Judgment Day

"Judge not that ye be not judged." Matthew 7:1

There is a massive blizzard raging in Chicago. I excused employees from work and left early myself. If one were ever to imagine a world forsaken by God, it would look something like Chicago today.

Icky.

The subway was packed with irritable people, all convinced that theirs was the most important journey. Moods were foul and tempers were barely restrained as the cars filled to capacity. At my stop I've discovered that the last car is usually the best bet for staking territory, and while there were no seats available, I managed to find a spot that kept me out of traffic patterns and allowed me to have a comfortable handhold. On a day like today, more could not be expected.

At the next stop a crush of people got on. Included in this was a man clearly suffering the worst of a winter cold. He looked miserable and it was clear that his nose was particularly problematic. It was red and swollen and dripping. Not an attractive, yet understandable condition. He moved as best as he could to the end of the car and I paid him no more attention. My focus was taken by three teens who were clearly enjoying the weather. They were loud and having a good time in that annoying-yet-harmless way that teens do. I noted them and then retreated back into my own thoughts.

That is, until the flash went off. I turned to see one of the teens pointing a camera in my general direction. Even under the best of circumstances I'm reluctant to have my picture taken, but in direct, overhead fluorescent light, taken by a stranger to be broadcast on the Internet? I don't think so. I simply turned my face away. Then another flash went off. And then another. Finally I looked to see what was going on. The camera was not pointed at me, rather it was pointed at the man with a cold, who had taken a tissue and stuffed it up one nostril allowing a large portion to dangle over his mouth. Of course he looked ridiculous. Yet given his array of inelegant options while trying to maintain his balance on a jerky train, I thought this was the most practical, if not the most a flattering. Still with each flash of the camera, and there were several more, my attention drifted from the man to the kids taking the pictures.

If there is any standard by which taking that man's picture would not be considered rude, I don't know what it might be. I did what I could to position myself between the man and the camera, but the boy taking the pictures was determined. I grew more and more angry on the man's behalf. I judged these kids, and this boy in particular, to be rude. Then I became aware of my judgment.

As creatures of the universe, I believe it is impossible to interact socially without passing judgment. Some are benign, like preferring the first Darren to the second on Bewitched; others may be more harsh, such as deciding that a particular individual is a toxic influence in one's life and taking steps to avoid that person. In the case of the latter, others may determine that the individual in question has some redeeming virtue, and view your judgment to be too harsh, or short sighted, or made with some degree of ignorance; and in that, those people are making their own judgment.

It has been my experience that people make judgments in a hierarchical fashion, meaning that what meets with approval is considered superior to that which does not. On rare occasions I've met people who would have you believe that they make no judgments, or if they do, they keep those judgments to themselves. How would that be possible? Isn't that judgment expressed by a decision to not return a phone call, or by simply looking away? And in the extreme, I'm always entertained by those who point out other judgmental individuals and comment upon it -- usually in a superior fashion.

The pinnacle of judgment is reserved for those who make the judgments yet act against them. Those who volunteer in a homeless shelter, not because it's a social responsibility, but because they are helping those less fortunate. Pity is the most insidious form of judgment there is; at least in my opinion.

Passing judgment is simply a fact of life. Everyone in recorded western history has passed judgment. There are those who might argue that Christ was the last person on Earth who did not pass judgment. And yet, was it not Christ who said, "Father forgive them; for they know not what they do." (Luke 23:34) Could there be a more judgmental statement? Of course, we give Christ a pass because he was the son of God. But how can God expect humans to do something that even He was unable to avoid in His final moment?

As the train plowed through the snow, people disembarked at various stops, and the kids moved away and on to other topics, blithely unaware of their insensitivity. In the grand scheme of things there was no harm done, and they were just children. Still I think the real lesson here is not to avoid making judgments, I think the real lesson is to realize when the judgment has been made and then to practice forgiveness. And if that's the case, who is it I should forgive? The kids for being self-absorbed American teenagers? Myself for wanting to slap them senseless for their rude actions? Or the man with the cold for not being able to find a more elegant way of dealing with his malady?

And of course, none of this would have run through my head if I had simply been able to sit down and read my Red Eye.

Moving On

Four years ago I decided that I'd had enough of the workaday world and wanted to hide in graduate school. My undergraduate degree is in theatre and I knew that I did not want to go back into that world, even just for study, so I was at loose ends. Prior to my hard-moment decision I had toyed with the idea of grad school for three years and always found a reason to put off any action. Then one day at work I simply had enough, turned in my notice and never looked back. But I still didn't know what I wanted to study.

There were logisitical things that had to be figured out first: I had just closed on my first condo, hadn't even made my first mortgage payment, and now I was unemployed, but sometimes pivotal life decisions are not made with an eye toward fiscal responsibility. On my way home on that fateful day, I stopped into the restaurant where I'd worked ten years earlier and asked to be put on the schedule. I walked out with a full roster of shifts. Then I went home and immediately enrolled in bartending school. My reasoning was that bartending was the easiest way to make the most cash. My adventures in individual alcohol distribution meetings is grist for another post. It was nearly a year before I sat down in my first course at DePaul, aimed at a masters degree in writing.

That course was the study of multicultural rhetoric. The first reading assignment was a hundred pages of modern rhetorical theory. I had to read the introduction to one of the articles three times, and I was never sure I fully understood it. During that class, more than once I sat at my computer cursing the professor. It was exhausting, but I survived.

The posts below pertain to this in that they are the first significant indication that my study is paying off. I've posted the responses from one reader because they were germain to the topic. I have received others enouraging comments that I've chosen not to post, received from outside the comment arena of this blog. A year ago I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to write anything more signficant than a check. Now I have some hope.

