Yesterday should have been wonderful. Light-hearted. Joyful. Centered around family.
Yesterday all fresh hell broke lose. Oh, and my family certainly helped.
Yesterday, February 28th, was my parents golden wedding anniversary. Not many folks manage to make it to this milestone, and there were times when both parties wondered if they'd get here ... but they did. So it is reason to celebrate. I used my trusted florist and we sent 50 roses of all kinds of color to my parents, who were so pleased that they'll be sending us photos.
Yesterday was also the anniversary of my second year at my current place of employment. And I really like where I work and what I'm doing.
Yesterday a member of the extended department did something SO damn dumb and SO lame-brained that I really, quite honestly, wanted him fired. (And, honestly, I still do today.) This is a power I do not have in my position but still. This particular individual believes his educational history gives him superiority and he never fails to belittle and/or talk down to those who are TRYING to assist him and yesterday, he screwed up so big *and* failed to own up to it that I really don't know if I'll be able to hold my tongue when I see him next.
Yesterday my work day ended and, as I drove home, I listened to a voicemail message from my sister - a woman who never hesitates to point out her incredible communication skills and tact - and the message pissed me off so badly that even my commute time home wasn't enough to calm me down. She managed to tell me what had happened without actually saying it. It was something like "so I guess you know, but if you don't, call me and I will fill you in, but if you already know you don't have to ..." It made me yell into the traffic with frustration and disbelief.
So yesterday I came through the door of our home and greeted my husband with a verbal vomit of venom. "Hi. My Uncle Denis probably died last night. And one of the department managers had a team member who had items stolen from his desk and, for reasons I cannot fathom because we're all so stupid compared to him, he decided to NOT call Security OR tell the administration. And my sister is an insensitive moron and no, I will NOT be calling her back."
And, sadly, my Uncle Denis did pass in his sleep sometime during the night.
Yesterday my own Father, a man I love dearly but who has the emotional maturity of a six year old when it comes to family grudges (a trait I'm told he inherited from his father), left it up to my Mother to drive to my Uncle's home to wait with the Sheriff for the proper individual (the person my Father is avoiding) to arrive to ID the body. On her 50th wedding anniversary. Neat, right?
Yesterday leaked into today with my sister calling me to say that she's heard from a reliable source (a Cousin whom I'VE never thought to be reliable for anything other than being a drain on his father's patience) that my Uncle's will wasn't what he always said it was and that she was upset "for both of us" that we wouldn't be getting anything tangible to remind us of our Aunt. (and I reeeeeeally wanted to say "yeah - that's NOT why I'm upset" .... but I didn't.)
"Oh", she added, "I heard the flowers you two sent were lovely."
Showing posts with label Brain Barf. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brain Barf. Show all posts
Friday, March 1, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
Is It Me?
It's been a month of "just" being on my Selegiline. Each twitch, quiver, shake, shiver ... each cramp or tilt or swerve makes me wonder ... is this new? Is this a decline? Is this normal ... or is this MY normal? Am I losing weight because Winter is fading and I'm eating less or am I losing weight because I'm eating less due to a loss of appetite (a PD Symptom)? For crying out loud - isn't ok to just not be hungry anymore?!?
There's no way to know. Imagine if, once a week, you had to report in depth on ...... how your teeth felt. Are they feeling cleaner today than last week? Are the spaces in between the same or different? Is your jaw tighter than it was last Tuesday? Do things line up the same?
For my PD, that's kind of how it feels when I notice, for instance, that I sit in my chair with my feet flat on the floor and use them to swing my chair left, then right, then left. Is this a new thing I'm doing? Am I doing it because I'm AWARE I want to be doing it - or is this a new symptom? Did I do this last month?
In happier news, the one driving me crazy with all this is me. The Awesome Husband is either keeping his concerns to himself and/or realizes that anything he's noticing about me I've already noticed and am already wondering about. Our daily life is wonderfully, marvelously un-large-eventful. My diagnosis does not consume either of us ... it just simply is there. It isn't ME. It's a small part of who I am today and may be a part of who I will become ... but it's not now and will never be all of me. It is also not us.
I will always ... WE will always ... I dearly hope, be more.
There's no way to know. Imagine if, once a week, you had to report in depth on ...... how your teeth felt. Are they feeling cleaner today than last week? Are the spaces in between the same or different? Is your jaw tighter than it was last Tuesday? Do things line up the same?
For my PD, that's kind of how it feels when I notice, for instance, that I sit in my chair with my feet flat on the floor and use them to swing my chair left, then right, then left. Is this a new thing I'm doing? Am I doing it because I'm AWARE I want to be doing it - or is this a new symptom? Did I do this last month?
In happier news, the one driving me crazy with all this is me. The Awesome Husband is either keeping his concerns to himself and/or realizes that anything he's noticing about me I've already noticed and am already wondering about. Our daily life is wonderfully, marvelously un-large-eventful. My diagnosis does not consume either of us ... it just simply is there. It isn't ME. It's a small part of who I am today and may be a part of who I will become ... but it's not now and will never be all of me. It is also not us.
I will always ... WE will always ... I dearly hope, be more.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
A Message To Those Who Ran
This morning marked the first time (in a long time) that I didn't hear any ads for "Prop. X" or "Re-elect Senator Smith", etc. I realize that there were folks in the US that had such ads for nearly a year. Those people are easy to spot in a crowd - they're dancing with glee in the silence of the morning.
I did my best to avoid the debates and the proclamations and the cheap shots and the out-and-out lies. It wasn't easy - especially toward the end where it was all the news reports would cover. (Don't get me started on "legitimate rape".) And just when it couldn't get any stranger, someone angered that thing on the top of Donald Trump's head, which woke The Donald up. (Whomever is responsible for that should just leave the country quickly and quietly.)
I'm enjoying the peace this morning. This is not at all what I expected. I anticipated teams of lawyers and hanging chads and finger pointing. I expected recounts and recalls and ... and I'm just so glad that's not happening.
I do, however, feel compared to say the following to all who ran for any post in any facility at any level:
You spent time, energy, probably money, and brain power (all not necessarily your own) coming up with plans of action and designing solutions to situations that our country, our states, our cities and townships face. Homelessness. Out-Of-Control National Debt. Equal Rights. Economic Cliffs. Job losses. Benefits cuts. You - or someone whose message you approved - said you had the answer. You knew the path to take. You had it all figured out. You stood there, with the American Flag pinned on your collar and the National Anthem blaring from loudspeakers, rallied the troops and promised you had found the light at the end of the tunnel for this country you love so much.
It's November 7th. The confetti has been swept from the floor and the banners have been taken down. Those problems I listed still exist and you, whether you won or lost, still have the answer. If you won, you now owe it to those who voted you into office to implement your brilliant plan. No excuses, We, the people, hired you for this task and we'll be reviewing your progress regularly. And if you lost? Well, if you lost, you now have a choice to make. You can either share your solution with those who can put the wheels in motion, saving your beloved country, and you'll be the hero who did what those in office couldn't do. Or you can keep your solution as your own secret weapon for the next election, while the problems continue to grow and your beloved country continues to flounder.
The choice was ours. The choice is now yours.
I did my best to avoid the debates and the proclamations and the cheap shots and the out-and-out lies. It wasn't easy - especially toward the end where it was all the news reports would cover. (Don't get me started on "legitimate rape".) And just when it couldn't get any stranger, someone angered that thing on the top of Donald Trump's head, which woke The Donald up. (Whomever is responsible for that should just leave the country quickly and quietly.)
I'm enjoying the peace this morning. This is not at all what I expected. I anticipated teams of lawyers and hanging chads and finger pointing. I expected recounts and recalls and ... and I'm just so glad that's not happening.
I do, however, feel compared to say the following to all who ran for any post in any facility at any level:
You spent time, energy, probably money, and brain power (all not necessarily your own) coming up with plans of action and designing solutions to situations that our country, our states, our cities and townships face. Homelessness. Out-Of-Control National Debt. Equal Rights. Economic Cliffs. Job losses. Benefits cuts. You - or someone whose message you approved - said you had the answer. You knew the path to take. You had it all figured out. You stood there, with the American Flag pinned on your collar and the National Anthem blaring from loudspeakers, rallied the troops and promised you had found the light at the end of the tunnel for this country you love so much.
It's November 7th. The confetti has been swept from the floor and the banners have been taken down. Those problems I listed still exist and you, whether you won or lost, still have the answer. If you won, you now owe it to those who voted you into office to implement your brilliant plan. No excuses, We, the people, hired you for this task and we'll be reviewing your progress regularly. And if you lost? Well, if you lost, you now have a choice to make. You can either share your solution with those who can put the wheels in motion, saving your beloved country, and you'll be the hero who did what those in office couldn't do. Or you can keep your solution as your own secret weapon for the next election, while the problems continue to grow and your beloved country continues to flounder.
The choice was ours. The choice is now yours.
Friday, September 21, 2012
A Low "Ha!"
I haven't written much - or, really, at all - about the incredible two week vacation that the Awesome Fiance and I took this summer. We've been back for over a month now so it's probably time to revisit it.
I could write about the travel experience itself but the airline (I'll call it "Untied") would probably put me on the "no-fly" list after reading my tirade. I'd have to create new, more descriptive words beyond "dunder-headed ass clown" and "inept corporate maggot" ... and I'm just not feeling all that creative today.
I could write about this being the ONLY time in my life I've actually taken two whole weeks from work for vacation. Yes, I had a sabbatical, which was 6 weeks, but in all the 29 years I've been employed, I've never taken two solid weeks of vacation.
I could write about the food ... OH. MY. LORD. THE. FOOD. ... but that'll probably just make me hungry and I probably wouldn't be able to describe some of the dishes to the level of deliciousness they deserve.
I think I'll write about my overall take-away from the first portion of our two weeks. The "Family" portion.
Ya' know that family you see on occasion when traveling? Grandparents, grown children, grandkids ... dining together, smiling and laughing, posing for goofy photos, etc? The clan that piles out from the minivan and walks into the mall, maybe wearing similar teeshirts ... or the multi-generational gathering on the beach - a few are reading, some are splashing about in the water, the youngest members are creating elaborate piles of sand? Well, I was part of that family as a child. My best friend really did have the perfect family and I spent countless hours as an extended, adopted family member. Oh, they were SO much better than my real family.
