I'm a giddy, silly little girl. I've just come back from the gym, where I saw RP for the first time in months. I was beginning to worry that he'd found some other gym. Of course I only waved at him after he waved at me from his treadmill. He has this nervous little habit of adjusting his baseball cap. Oh. My. God! Next thing you know I'm going to start writing his name on my notebook and drawing little hearts around it.
I suppose the longer I put off talking to him, the bigger an event it becomes, and if I make it a big enough event one of two things will happen. Either I'll wait long enough and he'll start dating someone else, if he hasn't already, or I'll whip this up into such a monumental task that I'll simply walk away -- like trying to master brain surgery in a weekend. What would be the point?
It's not like I have all my self worth wrapped up in this. If I'm rejected and held up to public ridicule, exposed on the Internet as a delusional pervert, I think I could graciously survive that. But the question becomes do I have to? If I'm virtually assured of being shot down -- as I'm certain I would be -- then why do I entertain this fantasy? Probably because "virtually assured" isn't "absolutely certain."
And, he's really, really totally cute!
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Peaking Over the Edge of the Abyss
My final paper is a personal essay. This is a draft of part of it...
***
Twenty-three years ago, more or less, I had my heart broken for the very first time. Rather, I had my heart ripped from my chest and fed to a flock of flesh-eating aviary beasts and the man who did it sold tickets to the event. The details really are irrelevant at this point, but if I let myself think about it I can very easily get back to that black pit I spent nearly a year in.
From time to time, when I'm really trying to kill time, I run random names through Google to see what comes up. Tonight I ran his name through the search engine and didn't really discover anything particularly new, except that his life is thriving while mine seems to be stuck in perpetual development.
We'll call him J. J. went on to become an Episcopal priest and has developed quite a reputation within the church for his artistic outreach programs. He's now the director of what appears to be a quite successful program on the east coast. Of course, what I really was looking for was a picture of him fat and bald, preferably wheelchair bound, but alas there was none.
I have, however, run across one of his sermons which was posted somewhere, and I think after all this time I found a vague reference to me. He talks about his debiliating alcoholism and how it ruined many relationships in his life, especially one with a roommate. Chances are that's me, but who knows? He could have really messed up somebody else's life.
It was a brilliantly painful time that culminated in the two of us sharing a dorm room for four months not speaking. Not a word. He transferred the next year, and that should have been the end of it. For me, it wasn't.
I spent years trying to figure out why it didn't work between us. Finding his sermon helped a little, but there were two of us in that room, and from 1982 to 1996 I tried very hard to discover what my part in the failure was. I think from 1982 until about 1990, there wasn't a night I didn't go to sleep thinking about J. I was angry. A.N.G.R.Y.
And I'm sure he's never given me a second thought.
One of the websites had his phone number.
Of COURSE I called it! And of course, I knew I'd get his voicemail. But hearing his voice again brought it all back. I can't imagine what we would say to each other now, except maybe, "Weren't we a couple of immature little brats?" I think I might tell him that I really am glad he's done so well and maybe spend a minute or two getting caught up on details that I can't find on the Internet. But the truth is he was very important to me for about six months, and then the person I knew died; if in fact he wasn't always some sort of figment that I created and projected onto the poor kid who shared my dorm room.
But that person was funny. He made me laugh like few people had before, or since. He made me go to parties and I felt comfortable at them. He listened when I talked and remembered what I said. I thought that was love. He came from a very well-to-do family, and I came from poverty. In his pink button-down Ralph Lauren, he had more sophistication than I could have ever dreamed of having in my three-year old Sears sweatshirts. I let myself dream of a life that would never be and I convinced myself that he felt the same for me. He didn't.
The last time I saw him was the day his family came to take him home. He cleaned his side of the room and when he cleared everything out, without speaking, I took a rag and wiped his desk down. He came back into the room, took one last look around and then closed the door behind him. It wasn't even a soft close, or a slam. He closed it as if the room was empty.
It echoed in the virtually empty room. I had very little -- a few books and enough clothes to pack in one suit case. The sound of the door wasn't a click or a thud. Whatever it was bounced off the linoleum floor and plaster walls and I felt like I absorbed the sound. I felt it in my chest and I sat on my bed for several hours afterwards while that sound became part of me. It was a beautiful late Sunday afternoon and the sun was gold. I don't even have to close my eyes to be back in that room. I was wearing a baseball t-shirt with green sleeves. He wore a navy polo shirt and boat shoes. I couldn't cry, and didn't even want to. I really just wanted to get through the next part, whatever it was and however long it lasted.
I've spent a lot of time mourning something that never existed and protecting myself from the sound of closing doors, but I think it's time to move on.
***
Twenty-three years ago, more or less, I had my heart broken for the very first time. Rather, I had my heart ripped from my chest and fed to a flock of flesh-eating aviary beasts and the man who did it sold tickets to the event. The details really are irrelevant at this point, but if I let myself think about it I can very easily get back to that black pit I spent nearly a year in.
From time to time, when I'm really trying to kill time, I run random names through Google to see what comes up. Tonight I ran his name through the search engine and didn't really discover anything particularly new, except that his life is thriving while mine seems to be stuck in perpetual development.
We'll call him J. J. went on to become an Episcopal priest and has developed quite a reputation within the church for his artistic outreach programs. He's now the director of what appears to be a quite successful program on the east coast. Of course, what I really was looking for was a picture of him fat and bald, preferably wheelchair bound, but alas there was none.
I have, however, run across one of his sermons which was posted somewhere, and I think after all this time I found a vague reference to me. He talks about his debiliating alcoholism and how it ruined many relationships in his life, especially one with a roommate. Chances are that's me, but who knows? He could have really messed up somebody else's life.
It was a brilliantly painful time that culminated in the two of us sharing a dorm room for four months not speaking. Not a word. He transferred the next year, and that should have been the end of it. For me, it wasn't.
I spent years trying to figure out why it didn't work between us. Finding his sermon helped a little, but there were two of us in that room, and from 1982 to 1996 I tried very hard to discover what my part in the failure was. I think from 1982 until about 1990, there wasn't a night I didn't go to sleep thinking about J. I was angry. A.N.G.R.Y.
And I'm sure he's never given me a second thought.
One of the websites had his phone number.
Of COURSE I called it! And of course, I knew I'd get his voicemail. But hearing his voice again brought it all back. I can't imagine what we would say to each other now, except maybe, "Weren't we a couple of immature little brats?" I think I might tell him that I really am glad he's done so well and maybe spend a minute or two getting caught up on details that I can't find on the Internet. But the truth is he was very important to me for about six months, and then the person I knew died; if in fact he wasn't always some sort of figment that I created and projected onto the poor kid who shared my dorm room.
But that person was funny. He made me laugh like few people had before, or since. He made me go to parties and I felt comfortable at them. He listened when I talked and remembered what I said. I thought that was love. He came from a very well-to-do family, and I came from poverty. In his pink button-down Ralph Lauren, he had more sophistication than I could have ever dreamed of having in my three-year old Sears sweatshirts. I let myself dream of a life that would never be and I convinced myself that he felt the same for me. He didn't.
The last time I saw him was the day his family came to take him home. He cleaned his side of the room and when he cleared everything out, without speaking, I took a rag and wiped his desk down. He came back into the room, took one last look around and then closed the door behind him. It wasn't even a soft close, or a slam. He closed it as if the room was empty.