And I'm right back where I started with a hundred pages of modern rhetorical theory to digest and synthesize into a three-page paper, and a review of primary source materials for a research paper that my professor seems to think could be publishable.

So, I better get crackin'.

An Unexpected Response

I have a few favorite blogs that I read regularly. One belongs to Alexandra Billings, an actress who got her start in Chicago and who is currently pursuing her dream in Hollywood. She has grit and moxy and charm: all the things I don't have to be a big, big star. After I wrote my eulogy to Anna Nicole Smith below, Alex posted a comment. I've approved the comment for posting here, but for some reason it doesn't want to come through.

Alex's comment was actually a response to my comment that I posted on her blog, linking my eulogy to hers. We had very different views. However when I posted it, I assumed it would be taken in the spirit in which it was intended: you've shown me yours, I'll show you mine. Since she responded to my comment on her blog as well, I'll link to it here. If you're a blog fan, you should check Alex's out. It's one of the best.

Apparently I still have a lot to learn about writing. I tried to post my clarification to Alex's website, but as should have been expected it was too long. I post my response here:

***

Yipes. I did not mean to give offense in anyway. I'm actually a fan of yours: seen your work on stage and television and have heard you sing many times and always enjoyed it immensely. More than once I've watched you and wished I could do a tenth of what you have done. Even though I don't know you personally, I know enough about you to feel like you are a whole, real person who functions in world similar to mine.

I guess the point I was trying to make with my blog post is that I can't mourn the loss of a celebrity image -- a tabloid character -- and to me that's what ANS was/is. Much like I didn't mourn the loss of Kevin Dillon's character in Poseidon. The ending was expected, the timing was not.

I didn't know the woman, Vickie Lynn Hogan, so I have no idea whether she personally was a waste of space or not. However, in my opinion, her public persona was a toxic diversion from very real issues: like cotton candy before dinner, entertaining but of no nutritional value and too much makes you queasy. My intended point, which obviously failed miserably, was that her public persona -- the tabloid character, ANS, -- overpowered her humanity. I should feel some respect for the loss of the woman, but because of the public character I don't, and frankly I don't think many people actually do, all public hand wringing notwithstanding. It's not that I couldn't respect Vickie Lynn's background or her history or anything I've read in a tabloid about her. I watched her reality show and enjoyed it; always aware that I was supposed to look at the character of ANS and chuckle at what a train wreck she was, to think, "There but for the grace of God..." I've never for a second thought that what I was seeing on a television screen was supposed to be real.

The only thing that I would I hold Vickie Lynn accountable for is the waste of a life, and arguably three lives. She was very young when she died, witnessed her son's drug-induced death, and left a baby in a horrible circumstance. If that isn't waste, I don't know what is. If the woman was crushed by the character of ANS and its relationship with the American public, at the very least Vickie Lynn was not an innocent victim of the relationship. Based on what I've read from you, I think you would agree with at least that point. And if our fascination with the demise of a media character allows us to be distracted from the disintegration of American society as happened on the day of her death, (how much news coverage was given to the Scooter Libby trial that day?) then yes, Anna Nicole Smith was a toxic waste of space. I'm not saying the woman got what she deserved. I am saying that the character fulfilled the public's expectation and gave yet another excuse for the delay of taking responsibility for cleaning up some serious issues; the point of my post being to examine my own reaction, which surprised me, and to rail for a moment against my own tendency to allow myself to be distracted by such things. I was surprised that I responded like a Roman watching the death of a gladiator, not being able to relate to the person behind the shield. And I was honest and horrified that I really wanted to cheer.

But honestly, I think that on some level I'm supposed to want to cheer -- that the media character was created as a modern morality play with this inevitable end, all along intended to make me want to say "good riddance" at the final curtain -- and I'm appalled that part of me actually has bought into that. And, finally, if Vickie Lynn's death does not receive the respect it deserves because the circus of ANS's end overshadows it, Vickie Lynn shares some of that responsibility.

While you seem to draw some sort of parallel between your life and hers, that similarity honestly didn't occur to me when I posted the link to my blog. However as I think about it, I realize why those aspects of her life might resonate with you. But because I've seen you perform a variety of roles and read your blog regularly, much like your very young friend watching you play a wicked queen on stage, I feel like you're something of a real person in my world. If you have a media character you play on your blog and in your cabaret act, it is far more real to me than ANS was, and I buy it more completely.

To be clear: I wouldn't try to insult you by inferring that because you might have shared a similar beginning I think you deserve her fate, or --God forbid-- are a waste of space. I don't, mainly because if there is a similarity between the two of you it ends at the point where you identified behaviors you felt were destructive, took responsibility for them, and changed them. We have no way of knowing if the woman, Vickie Lynn Hogan, ever felt the same way and was in the process of making those changes, but we do know that the character ANS did not.

And as for my reason for posting it on your blog, it's quite simple: I enjoy reading it and I simply wanted to share mine with you. I think you have an amazing self-awareness that is incredibly rare in the real world, let alone the world of entertainment, and I greatly, greatly admire that. That admiration is only compounded by your willingness to publicly be self examined without being self absorbed, and you're often funny while doing it. Such dichotomies are rare. (Another distinction, by the way between you and Anna Nicole Smith.)

If I did give offense, I am deeply sorry. That was not my intention.

Anna Nicole Gives Good Head

I don't know the details, but do they really matter? Anna Nicole Smith, icon of self indulgence, made good on her promise. Whether this episode was accidental or not, the fact is she's been teasing us like a preacher's daughter on prom night, and finally she delivered.