Dad was a teacher, an avid weekend golfer, and liked to take rides on his motorcycle. Mom, also a teacher, liked to go on walks, spend time with her family, and be outdoors. Son - the youngest member of the family - was into all things bicycle. Daughter - my best friend - was everything I wasn't ... graceful, very pretty, delicate. They'd include me on short weekend getaways and I'd see a family who REALLY enjoyed being together. Parents who had conversations about news and politics and things that didn't involve work or animals or relatives. Children who played nicely together and went to the movies together - not because they were told to but because they wanted to. For me, it was surreal.
It was also fake.
I know now that my seemingly perfect adopted family ... was not. Dad, it seemed, waited until the children were grown and on their own, and then got on his motorcycle and rode away. Mom developed an eating disorder and handled her divorce as 'tho everything was fine when, clearly, it was not. Little brother got married *WAY* too young but to a wonderful woman who nursed him back to health for a year after a very nearly deadly motocross accident. And best friend, who had aspirations on being a psychologist, instead became a grumpy, gloomy, unhappy stay-at home mom who shielded her own small children from their "awful" Grandfather ... even as she herself continued the cycle of cheating on - and eventually leaving - her own spouse. I stopped being a part of her life after her second child. We just didn't have anything in common anymore and I got tired of trying to set up the lunch date that clearly was never to be. We had a mutual friend who kept me updated on her activities and, last I heard, her two oldest children asked to move in with their father because they were tired of being told how awful both he AND their own Grandfather was.
*******************
So while, as a child, I had my seemingly perfect family and my real one, as an adult I knew that my real one was so much better than "perfect". It was flawed, but flawed in a way I understood. The members (myself most assuredly included) were maddening, but in a comfortable way. We have family logic for the things we do - twisted as it is but it is, at least, logic of some sort. And, as the airplane drifted towards our family getaway home for the week, I thought that I was ready for the quirks and actions and whatnot that were likely to come ... flaws and maddening members and twisted logic and all.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I was mistaken.
It's an exaggeration, to be sure, that I spent the WHOLE week closing screens, sliding glass doors, turning off lights, turning on ceiling fans, drawing drapes, turning on the air conditioner, and locking front doors. It's an exaggeration, certainly, that the week was spent washing the same dishes, clearing the same table, drying the same glasses, closing the same freezer doors, and wiping the same counter-top surface. It's an exaggeration, yes, that my island time was filled with folding towels and doing laundry and explaining how air conditioning works and sharing that, while I was sorry the upstairs was 76 degrees (aka "super cold") in the mornings, our bedroom was still at 87 degrees at 11pm the night before because no one could be bothered to close a door or shut a window to keep the air temperature at a reasonable number - say, somewhere slightly lower than 80.
It did FEEL like the whole week was like that, but I know it wasn't.
"But remember", you say calmly. "Remember that you were sharing the house with young children and you're not used to young children."
"And that's very true", I reply just as calmly. "But what makes you think I was talking about the young children?"
*******************
Ahhhhhhhhhhh but they are my people. They are my family. Are they perfect? Ha! No. Thank heavens no, they are not perfect.
I could write about the travel experience itself but the airline (I'll call it "Untied") would probably put me on the "no-fly" list after reading my tirade. I'd have to create new, more descriptive words beyond "dunder-headed ass clown" and "inept corporate maggot" ... and I'm just not feeling all that creative today.
I could write about this being the ONLY time in my life I've actually taken two whole weeks from work for vacation. Yes, I had a sabbatical, which was 6 weeks, but in all the 29 years I've been employed, I've never taken two solid weeks of vacation.
I could write about the food ... OH. MY. LORD. THE. FOOD. ... but that'll probably just make me hungry and I probably wouldn't be able to describe some of the dishes to the level of deliciousness they deserve.
I think I'll write about my overall take-away from the first portion of our two weeks. The "Family" portion.
Ya' know that family you see on occasion when traveling? Grandparents, grown children, grandkids ... dining together, smiling and laughing, posing for goofy photos, etc? The clan that piles out from the minivan and walks into the mall, maybe wearing similar teeshirts ... or the multi-generational gathering on the beach - a few are reading, some are splashing about in the water, the youngest members are creating elaborate piles of sand? Well, I was part of that family as a child. My best friend really did have the perfect family and I spent countless hours as an extended, adopted family member. Oh, they were SO much better than my real family.
Dad was a teacher, an avid weekend golfer, and liked to take rides on his motorcycle. Mom, also a teacher, liked to go on walks, spend time with her family, and be outdoors. Son - the youngest member of the family - was into all things bicycle. Daughter - my best friend - was everything I wasn't ... graceful, very pretty, delicate. They'd include me on short weekend getaways and I'd see a family who REALLY enjoyed being together. Parents who had conversations about news and politics and things that didn't involve work or animals or relatives. Children who played nicely together and went to the movies together - not because they were told to but because they wanted to. For me, it was surreal.
It was also fake.
I know now that my seemingly perfect adopted family ... was not. Dad, it seemed, waited until the children were grown and on their own, and then got on his motorcycle and rode away. Mom developed an eating disorder and handled her divorce as 'tho everything was fine when, clearly, it was not. Little brother got married *WAY* too young but to a wonderful woman who nursed him back to health for a year after a very nearly deadly motocross accident. And best friend, who had aspirations on being a psychologist, instead became a grumpy, gloomy, unhappy stay-at home mom who shielded her own small children from their "awful" Grandfather ... even as she herself continued the cycle of cheating on - and eventually leaving - her own spouse. I stopped being a part of her life after her second child. We just didn't have anything in common anymore and I got tired of trying to set up the lunch date that clearly was never to be. We had a mutual friend who kept me updated on her activities and, last I heard, her two oldest children asked to move in with their father because they were tired of being told how awful both he AND their own Grandfather was.
*******************
So while, as a child, I had my seemingly perfect family and my real one, as an adult I knew that my real one was so much better than "perfect". It was flawed, but flawed in a way I understood. The members (myself most assuredly included) were maddening, but in a comfortable way. We have family logic for the things we do - twisted as it is but it is, at least, logic of some sort. And, as the airplane drifted towards our family getaway home for the week, I thought that I was ready for the quirks and actions and whatnot that were likely to come ... flaws and maddening members and twisted logic and all.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I was mistaken.
It's an exaggeration, to be sure, that I spent the WHOLE week closing screens, sliding glass doors, turning off lights, turning on ceiling fans, drawing drapes, turning on the air conditioner, and locking front doors. It's an exaggeration, certainly, that the week was spent washing the same dishes, clearing the same table, drying the same glasses, closing the same freezer doors, and wiping the same counter-top surface. It's an exaggeration, yes, that my island time was filled with folding towels and doing laundry and explaining how air conditioning works and sharing that, while I was sorry the upstairs was 76 degrees (aka "super cold") in the mornings, our bedroom was still at 87 degrees at 11pm the night before because no one could be bothered to close a door or shut a window to keep the air temperature at a reasonable number - say, somewhere slightly lower than 80.
It did FEEL like the whole week was like that, but I know it wasn't.
"But remember", you say calmly. "Remember that you were sharing the house with young children and you're not used to young children."
"And that's very true", I reply just as calmly. "But what makes you think I was talking about the young children?"
*******************
Ahhhhhhhhhhh but they are my people. They are my family. Are they perfect? Ha! No. Thank heavens no, they are not perfect.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
The Blame Game
Little Bobby isn't crazy. He just listens to heavy metal music too much.
Little Janie isn't cruel. She just sits too close to the TV.
Mr. Smith didn't know what to do because he was neglected as a child.
Ms. Jones didn't mean to be careless but the baby wouldn't stop crying.
Have you ever felt like you were the only responsible person on the planet?
I'll be the first to admit that hindsight is always 20/20 and that judging a situation from a birds-eye view gives one an unfair advantage but geeeeeez I am really getting tired of seeing people NOT stepping up to the podium and saying "this is all on me. I did this. I am fully to blame for what happened."
It's so much easier to deflect that glaring hot spotlight. "This is all on me. I did this. I am fully to blame for what happened" is all too often followed by a single word.
But.
"but I haven't slept in more than a week." "but I didn't FEEL drunk." "but I didn't think people would believe me so I just didn't say anything." "but I didn't think anyone would notice the money was missing." It starts out about someone else getting the short end of the stick but then the responsible party turns the spotlight back on themselves as being the unsung victim.
From mothers to murderers to friends to fathers, from coaches and co-eds, bullies and braggarts, robbers and rapists, and every other kind of so-called "misunderstood" human who has ever gone haywire. The most miserable wretch ... the lowest form of homosapien ... the weakest link on the ladder that is the genetic code that creates every man or woman ........ they do something incredibly stupid or terrifically horrible and expect to be shown pity or leniency or mercy that they were unable (or unwilling) to show to their victim.
Mahatma Gandhi is credited for saying "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind". Gandhi is also credited for this: "There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it -- always."
If it makes you feel any better, even Gandhi had limits ... this is also his: "I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers."
Little Janie isn't cruel. She just sits too close to the TV.
Mr. Smith didn't know what to do because he was neglected as a child.
Ms. Jones didn't mean to be careless but the baby wouldn't stop crying.
Have you ever felt like you were the only responsible person on the planet?
I'll be the first to admit that hindsight is always 20/20 and that judging a situation from a birds-eye view gives one an unfair advantage but geeeeeez I am really getting tired of seeing people NOT stepping up to the podium and saying "this is all on me. I did this. I am fully to blame for what happened."
It's so much easier to deflect that glaring hot spotlight. "This is all on me. I did this. I am fully to blame for what happened" is all too often followed by a single word.
But.
"but I haven't slept in more than a week." "but I didn't FEEL drunk." "but I didn't think people would believe me so I just didn't say anything." "but I didn't think anyone would notice the money was missing." It starts out about someone else getting the short end of the stick but then the responsible party turns the spotlight back on themselves as being the unsung victim.
From mothers to murderers to friends to fathers, from coaches and co-eds, bullies and braggarts, robbers and rapists, and every other kind of so-called "misunderstood" human who has ever gone haywire. The most miserable wretch ... the lowest form of homosapien ... the weakest link on the ladder that is the genetic code that creates every man or woman ........ they do something incredibly stupid or terrifically horrible and expect to be shown pity or leniency or mercy that they were unable (or unwilling) to show to their victim.