It echoed in the virtually empty room. I had very little -- a few books and enough clothes to pack in one suit case. The sound of the door wasn't a click or a thud. Whatever it was bounced off the linoleum floor and plaster walls and I felt like I absorbed the sound. I felt it in my chest and I sat on my bed for several hours afterwards while that sound became part of me. It was a beautiful late Sunday afternoon and the sun was gold. I don't even have to close my eyes to be back in that room. I was wearing a baseball t-shirt with green sleeves. He wore a navy polo shirt and boat shoes. I couldn't cry, and didn't even want to. I really just wanted to get through the next part, whatever it was and however long it lasted.
I've spent a lot of time mourning something that never existed and protecting myself from the sound of closing doors, but I think it's time to move on.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Holiday Blur
A new view of the blog. Time to update and refresh!
I'm on vacation this week and much will be spent at my desk at home working on final papers and short stories. Time to put this degree-in-progress to use!
With the end of school, focus now shifts to the concert. It's going to be great! www.cgmc.org for tickets!
And the holidays. Out to A&J's for Thanksgiving. Arizona for Christmas! The opera tonight. Movies tomorrow. I have to clean my house and decorate. Gifts to ship. Cards to send. NO BAKING! It's all good, and I'm exhausted before I even get started.
Now, I'm off to the gym and back to write my paper. More when I have a minute.
I'm on vacation this week and much will be spent at my desk at home working on final papers and short stories. Time to put this degree-in-progress to use!
With the end of school, focus now shifts to the concert. It's going to be great! www.cgmc.org for tickets!
And the holidays. Out to A&J's for Thanksgiving. Arizona for Christmas! The opera tonight. Movies tomorrow. I have to clean my house and decorate. Gifts to ship. Cards to send. NO BAKING! It's all good, and I'm exhausted before I even get started.
Now, I'm off to the gym and back to write my paper. More when I have a minute.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
I Need a Vacation...
I've tried to write several entries, but the fact of the matter is I'm in such a lousy misanthropic mood I honestly believe I have nothing of any entertainment or informational value to share. I hate humanity for its stupidity and self-absorbtion and I want nothing more than to sit in a quiet room and read.
But, experience tells me that when I think everyone in the room is a raging asshole, chances are pretty good that there is really only one asshole in the room and I can't see him without a mirror. I have no real idea why I'm in such a foul mood.
****
So, I spent an hour rehearsing my music for the Christmas concert and I feel much better. The music is glorious. I get to sing a very pretty duet. I feel like there is more to my life than just my job and school.
So much better. I'll let them enjoy their party downstairs in thumpa-thumpa peace.
But, experience tells me that when I think everyone in the room is a raging asshole, chances are pretty good that there is really only one asshole in the room and I can't see him without a mirror. I have no real idea why I'm in such a foul mood.
****
So, I spent an hour rehearsing my music for the Christmas concert and I feel much better. The music is glorious. I get to sing a very pretty duet. I feel like there is more to my life than just my job and school.
So much better. I'll let them enjoy their party downstairs in thumpa-thumpa peace.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
Life is Good
I'm nearly recovered from the flu -- or something like it. I'm not a brave sick person. When I'm running a fever I want my mommy, Campbell's Chicken Soup and a cocoon of blankets on the couch where I can watch One Life to Live. I become ten years old again, and that's what I did when I was sick and stayed home from school.
My CEO at work seems to be on medication, so things are calm. The CFO is going to be fired on Monday, and my direct boss -- the COO -- is in danger of losing his job -- again. On the plus side, I was moved into an actual office with a window and a door. I got grief from some people who thought there were others who should have it, but I always answered with, "The HR Manager should have a door." So all has calmed down. Now I have to find stuff to put on the walls. I work in the sports industry, and I've told them that I'm not putting any memorabilia up. I'll resist the urge to put up opera posters. I'm going shopping.
And I've been working on a new short story. I'm afraid that when I write, I don't have a very good attention span at the early stages. I almost need distractions until the piece clicks. Once that happens, I can spend hours on it. The new piece hasn't clicked yet. But I think it's going to be good. Anyway, one of the distractions I use is to log into a chat room on AOL.
There was a time when chat rooms were used to meet and converse with interesting people from around the globe. Now, for the most part they're used by prostitutes and the people who love them. I'm not one of those people. However, every now and then someone sends a message and for ten or fifteen minutes we send messages back and forth. Then, inevitably, they will ask me to send a picture and I decline. That invariably ends the conversation. I'm not interested in meeting anyone on line -- and certainly not interested in a sex romp. If you're reading this from a link on my AOL profile, take note...I'm not looking for sex!
But these conversations can be entertaining. They usually begin with someone reading my profile and sending me a line complimenting me on it. I say thanks, and it goes from there. Now, I don't list my age on my profile, and so most of the conversations are short because most of the men in chat rooms aren't interested in anyone who has completed puberty. I'm endlessly entertained by men who are too old to date themselves and who have such refined tastes that a thirty-five-inch waist offends their aesthetic sensibilities. That is, excluding their own gellatinous midsection, which is described as "beefy."
What always kills the conversation is when they ask for a picture and I decline. Exactly how stupid do you have to be to send your picture to a total stranger who is trolling the Internet for a random, anonymous sex hook-up? Well, however stupid that is -- I'm not. And some of them will offer to send pictures of themselves first, or just do it without asking, hoping I'll be shamed into reciprocating. Almost without exception the picture is a nude with the head cut off, positioned in what must be imagined as some sort of provocative pose.
Now, I have no pretensions to class or breeding. Yet, I'm quite sure owning a nude picture of oneself that is used to advertise for anonymous sex is not considered a demonstration of either class or breeding. And some of them appear to be professionally taken! So either the sender is so vain that he's hired a professional photographer to photo his manhood in all its glory, or he's so arrogant to believe that the recipient doesn't think he's stolen the picture from some porno site. Yes, the cream of the crop can be found on the Internet. For the record, I do not have any of those pictures either.
But on a rare occasion I will meet someone who is able to carry on a conversation. I do enjoy those, however brief they may be. I've discussed politics to shopping, and they're fun little disposable conversations that provide the perfect distraction from my serious writing. Just like my blog!
My CEO at work seems to be on medication, so things are calm. The CFO is going to be fired on Monday, and my direct boss -- the COO -- is in danger of losing his job -- again. On the plus side, I was moved into an actual office with a window and a door. I got grief from some people who thought there were others who should have it, but I always answered with, "The HR Manager should have a door." So all has calmed down. Now I have to find stuff to put on the walls. I work in the sports industry, and I've told them that I'm not putting any memorabilia up. I'll resist the urge to put up opera posters. I'm going shopping.
And I've been working on a new short story. I'm afraid that when I write, I don't have a very good attention span at the early stages. I almost need distractions until the piece clicks. Once that happens, I can spend hours on it. The new piece hasn't clicked yet. But I think it's going to be good. Anyway, one of the distractions I use is to log into a chat room on AOL.
There was a time when chat rooms were used to meet and converse with interesting people from around the globe. Now, for the most part they're used by prostitutes and the people who love them. I'm not one of those people. However, every now and then someone sends a message and for ten or fifteen minutes we send messages back and forth. Then, inevitably, they will ask me to send a picture and I decline. That invariably ends the conversation. I'm not interested in meeting anyone on line -- and certainly not interested in a sex romp. If you're reading this from a link on my AOL profile, take note...I'm not looking for sex!
But these conversations can be entertaining. They usually begin with someone reading my profile and sending me a line complimenting me on it. I say thanks, and it goes from there. Now, I don't list my age on my profile, and so most of the conversations are short because most of the men in chat rooms aren't interested in anyone who has completed puberty. I'm endlessly entertained by men who are too old to date themselves and who have such refined tastes that a thirty-five-inch waist offends their aesthetic sensibilities. That is, excluding their own gellatinous midsection, which is described as "beefy."