I have to say that when I heard the news today I was titillated. I kept waiting for the moment when my humanity would kick in and I'd feel something other than almost glee. There is something so ultimately trashy, so Americanly sublime about this story. Isn't this how the date with Anna Nicole is supposed to end?

I didn't know Anna Nicole Smith. I'd seen her on television, and I'm sure like many I thought she was something of a social freak; a ripe, sexualized clown. And today when I heard that she'd died I tried to feel something. I tried to find a shred of respect for her and I couldn't. Like everyone else who follows pop culture, I was the horny football captain, and like any adolescent sports hero who receives a hand job after the big game, I feel like I only technically got what I wanted. I'm relieved, but not satisfied.

When I was told about her death, I laughed because there was no other response possible. Anna Nicole, Paris Hilton, Donald Trump...sadly the list seems to stretch into the abyss...all are social prick teases. They are media beauty queens with too much make-up and striped hair who shake their titties at us making us drool and forget our plain-Jane girlfriends like health care, education, and they war. They're fun little sluts, but they're only interested in picking up the bills from the dresser after the wad has been shot.

We can't even claim that Anna Nicole or any of these other media tarts have taken advantage of us. We crawled into the back seat and begged them to go back there with us. We told ourselves that no one would know. And now after the sordid little grope and slurp session, there is nothing left but a vague, hollow feeling, a bastard child, and a slight burning sensation.

RIP ANS

Too Little Too Late

Andymatic is one of the blogs I check out from time to time. Tonight, he had posted this Molly Ivins pieces that seems to resonate nicely with my preceding post.

Molly Ivins is a particular favorite of my mother's. I can't say that I ever followed her that much, preferring James Wolcott. Yet, I have to say that I think my mother is right. Ivins is so much more accessible and entertaining.

I feel like a boob because I only learned to appreciate her after she is gone.

Power of Definition

I've come to the conclusion that every expression is really an expression of oneself.

In the office we have a new girl. She's not really new, and she's hardly a girl, but she was hired to develop a new line of revenue as a corporate concierge. To do this, she first has to get close to the clients. However the clients are rabidly protected by their handlers, who view the new girl as a threat. She's not. She just needs the handlers to help launch her business. Still the handlers go out of their way to make her job difficult and to make her look bad. It's all very passive agressive.

So in an effort to keep my brain from freezing while on the train to work today, I thought about what these handlers were doing and realized that their actions said more about them than it ever could about the new girl. Even assuming the new girl was an incompetent boob, which she's not, the fact that they do nothing to help her, the fact that they exclude her socially, and the fact that they've gone running to the CEO to complain about her, says absolutely nothing about the new girl. But it speaks loudly and clearly about the character of these handlers. Think Wicked Stepsisters and you have a pretty accurate picture. So sad.

With this new-found realization, paradigm if you will, I took a look at my own actions and I have to say that I did not like what I saw. And beginning immediately I am going to evaluate my decisions, actions and speech in this new light. "What does this say about me?" In the past I've viewed things in terms of how people reacted to me. Did they like me? Did they think I was smart? Now, I'm starting to think about what I'm trying to say and how I define myself. That's the key. Instead of giving everyone else the power to define me, I have to take back that power and define myself for them. Then, if they don't like it, too bad. I'm taking control of the message, and there is infinite power in that action.

And I'm no longer allowing people to review my actions and define them for me. Nor will I any longer accept other's definitions unquestioningly.

I have the power.

You know you're getting old when:

1) you see a cute guy running from bar to bar on Halsted, hands jammed into his jeans and shoulders bunched up, and instead of thinking how hot he is all you can think about is how cold it is outside, and what an idiot he is not to be encased a down coat and sixteen scarves.

2) you start interviewing people for professional jobs who could biologically be your children.

3) you go shopping for clothes and all you can think is that no one makes anything worth buying anymore.

4) you don't mind when the kid behind the counter calls you sir.

5) the guys you thought were trolls five years ago all of sudden seem interesting.

6) you look back at the '80's with bemusement instead of bewilderment.

7) you realize you wouldn't relive the last twenty years for anything.

8) you don't miss being twenty five.

9) you realize you could work yourself up into a big hissy fit, but then ask yourself if the expenditure of all that energy is really worth the trouble.

10) you look in the mirror, realize that you look your age, and you don't care.

A Date?

I think I can count on one hand the number of times I've been asked out on a date. I'm big and intimidating and have spent decades perfecting my don't-even-THINK-of fucking-with-me aura. Initially it was my protective armor from being hurt. Now it's my protective armor from being bored. I can no longer find the entertainment value in a bad date. So imagine my surprise when I was asked for one.

It happened last night during our break in class. As I progress in the program, my colleagues just seem to get younger and more annoying. The past year I've withdrawn from even trying to attempt social cordiality. What is the point? I do not follow the youth culture, let alone the pseudo-culture of the faux world-weary graduate student. I do not know, nor do want to know any local bands. I have no interest in emerging writers other than myself. For Christ's sake, I bathe. I have nothing in common with any of these children. I try to exude the attitude of "get me out of here with my dignity in tact," and generally hope not to be bothered by post-adolescent innanities.

I was standing at the soda machine, cursing the company responsible for stocking it because it seems to be eternally out of Diet Pepsi, (which by the way is a pale substitute for my beloved Diet Coke) when all of sudden, from behind me I hear, "Do you have plans after class?"

It was Amanda. I KNOW! A twenty-two-year-old WOMAN. We'd been in a class together a year and a half ago and I vaguely remember complimenting her poetry. At the time she was pretty over weight and hid behind striped hair. The hair was unchanged, but she clearly had dropped about forty pounds and was feeling very good about herself. Dare I say, frisky. And (I struggle to type this through waves of nausea) it appears I was the desired plaything.