Mahatma Gandhi is credited for saying "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind". Gandhi is also credited for this: "There have been tyrants, and murderers, and for a time they can seem invincible, but in the end they always fall. Think of it -- always."
If it makes you feel any better, even Gandhi had limits ... this is also his: "I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers."
Monday, October 24, 2011
The Sound Of One Hand Clapping
What is the sound of someone who is NOT asking for help?
No. Really ... I need to know. Because I'm apparently doing it wrong. The "not asking for help" part, I mean.
I recently have been given some drama in my life (manageable drama, but drama just the same) and it seems like each time I update those not-so-near but still-quite-dear on the state of said drama, I get advice of what I should do, not do, read up on, etc.
And I don't get it. I really don't.
Each time this occurs (and yes, it has happened more than once), I review what I wrote or said, carefully scanning for the part where I ask for any guidance, opinions or assistance. And damned if I just can't find it.
Now in the arena of playing fair, I WILL say that out of the immediate family of which I am a part, I have *always* been the one who played her cards close to her vest. I've never really been the one to share every little detail - good or bad - because I guess I didn't want to be viewed as a whiner or a braggart. Annnnnnnd, seeing as how I know an awful lot of fairly personal details about my various cousins, I also didn't want my personal business being digested, discussed, debated, and distributed. So it wasn't always pride which helped me to keep my mouth shut - sometimes it was just my only means of protection of privacy.
So it is no surprise, really, that pretty much ANYtime I disclose something that may be going on with me, it feels like big news. (And if it feels that way to me, it's probably not too much of a stretch to say that it may feel like that to my family, too.)
But - sharing what is going on versus asking for advice ... those aren't the same, are they? I mean - it'd be one thing to say "I've decided to join a gym" ... and something different to say "I've decided to join a gym. Do you have any recommendations?"
My overall REAL problem is that I haven't found a polite way to get the advice to NOT flow freely. After all, those giving the advice are only doing so as a way of offering support. There's no nice way ... no non-defensive-sounding way - of saying "I've decided to join a gym. I'm just telling you. There is absolutely no action required from you whatsoever. The best response you could give would be to just say 'neat' and then drop it completely."
I'm grateful that I have people in my life who care about me - it's a wonderful problem to have, I know. And, like the other issues in my life, it's not a problem I need SOLVED.
No. Really ... I need to know. Because I'm apparently doing it wrong. The "not asking for help" part, I mean.
I recently have been given some drama in my life (manageable drama, but drama just the same) and it seems like each time I update those not-so-near but still-quite-dear on the state of said drama, I get advice of what I should do, not do, read up on, etc.
And I don't get it. I really don't.
Each time this occurs (and yes, it has happened more than once), I review what I wrote or said, carefully scanning for the part where I ask for any guidance, opinions or assistance. And damned if I just can't find it.
Now in the arena of playing fair, I WILL say that out of the immediate family of which I am a part, I have *always* been the one who played her cards close to her vest. I've never really been the one to share every little detail - good or bad - because I guess I didn't want to be viewed as a whiner or a braggart. Annnnnnnd, seeing as how I know an awful lot of fairly personal details about my various cousins, I also didn't want my personal business being digested, discussed, debated, and distributed. So it wasn't always pride which helped me to keep my mouth shut - sometimes it was just my only means of protection of privacy.
So it is no surprise, really, that pretty much ANYtime I disclose something that may be going on with me, it feels like big news. (And if it feels that way to me, it's probably not too much of a stretch to say that it may feel like that to my family, too.)
But - sharing what is going on versus asking for advice ... those aren't the same, are they? I mean - it'd be one thing to say "I've decided to join a gym" ... and something different to say "I've decided to join a gym. Do you have any recommendations?"
My overall REAL problem is that I haven't found a polite way to get the advice to NOT flow freely. After all, those giving the advice are only doing so as a way of offering support. There's no nice way ... no non-defensive-sounding way - of saying "I've decided to join a gym. I'm just telling you. There is absolutely no action required from you whatsoever. The best response you could give would be to just say 'neat' and then drop it completely."
I'm grateful that I have people in my life who care about me - it's a wonderful problem to have, I know. And, like the other issues in my life, it's not a problem I need SOLVED.
Monday, October 10, 2011
Feeling Good In The 'Hood
Life isn't a board game. Life is a city ... and it has many 'hoods.
Early in childhood, there is no dignity. The average child thinks very little of begging, pleading, pitching a fit, running about naked, whining, crying, bargaining, or generally doing whatever it takes to get what they want (or to get away from what they don't want). Childhood also seems to give us VERY short memories, which probably contributes to the equation. Most adults do not remember each time they begged, pleaded, pitched fits, etc as children ... but it sure seemed important at the time. With all those tantrums and whatnot, some would say that these actions are lack of self-awareness, lack of modesty, lack of ego - but, when all is said and done, if you plug in an adult in any of those situations, you'd probably think that they had little - or no - dignity ... and maybe short-term memory loss.
Teens also lack dignity. Yes, the level of fit-pitching, whining, crying, or bargaining may be different ... but it is hard and unusual to find a dignity-filled teen. (A teen running around naked would present entirely other issues, lack of dignity being the smallest problem.) They have moments of dignity, where the future adult they'll become shines through and it is WONDERFUL to witness, but then they slip back into teenager-hood.
But, somewhere down the line, human grown-ups (which is to say MOST human grown-ups) find their dignity. That line in the sand we stand behind and say "Yes, I want this outcome and am willing to do most anything to get there ... but there is a limit." This is the age of "adulthood".
Just when we get comfortable with our dignity ... just when we feel we have the most control over how we present ourselves and we are good with our self-image ... life, once again, starts to slowly chip away at our dignity.
The paperboy or grocery clerk who calls you "Ma'am".
*clink*
The polite teen who turns down their MP3 device in the elevator and apologizes for it being so loud.
*tap*
The coworker who refers to an event in history (several years before you were born) and turns to you to ask you what your memories were of that time.
*crack*
The movie theater cashier who gives you a senior discount ... for your 45th birthday.
*thwap*
The well-intentioned stranger who compliments your children for good behavior by commenting "My but they're using all their manners for Grandpop today, aren't they?"
*thud*
It is the perfect set up that we, as humans, slowly revert back into childhood the older we get. First fighting and resisting all offers of help ... but eventually accepting the fact that we cannot bend over to tie our own shoes without getting dizzy, cannot read the small writing at the bottom of the form because our arms aren't long enough, and our modesty, our ego, and yes, our dignity, slowly melt away with each event, no matter how small.
And you realize that you're being moved from your existing "hood" to make room for the newer (and younger) residents.
The trick - if there is one - may be to recognize and appreciate the hood you're in when you're there, fully realizing you'll be transitioning to another hood soon enough. It's when you're asked to move too early that the transition is difficult - when you're still enjoying your dignity and someone else says "we're looking out for you and helping you to get comfortable when you move to your new hood." No one wants to be reminded that they are temporary residents in their hood.
Now ... get off my lawn and outta my hood.
Early in childhood, there is no dignity. The average child thinks very little of begging, pleading, pitching a fit, running about naked, whining, crying, bargaining, or generally doing whatever it takes to get what they want (or to get away from what they don't want). Childhood also seems to give us VERY short memories, which probably contributes to the equation. Most adults do not remember each time they begged, pleaded, pitched fits, etc as children ... but it sure seemed important at the time. With all those tantrums and whatnot, some would say that these actions are lack of self-awareness, lack of modesty, lack of ego - but, when all is said and done, if you plug in an adult in any of those situations, you'd probably think that they had little - or no - dignity ... and maybe short-term memory loss.
Teens also lack dignity. Yes, the level of fit-pitching, whining, crying, or bargaining may be different ... but it is hard and unusual to find a dignity-filled teen. (A teen running around naked would present entirely other issues, lack of dignity being the smallest problem.) They have moments of dignity, where the future adult they'll become shines through and it is WONDERFUL to witness, but then they slip back into teenager-hood.
But, somewhere down the line, human grown-ups (which is to say MOST human grown-ups) find their dignity. That line in the sand we stand behind and say "Yes, I want this outcome and am willing to do most anything to get there ... but there is a limit." This is the age of "adulthood".
Just when we get comfortable with our dignity ... just when we feel we have the most control over how we present ourselves and we are good with our self-image ... life, once again, starts to slowly chip away at our dignity.
The paperboy or grocery clerk who calls you "Ma'am".
*clink*
The polite teen who turns down their MP3 device in the elevator and apologizes for it being so loud.
*tap*
The coworker who refers to an event in history (several years before you were born) and turns to you to ask you what your memories were of that time.
*crack*
The movie theater cashier who gives you a senior discount ... for your 45th birthday.
*thwap*
The well-intentioned stranger who compliments your children for good behavior by commenting "My but they're using all their manners for Grandpop today, aren't they?"
*thud*
It is the perfect set up that we, as humans, slowly revert back into childhood the older we get. First fighting and resisting all offers of help ... but eventually accepting the fact that we cannot bend over to tie our own shoes without getting dizzy, cannot read the small writing at the bottom of the form because our arms aren't long enough, and our modesty, our ego, and yes, our dignity, slowly melt away with each event, no matter how small.
And you realize that you're being moved from your existing "hood" to make room for the newer (and younger) residents.
The trick - if there is one - may be to recognize and appreciate the hood you're in when you're there, fully realizing you'll be transitioning to another hood soon enough. It's when you're asked to move too early that the transition is difficult - when you're still enjoying your dignity and someone else says "we're looking out for you and helping you to get comfortable when you move to your new hood." No one wants to be reminded that they are temporary residents in their hood.
Now ... get off my lawn and outta my hood.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Balancing Vision and Ego
Once upon a time, I worked at NeXT.
I remember my time there as an on-going effort to keep the Design and Engineering departments focused and organized while they tried to keep up with the constantly shifting direction from "upper management". While it was a challenging environment to work in (to say the least), I remember it as a campus filled with energized, motivated and largely happy people.