What always kills the conversation is when they ask for a picture and I decline. Exactly how stupid do you have to be to send your picture to a total stranger who is trolling the Internet for a random, anonymous sex hook-up? Well, however stupid that is -- I'm not. And some of them will offer to send pictures of themselves first, or just do it without asking, hoping I'll be shamed into reciprocating. Almost without exception the picture is a nude with the head cut off, positioned in what must be imagined as some sort of provocative pose.
Now, I have no pretensions to class or breeding. Yet, I'm quite sure owning a nude picture of oneself that is used to advertise for anonymous sex is not considered a demonstration of either class or breeding. And some of them appear to be professionally taken! So either the sender is so vain that he's hired a professional photographer to photo his manhood in all its glory, or he's so arrogant to believe that the recipient doesn't think he's stolen the picture from some porno site. Yes, the cream of the crop can be found on the Internet. For the record, I do not have any of those pictures either.
But on a rare occasion I will meet someone who is able to carry on a conversation. I do enjoy those, however brief they may be. I've discussed politics to shopping, and they're fun little disposable conversations that provide the perfect distraction from my serious writing. Just like my blog!
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Refocus
too personally. Always have and probably always will. But, to take work things at all personally is just, plain stupid. I have to let go of those dramas because the fact of the matter is that I've lived them all before. Here is my focus:
1) Finish my masters degree. This is a project that I started in March of 2004 and will be completed in June of 2007. I've allowed, and am going to continue to allow my job to delay my going on to my Ph.D. for a year. During that year I will create at least one significant piece of work: collection of poems or short stories, or a novel, or a research paper. Instead of completing my applications for the four programs I've chosen in the fall of 2006, I will complete them in the fall of 2007.
2) Expand my social life. Work and school keep me very isolated. There simply is no time for a social life, and yet I must make the time to meet with non-work/non-school-related people at least once a week. Chorus rehearsals help, but they're too big and frenetic for my purposes.
3) Reconnect with my family. For the first time in more than fifteen years we will all be under the same roof at Christmas. Much drama, and none of it mine, has kept us from getting together and has required me to pick and choose where I'd spend my holidays. Finally, this year, everyone has matured enough so that we can all get together at my sister's house. My oldest nephew won't be there -- or at least he's not expected -- but my sister and my mother will be and I'm looking forward to it.
4) Fix my house. I had committed to redoing the kitchen floor and replacing the appliances over Thanksgiving. If that's going to happen I need to start making plans now. My friend K. has agreed to help -- and by help I mean probably do most of it. I've lived here almost four years and I've painted and changed a light fixture.
5) Write. I'm getting a degree in writing, and the only things I write are this blog and papers for class. I'm giving myself some slack on personal writing for now because I have to give time priority to the job and school. That doesn't mean I have to give it less emotional priority. This week we are reading Thoreau in class. I've stumbled across a phrase that I've found inspiring and I'm working it tinto a poem. The poem is frustrating and humbling, but I think when I'm finished it will be competent. I also have a short story rattling around in my head and I need to make some progress on that before it shrivels and dies.
6) The Chorus. I love singing with the chorus. Musically it's not as challenging as I might be able to handle, but given the other demands on my time and attention, it is the right level of distraction. Every concert I'm part of I think is the best one yet. I have some memorization to do.
7) Work. It pays the bills and provides enough challenge so that my eight hours a day are not completely boring. But when I leave work it has to stay at work.
1) Finish my masters degree. This is a project that I started in March of 2004 and will be completed in June of 2007. I've allowed, and am going to continue to allow my job to delay my going on to my Ph.D. for a year. During that year I will create at least one significant piece of work: collection of poems or short stories, or a novel, or a research paper. Instead of completing my applications for the four programs I've chosen in the fall of 2006, I will complete them in the fall of 2007.
2) Expand my social life. Work and school keep me very isolated. There simply is no time for a social life, and yet I must make the time to meet with non-work/non-school-related people at least once a week. Chorus rehearsals help, but they're too big and frenetic for my purposes.
3) Reconnect with my family. For the first time in more than fifteen years we will all be under the same roof at Christmas. Much drama, and none of it mine, has kept us from getting together and has required me to pick and choose where I'd spend my holidays. Finally, this year, everyone has matured enough so that we can all get together at my sister's house. My oldest nephew won't be there -- or at least he's not expected -- but my sister and my mother will be and I'm looking forward to it.
4) Fix my house. I had committed to redoing the kitchen floor and replacing the appliances over Thanksgiving. If that's going to happen I need to start making plans now. My friend K. has agreed to help -- and by help I mean probably do most of it. I've lived here almost four years and I've painted and changed a light fixture.
5) Write. I'm getting a degree in writing, and the only things I write are this blog and papers for class. I'm giving myself some slack on personal writing for now because I have to give time priority to the job and school. That doesn't mean I have to give it less emotional priority. This week we are reading Thoreau in class. I've stumbled across a phrase that I've found inspiring and I'm working it tinto a poem. The poem is frustrating and humbling, but I think when I'm finished it will be competent. I also have a short story rattling around in my head and I need to make some progress on that before it shrivels and dies.
6) The Chorus. I love singing with the chorus. Musically it's not as challenging as I might be able to handle, but given the other demands on my time and attention, it is the right level of distraction. Every concert I'm part of I think is the best one yet. I have some memorization to do.
7) Work. It pays the bills and provides enough challenge so that my eight hours a day are not completely boring. But when I leave work it has to stay at work.
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Seeing the Light
At this stage of my life I really should know better. It's not cute or quaint that a full-grown man is repeatedly disappointed in people. It's not endearing to always try to believe the best in people and to continually be disappointed. It's pathetic and stupid.
For years and years I was a jaded, bitter person. I trusted no one and was always ready to point out someone's flaws and mistakes. I found that only made me more bitter and alone. So, I made a vow to try to change and I've worked very, very hard over the last ten years or so to try to focus on the postives in people.
Every now and then I've been disappointed. A few years ago I realized that a noted theater director here in Chicago, whom I had been working with, wasn't really interested in building a theatre ensemble, he was really interested in networking with people he thought had money. (For some reason some people assume I come from money.) I didn't get angry. I simply and calmly told him why I would not work with him again.
Today I discovered that my boss has been lying to me. Whether he knows he's been lying isn't clear, but what is clear is that he's been saying one thing and doing something else. The details of the situation are too tedious to type, but the bottom line is I was slapped in the face by reality and the reality is that several of us were told we were hired to be part of a team to rebuild the company. In fact, we've been brought in to take the blame for the failure, while all the old employees and directors basically steal from the company. I've had moments of suspicion, but always let them go. Now, I'm not sure I can.
I'm lucky in one regard. Although my boss has spent the last three months crying poor mouth, he's found the funds to go to Las Vegas and gamble. That gives me a couple days to get my game face together. But I also work with his wife and I've been swallowing minor irritations for months. I think I may have had my fill.
But, now I have to find a way to keep myself open. Thank God for the chorus. While I don't have a lot of close friends in this group, I also don't have a lot of investment in it. I can go and get as much enjoyment as possible out of it and then leave it alone.
And this Sunday is the Halloween parade in the neighborhood of my old cafe. I'm going to make an appearance and watch all the little kids. I'm feeling nostalgic for my little part-time job running that cafe, but the time to move on has passed. I've made my decision to be a grown up and there is no turning back. I've just got to toughen up and get smarter about people.
For years and years I was a jaded, bitter person. I trusted no one and was always ready to point out someone's flaws and mistakes. I found that only made me more bitter and alone. So, I made a vow to try to change and I've worked very, very hard over the last ten years or so to try to focus on the postives in people.
