.
I promise to be more faithful in posting.
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