I don't think anyone working there ever really doubted Mr. Jobs or his decisions, but the sheer amount of change the employee base was exposed to (a layoff of more than 50% of the entire staff base, going from the hardware to software business, moving facilities, partnering with companies we actively avoided in the past) ... I guess he didn't make many friends there towards the end before being brought back into the Apple orchard.
I was "just a temp" at the time. I'd decided I'd accomplished all I could at my previous employer and contacted an agency to find me something where I'd be challenged and rewarded appropriately for achievement. Which was a nice way of saying "get me into the electronics industry where the real money is". I was sent to interview at NeXT, which was interesting because the last time I'd driven around in part of the Bay Area was when it was near the city dump. Now, it was an industrial park with signs and green lawns and paved roads. It was beautiful, yanno, for being a collection of buildings near a dump and all.
The interview went well and the folks I talked to seemed really smart. They told the agency they wanted to get me under contract, and the agency said that'd be fine. I enjoyed my job, liked my staff, and was kept busy. However, my agency kept reminding me that it was a temporary assignment. And, in time, that began to bother me. After all - my manager and I worked well together ... and everyone SEEMED to think I was working out well ... but whenever I mentioned how things were going to the agency, the response would be "well that's great. Just remember, it's a temporary job." I'd be reminded of that each time I looked at my employee badge stamped "Contract Worker" or turned in a time sheet ... it got old and, frankly, a little insulting.
I started interviewing.
Since I was "just a temp", I guess I didn't feel I owed my manager an explanation or any advance warning. After all, I figured he had set up the contract and he knew it was a temporary assignment. I found what would become my new job on the first interview. The pay was incredible, the benefits were embarrassingly great, the location was perfect, I'd have my own office, make my own hours ... there was quite literally no downside to the job, except that it wasn't the temp job I already had with the staff I already knew.
A background check was conducted and when the offer letter was sent, I felt like framing it. It was the first time I'd be working for "more than my age" in thousands. (When I shared that with my sister, I learned she also measured her first real job offer that same way.) All the while, I wished I could just stay put, but there was no point in asking for what I already had been told I couldn't have. It was both exciting and frustrating - to see what could be but to know I couldn't be a part of it.
When the offer was written up, I went to my temp job and sat down with my manager. Honestly I figured he wouldn't care either way. Even so, I was still giving him 2 weeks notice and offered to train whomever would be the next temp. I felt I owed him that ... I'd been there for 8 months after all, even if I was "just a temp" and wasn't worth hiring. He looked at the offer letter and then up at me. "You accepted this already?" "I did. I want a regular job and since it can't be here, I think I can do well at this new place." He sighed. "I've been getting approvals for your offer letter for a few weeks now. It's for a higher salary than this. If I can get it to you before the end of today, will you call off the other job?"
It seemed that the "temp only" part of my assignment was the idea of the agency. After all, they got a payment for each week I was there. As long as I was a temp, they'd keep getting paid. (In my defense, it was the first time I'd worked for an agency and I was very young. I should have figured this out on my own, I know, but it didn't occur to me.) My temp staff, temp manager, temp co-workers, temp company really DID like me and appreciated my work. And, when I explained to my temp manager that I'd accepted and signed the offer letter of the new job and didn't want to go back on my word, he wasn't just gracious - he was proud of me for getting the offer and for having enough integrity to follow through, even if he was disappointed that I'd never had the guts to just ask for what I wanted, no matter who was telling me I couldn't have it.
Steve Jobs was once wildly criticized for having a huge ego when he responded to the comment "Apple builds what people want" by saying that no, that was wrong and that Apple showed people what they wanted before they even knew they wanted it. As it turned out, that WASN'T "ego" talking ... that was "vision". A lot of people today are using the word "visionary" because most of the successful CEO's we know by name only have "ego". The industry and the population it serves suffered a loss yesterday and it'll be a long while before we see that kind of "ego/vision" balance again.
I remember my time there as an on-going effort to keep the Design and Engineering departments focused and organized while they tried to keep up with the constantly shifting direction from "upper management". While it was a challenging environment to work in (to say the least), I remember it as a campus filled with energized, motivated and largely happy people.
I don't think anyone working there ever really doubted Mr. Jobs or his decisions, but the sheer amount of change the employee base was exposed to (a layoff of more than 50% of the entire staff base, going from the hardware to software business, moving facilities, partnering with companies we actively avoided in the past) ... I guess he didn't make many friends there towards the end before being brought back into the Apple orchard.
I was "just a temp" at the time. I'd decided I'd accomplished all I could at my previous employer and contacted an agency to find me something where I'd be challenged and rewarded appropriately for achievement. Which was a nice way of saying "get me into the electronics industry where the real money is". I was sent to interview at NeXT, which was interesting because the last time I'd driven around in part of the Bay Area was when it was near the city dump. Now, it was an industrial park with signs and green lawns and paved roads. It was beautiful, yanno, for being a collection of buildings near a dump and all.
The interview went well and the folks I talked to seemed really smart. They told the agency they wanted to get me under contract, and the agency said that'd be fine. I enjoyed my job, liked my staff, and was kept busy. However, my agency kept reminding me that it was a temporary assignment. And, in time, that began to bother me. After all - my manager and I worked well together ... and everyone SEEMED to think I was working out well ... but whenever I mentioned how things were going to the agency, the response would be "well that's great. Just remember, it's a temporary job." I'd be reminded of that each time I looked at my employee badge stamped "Contract Worker" or turned in a time sheet ... it got old and, frankly, a little insulting.
I started interviewing.
Since I was "just a temp", I guess I didn't feel I owed my manager an explanation or any advance warning. After all, I figured he had set up the contract and he knew it was a temporary assignment. I found what would become my new job on the first interview. The pay was incredible, the benefits were embarrassingly great, the location was perfect, I'd have my own office, make my own hours ... there was quite literally no downside to the job, except that it wasn't the temp job I already had with the staff I already knew.
A background check was conducted and when the offer letter was sent, I felt like framing it. It was the first time I'd be working for "more than my age" in thousands. (When I shared that with my sister, I learned she also measured her first real job offer that same way.) All the while, I wished I could just stay put, but there was no point in asking for what I already had been told I couldn't have. It was both exciting and frustrating - to see what could be but to know I couldn't be a part of it.
When the offer was written up, I went to my temp job and sat down with my manager. Honestly I figured he wouldn't care either way. Even so, I was still giving him 2 weeks notice and offered to train whomever would be the next temp. I felt I owed him that ... I'd been there for 8 months after all, even if I was "just a temp" and wasn't worth hiring. He looked at the offer letter and then up at me. "You accepted this already?" "I did. I want a regular job and since it can't be here, I think I can do well at this new place." He sighed. "I've been getting approvals for your offer letter for a few weeks now. It's for a higher salary than this. If I can get it to you before the end of today, will you call off the other job?"
It seemed that the "temp only" part of my assignment was the idea of the agency. After all, they got a payment for each week I was there. As long as I was a temp, they'd keep getting paid. (In my defense, it was the first time I'd worked for an agency and I was very young. I should have figured this out on my own, I know, but it didn't occur to me.) My temp staff, temp manager, temp co-workers, temp company really DID like me and appreciated my work. And, when I explained to my temp manager that I'd accepted and signed the offer letter of the new job and didn't want to go back on my word, he wasn't just gracious - he was proud of me for getting the offer and for having enough integrity to follow through, even if he was disappointed that I'd never had the guts to just ask for what I wanted, no matter who was telling me I couldn't have it.
Steve Jobs was once wildly criticized for having a huge ego when he responded to the comment "Apple builds what people want" by saying that no, that was wrong and that Apple showed people what they wanted before they even knew they wanted it. As it turned out, that WASN'T "ego" talking ... that was "vision". A lot of people today are using the word "visionary" because most of the successful CEO's we know by name only have "ego". The industry and the population it serves suffered a loss yesterday and it'll be a long while before we see that kind of "ego/vision" balance again.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Who Do You Trust?
Because of ... let's say "medical reasons", I've been spending quite a bit of time thinking of my health, hospitals, doctors, tests, etc. I think it's safe to say that folks tend to ignore thinking of these things when all is well. Very few individuals who are perfectly well and don't work in medicine wake up in a cold sweat thinking "why can't doctors spend more time explaining why they prescribe one medication and not another?".
I find myself defending decisions like that lately. I don't like it. And knowing that I'm defending these decisions against information gathered from an internet search? It makes me so damn angry that people can be that stupid.
(Sidenote: Did you know that out of 500 internet search phrases, the term "Gandhi walked on the moon" is still ranking higher than "Walt Disney's lifelong friendship with Fidel Castro"? Wow - you didn't know that? I found it on the web so it MUST be true. Except I'm lying - I didn't find it on the web. But I just wrote it so it's there now. See how reliable that is?!?)
Meanwhile, I come by my medical ignorance honestly. Even when faced with terms that apply to me, I choose to know only what is necessary when it is required ... four W's and one H: What is wrong?, Why is it happening?, What are we gonna do about it?, When does it go away?, and How do I ensure it doesn't happen again?
And I tend to ask professionals these questions (when at all possible). Let me put it this way ... the internet is, largely, anonymous. Anyone can write anything. We'd LIKE to believe that everyone always has the best of intentions ... but we know better than that. Trusting strangers with important things is dangerous. That butthead that cut you off in traffic could be the one telling you that bees are repelled by olive oil - do you trust him? The librarian that extended your book loan may be the one giving step-by-step directions on a do-it-yourself kidney removal ... is she the best person to get this info from?
Sure it's possible that the bad driver is a pest removal expert and the librarian is a retired surgeon ... but what if they aren't? Do you wanna be that gullible? Because we all know that it was actually Disney who walked on the moon. Why else would he name Mickey's dog Pluto?
I find myself defending decisions like that lately. I don't like it. And knowing that I'm defending these decisions against information gathered from an internet search? It makes me so damn angry that people can be that stupid.
(Sidenote: Did you know that out of 500 internet search phrases, the term "Gandhi walked on the moon" is still ranking higher than "Walt Disney's lifelong friendship with Fidel Castro"? Wow - you didn't know that? I found it on the web so it MUST be true. Except I'm lying - I didn't find it on the web. But I just wrote it so it's there now. See how reliable that is?!?)