Every now and then I've been disappointed. A few years ago I realized that a noted theater director here in Chicago, whom I had been working with, wasn't really interested in building a theatre ensemble, he was really interested in networking with people he thought had money. (For some reason some people assume I come from money.) I didn't get angry. I simply and calmly told him why I would not work with him again.
Today I discovered that my boss has been lying to me. Whether he knows he's been lying isn't clear, but what is clear is that he's been saying one thing and doing something else. The details of the situation are too tedious to type, but the bottom line is I was slapped in the face by reality and the reality is that several of us were told we were hired to be part of a team to rebuild the company. In fact, we've been brought in to take the blame for the failure, while all the old employees and directors basically steal from the company. I've had moments of suspicion, but always let them go. Now, I'm not sure I can.
I'm lucky in one regard. Although my boss has spent the last three months crying poor mouth, he's found the funds to go to Las Vegas and gamble. That gives me a couple days to get my game face together. But I also work with his wife and I've been swallowing minor irritations for months. I think I may have had my fill.
But, now I have to find a way to keep myself open. Thank God for the chorus. While I don't have a lot of close friends in this group, I also don't have a lot of investment in it. I can go and get as much enjoyment as possible out of it and then leave it alone.
And this Sunday is the Halloween parade in the neighborhood of my old cafe. I'm going to make an appearance and watch all the little kids. I'm feeling nostalgic for my little part-time job running that cafe, but the time to move on has passed. I've made my decision to be a grown up and there is no turning back. I've just got to toughen up and get smarter about people.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
The Other Shoe
I went into work yesterday feeling good. I had accomplished some pretty good things and I was part of the forward motion of a company that had been stagnate for nearly a decade. And then I said good morning to the CEO.
Something happened, literally over night and he became a fire-eating dragon. Now, to be fair, whenever he starts off on one of these rants he always begins with, "This isn't about you." He then will proceed on his tirade, grilling me about other people in the office, calling them morons, demanding to know why they don't talk to him about their concerns -- completely not connecting that last comment to his habit of referring to them as morons. Today he sulked in his office all day long and his tantrum permeated the office like the smell of dirty socks. I finally told my boss that I didn't know how much longer I could deal with these tirades.
Then I had the meeting with the administrative assistants. The fact of the matter is that our administrative assistants are little princesses, all of whom believe they are overworked when the reality is that half of them should be thankful they have jobs. For years they've gotten away with the this-is-my-job and this-is-all-I-do and I'm-overworked atttitude. Well, I've been asked to find a way to create a back up network so that administrative work flows more smoothly through the office. You'd have thought that I asked them to serve coffee. The question that irked me the most was, "Well does this mean that anyone can come up to me and tell me to type something?" Does anyone do that to anyone else now? Then why would they start? I just want to rip their overly processed hair right out of their heads. This is the memo I'm sending two of them...
E & L
After work late last night, A gave me a ride home and shared some of your concerns and questions about our meeting yesterday. I am looking forward to meeting with each of you to address your concerns directly, but because Mondays are difficult days to catch me I wanted to jot a few things down in an e-mail to clarify some of my thoughts.
1) This model is still in development. If you have some ideas on how to improve it, I'm looking forward to hearing them.
2) The idea behind this model is not to dump more and more work on you. In fact, it's just the opposite. This should give you some tools to reach out to other members the staff when you might be swamped.
3) I made my rather arbitrary divisions of work based on the feedback I've gotten on your performance, and tried to align you with projects that a) will give you opportunities to shine within the office and b) possibly create opportunities for advancement -- based upon your expressed interests and performance strengths.
So, in addition to making a list of your questions and concerns, I'd also like to ask each of you to pick some time -- maybe a four-hour block of time in the coming week -- in which I can sit with you at your desk and get a better sense of the type of work you are doing and a better handle on the volume. L, in your case I may need to spend an entire day with you because I'd like you to actually train me on your equipment processes. I think this will help me have a better understanding of how this new model will affect your work day.
Let me know when will work for you. For now, after Monday my schedule is wide open.
S.
That ought to shut them up.
Something happened, literally over night and he became a fire-eating dragon. Now, to be fair, whenever he starts off on one of these rants he always begins with, "This isn't about you." He then will proceed on his tirade, grilling me about other people in the office, calling them morons, demanding to know why they don't talk to him about their concerns -- completely not connecting that last comment to his habit of referring to them as morons. Today he sulked in his office all day long and his tantrum permeated the office like the smell of dirty socks. I finally told my boss that I didn't know how much longer I could deal with these tirades.
Then I had the meeting with the administrative assistants. The fact of the matter is that our administrative assistants are little princesses, all of whom believe they are overworked when the reality is that half of them should be thankful they have jobs. For years they've gotten away with the this-is-my-job and this-is-all-I-do and I'm-overworked atttitude. Well, I've been asked to find a way to create a back up network so that administrative work flows more smoothly through the office. You'd have thought that I asked them to serve coffee. The question that irked me the most was, "Well does this mean that anyone can come up to me and tell me to type something?" Does anyone do that to anyone else now? Then why would they start? I just want to rip their overly processed hair right out of their heads. This is the memo I'm sending two of them...
E & L
After work late last night, A gave me a ride home and shared some of your concerns and questions about our meeting yesterday. I am looking forward to meeting with each of you to address your concerns directly, but because Mondays are difficult days to catch me I wanted to jot a few things down in an e-mail to clarify some of my thoughts.
1) This model is still in development. If you have some ideas on how to improve it, I'm looking forward to hearing them.
2) The idea behind this model is not to dump more and more work on you. In fact, it's just the opposite. This should give you some tools to reach out to other members the staff when you might be swamped.
3) I made my rather arbitrary divisions of work based on the feedback I've gotten on your performance, and tried to align you with projects that a) will give you opportunities to shine within the office and b) possibly create opportunities for advancement -- based upon your expressed interests and performance strengths.
So, in addition to making a list of your questions and concerns, I'd also like to ask each of you to pick some time -- maybe a four-hour block of time in the coming week -- in which I can sit with you at your desk and get a better sense of the type of work you are doing and a better handle on the volume. L, in your case I may need to spend an entire day with you because I'd like you to actually train me on your equipment processes. I think this will help me have a better understanding of how this new model will affect your work day.
Let me know when will work for you. For now, after Monday my schedule is wide open.
S.
That ought to shut them up.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Good Day/Bad Feelings
I had a good day at work. I negotiated a contract and brought it in 13% under the industry standard. I played a key role in finishing a major project -- although to be perfectly fare my key role was merely getting people to the table and making them do all the actual ugly work. And I received mild support for a project that really should have been ripped to shreds. And I explained in painful detail why a company policy that has been in place for centuries violated federal law. My explanation included the argument that by following the law instead of the illegal policy I was not unilaterally setting my own policy. Because the policy has been so long standing, my boss is doing his own research into the issue. But I'm right and I know I'm right. It was a good-natured discussion, and it's a point I know I'll win, so I'm not worried.
But I still left work feeling like a ragged, mismatched shoe.
What a great way to feel when you're going to audition for a solo.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have no illusions about my voice. I can carry a tune, and if called upon will not embarrass myself if I have to sing something. I've held my own in duets with trained opera singers and won several competitions. But there are better voices than mine, and certainly better musicians.
So, I went to the audition not particularly nervous. There were a couple pieces I thought my voice was right for and I expressed interest in them -- one in particular. I sang something that I'm sure 47 other people sang, but it was something that was a little unexpected from me, and it went well, so I felt good.
