I know the common theme for blogs today will be the year in review. I've read quite a few already and remember writing some myself in years prior. I have no interest in dong that today, however. I'm not sure why.
All I will say is that I can firmly state that I am happier writing to you from my couch today than I was on Dec. 31, 2006. 2007 has brought some extraordinary ups and downs but, perhaps more than any other time in my life, I feel like I am in a better place than I was a year ago.
As has become a favorite phrase of mine in the last 6 months, I've exercised a lot of haters in my life. I can't recommend that enough, by the way. Removing the negative people, and removing any sense of obligation you feel to them, is aces. Look into it.
I've also just taken a lot more control, including control of my emotions. Sure, I still cry like a little girl at any variety of scenarios, but I'm doing a better job of leaving work at work and trying to cope with my stress and responsibilities in a healthier manner. Don't get me wrong.. I still fall off the wagon from time to time, but I usually recover before I've hit the ground. That's really all that matters.
Successfully keeping up this blog was a major goal of mine for the year, and I feel I achieved it. I have no doubt many of you would disagree, but given the demands of my work life I think I've done a pretty bang up job. I want to thank you for the support and encouragement many of you have given me regarding this silly little collection over the year. You've made me feel talented, witty and intelligent, and that's a true gift.
In looking to the year ahead, I must say it's filled with some of the greatest uncertainty since I entered 2000, and was embarking on my last semester of college. I do hope to have some constants, and they know who they are, but the possibilities remain somewhat endless as to where I'll be in 6 months, what I'll be doing, etc. Maybe I'll even finally get a hair cut. Who knows?!?!
Either way, I hope to continue to take you on the ride with me, and I hope to be able to share some exciting new adventures on the way. My big goal for the year will be to perform on some sort of stage. I feel it in me. Please do stay tuned.
Monday, December 31, 2007
On things that are worth the wait...
You may or may not have uncovered the fact that I am a Daddy's Girl. My father is my hero, has sacrificed everything for my success and is my number one fan. It's my father's attention, and that alone, that allows you to accurately describe me as a spoiled only child.
You'll recall that one of the many successes of 2007 was that I finally bought a car. At 29 years of age, I have my first set of wheels. I am still in love with my new found identity as someone who can get herself, thank you very much, from point A to point B. It turns out that my dad is just as in love with this new identity as I am.
My holiday trip home was blissfully uneventful in terms of weather, at least on the traveling end of things. The night before we left for the return drive, however, brought about a wintry mix that left its impression on all of the cars in the parking lot at my dad's apartment building. When I came out the following morning to pack the car, I noticed my car was the only one parked without any snow on it. My dad, clearly, had made a point of clearing it off before he went to work at the God awful hour of 5:30 am.
When I called to tell him we were taking off, I thanked him for the gesture. "That was so sweet of you, Dad!" "Are you kidding," he responded, "I've been waiting to do that for you for a really long time!"
It really is the little things that make you feel loved. I'm the luckiest daughter in the world.
You'll recall that one of the many successes of 2007 was that I finally bought a car. At 29 years of age, I have my first set of wheels. I am still in love with my new found identity as someone who can get herself, thank you very much, from point A to point B. It turns out that my dad is just as in love with this new identity as I am.
My holiday trip home was blissfully uneventful in terms of weather, at least on the traveling end of things. The night before we left for the return drive, however, brought about a wintry mix that left its impression on all of the cars in the parking lot at my dad's apartment building. When I came out the following morning to pack the car, I noticed my car was the only one parked without any snow on it. My dad, clearly, had made a point of clearing it off before he went to work at the God awful hour of 5:30 am.
When I called to tell him we were taking off, I thanked him for the gesture. "That was so sweet of you, Dad!" "Are you kidding," he responded, "I've been waiting to do that for you for a really long time!"
It really is the little things that make you feel loved. I'm the luckiest daughter in the world.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
On "Why I oughta..."
So I've got this thing about being on time. If I'm late for anything, it stresses me out. Even if it's by a minute or two, I get the shakes. I've simply been taught to equate timeliness with courtesy and respect.. it's as simple as that. So, yes, I'm often early. Of course, all that results in are the tardy people in my life seeming even later than they actually are.
One area in which I cannot release this pet peeve is meetings. I have a few staff members who are constantly late to meetings, to the point where I simply feel they operate on a clock that is set 15 minutes later than the rest of the world's. I've tried to let it go as much as possible; after all, in the grand scheme of things, if people do their jobs well, what does it really matter?
Except for today.
I have a weekly 11 am staff meeting. Every week. Always at 11 am. Always in a room outside of our own building.
Every week, some little group is late. It's irritating as hell, particularly when space is at a premium and you can count on being kicked out of your room if you go over your time. But today. Today NO ONE was there at 11 am.
A few shuffled in at 11:03 .. the rest came in within another 10 minute window.
I get that shit happens. But this was unacceptable to me.
I ran a short and productive meeting. We left. But I couldn't let it go. It's hard to walk the fine line of being the easy going likeable boss (what I've been going for), but still having everyone's respect.
So I wrote an e-mail. It went something like this:
I couldn't ignore the fact that everyone was late to today's staff meeting. Yes, some were late by just two minutes, but no one was there by the traditional start time of 11 am.
I know there are a variety of completely understandable reasons for being late, today was no exception given other meetings and important phone calls that go over time, but, in the spirit of the new year, I'd like to ask that everyone simply make a greater effort to make it to staff meeting on time. While this was the first week everyone was late, in the past there have always been groups wandering in after 11. I know staff meeting is not everyone's favorite and I recognize it's a pain in the neck to have to leave the building for a meeting, particularly in cold weather, but I appreciate, in advance, your understanding, courtesy and respect.