Meanwhile, I come by my medical ignorance honestly. Even when faced with terms that apply to me, I choose to know only what is necessary when it is required ... four W's and one H: What is wrong?, Why is it happening?, What are we gonna do about it?, When does it go away?, and How do I ensure it doesn't happen again?
And I tend to ask professionals these questions (when at all possible). Let me put it this way ... the internet is, largely, anonymous. Anyone can write anything. We'd LIKE to believe that everyone always has the best of intentions ... but we know better than that. Trusting strangers with important things is dangerous. That butthead that cut you off in traffic could be the one telling you that bees are repelled by olive oil - do you trust him? The librarian that extended your book loan may be the one giving step-by-step directions on a do-it-yourself kidney removal ... is she the best person to get this info from?
Sure it's possible that the bad driver is a pest removal expert and the librarian is a retired surgeon ... but what if they aren't? Do you wanna be that gullible? Because we all know that it was actually Disney who walked on the moon. Why else would he name Mickey's dog Pluto?
Friday, August 26, 2011
Blah blah blah blaaah blah
Possible impending weather? Blah. Earth movements where they don't typically happen? Blah. Health? Yeah, but blah. Family updates and pics and news and whatnot? Blah.
Somedays even the MOST upbeat, the most positive, the most "sunny side" people you'd ever wanna meet (even to tell them to stop it) just have a random "blah" day.
Today is my day, I guess.
Blah.
Somedays even the MOST upbeat, the most positive, the most "sunny side" people you'd ever wanna meet (even to tell them to stop it) just have a random "blah" day.
Today is my day, I guess.
Blah.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Weight A Second
For me, it all started with the microwave.
I remember the box sitting on the counter, the classes my mother took, the "recipes" (and I use that word that very hesitantly) in the instruction manual, the warnings about not standing too close or immediately open the door when the unit shut down ... and I remember the wonder of being able to cook - or, more accurately, heat - items in less than half the the time of traditional methods.
Instant rice. Instant oatmeal. Fax machines. Copier machines. Instant messaging. Text messaging. Flying across the entire country in a matter of hours. We are a people who enjoy a longer lifespan than our great-great relatives could have ever considered and yet we feel compelled to bitch about how long the red light takes to change or roll our eyes at how much time we waste waiting for our iced, short, triple breve shots, extra whip, half-caf, almond soy mocha ... with sprinkles. And fudge-drizzle sauce.
And - to me, at least - the second-worst offenders of this "gimme now" demand are the companies who sell instant fixes to non-instant problems ... the diet-pill/diet-shake manufacturers. The worst offenders? The ones at the top of that list? The people who buy their crap.
If you are overweight - and I am, for what I'd PREFER to look like - did your body change in a week? In three weeks? In six? No - of course not. Barring extreme circumstances and/or pregnancy, you slowly added a few ounces here and a few ounces there until you had to change the size of the pants you were buying. It took lots of months. Hell, it probably took years.
So why do people feel that they can buy a pill or a shake or - and this may be my favorite snake-oil ever - a fat-eliminating creme (*snork*) and, in less than a month, ta-dah there's your 24-year old body once again?!
Why? Because of instant rice, instant oatmeal, fax and copier machines, instant and text messaging, and the microwave. We want it all and we wanted it 4 minutes ago. It's what THIS generation has always had. It's not instant gratification ... it's more like instant expectation. I mean - who actually waits for the elevator doors to close on their own anymore? Why would you do that, since there's a button that will close the doors for you faster than the sensor would do so?
Well, to everyone who is starving themselves, putting themselves through surgeries, slurping down nasty-tasting crap and slathering on cellulite-reducing lotions, my advice is to slow down, take a deep breath, throw out your scales and calorie-counters and measuring cups, toss your secret cookie stash (yeah - you thought no one knew about that, didn't ya'?) and just give yourself a break. Yes, if you've decided to get your weight in check, you should do so but - just like you took the time to add pounds, give yourself permission to take time to loose them.
And whatever else you decide to do - for cryin' out loud - stop trying to find the instant fix to a non-instant problem. Close your mouth AND your wallet and just open your brain. Even if all you ever do is develop a morning routine of stretches or leave a table without clearing your plate or stop asking for dessert after every meal or take the stairs instead of the elevator ... it will be a step in the right direction. And from there, you can add another step and another. Because that's how it all started.
The solution really does need to come from YOU - not a pill, or creme or any of that oh-so-tempting crap that folks are so eager to have you believe. If the easy-solution that you may be considering worked forever for everyone who tried it, the entire weight loss market would have just that one option, right? Clearly there is no "one-size-fits-all" solution to this issue. This will just be one of those things where you'll need patience and persistence, strength and conviction, determination and forgiveness, and if you set reachable goals for yourself ... well, just weight and see.
I remember the box sitting on the counter, the classes my mother took, the "recipes" (and I use that word that very hesitantly) in the instruction manual, the warnings about not standing too close or immediately open the door when the unit shut down ... and I remember the wonder of being able to cook - or, more accurately, heat - items in less than half the the time of traditional methods.
Instant rice. Instant oatmeal. Fax machines. Copier machines. Instant messaging. Text messaging. Flying across the entire country in a matter of hours. We are a people who enjoy a longer lifespan than our great-great relatives could have ever considered and yet we feel compelled to bitch about how long the red light takes to change or roll our eyes at how much time we waste waiting for our iced, short, triple breve shots, extra whip, half-caf, almond soy mocha ... with sprinkles. And fudge-drizzle sauce.
And - to me, at least - the second-worst offenders of this "gimme now" demand are the companies who sell instant fixes to non-instant problems ... the diet-pill/diet-shake manufacturers. The worst offenders? The ones at the top of that list? The people who buy their crap.
If you are overweight - and I am, for what I'd PREFER to look like - did your body change in a week? In three weeks? In six? No - of course not. Barring extreme circumstances and/or pregnancy, you slowly added a few ounces here and a few ounces there until you had to change the size of the pants you were buying. It took lots of months. Hell, it probably took years.
So why do people feel that they can buy a pill or a shake or - and this may be my favorite snake-oil ever - a fat-eliminating creme (*snork*) and, in less than a month, ta-dah there's your 24-year old body once again?!
Why? Because of instant rice, instant oatmeal, fax and copier machines, instant and text messaging, and the microwave. We want it all and we wanted it 4 minutes ago. It's what THIS generation has always had. It's not instant gratification ... it's more like instant expectation. I mean - who actually waits for the elevator doors to close on their own anymore? Why would you do that, since there's a button that will close the doors for you faster than the sensor would do so?
Well, to everyone who is starving themselves, putting themselves through surgeries, slurping down nasty-tasting crap and slathering on cellulite-reducing lotions, my advice is to slow down, take a deep breath, throw out your scales and calorie-counters and measuring cups, toss your secret cookie stash (yeah - you thought no one knew about that, didn't ya'?) and just give yourself a break. Yes, if you've decided to get your weight in check, you should do so but - just like you took the time to add pounds, give yourself permission to take time to loose them.
And whatever else you decide to do - for cryin' out loud - stop trying to find the instant fix to a non-instant problem. Close your mouth AND your wallet and just open your brain. Even if all you ever do is develop a morning routine of stretches or leave a table without clearing your plate or stop asking for dessert after every meal or take the stairs instead of the elevator ... it will be a step in the right direction. And from there, you can add another step and another. Because that's how it all started.
The solution really does need to come from YOU - not a pill, or creme or any of that oh-so-tempting crap that folks are so eager to have you believe. If the easy-solution that you may be considering worked forever for everyone who tried it, the entire weight loss market would have just that one option, right? Clearly there is no "one-size-fits-all" solution to this issue. This will just be one of those things where you'll need patience and persistence, strength and conviction, determination and forgiveness, and if you set reachable goals for yourself ... well, just weight and see.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Write or Wrong
When I was a child, my father would drive with the radio turned to someone talking ... 9 in 10 times it was a sport-talk station. And, as a child, I never understood why someone would have the radio turned to ANYTHING but music.
I am no longer a child.
(By the way, ^ that up there ^ has no tie-in with the rest of this stuff ... it's just something I've noticed.)
My current commute (with morning coffee stop) is about 45 minutes. My radio is either off or it is tuned to the local public radio station. Since I don't subscribe to a local newspaper and generally don't watch news broadcasts, I enjoy a brief catch-up on the world as I go to or from work. I'm introduced to books I may want to read, ideas I may want to explore ... in short, I feel a little more informed than I would have if I'd been listening to the local music stations.
Increasingly, I find myself agreeing with individuals and reporters who, I imagine and judging only by their voices, are older than I am. And, even more increasingly, I find myself rolling my eyes at opinions expressed by individuals and reporters who, I imagine and judging only by their voices, are younger than I am.
Today was such a day.
In the report I listened to, an individual who had started a blog "a long time ago in their Junior year of high school" and who was now preparing to go to college in the fall. (That was my first eye-roll ... "a long time ago" equals two years. Gotcha.)
This person originally started their blog as a way to communicate with their friends and loved the conversational-side of the method of writing that blogging provided her. ("Conversation" and "blogging" is a tough connection for me to make. "Conversation" for me means an exchange of ideas, which doesn't really involve a laptop or, at least, not a blog ... but maybe that's just me.)
Anyway now, as she was moving out of state, she found herself at a loss to develop that same sense of communicating with others. She didn't want to move to any mass-means of electronic interactivity, but she got the sense that no one was "listening" to her anymore. Her solution was to move her blog to a different host and that, she claims, has made all the difference. Within a few days, people had signed up to "follow" her writings, which made her VERY happy, and the sponsor company even held occasional meets in local areas where other hosted bloggers could get to know one another.
And I realized as I smirked and guffawed and eye-rolled through the report that - using ONLY the above as the method to measure against - the current generation seems to believe one has to be listened to to be heard ... that one can count their friends as they do any other tangible item ... and, most depressingly, that they require a keyboard to converse.
This place, for me, isn't about being heard or followed or counting friends. It's my diary. Which, I suppose, is fast becoming a term that will need to be "Googled" to understand.
How sad.
I am no longer a child.
(By the way, ^ that up there ^ has no tie-in with the rest of this stuff ... it's just something I've noticed.)