When I arrived, another baritone was auditioning. He's got a good voice, but he's not really a very dynamic performer. A little drab. The director was working pretty intensely with him on a piece, coaxing notes from him and he sounded great. But it was a piece that didn't really require any personality, and I'm not interested in it, so have at it my friend.
Then my turn came. I sang my little ditty. Then, "because I asked about it," the director walked me through part of one of the numbers, and then part of a second one and then said, "That one's too high. Thank you." I don't think I'm a serious consideration for any of the things I sang. But the one song I specifically asked to sing, we didn't cover. And I'm fine with it. Until...
There is another baritone who is clearly the director's darling. He has a marvelous voice -- different from mine -- but he also gets all of the good solos. My voice is at least good enough to carry the song I want. If this other baritone gets the solo without my having gotten a shot at it I'm going to pissed.
Pissed.
But I still left work feeling like a ragged, mismatched shoe.
What a great way to feel when you're going to audition for a solo.
Now, don't get me wrong. I have no illusions about my voice. I can carry a tune, and if called upon will not embarrass myself if I have to sing something. I've held my own in duets with trained opera singers and won several competitions. But there are better voices than mine, and certainly better musicians.
So, I went to the audition not particularly nervous. There were a couple pieces I thought my voice was right for and I expressed interest in them -- one in particular. I sang something that I'm sure 47 other people sang, but it was something that was a little unexpected from me, and it went well, so I felt good.
When I arrived, another baritone was auditioning. He's got a good voice, but he's not really a very dynamic performer. A little drab. The director was working pretty intensely with him on a piece, coaxing notes from him and he sounded great. But it was a piece that didn't really require any personality, and I'm not interested in it, so have at it my friend.
Then my turn came. I sang my little ditty. Then, "because I asked about it," the director walked me through part of one of the numbers, and then part of a second one and then said, "That one's too high. Thank you." I don't think I'm a serious consideration for any of the things I sang. But the one song I specifically asked to sing, we didn't cover. And I'm fine with it. Until...
There is another baritone who is clearly the director's darling. He has a marvelous voice -- different from mine -- but he also gets all of the good solos. My voice is at least good enough to carry the song I want. If this other baritone gets the solo without my having gotten a shot at it I'm going to pissed.
Pissed.
Friday, October 13, 2006
The Power of Innocence
Work continues to be dramatic, but I'm in favor again so all is good. I'm able to achieve favor because when someone merely mentions something, I get it done immediately. Like finding an administrative assistant in the heart of Chicago who speaks Chinese and English. And is expert in all of the Microsoft Office products. And will work for less than $40,000. I found two. And he didn't like either one of them so I have to keep looking.
And there are those who would fall off their chairs if they knew that in my office I'm actually considered too nice. I'm not. I just have them believing that I am. I've found a source of almost infinite power in my "aw-shucks" persona. In my last job I was firing someone almost every day. Some of them deserved it, and many did not. To say that it's an emotional drain to continually fire people who know three words of English and have almost no hope of replacing their $8 an hour job is an understatement. The only way I could get through it was to become more upset than the employee. If you frowned, I'd let a tear come to my eye. I you sniffled, I cried. If you cried, I wailed. If you wailed, I keaned. You get the idea. As selfish as it sounds, I turned the entire situation into being about me so the employee was either concerned about me, or thought I was a raging ass. Either way, the exit interviews didn't last very long and I was able to get on with my day.
I've found that the strategy of shifting the focus of an awkward situation on to me can make things easier. Yesterday we had to confront an employee who is obviously stealing. The CFO wants him fired, the employee's boss doesn't want to do that. The meeting started to get tense, so I changed the subject from the employee to me and asked the employee to educate me on his spending habits. He tried to shovel me a load, but because I could ask questions under the guise of not understanding how the business works, we were easily and painlessly able to trap him in his web of lies.
"Golly. You mean the company doesn't mind if you spend four thousand dollars taking the distributors for your side business to Las Vegas? Can that possibly be right?" And by the way, the innocent rube routine only works with blue eyes. If you have green or brown eyes, you can't possibly pretend to be as stupid as I have to pretend to get my job done. Still, I'm doing something right because the CFO -- the man who hates everyone -- said I'm the only person in the company who deserves a bonus this year. Given the bonus pool is nearly a million dollars, I should make out pretty well.
And there are those who would fall off their chairs if they knew that in my office I'm actually considered too nice. I'm not. I just have them believing that I am. I've found a source of almost infinite power in my "aw-shucks" persona. In my last job I was firing someone almost every day. Some of them deserved it, and many did not. To say that it's an emotional drain to continually fire people who know three words of English and have almost no hope of replacing their $8 an hour job is an understatement. The only way I could get through it was to become more upset than the employee. If you frowned, I'd let a tear come to my eye. I you sniffled, I cried. If you cried, I wailed. If you wailed, I keaned. You get the idea. As selfish as it sounds, I turned the entire situation into being about me so the employee was either concerned about me, or thought I was a raging ass. Either way, the exit interviews didn't last very long and I was able to get on with my day.
I've found that the strategy of shifting the focus of an awkward situation on to me can make things easier. Yesterday we had to confront an employee who is obviously stealing. The CFO wants him fired, the employee's boss doesn't want to do that. The meeting started to get tense, so I changed the subject from the employee to me and asked the employee to educate me on his spending habits. He tried to shovel me a load, but because I could ask questions under the guise of not understanding how the business works, we were easily and painlessly able to trap him in his web of lies.
"Golly. You mean the company doesn't mind if you spend four thousand dollars taking the distributors for your side business to Las Vegas? Can that possibly be right?" And by the way, the innocent rube routine only works with blue eyes. If you have green or brown eyes, you can't possibly pretend to be as stupid as I have to pretend to get my job done. Still, I'm doing something right because the CFO -- the man who hates everyone -- said I'm the only person in the company who deserves a bonus this year. Given the bonus pool is nearly a million dollars, I should make out pretty well.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Sybil
I'm beginning to wonder if the CEO isn't mentally ill. He seems to think that the only way he can get things done is if he has an adversarial relationship with his management team. To his defense, the management team has been less than helpful, and at times less than enthusiastic. There has even been one or two instances of outright rebellion. Not from me, of course. I have been the biggest and loudest company cheerleader imaginable. I have absolutely no reason not to.
Yet, the CEO's personality has done an almost one hundred and eighty degree turnaround. For the past two weeks, each one of my days has started with a meeting that lasts anywhere for half an hour to three hours, basically with the CEO ranting -- only to me, mind you -- about how everyone else in the company is out to sabotage him. He says some of the most viscious things about people in the office, and then has the nerve to turn around and complain about the negative attitude.
Last week I finally had to ask him if he saw anything of value in the people he was working with. He then did another one-eighty and talked about the proficiency and good nature of most of the people who work with us. They're nice and friendly, but complete idiots with vendettas against him. I guess.
For months I've been meeting with people, telling them that the CEO has a master plan and to stick with him. But it's hard to defend a master plan that includes a million dollars in bonus money to managers who've lost three million dollars this year. The best I can come up with is to say that it's a reward for not losing six million. And then I came up with the concept of mental illness. At the end of one of our meetings, after he spent an hour having a meltdown, I began to watch him closely. It was almost like he was struggling, trying to control a compulsion. And then after his outburst, he apologized. But that's when he also changed. I'm thinking the early stages of Alzheimers.
Or maybe I'm tired and cranky, and tomorrow I'll feel better. I'm leaving work early and then I have a midterm tomorrow night. Pass or fail, I'll feel better once I'm past the midterm.