I smiled and did not comment on her weight loss. (I always find commenting on someone's weight, gain or loss, to be rather inappropriate.) I did however tell her she looked incredible and we chatted for a second. Then she asked if I wanted to join her for a cup of coffee after class.

The issues and questions were at war in my brain as I tried to compute what was going on. How could she not know that I am gay? How could she possibly be interested in me? How had I sent signals to her? Could I keep my dinner down?

Then I took a deep breath and realized that this had nothing to do with me and everything to do with her. It was clear that she had done a lot of work on her self esteem and that she was taking an enormous risk. How could I possibly damage that?

So indigestion be damned, I accepted.

What else could I do? She then suggested a bar across the street and told me she'd wait for me there. After class I found her in a typical college bar: bad lighting and ventilation, pool tables and basketballs game on televisions suspended from the ceiling. We chatted about the events of our lives in the past year and discussed classes. After about twenty minutes we were joined by three jovial fellow students, after which I gulped my club soda and made my excuses to leave.

That's when Amanda threw a big hug around me and asked for my e-mail address. I smiled and gave it to her. What else could I do?

Flattered, I am. And I'm praying I don't get an e-mail.

The Great Dane

My new, most-prized possession is a poster I just had framed. It's from a production of Hamlet done in 1995, and every time I look at it I'm filled with hope and awe, and it makes me giggle. It's a simple black background with a silver drawing of the face of the actor who played Hamlet. It's very stark and evokes images of small, studio productions of the masterwork done in basements. Fresh. Raw. Vital.

And, yet I'm sure this production was none of those things. I regret that I missed it. I've actually done five different versions of Hamlet, essentially playing all of the boys except the prince himself. In one production I also substituted for the queen in one scene, and I have memorably brought Ophelia to life at an audition that won me a standing ovation. I've studied the prince and learned his speeches, but never played him. I'm really much more suited to the king, and soon will be of the age where I could reasonably play him, if in fact I was still acting.

I love the play. For years I made it a ritual of re-reading the play. I considered it my play, and if I ever do come into some money the first thing I will do is direct my production of it. I haven't visited Denmark in nearly a decade and need to go back. I miss the Dane.

As I said, I didn't see the production advertised in the poster that hangs in my hall, but I really wish I had. You see, it starred Keanu Reeves. Just think of the exquisite agony of sitting through his Hamlet.

I've seen three filmed versions of the play: Olivier, Gibson, and Branaugh. Of the three, I have to say that I think the production starring Mel Gibson was the most satisfying. Olivier acted as if he owned the role, far to arrogant for me; Branaugh filmed his performance at the last possible moment, after he'd played the role in several productions on stage and before major reconstructive surgery would have been required to portray the tortured youth. He had no interest in, let alone love for the prince left. He simply collected a pay check. Gibson didn't try to do anything but entertain. He didn't treat the text as sacred, and wasn't afraid of the humor or the charm. He was thrilling in the role. I'm sure Keanu's Hamlet was quite earnest and loud, but oh, how I wish I'd seen it. I remember the reviews for Keanu's Hamlet. The line that sticks out is, "He got all the words in the right order." Can we honestly expect more from Keanu. And I would have stood and cheered.

As turgid as I imagine the production must have truly been, I still love to think of Keanu Reeves playing Hamlet. Think of it: we live in a world where Keanu Reeves can tackle the greatest theatrical creation the English language has ever produced. He wrestled the Great Dane for his own reasons in front of paying audiences, and I have no doubt it is finest achievement. Some would think Mr. Reeves demonstrated hubris, but I believe it was courage. He dared to dream and risk and face absolute certain ridicule. He had to have known that he would be an utter failure in the eyes of most of the world, and yet every night for weeks he stepped onto a darkened stage and began, "A little more than kin, and less than kind." "O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt..." and of course, "To be, or not to be. That is the question." The exepected "dude" at the end of the most famous dramatic line ever written need not be spoken. It hangs in the air waiting for the audience to fill in the blank. I can see him bouncing in place, flipping hair out of his eyes, readying for the fight with Laertes; standing defiant, jaw thrust forward to the king; whispering monotone to Horatio, "The rest is silence." I wonder if the gravedigger was able to evoke a brief, honest human moment from Keanu/Hamlet and make him smile, or whether Keanu/Hamlet made the audience feel anything but boredom. I hope someone other than his mother saw it for what it was.

I know I would have loved every iambic-pentametric moment. In a world where Keanu Reeves can play Hamlet, anything can happen. And if he did nothing else, the one bit of pure magic he did create that no one else has done: Keanu Reeves turned the dark English tragedy into a symbol of hope for all those who choose to see it.

I May Be a Misanthrope

It's a quarter to ten. I've been at work all day, and reading for class all evening. I was expecting the package that UPS was supposed to have delivered on Thursday, and then again on Friday. It did not arrive today. If it doesn't arrive tomorrow, I will be initiating a full-on frontal attack against UPS. I hate them.

Why is it acceptable for businesses to conduct business so that it is convenient for them? Particularly high on my list of ineptitude is a cashier who makes a line of customers wait while she waits for a stack of singles to be delivered from the customer service desk. Or customer service people who tell you that if it appears on their computer screen it is a divine communication and cannot, under any circumstances, be erroneous.

Yes, it was a bad day at work.

I am a Faggot

I don't believe anyone has actually called me a faggot to my face since high school. But I'm quite sure the term has been applied to me behind my back on more than one occasion. Now, it seems the blogs that I read are all abuzz over Isaiah Washington having the nerve to use the word in civilization -- if a Hollywood soundstage could be considered civilization.