My current commute (with morning coffee stop) is about 45 minutes. My radio is either off or it is tuned to the local public radio station. Since I don't subscribe to a local newspaper and generally don't watch news broadcasts, I enjoy a brief catch-up on the world as I go to or from work. I'm introduced to books I may want to read, ideas I may want to explore ... in short, I feel a little more informed than I would have if I'd been listening to the local music stations.
Increasingly, I find myself agreeing with individuals and reporters who, I imagine and judging only by their voices, are older than I am. And, even more increasingly, I find myself rolling my eyes at opinions expressed by individuals and reporters who, I imagine and judging only by their voices, are younger than I am.
Today was such a day.
In the report I listened to, an individual who had started a blog "a long time ago in their Junior year of high school" and who was now preparing to go to college in the fall. (That was my first eye-roll ... "a long time ago" equals two years. Gotcha.)
This person originally started their blog as a way to communicate with their friends and loved the conversational-side of the method of writing that blogging provided her. ("Conversation" and "blogging" is a tough connection for me to make. "Conversation" for me means an exchange of ideas, which doesn't really involve a laptop or, at least, not a blog ... but maybe that's just me.)
Anyway now, as she was moving out of state, she found herself at a loss to develop that same sense of communicating with others. She didn't want to move to any mass-means of electronic interactivity, but she got the sense that no one was "listening" to her anymore. Her solution was to move her blog to a different host and that, she claims, has made all the difference. Within a few days, people had signed up to "follow" her writings, which made her VERY happy, and the sponsor company even held occasional meets in local areas where other hosted bloggers could get to know one another.
And I realized as I smirked and guffawed and eye-rolled through the report that - using ONLY the above as the method to measure against - the current generation seems to believe one has to be listened to to be heard ... that one can count their friends as they do any other tangible item ... and, most depressingly, that they require a keyboard to converse.
This place, for me, isn't about being heard or followed or counting friends. It's my diary. Which, I suppose, is fast becoming a term that will need to be "Googled" to understand.
How sad.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
This Isn't Closure. This Is Just Death.
Not surprisingly the news has been saturated with just one topic. No, I don't mean the Royal Wedding.
I'm not a pacifist, though I believe in peace. I'm not a liberal, though I admit that I lean that way more with each passing year. I believe in karma more than revenge. I believe in justice more than judgment. I believe it takes more courage to walk away than it does to stay and fight.
It's a murky pond I swim in, I realize, and I'm only treading water.
I guess I believe that there's no such thing as a winnable war, that two wrongs make two wrongs, that might is nearly never right, and that an eye for an eye means, at best, that we'd all lose our depth perception.
From the interviews I've read, even those who were AT the Twin Towers or families who lost members are all nearly in agreement that the wound hasn't healed or eased with the recent actions taken by the US. Perhaps that is something that only the passing of time can provide. Perhaps it never heals at all.
At some point, I just know that I'd like to see someone step onto high ground and say "yeah, we could display the body or photos, but - out of *human* respect - we're choosing not to."
But, honestly, I don't believe that any being currently in a role of power has that much courage.
No wrap up today ... just brain-drippings.
I'm not a pacifist, though I believe in peace. I'm not a liberal, though I admit that I lean that way more with each passing year. I believe in karma more than revenge. I believe in justice more than judgment. I believe it takes more courage to walk away than it does to stay and fight.
It's a murky pond I swim in, I realize, and I'm only treading water.
I guess I believe that there's no such thing as a winnable war, that two wrongs make two wrongs, that might is nearly never right, and that an eye for an eye means, at best, that we'd all lose our depth perception.
From the interviews I've read, even those who were AT the Twin Towers or families who lost members are all nearly in agreement that the wound hasn't healed or eased with the recent actions taken by the US. Perhaps that is something that only the passing of time can provide. Perhaps it never heals at all.
At some point, I just know that I'd like to see someone step onto high ground and say "yeah, we could display the body or photos, but - out of *human* respect - we're choosing not to."
But, honestly, I don't believe that any being currently in a role of power has that much courage.
No wrap up today ... just brain-drippings.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuning In and Turning Off
Thus far, 2011 has been rather uneventful on a personal level. Shiloh is still with us (mostly because I'm living under the hope of somehow getting she and Tabby to a place where they can be under one roof) and she's recovering from her recent "getting fixed and chipped" surgery. It finally snowed a decent amount here (last night) and we've been spending our down time taking inventory of "our stuff" for insurance purposes. All in all, though, it's been pretty uneventful.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for things being uneventful for the general population. With all that has happened in Arizona in the past few days, it wasn't shocking that the topic on the NPR show I was listening to on the radio was guns and gun control and the rights the population has in regards to guns and gun control. I won't share all of what I heard, or thought, while I listened but I will share this:
It seems that the handgun ... a Glock ... used in this latest tragedy was, at one point, limited by law to have no more than 10 rounds per magazine - which is to say that one can fire 10 bullets without reloading. But, since the early part of the last decade, that law expired and magazines could be purchased that had 33 rounds. (Keep in mind that this is a very quick-firing gun and that one could easily use all 33 rounds in 90 seconds, as demonstrated in Arizona). The radio show asked the guests to give a non-predatory situation where having a handgun that fired more than 30 bullets in under 90 seconds would be more useful than one that fired 10 shots in the same time and the guests went silent.
And then, as if on cue, the representative from the NRA spoke up and reminded the listeners that real life situations are so frequently NOT like what is shown on television or the movie screens, that it very rarely takes just a single shot to stop a burglar invading your home, that not every bullet finds its intended target ...
I turned off the radio.
Nineteen people were shot, more than a dozen were wounded, and six were killed. The individual responsible was stopped only because he was in the midst of switching from his now-empty magazine to a full one. While it is true that a disturbed person hell-bent on violence will find a way, it's not too much of a leap to wonder if the magazine size law had never changed, would those same people still be involved or injured or dead?
It seems to me that if John Q. Public wants to exercise his right to carry a weapon, he'd better be a good enough shot to stop an intruder in 10 shots, 'cause I dunno if I want him to be shooting at all otherwise.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for things being uneventful for the general population. With all that has happened in Arizona in the past few days, it wasn't shocking that the topic on the NPR show I was listening to on the radio was guns and gun control and the rights the population has in regards to guns and gun control. I won't share all of what I heard, or thought, while I listened but I will share this:
It seems that the handgun ... a Glock ... used in this latest tragedy was, at one point, limited by law to have no more than 10 rounds per magazine - which is to say that one can fire 10 bullets without reloading. But, since the early part of the last decade, that law expired and magazines could be purchased that had 33 rounds. (Keep in mind that this is a very quick-firing gun and that one could easily use all 33 rounds in 90 seconds, as demonstrated in Arizona). The radio show asked the guests to give a non-predatory situation where having a handgun that fired more than 30 bullets in under 90 seconds would be more useful than one that fired 10 shots in the same time and the guests went silent.
And then, as if on cue, the representative from the NRA spoke up and reminded the listeners that real life situations are so frequently NOT like what is shown on television or the movie screens, that it very rarely takes just a single shot to stop a burglar invading your home, that not every bullet finds its intended target ...
I turned off the radio.
Nineteen people were shot, more than a dozen were wounded, and six were killed. The individual responsible was stopped only because he was in the midst of switching from his now-empty magazine to a full one. While it is true that a disturbed person hell-bent on violence will find a way, it's not too much of a leap to wonder if the magazine size law had never changed, would those same people still be involved or injured or dead?
It seems to me that if John Q. Public wants to exercise his right to carry a weapon, he'd better be a good enough shot to stop an intruder in 10 shots, 'cause I dunno if I want him to be shooting at all otherwise.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Wednesday Wimper, Whine and Wallow
Just because I don't tend to write, talk, whine, discuss, whimiper, dwell, or wallow on the "not so great" parts of things going on in my orbit doesn't mean I don't have any such parts. So, in no particular order and to just get everything out in the open, here's just three of my "not so greats"...
Whimper
So yes, I'm a little less social and a lot more bitter than usual. As with most things, I will work through all of this (I always do) but give me a break and let me figure it out. Don't tell me how it'll all be alright. Don't tell me how you can relate. Don't tell me how it'll get easier - because, honestly, this part is NEVER easy.
I just don't wanna hear it right now. I deserve a good wallow and I at least have enough decency to wallow quietly and to myself. I know I'm not in fit shape right now to be good company to anyone so just be thankful I have enough respect to spare the rest of humanity. I will recover when I'm ready to do so. I'm just not ready yet.
Just because I don't share every crappy thing that happens doesn't mean I don't have crappy things. We all do. These are but three of mine.
Whimper
- The 16-year old gray cat (already crying as I write those six words) that I left in good hands is dying. I was care-ape to this feline ... this life-line to my weak grasp on sanity ... for more than 14 years. He got me through *e*v*e*r*y*t*h*i*n*g*. And now I'm a country-width away and am powerless to change anything. (Realizing that I could have him sitting on my lap and I'd still be powerless.) So I'm here waiting for the phone call to tell me that he's passed.
- The "new" cat that the Awesome Boyfriend and I have nursed back to health will need a forever home and it can't be ours. I'm worried that it won't matter how great, fun, good, loving, soft, and beautiful she is that it won't be easy to find. I don't wanna fail her after all this. (See above bullet point for the line of guilt on this.)
- The cousin who was fighting her cancer battle when her mother and I were doing the same is back on the "not recovering" list. I got nothing more to add to this one. I believe the amount of suckage involved here rather goes without saying.
So yes, I'm a little less social and a lot more bitter than usual. As with most things, I will work through all of this (I always do) but give me a break and let me figure it out. Don't tell me how it'll all be alright. Don't tell me how you can relate. Don't tell me how it'll get easier - because, honestly, this part is NEVER easy.
I just don't wanna hear it right now. I deserve a good wallow and I at least have enough decency to wallow quietly and to myself. I know I'm not in fit shape right now to be good company to anyone so just be thankful I have enough respect to spare the rest of humanity. I will recover when I'm ready to do so. I'm just not ready yet.
Just because I don't share every crappy thing that happens doesn't mean I don't have crappy things. We all do. These are but three of mine.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A Place For My Stuff
The Awesome Boyfriend and I have taken to watching "American Pickers" on The History Channel. It's pretty entertaining as we, the viewing audience, are introduced to folks and neighborhoods and sheds and buildings as the two main hosts wade through piles and piles of "stuff" looking for things they can sell or restore or add to THEIR collections.