Yet, the CEO's personality has done an almost one hundred and eighty degree turnaround. For the past two weeks, each one of my days has started with a meeting that lasts anywhere for half an hour to three hours, basically with the CEO ranting -- only to me, mind you -- about how everyone else in the company is out to sabotage him. He says some of the most viscious things about people in the office, and then has the nerve to turn around and complain about the negative attitude.
Last week I finally had to ask him if he saw anything of value in the people he was working with. He then did another one-eighty and talked about the proficiency and good nature of most of the people who work with us. They're nice and friendly, but complete idiots with vendettas against him. I guess.
For months I've been meeting with people, telling them that the CEO has a master plan and to stick with him. But it's hard to defend a master plan that includes a million dollars in bonus money to managers who've lost three million dollars this year. The best I can come up with is to say that it's a reward for not losing six million. And then I came up with the concept of mental illness. At the end of one of our meetings, after he spent an hour having a meltdown, I began to watch him closely. It was almost like he was struggling, trying to control a compulsion. And then after his outburst, he apologized. But that's when he also changed. I'm thinking the early stages of Alzheimers.
Or maybe I'm tired and cranky, and tomorrow I'll feel better. I'm leaving work early and then I have a midterm tomorrow night. Pass or fail, I'll feel better once I'm past the midterm.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Questions
Are you in a relationship?
Other than the completely thrilling and satisfying one in my head with RP, no.
Do you hate more than 3 people?
It's taken me a long time to distinguish between hate and anger. Do I hate more than three people? No. I'm not even sure I hate one person -- but I haven't really decided on George W. Bush yet. If I had to choose, I'd pick Mr. Bush and his mother as being the closest.
How many houses have you lived in?
4.
What is your favorite candy bar?
Do M&M's count? I am truly addicted to plain M&M's. I can't not leave a bag of any size unfinished.
What are your favorite shoes?
I don't get attached to shoes.
Have you ever tripped someone?
Not that I can remember.
Do you own a Britney Spears CD?
Sweet God, no.
Have you ever thrown up in public?
Actually on several occasions. Only once when I was drunk, and then I did it spectacularly on a dance floor when they turned on the strobe lights. I threw up on three different people and a wall. I've thrown up twice at the gym while working out, and twice when I forced myself to go to work and heaved in the street. On those occasions it was well before the sun had come up, so no one saw.
Name something that's always on your mind?
Whether or not I'm making a good impression.
What is your favorite music genre?
This changes with my moods and the seasons. It's autumn now, so I tend more toward jazz and single-instrument classical. I love the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet. Right now I'm also getting into Patti LuPone, Il Divo. I'm just coming out of a Tim McGraw phase.
What is your sign?
Sagitarius
What time were you born?
10:30 a.m.
Do you like beer?
Christmas, 2003, I had a party where I purchased two cases of beer. This past August I threw two thirds of that beer away.
Have you ever made a prank call?
Yes. Lori, from across the street and I spent an afternoon making crank calls and recording them. She pretended to be a four-year-old whose cat was having kittens. And there used to be a way that you could dial a number and when the other end answered all they heard were a series of clicks. I lived in a small town and I'm still not sure they have touch-tone phones yet.
What is the most embarrassing CD you own?
I have two Backstreet Boys CD's. They're packed away now, but there was one summer that they were my own personal sound track.
Are you sarcastic?
Not so much anymore. But having said that, I do have sarcasm down to a fine art. I don't even have to raise an eyebrow. It's something that I can beckon at will and wither everything within a thirty-foot radius. My own special super power.
What are your favorite colors?
Lately I find myself attracted to different shades of yellow. Again, this changes with my mood and the seasons.
How many watches do you own?
That work? Two. I just threw out a very expensive one that had been given to me as a gift by someone who is not longer a friend. The crystal had been accidentally smashed and the battery was dead. Too much trouble to repair.
Summer or winter?
Either, assuming I'm looking at either of them through glass inside a climate-controlled environment.
Spring or fall?
Either. It depends on how brutal the preceding season had been. But as a general rule, I'm always very happy to spring, and sometimes a little sad to see fall.
What is your favorite color to wear?
The vast majority of my clothes are solid, neutrals. If I do wear a color it's cobalt blue. On rare occasions I'll wear a red tone.
Pepsi or Sprite?
Diet Coke, the elixir of life
What color is your cell phone?
I just got my first cell phone. It's silver.
Where is your second home?
I don't know that I have one. I've always imagined that when I retire I'll go back to the town where I grew up. Like for maybe a week before I intended to die, just so whomever is planning my burial won't have to ship the body.
However, my spiritual second home is Paris.
Have you ever slapped someone?
Only on stage.
Have you ever had a cavity?
Yes, and I'm in the process of having all of my fillings replaced for the second time.
How many lamps are in your bedroom?
2, not including the overhead fixture, which I'm changing.
How many video games do you own?
1,
What was your first pet?
Cocoa. He was a little brown puppy my father accidentally ran over with his car. I was three at the time and I remember both my parents being very upset when they told me he ran away.
Have you ever had braces?
Yes. For all four years of high school. They were removed the week I went away to college.
Do looks matter?
Yes, in many subtle and mysterious ways.
Do you use chapstick?
No.
Name 3 teachers from your high school:
John Sether, Julie Gibson, Betty Fedje.
American Eagle or Abercrombie?
Ick!
Are you too forgiving?
No. But I'm pretty slow to be offended. Once offended, however, I never forget.
Do you own something from Hot Topic?
I don't own any sex toys.
What is your favorite breakfast?
The roasted pear french toast at Nookies.
Do you own a gun?
No. I did have a BB gun for a while as a kid, but like my first puppy, it seemed to have run away from home.
Have you ever thought you were in love?
Yes.
When was the last time you cried?
I can't remember the last time I wept uncontrollably. But I was watching Notting Hill, and the ending always makes me a little misty.
What did you do 3 nights ago?
I fell asleep very early.
When was the last time you went to Olive Garden?
I think I've been once, in the late '80's.
Have you ever called your teacher mom?
No, but I've called a few a mother.
Have you ever been in a castle?
Yes. Versaille. I don't really know if that counts as a castle, but it is a palace, so it's almost the same thing.
What are your nicknames?
Scooter. And there are a few people I'll allow to call me Scotty. My sister will call me Ping.
Do you know anyone named Bertha?
I used to. When feeling festive, she'd wear acrylic wigs to work.
Have you ever been to Hawaii?
The closest I've come is the Brady Bunch episode.
Do you own something from Banana Republic?
Many things, and all purchased on e-Bay.
Are you thinking about somebody right now?
No.
Have you ever called someone Boo?
I'm not cute enough.
Do you own a diamond ring?
I'm not cute enough.
Are you happy with your life right now?
For the most part, yes. I'm going to miss when school ends, and I'll be happy when things at work settle down, but those are minor complaints.
Does anyone like you?
This is practically a job requirement. Yes, people like me.
What were you doing May of 1994?
Talk about being unhappy. I was waiting tables and coming to the realization that fame and fortune were not just around the corner. I had quit my job and was determined to become a professional.
McDonald's or Wendy's?
If I'm starving, and there are absolutely no other options, Wendy's.
Do you like yourself?
Most of the time.
Favorite feature of the opposite sex?
I'm gay. In women, I like wit. In men I like beauty.
Are you afraid of the dark?
No.
Have you ever eaten paste?
Not that I recall.
Do you have a webcam?
Actually, yes. It's installed on my computer at work.
Have you ever stripped?
No.
Diamonds or pearls?
Pearls are always unexpected.
What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Queens.
What are your favorite TV shows?
I am a Law & Order junkie. I miss Judging Amy. I'm addicted to Project Runway, and I never miss Dancing with the Stars.