But, I have to say the I applaud Mr. Washington. It takes a certain brand of moxy to brazenly flaunt Hollywood political correctness and speak your mind. To not only display, but to glory in your own arrogance and ignorance in such a public manner is truly awe inspiring. I only wish Mr. Washington had the nerve to stand on the highest mountain and yell, "I hate faggots!" I'd ask him to run for president.

Not there was any doubt in Mr. Knight's mind how Mr. Washington felt, I'm sure. Long before a gay man learns to identify other gay men in covert ways, he develops his ability to sense homophobia. I, myself, learned to identify it rather late in life. But now that I have the power, so to speak, I do not hate homophobes. I truly, truly pity them. Homophobia is a mental disorder and a lifestyle choice. Homophobes either can't help how they feel, or they've chosen a lifestyle of hate that I don't particularly agree with. I can only pity them and pray that when Jesus comes back he takes pity on those poor souls who ferociously disregard his teachings.

Whether they know it or not, some of the most charming, smartest people I know are homophobic. Honestly, some of my best friends are homophobic. I can see them get antsy if I mention dating, and they never, ever introduce me to anyone they think I might like. And I carefully help them preserve their safe little asexual image of me. I am forever going to a be a favorite bachelor uncle for several people. For a lot of people I know, I'm their token gay friend. My presence in their lives is proof positive that they themselves are hip and accepting, but they don't want to talk about it.

As I grow and mature, I find that I can still like certain people in spite of their misguided lifestyle choice. But I find myself chosing to spend less time with them, even if it means I spend more time alone. I prefer to pity them from afar. And like Mr. Washington, I have an immense respect for their brave decision to cling to their beliefs, no matter out antiquated and ignorant they may be. I simply pity them.

Most Hated

Today it was decided that we will be terminating another employee. The manager who has to do it is not happy about it, and further does not like the fact that I'm telling him how it has to be done. So, I'm on another "Most-Hated" List.

Being the HR person in a small company is, just simply, a no-win proposition. My current arrangement is complicated by the fact that the CEO is extremely volatile and the only two people in the tri-state area who seem able to calm him down are me and his ten-month-old daughter. Since her schedule is packed with teething and pooping, I'm left with the majority of the responsibility of soothing our savage beast. To his defense, the CEO has to deal with such indescribable stupidity that his rants more often than not are restrained in comparison to the provocation.

Anyway, although I wasn't in the meeting and although I had absolutely NOTHING to do with the termination decision, a very high-ranking manager, who frequently does not get his way, sneered, "Well, we all know it's the HR guy who really runs the company."

That's not the first time someone has made that comment, and I don't know why I'm offended. While the CEO only listens to my suggestions maybe five percent of the time, it's five percent more than most. Still he has his own mind and the most I can ever do is delay him from doing something. If he's going to do something, it's done. But I seem to be the face that everyone is associating with "No." And lately a lot of people are being told, "No."

I have three secretaries bickering over who should do what, and who called whom, and said what, and I just can't take it. I'd like to slap all three of them and tell them to grow up, and this afternoon I metaphorically did that to two of them. The third, of course is the most difficult and refuses to meet. She gets one more chance to respond positively tomorrow and then I'm taking it to a higher authority.

And I thought that one of the benefits to being gay was that you didn't have to deal with children.

The Shiny, Happy People and Vampires

I have never understood why certain people take an instant dislike to me. What, WHAT, is not to love? Still, over the general course of my life some people have actually had the nerve to exhibit their lack of breeding and good taste, and shun my presence.

And, over the general course of my life, I've been able to categorize these people into two sweeping categories. The first is typified by a certain recently-pseudo successful actor who is receiving more national attention than he deserves and who, when his current television show is canceled will shrivel into his rightful place as a misspelled index entry in the history of American entertainment. Still, said actor does possess a certain amount of focus and self confidence and the ability to quantify a person to the point that he can instantly determine whether that person will translate into any tangible value for him. While I admire and respect such skill and focus, I generally loathe people who possess those qualities to the exclusion of all other human traits. I call these people Vampires.

The second category I just recently (tonight, actually) identified. Their the people who have to form a clique. The criteria to be part of the clique could be anything..."We wear Wonder Woman underoos on Wednesday..." and the implied message from these people is, "...and you don't!" In every situation these people seem to band together and begin the process of identifying "them." The chorus is full of these tedious people. I've been a member for two and a half years, and I still haven't fully determined the criteria for becoming part of the cliques. It has something to do with sexual desirability, income potential, and dental hygiene, but I can't quite make it out. Whatever it is, I don't fit.

For years, with both groups of people, I would worry about how could I get these people to recognize that I'm ADORABLE! Then, said actor from the first group made me realize that I could do nothing to demonstrate my value in his world, so I learned to stay as far away from him, and eventually people like him, as I possibly could.

However, the second group has been trickier for me to deal with. There is something about the challenge of, "You can't hang out with us," that is irresistible to me. "Yes I can, and you're going to love it!" is almost my genetically encoded response. But lately I've decided not only that I will never be a meaningful part of any clique, but that -- and here's the revelation -- those people generally are not worth MY time. I DON'T NEED THEM. People who can only socialize with an approved category of people are pathetic, intellectually stagnating cousin fuckers. I hereby resolve not to spend another second worrying about them.

And now to bed...

Expensive White Leather Jackets

I had premonitions, but I ignored them. I saw a green convertible and I always think of him. I found myself looking up at the sky and remembered a random conversation. In the past such reflections would make me antsy, guilt ridden. Sad. Today they were just random thoughts that darted through my mind while I walked up Broadway to Jewel.