There are various shows like this - "Pawn Stars" springs to mind, as does "Antique Road Show" - but this one is different in that we see the owners of said "stuff" in their own environment. Sometimes it's a very neat, very orderly collection (which the hosts don't tend to enjoy much because the chances for buying things from a neat collection tends to be slim) but more often than not, it's the back building with the door that doesn't quite really open and the lock that rusted off during that snowstorm in '73 and, when the camera is finally able to get through, it looks like what it is ... a bunch of crap that was maybe at one time a treasured collection that has since gone neglected.
Which, in a strange route of thinking, lead me to think of this space. I use this space for a number of things but, first and foremost, it's entertainment for me. That's why there are music videos and pictures of cats and memories of cars and stories of dogs and descriptions of food and random news stories ... and that's just what I've hit the "Publish Post" button on. In the "Drafts" area, I have dribs and drabs, rants and ravings, stories half-written and memories semi-described ... all sitting waiting to be discarded or finished.
And, like those folks we meet in "American Pickers", I'm faced with the question of "why don't you finish this or discard it now?" Sometimes it's in draft stage because the topic isn't fully-formed in my head, sometimes the stuff I've written isn't clear enough as I re-read it to make much sense, sometimes the appropriate moment has passed, and a lot of times I just wanted to write it out so that I didn't have to think on it anymore. (That last one tends to be mostly of the "rant" category.)
I think that a lot of the population does something like this, either with ideas or memories or lessons learned or actual, physical things. We hold onto those pieces ... to our "stuff" ... because we're not done with our collection yet, in one way or another. And, at some point, there will be a time, a place, a person, or an event that lets us know we need to decide if we're keeping it or letting it go.
There are various shows like this - "Pawn Stars" springs to mind, as does "Antique Road Show" - but this one is different in that we see the owners of said "stuff" in their own environment. Sometimes it's a very neat, very orderly collection (which the hosts don't tend to enjoy much because the chances for buying things from a neat collection tends to be slim) but more often than not, it's the back building with the door that doesn't quite really open and the lock that rusted off during that snowstorm in '73 and, when the camera is finally able to get through, it looks like what it is ... a bunch of crap that was maybe at one time a treasured collection that has since gone neglected.
Which, in a strange route of thinking, lead me to think of this space. I use this space for a number of things but, first and foremost, it's entertainment for me. That's why there are music videos and pictures of cats and memories of cars and stories of dogs and descriptions of food and random news stories ... and that's just what I've hit the "Publish Post" button on. In the "Drafts" area, I have dribs and drabs, rants and ravings, stories half-written and memories semi-described ... all sitting waiting to be discarded or finished.
And, like those folks we meet in "American Pickers", I'm faced with the question of "why don't you finish this or discard it now?" Sometimes it's in draft stage because the topic isn't fully-formed in my head, sometimes the stuff I've written isn't clear enough as I re-read it to make much sense, sometimes the appropriate moment has passed, and a lot of times I just wanted to write it out so that I didn't have to think on it anymore. (That last one tends to be mostly of the "rant" category.)
I think that a lot of the population does something like this, either with ideas or memories or lessons learned or actual, physical things. We hold onto those pieces ... to our "stuff" ... because we're not done with our collection yet, in one way or another. And, at some point, there will be a time, a place, a person, or an event that lets us know we need to decide if we're keeping it or letting it go.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
The Angry Dream
So I had this dream last night, and it made me angry. Which is strange - I mean, I think it was strange that my subconscious made me angry anyway. Maybe it's not so uncommon for others, but it seemed weird to me.
In this dream, I was in a hotel room. The check-out time was 10am, and it was about 9:30am. There was a dining room table - an oval one - near the door to exit the room, and it had six chairs seated around it. There was (oddly enough) another door on an adjoining wall (where the couch was) that appeared to also be an exit.
I was in the process of gathering my things. I don't know what I'd been there for, but there seemed to be a lot of computer-type bags that I was packing. And then, without warning or even a knock, the door next to the table opened and hotel workers walked in and started to replace a trash can.
I looked at them blankly and said "I have the room until 10am - and you could have knocked, yanno." They apologized, and left. I continued to pack, a little more rapidly than before, and suddenly there were workers in both doors, coming through with new furniture and whatnot and I gathered that my room was some part of a renovation.
I started to yell. I cursed ... loudly. There was a camera crew (???) filming the new and improved room and I took the camera and threw it into the newly-installed flat screen TV and I remember too that I picked up the woman behind the camera and physically removed her - not so kindly - out of the hotel room. "Stop it!" I was screaming. "Don't you understand how incredibly rude you're all being?"
I got on the phone, called the front desk, and asked for the hotel General Manager. I was asked if there was a problem, and I believe I responded with something like "you bet your ass there's a problem". I went off, and went between apologizing for screeching at the front desk attendant who was only doing their job to demanding security to keep people from entering my room.
The problem with dreams is that you don't get to decide when to awaken from them. This dream was "loud" enough, apparently, that it woke me up. The Awesome Boyfriend was stirring slightly so I mumbled "what time is it?" and he said it was about 6am.
It's now almost 12 hours later and I'm still a little miffed at ... well see, that's the part that is difficult. How can you be angry about something that occurred only in your head?
In this dream, I was in a hotel room. The check-out time was 10am, and it was about 9:30am. There was a dining room table - an oval one - near the door to exit the room, and it had six chairs seated around it. There was (oddly enough) another door on an adjoining wall (where the couch was) that appeared to also be an exit.
I was in the process of gathering my things. I don't know what I'd been there for, but there seemed to be a lot of computer-type bags that I was packing. And then, without warning or even a knock, the door next to the table opened and hotel workers walked in and started to replace a trash can.
I looked at them blankly and said "I have the room until 10am - and you could have knocked, yanno." They apologized, and left. I continued to pack, a little more rapidly than before, and suddenly there were workers in both doors, coming through with new furniture and whatnot and I gathered that my room was some part of a renovation.
I started to yell. I cursed ... loudly. There was a camera crew (???) filming the new and improved room and I took the camera and threw it into the newly-installed flat screen TV and I remember too that I picked up the woman behind the camera and physically removed her - not so kindly - out of the hotel room. "Stop it!" I was screaming. "Don't you understand how incredibly rude you're all being?"
I got on the phone, called the front desk, and asked for the hotel General Manager. I was asked if there was a problem, and I believe I responded with something like "you bet your ass there's a problem". I went off, and went between apologizing for screeching at the front desk attendant who was only doing their job to demanding security to keep people from entering my room.
The problem with dreams is that you don't get to decide when to awaken from them. This dream was "loud" enough, apparently, that it woke me up. The Awesome Boyfriend was stirring slightly so I mumbled "what time is it?" and he said it was about 6am.
It's now almost 12 hours later and I'm still a little miffed at ... well see, that's the part that is difficult. How can you be angry about something that occurred only in your head?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Lost In Translation
The following is all a dream that I had last night. NONE of this has actually happened.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So I'm in a shop ... or a cafe, hard to say ... with one of my childhood friends. A friend that, as it turned out, was not a very good adult friend so I distanced myself from her quite awhile ago. We're in a shop/cafe buying food items ... pastas and salads and whatnot. There's an individual sitting alone at a round table in the corner and he's next to the fireplace in this shop/cafe. He's being rather a pest - being loud and obnoxious. He asks an elderly man to replace a chair at his table. The elderly man he's asked to move this chair probably weighs less than the chair but he tries to do it anyway, just to get this guy to hush up. He gives up and walks away.
My friend and I do our best to ignore this blowhard. We walk as far from his table as we can, but it doesn't work. "Hey!", he shouts, presumably at me. "Hey! You have to help me count these napkins in the holder here." Stuff like that - stuff that makes just NO sense at all. I get irritated. I turn on my heals and in a very loud, very authoritative voice, I say "You need to take a deep breath and stop. No one here wants to hear you, so just stop talking to all of us, have your meal and go away."
I turn my back on him and he trips me with a stick or something ... not "fall on my butt" tripping but enough to make me stutter-step. I've had enough, and I tell my friend I'm gonna get this guy removed from this place.
I find a manager and explain the situation. "He's wearing a red shirt with a baseball cap and he's making your customers uncomfortable. He tried to trip me. And if you don't do something about it, I will."
The manager tells me he's got it taken care of and when he turns to the table in question, it's empty. The guy is leaving - I see him walking down the street just outside of the store. The manager follows him and has him return inside, which is when I notice that this individual is blind. He's not wearing glasses or anything, but that stick was a cane and he has a seeing-eye dog.
"This can't be the guy", I say to my friend, who is mortified at my lack of sensitivity. "The guy that yelled at me ... at all of us ... wasn't blind. There was no dog. Crap! Where did he go?" I say as the manager asks me if I wanna file a formal complaint. I sigh. "Yeah, I wanna be the person that files a complaint against the blind guy. I wanna be that person", I respond with sarcasm.
Suddenly my friend says she's late to do a final walk through in her new home and - again, because this is a dream - the next thing I remember is that we're in (what I guess is) the home she's buying. We're inside the front hall next to the door that leads outside. Her child (yeah, I didn't mention children before this because this was the first I'd seen 'em, too) says "there's someone at the door" and he presses a button for what I suppose is the intercom. But he doesn't just press it, he like ... leans on it. "Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" fills the room.
"Stop it", she says, as she smacks his hand away. And then, outta nowhere, the seeing eye dog sinks his teeth into the buzzer system and rips it out from the wall. The child yells loudly - both at surprise of what the dog did and of the noise it made -and my friend looks to me for a comment of some kind.
"Don't look at me - I wanted to turn in a blind guy for tripping me."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And then the cat woke me up.
Anyone wanna translate what all this means for me?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So I'm in a shop ... or a cafe, hard to say ... with one of my childhood friends. A friend that, as it turned out, was not a very good adult friend so I distanced myself from her quite awhile ago. We're in a shop/cafe buying food items ... pastas and salads and whatnot. There's an individual sitting alone at a round table in the corner and he's next to the fireplace in this shop/cafe. He's being rather a pest - being loud and obnoxious. He asks an elderly man to replace a chair at his table. The elderly man he's asked to move this chair probably weighs less than the chair but he tries to do it anyway, just to get this guy to hush up. He gives up and walks away.