What did you have for breakfast?
Croissants and Diet Coke.
What is your middle name?
Carter.
What is your favorite cuisine?
Pizza. I know it's not "cuisine," but I'm simple.
What foods do you dislike?
I tend to avoid any cuisine from India to Eastern Europe.
What is your favorite CD at the moment?
I'm in transition.
What kind of car do you drive?
I do not now, nor have I ever, nor do I ever expect to own a car. Consider that my sacrifice to the environment.
Favorite sandwich?
Leona's Meatball Sandwich.
What characteristics do you despise?
Having an air of superiority.
What are your favorite clothes?
I have a pair of cargo shorts I love.
If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go?
Lake Como.
What color is your bathroom?
Pink and gray.
Favorite brand of clothing?
Banana Republic.
Where would you want to retire to?
I'd like to retire to a small resort community on a lake in Minnesota.
Favorite time of day?
Between 3 and 7 a.m. When I'm in a productive groove, waking up at 3 a.m. and working for those first four hours are almost heaven.
Where were you born?
Sioux City, IA.
Favorite sport to watch?
I always figure there is no real point to watching sports. If you're interested, you should be doing them. I feel that way about singing. I don't really need to hear anyone sing. I'd rather just do it myself.
Are you a morning person or night owl?
I'm definitely a morning person. For me, it's almost all down hill after noon.
What did you want to be when you were little?
I wanted to be an oceanographer. My father bought me a snorkel one summer and when I realized that all water wasn't a sparkly clear as it was on Flipper, I lost interest.
What is your best childhood memory?
My father tended to be a little crusty. He took in free-lance work at home, and painted signs in the basement. When he was working, my sister and I had to be very quiet. One night, we'd been put to bed on the pull-out sofa, and my grandmother was watching Lawrence Welk. She said she saw something outside the window. When Carol and I looked, we caught just a very quick glimpse of Santa Claus. We started screaming because when he'd seen us we were being good. My father came up from the basement and gave us hell. It was several years after his death, when I was in my 20's before I ever knew that it was him in a Santa mask peeking in the window.
Eye Color?
It depends on what I'm wearing. Anywhere from gray to cornflower blue.
Ever been toilet papering?
No.
Favorite day of the week?
Sundays when I don't have to get up and serve people breakfast. I feel almost human on those occasions.
Other than the completely thrilling and satisfying one in my head with RP, no.
Do you hate more than 3 people?
It's taken me a long time to distinguish between hate and anger. Do I hate more than three people? No. I'm not even sure I hate one person -- but I haven't really decided on George W. Bush yet. If I had to choose, I'd pick Mr. Bush and his mother as being the closest.
How many houses have you lived in?
4.
What is your favorite candy bar?
Do M&M's count? I am truly addicted to plain M&M's. I can't not leave a bag of any size unfinished.
What are your favorite shoes?
I don't get attached to shoes.
Have you ever tripped someone?
Not that I can remember.
Do you own a Britney Spears CD?
Sweet God, no.
Have you ever thrown up in public?
Actually on several occasions. Only once when I was drunk, and then I did it spectacularly on a dance floor when they turned on the strobe lights. I threw up on three different people and a wall. I've thrown up twice at the gym while working out, and twice when I forced myself to go to work and heaved in the street. On those occasions it was well before the sun had come up, so no one saw.
Name something that's always on your mind?
Whether or not I'm making a good impression.
What is your favorite music genre?
This changes with my moods and the seasons. It's autumn now, so I tend more toward jazz and single-instrument classical. I love the Los Angeles Guitar Quartet. Right now I'm also getting into Patti LuPone, Il Divo. I'm just coming out of a Tim McGraw phase.
What is your sign?
Sagitarius
What time were you born?
10:30 a.m.
Do you like beer?
Christmas, 2003, I had a party where I purchased two cases of beer. This past August I threw two thirds of that beer away.
Have you ever made a prank call?
Yes. Lori, from across the street and I spent an afternoon making crank calls and recording them. She pretended to be a four-year-old whose cat was having kittens. And there used to be a way that you could dial a number and when the other end answered all they heard were a series of clicks. I lived in a small town and I'm still not sure they have touch-tone phones yet.
What is the most embarrassing CD you own?
I have two Backstreet Boys CD's. They're packed away now, but there was one summer that they were my own personal sound track.
Are you sarcastic?
Not so much anymore. But having said that, I do have sarcasm down to a fine art. I don't even have to raise an eyebrow. It's something that I can beckon at will and wither everything within a thirty-foot radius. My own special super power.
What are your favorite colors?
Lately I find myself attracted to different shades of yellow. Again, this changes with my mood and the seasons.
How many watches do you own?
That work? Two. I just threw out a very expensive one that had been given to me as a gift by someone who is not longer a friend. The crystal had been accidentally smashed and the battery was dead. Too much trouble to repair.
Summer or winter?
Either, assuming I'm looking at either of them through glass inside a climate-controlled environment.
Spring or fall?
Either. It depends on how brutal the preceding season had been. But as a general rule, I'm always very happy to spring, and sometimes a little sad to see fall.
What is your favorite color to wear?
The vast majority of my clothes are solid, neutrals. If I do wear a color it's cobalt blue. On rare occasions I'll wear a red tone.
Pepsi or Sprite?
Diet Coke, the elixir of life
What color is your cell phone?
I just got my first cell phone. It's silver.
Where is your second home?
I don't know that I have one. I've always imagined that when I retire I'll go back to the town where I grew up. Like for maybe a week before I intended to die, just so whomever is planning my burial won't have to ship the body.
However, my spiritual second home is Paris.
Have you ever slapped someone?
Only on stage.
Have you ever had a cavity?
Yes, and I'm in the process of having all of my fillings replaced for the second time.
How many lamps are in your bedroom?
2, not including the overhead fixture, which I'm changing.
How many video games do you own?
1,
What was your first pet?
Cocoa. He was a little brown puppy my father accidentally ran over with his car. I was three at the time and I remember both my parents being very upset when they told me he ran away.
Have you ever had braces?
Yes. For all four years of high school. They were removed the week I went away to college.
Do looks matter?
Yes, in many subtle and mysterious ways.
Do you use chapstick?
No.
Name 3 teachers from your high school:
John Sether, Julie Gibson, Betty Fedje.
American Eagle or Abercrombie?
Ick!
Are you too forgiving?
No. But I'm pretty slow to be offended. Once offended, however, I never forget.
Do you own something from Hot Topic?
I don't own any sex toys.
What is your favorite breakfast?
The roasted pear french toast at Nookies.
Do you own a gun?
No. I did have a BB gun for a while as a kid, but like my first puppy, it seemed to have run away from home.
Have you ever thought you were in love?
Yes.
When was the last time you cried?
I can't remember the last time I wept uncontrollably. But I was watching Notting Hill, and the ending always makes me a little misty.
What did you do 3 nights ago?
I fell asleep very early.
When was the last time you went to Olive Garden?
I think I've been once, in the late '80's.
Have you ever called your teacher mom?
No, but I've called a few a mother.
Have you ever been in a castle?
Yes. Versaille. I don't really know if that counts as a castle, but it is a palace, so it's almost the same thing.
What are your nicknames?
Scooter. And there are a few people I'll allow to call me Scotty. My sister will call me Ping.
Do you know anyone named Bertha?
I used to. When feeling festive, she'd wear acrylic wigs to work.
Have you ever been to Hawaii?
The closest I've come is the Brady Bunch episode.
Do you own something from Banana Republic?
Many things, and all purchased on e-Bay.
Are you thinking about somebody right now?