I had a poster framed and had picked it up. It was getting late in the afternoon and I started to think about actually making dinner. I had everything that I needed except an onion, so I decided to walk up Broadway from Diversey to the Jewell on Addison. That's my old neighborhood, and I was surprised this afternoon by how much I actually seemed to miss it. Then I wandered into the over-crowded Jewell and was thankful that I'd moved. I stood behind a woman who obviously thought the "12 Items or Less" sign emblazoned on a huge sign over the register meant multiples of twelve. I gave up trying to conceal my contempt for her when she popped open her yet-to-be-paid-for peanuts and started chomping on them. I thought about making a scene but decided that I had too much class for anything more than my ultimate death stare.

It was after I'd paid for my groceries that I saw him. He was much grayer than I remembered, obviously aged. And he was wearing a white leather jacket. Not that I was more fetchingly attired in my down coat, but, seriously, a white leather jacket! It was clear he'd seen me and there was absolutely no way I could pretend I didn't see him, so I manufactured my best prom queen smile and exchanged "How are ya's," and walked past without missing a beat. I didn't look back.

I haven't seen Jonathan in at least eight years. I actually thought he'd left Chicago. In one of our last conversations he said that it lacked enough culture for him. I might have had to sit on my hands so as not to slap him. I first met Jonathan while going through a very, very difficult period, which cannot be blogged about. I really struggled with our friendship. I thought that my feelings of inferiority were all in my head, but after years of having to beg for his attention and being told what he was giving up to spend time with me, I ended the friendship. When I did it we hadn't seen each other in months because I refused to be the one to initate getting together. He never did. Finally I simply sent him an e-mail and said good-bye. Not the most mature way of handling the situation, I admit. I suppose I could simply have let it drift away, but at the time I really wanted that particular door nailed shut.

Jonathan did not take being dumped, even by a platonic friend, well. He left me an angry voice message, which I did not listen to before I deleted it. Since then I've run into him a few times. I acknowledge him, but do not stand around and get caught up. I am his inferior and I got that message on more than one occasion: like when he called me at work to say he was going to stop by to take me to lunch, only for me to run an errand and find him having lunch with friends, whom he did not introduce me to, at a sidewalk cafe. He never stopped at my office. Or perhaps the time he simply stood me up because something better came up. Or his withering comment about my first one-bedroom apartment. The list could go on forever. I simply decided that if I was inferior to him, I needed to be inferior in my own social space.

Since then I've built a pretty successful career, nearly completed a master's degree, and bought my own home. I'm sure he knows none of this and thinks I'm still writing memos and serving eggs for a living, hoping to be cast in another storefront production. I'm pretty happy with my life.

And I don't wear white leather jackets.

Year End Review

1. Was 2006 a good year for you?
Yes. New job, not having to work the holidays. Holidays with family.

2. What was your favorite moment(s) of the year?

Christmas with my mother and sister.

3. What was your least favorite moment(s) of the year?

Having to tell my new boss, the one who insisted on hiring me, that he was in danger of losing his job.

4. What did you do in 2006 that you'd never done before?

Aside from the afore mentioned conversation with my boss --- I never actually flirted with a straight boy, until yesterday.

5. Did you keep your new years' resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I guess I did. I got a new job.

6. Where were you when 2006 began?

Probably asleep because I had to work on New Year's Day.

7. Who were you with?

Yeah, right.

8. Where will you be when 2006 ends?

I will probably be sitting on a sofa watching a movie.

9. Who will you be with when 2006 ends?

I'll be with my friends J&A.

10. Did anyone close to you give birth?

Sadly, we're not very close but one of the few people I have immense respect for had his second daughter. I need to send congratulations.

11. Did you lose anybody close to you in 2006?

No. I've had them all installed with Lojacks.

12. Who did you miss?

I've given up missing people. There are people who seem to drift in and out of my life, but I've spent to much time pining after people. If I want to talk to someone, I pick up the phone or dash off an e-mail.

13. Who was the best new person you met in 2006?

I have to say that the person I like the most is K. The person who inspires me the most is C. And the person I respect the most is the CEO at my new job.

14. What was your favorite month of 2006?

I'd have to say July because the first week of that month was my first paid vacation in more than three years!

15. Did you travel outside of the US in 2006?

No, but if all goes as planned there will be a different answer in 2007.

16. How many different states did you travel to in 2006?

Just one. Arizona.

17. What would you like to have in 2007 that you lacked in 2006?

Lost weight. Between work, school, and the chorus, I just can't find the time to get to the gym. That has changed in the last two weeks. I also need to pay more attention to what I eat. More vegetation, and (sadly) less cheese.

18. What date from 2006 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

February 9 is the only date that comes to mind. That's the day I started my new job.

19. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Getting an A- from a professor who I thought I despised.

20. What was your biggest failure?

I don’t believe in failure.

21. Did you suffer illness or injury?

No. I'm disgustingly healthy.

22. What was the best thing you bought?

The train ticket for my mother to travel to my sister's house for Christmas. The two of them had not seen each other in fifteen years.

23. Whose behavior merited celebration?

I can't think of anyone...

24. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

George W. Bush.

25. Where did most of your money go?

I think to White Hen, where I've been buying most of my lunches for the past year.

26. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

I don't get really, really, really excited about anything any more.

27. Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2006?

Probably not enough. I had a doctor tell me once that I needed to start drinking.

28. Did you do a lot of drugs in 2006?

I don't do drugs. It's an event if I take an aspirin.

29. Did you treat somebody badly in 2006?

Not exactly. There is a woman in my office who I don't particularly like. After a meeting she cornered me in my office and confronted me. She asked if she'd done anything to offend me and I said, "No." That answer offended her and she demanded more, so I turned the tables around on her and asked her why she was so confrontational. I don't like it when somebody realizes that I don't like them.