My friend and I do our best to ignore this blowhard. We walk as far from his table as we can, but it doesn't work. "Hey!", he shouts, presumably at me. "Hey! You have to help me count these napkins in the holder here." Stuff like that - stuff that makes just NO sense at all. I get irritated. I turn on my heals and in a very loud, very authoritative voice, I say "You need to take a deep breath and stop. No one here wants to hear you, so just stop talking to all of us, have your meal and go away."
I turn my back on him and he trips me with a stick or something ... not "fall on my butt" tripping but enough to make me stutter-step. I've had enough, and I tell my friend I'm gonna get this guy removed from this place.
I find a manager and explain the situation. "He's wearing a red shirt with a baseball cap and he's making your customers uncomfortable. He tried to trip me. And if you don't do something about it, I will."
The manager tells me he's got it taken care of and when he turns to the table in question, it's empty. The guy is leaving - I see him walking down the street just outside of the store. The manager follows him and has him return inside, which is when I notice that this individual is blind. He's not wearing glasses or anything, but that stick was a cane and he has a seeing-eye dog.
"This can't be the guy", I say to my friend, who is mortified at my lack of sensitivity. "The guy that yelled at me ... at all of us ... wasn't blind. There was no dog. Crap! Where did he go?" I say as the manager asks me if I wanna file a formal complaint. I sigh. "Yeah, I wanna be the person that files a complaint against the blind guy. I wanna be that person", I respond with sarcasm.
Suddenly my friend says she's late to do a final walk through in her new home and - again, because this is a dream - the next thing I remember is that we're in (what I guess is) the home she's buying. We're inside the front hall next to the door that leads outside. Her child (yeah, I didn't mention children before this because this was the first I'd seen 'em, too) says "there's someone at the door" and he presses a button for what I suppose is the intercom. But he doesn't just press it, he like ... leans on it. "Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" fills the room.
"Stop it", she says, as she smacks his hand away. And then, outta nowhere, the seeing eye dog sinks his teeth into the buzzer system and rips it out from the wall. The child yells loudly - both at surprise of what the dog did and of the noise it made -and my friend looks to me for a comment of some kind.
"Don't look at me - I wanted to turn in a blind guy for tripping me."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And then the cat woke me up.
Anyone wanna translate what all this means for me?
Monday, March 29, 2010
Uncommon Courtesy
I mentioned in a recent post (the last one? the one before that?) that my patience level isn't all it could be. I am struggling with it today. As such, this will be a "stream of brain farts" kind of a post. Don't expect it to make all that much sense, mmmmk?
I used to plan large-scale corporate events. By "large scale", I mean upwards of the 45,000 attendance kind of things. HUGE conventions with 65 breakout rooms that rotated on an hourly basis for a week long learning experience for those attending. As I'm a food lover, a lot of those 45,000 people counted on me to make sure that their "fancy dinner event" after the day of meetings was the best. This meant that I had to know the best places to eat that were still within the established corporate policy (done with a "wink-wink" because they were NEVER in those parameters, but a good planner knows how to get around such matters).
For the first few companies I did planning for, I was the junior member. This made me a combination of a runner, a go-for, and the setup-and tear-down expert. I could flip a room setup for 250 people in less than 10 minutes (with help, obviously). Eventually, when I'd proven I could keep my head and follow through, I was given more responsibility and I have to say that I shined. There were core trainers that I just loved working with and would stay up until well after midnight going through their presentations the night before, making sure the timing was spot-on, the graphics were clear, and that the presenter was gonna succeed.
But by far, my favorite part was planning the dinners. Well - actually - it was my favorite part and the most maddening at the same time. See, I'd go to a lot of trouble making sure that the food selections were balanced, that the wines I'd selected would play nicely with the food, that the acoustics in the room were acceptable, that the tables were arranged in a way that worked, etc. And I was detail-oriented, too. If the room was very bright, I'd request for dark linens to add some visual contrast. If there were gonna be a LOT of people in the room, I'd make sure it was made cooler than usual from 1pm to 4pm so that, by 7pm when folks started showing up, the temperature was just right.
And every participant of the events I was in charge of knew to expect a "welcome" packet when they checked into the meeting that was made just for them. I'd tell them things waaaay beyond the usual "register here, opening statements from the CEO here" stuff. I'd tell them things like "less-busy coffee shop here" and "avoid the really expensive drinks here".
The maddening part was the people, not the details. No matter how much time and energy I'd spend on the event, there'd always be one person that just would screw it up in a very special way. There was the one person that missed the transportation bus to the theme park and called me to come back to get them, even though they were late in showing up. There was the one person that refused to RSVP for *anything* *ever* and would be offended that dinner wasn't held for their arrival. There would be the one that would absolutely not wear the personalized shirt that I'd had sent to their room the night before and, knowing that they'd likely do that, didn't bat an eye (or offer a "thank you") when I showed up with another shirt - that I'd ironed that morning - for them.
That's the part of events that I just can't tolerate anymore. For what it's worth, I also can't stand folks that don't respect MY time in my personal life. If Mr. Service Provider tells me he'll call at 9am, I expect a call at 9am. When I call at 9:30am and am told "whoops - sorry - I'll for sure call before Noon" and never hear back? Yeaaaaahhhh, that's just not gonna sit well for me. After all, Mr. Service Provider was the one who set the deadline, not me. And if Mr. Service Provider tells me "I'll be there", I expect that to be true.
To change this to something that most everyone can relate to, imagine that you've made a reservation at a restaurant for 6pm. You call the day of the reservation and say "yeah, can we move that to 7pm?" and so they do. At 7:20pm, the restaurant calls you and says "where are you?" and you say "whoopsie - I'll call you back at 9pm" and then you no show. Not cool, right? The good news is that it's a restaurant and they likely don't have a "black list" so no real harm is done.
Except it's NOT a restaurant. There's a person at the other end of that reservation that you've made. And you said you'd be there. Sure things come up and all but you gave your word. And no one MADE you call that restaurant and make THAT reservation.
I guess it's just a matter of courtesy. Either ya' have it or you don't. I shouldn't hold folks to my level of common (or not-so-common) courtesy but I still do, even after all this time (and experience).
Anyway, as I said from the onset, don't expect this to make too much sense. (And see - I TOLD you in advance that it may not. It was just the right thing to do.)
I used to plan large-scale corporate events. By "large scale", I mean upwards of the 45,000 attendance kind of things. HUGE conventions with 65 breakout rooms that rotated on an hourly basis for a week long learning experience for those attending. As I'm a food lover, a lot of those 45,000 people counted on me to make sure that their "fancy dinner event" after the day of meetings was the best. This meant that I had to know the best places to eat that were still within the established corporate policy (done with a "wink-wink" because they were NEVER in those parameters, but a good planner knows how to get around such matters).
For the first few companies I did planning for, I was the junior member. This made me a combination of a runner, a go-for, and the setup-and tear-down expert. I could flip a room setup for 250 people in less than 10 minutes (with help, obviously). Eventually, when I'd proven I could keep my head and follow through, I was given more responsibility and I have to say that I shined. There were core trainers that I just loved working with and would stay up until well after midnight going through their presentations the night before, making sure the timing was spot-on, the graphics were clear, and that the presenter was gonna succeed.
But by far, my favorite part was planning the dinners. Well - actually - it was my favorite part and the most maddening at the same time. See, I'd go to a lot of trouble making sure that the food selections were balanced, that the wines I'd selected would play nicely with the food, that the acoustics in the room were acceptable, that the tables were arranged in a way that worked, etc. And I was detail-oriented, too. If the room was very bright, I'd request for dark linens to add some visual contrast. If there were gonna be a LOT of people in the room, I'd make sure it was made cooler than usual from 1pm to 4pm so that, by 7pm when folks started showing up, the temperature was just right.
And every participant of the events I was in charge of knew to expect a "welcome" packet when they checked into the meeting that was made just for them. I'd tell them things waaaay beyond the usual "register here, opening statements from the CEO here" stuff. I'd tell them things like "less-busy coffee shop here" and "avoid the really expensive drinks here".
The maddening part was the people, not the details. No matter how much time and energy I'd spend on the event, there'd always be one person that just would screw it up in a very special way. There was the one person that missed the transportation bus to the theme park and called me to come back to get them, even though they were late in showing up. There was the one person that refused to RSVP for *anything* *ever* and would be offended that dinner wasn't held for their arrival. There would be the one that would absolutely not wear the personalized shirt that I'd had sent to their room the night before and, knowing that they'd likely do that, didn't bat an eye (or offer a "thank you") when I showed up with another shirt - that I'd ironed that morning - for them.
That's the part of events that I just can't tolerate anymore. For what it's worth, I also can't stand folks that don't respect MY time in my personal life. If Mr. Service Provider tells me he'll call at 9am, I expect a call at 9am. When I call at 9:30am and am told "whoops - sorry - I'll for sure call before Noon" and never hear back? Yeaaaaahhhh, that's just not gonna sit well for me. After all, Mr. Service Provider was the one who set the deadline, not me. And if Mr. Service Provider tells me "I'll be there", I expect that to be true.
To change this to something that most everyone can relate to, imagine that you've made a reservation at a restaurant for 6pm. You call the day of the reservation and say "yeah, can we move that to 7pm?" and so they do. At 7:20pm, the restaurant calls you and says "where are you?" and you say "whoopsie - I'll call you back at 9pm" and then you no show. Not cool, right? The good news is that it's a restaurant and they likely don't have a "black list" so no real harm is done.
Except it's NOT a restaurant. There's a person at the other end of that reservation that you've made. And you said you'd be there. Sure things come up and all but you gave your word. And no one MADE you call that restaurant and make THAT reservation.
I guess it's just a matter of courtesy. Either ya' have it or you don't. I shouldn't hold folks to my level of common (or not-so-common) courtesy but I still do, even after all this time (and experience).
Anyway, as I said from the onset, don't expect this to make too much sense. (And see - I TOLD you in advance that it may not. It was just the right thing to do.)
Friday, March 5, 2010
When did ...
Ingrid Michaelson sell her soul to the producers of "Grey's Anatomy"?
It seems like every song of hers has some fan-created YouTube video that just ... bites.
It seems like every song of hers has some fan-created YouTube video that just ... bites.
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