No.
Have you ever called someone Boo?
I'm not cute enough.
Do you own a diamond ring?
I'm not cute enough.
Are you happy with your life right now?
For the most part, yes. I'm going to miss when school ends, and I'll be happy when things at work settle down, but those are minor complaints.
Does anyone like you?
This is practically a job requirement. Yes, people like me.
What were you doing May of 1994?
Talk about being unhappy. I was waiting tables and coming to the realization that fame and fortune were not just around the corner. I had quit my job and was determined to become a professional.
McDonald's or Wendy's?
If I'm starving, and there are absolutely no other options, Wendy's.
Do you like yourself?
Most of the time.
Favorite feature of the opposite sex?
I'm gay. In women, I like wit. In men I like beauty.
Are you afraid of the dark?
No.
Have you ever eaten paste?
Not that I recall.
Do you have a webcam?
Actually, yes. It's installed on my computer at work.
Have you ever stripped?
No.
Diamonds or pearls?
Pearls are always unexpected.
What was the last film you saw at the cinema?
Queens.
What are your favorite TV shows?
I am a Law & Order junkie. I miss Judging Amy. I'm addicted to Project Runway, and I never miss Dancing with the Stars.
What did you have for breakfast?
Croissants and Diet Coke.
What is your middle name?
Carter.
What is your favorite cuisine?
Pizza. I know it's not "cuisine," but I'm simple.
What foods do you dislike?
I tend to avoid any cuisine from India to Eastern Europe.
What is your favorite CD at the moment?
I'm in transition.
What kind of car do you drive?
I do not now, nor have I ever, nor do I ever expect to own a car. Consider that my sacrifice to the environment.
Favorite sandwich?
Leona's Meatball Sandwich.
What characteristics do you despise?
Having an air of superiority.
What are your favorite clothes?
I have a pair of cargo shorts I love.
If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go?
Lake Como.
What color is your bathroom?
Pink and gray.
Favorite brand of clothing?
Banana Republic.
Where would you want to retire to?
I'd like to retire to a small resort community on a lake in Minnesota.
Favorite time of day?
Between 3 and 7 a.m. When I'm in a productive groove, waking up at 3 a.m. and working for those first four hours are almost heaven.
Where were you born?
Sioux City, IA.
Favorite sport to watch?
I always figure there is no real point to watching sports. If you're interested, you should be doing them. I feel that way about singing. I don't really need to hear anyone sing. I'd rather just do it myself.
Are you a morning person or night owl?
I'm definitely a morning person. For me, it's almost all down hill after noon.
What did you want to be when you were little?
I wanted to be an oceanographer. My father bought me a snorkel one summer and when I realized that all water wasn't a sparkly clear as it was on Flipper, I lost interest.
What is your best childhood memory?
My father tended to be a little crusty. He took in free-lance work at home, and painted signs in the basement. When he was working, my sister and I had to be very quiet. One night, we'd been put to bed on the pull-out sofa, and my grandmother was watching Lawrence Welk. She said she saw something outside the window. When Carol and I looked, we caught just a very quick glimpse of Santa Claus. We started screaming because when he'd seen us we were being good. My father came up from the basement and gave us hell. It was several years after his death, when I was in my 20's before I ever knew that it was him in a Santa mask peeking in the window.
Eye Color?
It depends on what I'm wearing. Anywhere from gray to cornflower blue.
Ever been toilet papering?
No.
Favorite day of the week?
Sundays when I don't have to get up and serve people breakfast. I feel almost human on those occasions.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Stress and Good News
Tomorrow is the big presentation in which the CEO basically outlines his vision for the company. It's going to be a tough message and he's going to announce staff cuts -- with the actual cuts happening early next week. I'm not looking forward to the coming week. The CEO and CFO continue to be at war, and I met with the CFO to see if I could get him to come up with some sort of positive outlook. Nada.
The CFO has a minion that I've been working with. The Minion comes from a very prestigious school and is very smart. But not as smart as he thinks he is. He thinks he's playing everyone off each other and that none of them have a clue. I do, and I'm doing everything I can to keep my distance. He's toxic. The project we were working on together is ending and I couldn't be more glad. I can barely look at him, I dislike him so much.
On the plus side, I got my statement from my mortgage company, and starting next month my mortgage payment is going down nearly $100 a month!
Now off to read French philosophy...
The CFO has a minion that I've been working with. The Minion comes from a very prestigious school and is very smart. But not as smart as he thinks he is. He thinks he's playing everyone off each other and that none of them have a clue. I do, and I'm doing everything I can to keep my distance. He's toxic. The project we were working on together is ending and I couldn't be more glad. I can barely look at him, I dislike him so much.
On the plus side, I got my statement from my mortgage company, and starting next month my mortgage payment is going down nearly $100 a month!
Now off to read French philosophy...
Saturday, September 30, 2006
Pieces II
I took the day off work yesterday to run errands and write an essay. I'm entering it into a contest, and the deadline is midnight tonight. I also have to: read a hundred pages of French philosophy, go to the gym, write a response to an ancient Japanese essay, go to the dry cleaners, create a two-page employee review form, do my laundry and go to the grocery store. So, of course I'm updating my blog.
***
Work continues to grow more tense around me. I am daily having meetings with my boss's boss, who daily keeps telling me that he wants to fire my boss. The CEO and CFO are still conducting an indirect war, but through it all I'm am repeatedly told that I am loved. It's a pay check.
***
School is good, however I'm afraid that my professor is beginning to live up to his reputation. As I'm sure is true of most English classes, most of the students are female, so I thought it was a tad inappropriate to assign an essay where the writer describes in detail his relationship with his own penis. Still, from a technical standpoint, it was a well-constructed essay, and written by the editor of our text, so it made sense. Still, although mercifully brief, the discussion of the essay made me uncomfortable. I'm not a prude, per se, but I just prefer not to hear my professors make sexual insinuations. I continue to sit in the back and pray he doesn't call on me.
***
And yesterday I began looking into redoing my kitchen. The estimate comes in at around $15,000, which is exactly three times what I want to spend. I guess I'm going to have to take this in pieces, and I'm starting with the floor. I've asked a friend to help me lay tile, and I think I'm going to order a new refrigerator and stove. Then a new light fixture. I think I do all of that for under $2000. The rest will have to wait.
OK. The gym calls.
***
Work continues to grow more tense around me. I am daily having meetings with my boss's boss, who daily keeps telling me that he wants to fire my boss. The CEO and CFO are still conducting an indirect war, but through it all I'm am repeatedly told that I am loved. It's a pay check.
***
School is good, however I'm afraid that my professor is beginning to live up to his reputation. As I'm sure is true of most English classes, most of the students are female, so I thought it was a tad inappropriate to assign an essay where the writer describes in detail his relationship with his own penis. Still, from a technical standpoint, it was a well-constructed essay, and written by the editor of our text, so it made sense. Still, although mercifully brief, the discussion of the essay made me uncomfortable. I'm not a prude, per se, but I just prefer not to hear my professors make sexual insinuations. I continue to sit in the back and pray he doesn't call on me.
***
And yesterday I began looking into redoing my kitchen. The estimate comes in at around $15,000, which is exactly three times what I want to spend. I guess I'm going to have to take this in pieces, and I'm starting with the floor. I've asked a friend to help me lay tile, and I think I'm going to order a new refrigerator and stove. Then a new light fixture. I think I do all of that for under $2000. The rest will have to wait.
OK. The gym calls.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Romantic Melancholia II
RP has missed two rehearsals. I beginning to fear he might have dropped out.
When Good Things Happen to Bad People
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...
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 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.
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