30. Did somebody treat you badly in 2006?

Oddly, there were moments when the CEO could have been more kind, but I now see that he was testing his management team to see how much stress they could take. I think I passed.

31. Compared to this time last year, are you:

Compared to this time last year, I'm more gainfully employed and as a result I'm enjoying life more.

32. What do you wish you'd done more of in 2006?

Developed new friendships.

33. What do you wish you'd done less of?

Watched television. In college, a friend described television as the great time thief. He was right.

34. Did you fall in love in 2006?

Really, truly, madly, deeply in love? No. But every three or four weeks I develop a new crush.

And then, of course, there is RP.

35. What was your favorite TV program(s)?

I vowed not to get sucked into a new show, but (in no particular order) the top three were Dancing with the Stars, Project Runway, and Dexter.

36. What song will always remind you of 2006?

"Evening Prayer” from Englebert Humperdink's opera Hansel and Gretl.

37. How many concerts did you see in 2006?

None. However, I performed in three.

38. Did you have a favorite concert in 2006?

I'd have to say the Christmas concert for CGMC.

39. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Il Divo.

40. What was the best book you read?

Actually, I enjoyed Anna Karenina. I don't have enough time to read for pleasure.

41. What was your favorite film of this year?

Hands down, Little Miss Sunshine. It was like a modern morality play.

42. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

My birthday falls smack dab in the middle of the holidays. I slept. I turned Old.

43. What did you want and get?

I didn't want anything in particular. I wanted to be happy and I think I got a lot closer to that.

44. What did you want and not get?

There was this pair of boots on e-Bay...

45. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Falling really, truly, madly, deeply in love.

46. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2006?

Finding sleeves that are long enough.

47. What kept you sane?

When I get there, I'll let you know.

48. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I'll have to cast my vote for the most unoriginal of answers and go with Jake Gyllenhaal; although I have to say that the bloom is coming off the rose as he loses weight.

49. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2006.

Winners never quit and quitters never win.

50. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

All by myself...
Don't want to be
All by myself
Anymore...

When Reality and Fantasy Collide

Sometimes when I'm bored I go out to Match.com and do some window shopping. There you find personal ads from men, all of whom describe themselves as some new, innovative shade of Prince Charming. Most of the ads demonstrate either the shocking similarity of the individuals of the human race, or its depressing banality. Originality is, apparently, not something that is prized on Match.com. Everybody is "not into the scene," and "normal." (As a little side note, I'm eternally entertained by the men who are too old to date themselves. They request that respondents not exceed a certain age, usually justifying it with their "untamed zest for life." Yes. I'm a twenty-three-year-old, muscle-bound fitness model and I'm just dying to date a forty-five-year-old, balding dentist. It could happen.)

Then one day just before the holidays I was stopped dead in my tracks. RP-- MY RP -- has a persoal ad posted on Match.com!

For those who have not followed this blog religiously, RP stands for "Real Prototype." That means that I have the ideal boyfriend all mapped out in my head, perfection on toast. From time to time I appropriate certain people to sort of symbolize this dream. At different times I've used Ben Affleck, Brendan Fraser, etc. But for the last two years, the role of RP has been played by someone who actually inhabits my real life. By that I mean he is a person whom I could actually speak to, actually pick up the phone and have a discussion with, and probably not be arrested as a stalker. The reality is that I've never said more than a dozen words to him. And if we do have any sort of conversation it's awkward, trading jokey insults. Just thinking about him makes me feel like a twelve-year-old girl, so being within earshot almost makes me a drooling idiot. But, to put a finer point on reality, he probably doesn't even really realize I exist beyond this adolescent patter. And it's all fine. I've appropriated him (without his knowledge) to play the starring role in my little romantic fantasy in my head. I know it's all silliness.

Still, that didn't mean my heart didn't flutter when I saw his picture posted for the world to see, advertising for a new boyfriend! Part of Match.com is a profile that the website uses to match people. Since it was free, I immediately filled it out to see how RP and I match.

We don't, really.

He doesn't read.

Anything.

Ever.

And he sites Carrie Bradshaw as his romance guru. Now, I like Sex and the City as much as the next gay, but I would hardly use that sitcom as my relationship touchstone. RP is nice enough, but he's just as shallow in real life as the persona I've created in my head. How is that possible?

I can't say I'm heart broken. And I don't even know if anything has to change. He can still be RP to me. But now I know for an absolute certainty there can be nothing real between us. Not like when RP was played by Ben Affleck.

We Interrupt This Program...

Just when I was convinced that no one really read this blog, today I received a comment to one of my posts. Frustratingly, the commentator did not give me enough clues to identify him/her. The single clue about the Bible narrows the potential list to approximately forty people -- and that's only if I'm interpreting the clue properly.

My senior year in high school, I fell during P.E. class basketball game, shattering my right arm. The break required a week's hospital stay and two corrective surgeries. Because I had been so deeply crushed when I didn't get the lead in the fall musical earlier that year, my high school drama coach chose a play specifically for me in the spring, Inherit the Wind. She called me while I was in the hospital and told me that I didn't even have to audition, but to let her know if I was going to do the show or not because she'd choose something else if I didn't. Even though it was an old-man part, it was a lead and in my vanity I snapped at it.

(As a side note, that was my last old-man role. In college I was cast in more age-appropriate roles, and then when I began acting professionally I was cast as children well into my thirties. I even played my fair share of romantic, leading roles. Still vain after all these years.)

Anyway, here's the part of the comment that really took the wind out of my sails:

"...That's why I'd like to make amends with you. I was a horrible person to you through high school. Part ignorance, part jealousy, and part competetiveness...and all centered on my low self-esteem. I dragged others down because I felt down.I certainly would not expect you to accept my apology, but I am offering it nonetheless. Without putting my name out there for all to see, let me just tell you that the names John Sether and Gibby mean as much to me as they do to you. And that I sometimes still find myself standing on stage balancing a book in each hand under a banner that says 'Read Your Bible.'"

If I remember correctly, there was a banner on stage of that production that read, "Read Your Bible." If I was really interested, I would dig up the year book to see.

The truth is I'm not. The comment takes me aback simply because for a split second I'm that awkward kid again, desperately wanting to be the romantic lead and having to settle for playing old men. I was an odd kid in high school, with an odd family situation, trying to grapple with all of that, while working out the gay demons. I had a circle of friends, but they weren't what you might call trust worthy. They were the people that I felt the least uncomfortable with. I did what I could to fit in and prayed that graduation would come so that I could move on with my life and put all of that behind me. Now, looking back at that time I recognize that it played a big part in who I became, both positively and negatively. My years in high school defined the world for me. It was tough, but I'm probably the better person for it.

But that description of high school could fit anyone. Hell, it probably fits everyone.

Because of the quirky little details, I'm choosing to accept the comment as legitimate. Recently I read another blog where the blogger received a similar comment. It's just possible that we were both the random recipients of someone's attempt to make himself feel better about how he treated someone else in his high school. Or maybe we're the victims of yet another high school-related joke.

So, as a little side comment to my personal commentator...Without really knowing who you are, consider your apology accepted. I'm no longer defined by my high school experience and don't look to those people anymore to validate me. I appreciate your well wishes and return them.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

When Bad People Happen to Good Companies

I think I can officially say it. I think I hate my boss, the COO. The final straw has been his million-dollar miscalculation in preparing next year's budget. His figures are being audited now, but if they turn out to be correct approximately ten percent of our employees stand to lose their jobs. There is an emergency meeting scheduled for January 3, and he had the NERVE to ask that it be rescheduled for the eighth so that his vacation would not be interrupted. Of course, he does not stand to be one of the people who will lose his job -- in fact, I might lose mine in his place. I'm not too worried about that. The CEO, for all the abuse he's heaped on me, just gave me a promotion and a raise. If I lose my job, he will help me find another.

What is just frosting my glass is the fact that my boss has all these unreasonable perks. He comes in at 9:30. Four days out of five, he's out of the office by 4:30. He produces absolutely nothing, and when a project is assigned to him, he passes it off to me. But, if I initiate something, he tells me to stop and let him do his job. Only to pass what I started off to someone else.

Today I took a look at the budget and suggested to the CFO that such executive perks as car allowances (no one drives for their job) and country club fees be cut from the budget before we fire someone. I got a note back saying such things were likely to stay in the budget, but she did agree to crunch some numbers to determine how much money we are actually talking about. Just from what I know, we're easily talking about well over $100,000.

If I was smart, I'd update my resume and start sending it out. But I'm going to see this one out to the bitter end. I will either walk away from this job financially comfortable, or I will lose it because other people are lazy, stupid, self-involved, selfish slobs.

Another Political Rant

The time has come for another political rant. I've been uncharacteristically quiet on the subject, especially in light of the November elections. Truth be told, I've been too busy with work, school, and chorus to breathe. I've simply had to trust that the universe would carry on without me.

But now, the proverbial straw has snapped the camel's back, and I feel it is absolutely my duty as a good citizen of the universe to speak out.

What's up with little LiLo?

On the surface, that might appear to be a frivolous question, but I really mean it. Miss Lohan and her cadre of "friends" are disturbing to a level that defies understanding. Generations past, when the nation was in crisis, did their part. Even entertainers took up the American cause and at the very least appeared to care about the other inhabitants in the world.

Lest anyone forget, we are at war. It is a war in which tens of thousands of people have been injured, maimed and killed. In World War II movie stars sold war bonds, did USO tours, and even rolled bandages. During the Vietnam conflict celebrities (there were no more movie stars) became vocal and active. No matter your opinion of Jane Fonda and her sexy splits on a contemporary weapon of mass destruction, at least she was participating as a conscientious citizen.

What is wrong with us that we tolerate, let alone salivate over Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton, Nicole Ritchie, Britney Spears, and their assorted boy toys. How can we as a society allow, let alone advertise the chemically enhanced shenanigans of these soulless publicity whores? Why hasn't a rabble of villagers chased them from the hills Beverly and drowned them in the sea? I believe that any good mother would have cheerfully done this at birth. Yet I cannot turn on my computer or pick up a newspaper without seeing the dilated pupils of these social monsters glaring back at me from the pages, pleading to be just left alone.

We are at a time when they cannot and should not be left alone. Though perhaps more extreme, LiLo is just a more vivid shade of her generation. As I get older, it seems people struggle to gain maturity by thirty. Wasn't there a time when children begged to be allowed to grow up? Wasn't thirteen at one time considered the age of adulthood? Legally, aren't we adults at eighteen? Why, now, are people infantile well into adulthood? And why, why, why do we celebrate it?

If there was ever a generation that cried, screamed, howled to be saved, this is it. Bring back the draft! Not in an effort to win an immoral war, but in an effort to save our national soul. And put Lindsay, Paris, Nicole, Britney, Kevin, Ashton, Jeremy and all of their kind on the front lines.

"Be Adequite." Could there be a more appropriate motto for a generation?

...and Then We Can Go to the Mall!

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!

Pooped!

I need a vacation after my vacation. Great holiday! Now, on to the concert!

www.cgmc.org

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.

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 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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...