As you know, space is a premium on campus and we have been kicked out of our meeting room at times for going over. Always remember, the sooner we start the meeting, the quicker it ends.
Thank you again for your hard work this year and enjoy some well deserved time off next week.
I received two responses, immediately, essentially saying "You go girl!"
Of course, they were from two people who are always late. One even said, "Thanks for taking the unpopular opinion and running a tight ship!" While I appreciate and need the support, I feel like writing back, "And thank YOU for taking advantage of my non-confrontational and easygoing self for the past year and a half!"
I swear, I just can't win.
One area in which I cannot release this pet peeve is meetings. I have a few staff members who are constantly late to meetings, to the point where I simply feel they operate on a clock that is set 15 minutes later than the rest of the world's. I've tried to let it go as much as possible; after all, in the grand scheme of things, if people do their jobs well, what does it really matter?
Except for today.
I have a weekly 11 am staff meeting. Every week. Always at 11 am. Always in a room outside of our own building.
Every week, some little group is late. It's irritating as hell, particularly when space is at a premium and you can count on being kicked out of your room if you go over your time. But today. Today NO ONE was there at 11 am.
A few shuffled in at 11:03 .. the rest came in within another 10 minute window.
I get that shit happens. But this was unacceptable to me.
I ran a short and productive meeting. We left. But I couldn't let it go. It's hard to walk the fine line of being the easy going likeable boss (what I've been going for), but still having everyone's respect.
So I wrote an e-mail. It went something like this:
I couldn't ignore the fact that everyone was late to today's staff meeting. Yes, some were late by just two minutes, but no one was there by the traditional start time of 11 am.
I know there are a variety of completely understandable reasons for being late, today was no exception given other meetings and important phone calls that go over time, but, in the spirit of the new year, I'd like to ask that everyone simply make a greater effort to make it to staff meeting on time. While this was the first week everyone was late, in the past there have always been groups wandering in after 11. I know staff meeting is not everyone's favorite and I recognize it's a pain in the neck to have to leave the building for a meeting, particularly in cold weather, but I appreciate, in advance, your understanding, courtesy and respect.
As you know, space is a premium on campus and we have been kicked out of our meeting room at times for going over. Always remember, the sooner we start the meeting, the quicker it ends.
Thank you again for your hard work this year and enjoy some well deserved time off next week.
I received two responses, immediately, essentially saying "You go girl!"
Of course, they were from two people who are always late. One even said, "Thanks for taking the unpopular opinion and running a tight ship!" While I appreciate and need the support, I feel like writing back, "And thank YOU for taking advantage of my non-confrontational and easygoing self for the past year and a half!"
I swear, I just can't win.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
On the cost of Christmas...
I had a conversation with a co-worker this week about getting away from the true spirit of Christmas. Every once in a while, I think we'd really be very well served if Linus emerged from the sky, blanket in hand, saying "Lights, please!" and reminded us of what the holiday season is all about. Even if religion isn't your thing, it's important to remember this is the season to be grateful for what you have, particularly as it relates to people - family and friends.
I've been keeping a spreadsheet for the past two Christmases that records who I've bought for and what I've bought them. In addition to keeping me organized, it forces an "Equalizer" eye on my gift giving. Particularly for people at work, I don't want to go overboard on one and not enough on the other.
See, I've already gotten away from the spirit of the holidays with that very philosophy.
Of course, this is all just an elaborate set up to inform you that I purchased 114 presents this year. No, I'm not joking. 114 presents for 35 people. Granted, most of these gifts were of the $1 variety, placing themselves in gift bags I put together for the 19 people at work I felt compelled to by for (go Target with $1 ornaments and Mrs. Fields chocolates!!!). But, still. Methinks I've gone a wee bit overboard.
I feel like I could have been "done" with shopping a few times by now, but the problem with starting too early is that you simply have too much time to talk yourself into that one additional gift for someone.
The thing is, no one is spoiled this year. I wish they were, but they are not. This does, however, serve as a true wake up call that next year make require even more creativity on the job front.
Of course, I just realized that 114 doesn't even include the stocking stuffers I've purchased. Yikes.
I've been keeping a spreadsheet for the past two Christmases that records who I've bought for and what I've bought them. In addition to keeping me organized, it forces an "Equalizer" eye on my gift giving. Particularly for people at work, I don't want to go overboard on one and not enough on the other.
See, I've already gotten away from the spirit of the holidays with that very philosophy.
Of course, this is all just an elaborate set up to inform you that I purchased 114 presents this year. No, I'm not joking. 114 presents for 35 people. Granted, most of these gifts were of the $1 variety, placing themselves in gift bags I put together for the 19 people at work I felt compelled to by for (go Target with $1 ornaments and Mrs. Fields chocolates!!!). But, still. Methinks I've gone a wee bit overboard.
I feel like I could have been "done" with shopping a few times by now, but the problem with starting too early is that you simply have too much time to talk yourself into that one additional gift for someone.
The thing is, no one is spoiled this year. I wish they were, but they are not. This does, however, serve as a true wake up call that next year make require even more creativity on the job front.
Of course, I just realized that 114 doesn't even include the stocking stuffers I've purchased. Yikes.
On the cost of parking....
You should know, first of all, that I have a fantastic driving record. Certain haters in my life (ok, not really haters, but reality obsessors) would clarify by saying I never owned a car until this year. Hey, cut me some slack. I've done my fair share of driving and, if you're reading this blog, likely in your car. Aren't you happy I've behaved myself while within its confines?
Friday night brought forth my first parking ticket. Yes, at 29 years old I got my first parking ticket. And don't get me wrong, I knew it was too good to be true, but I'm easily confused by signs that say "No Standing" instead of "No Parking", particularly when there is a meter RIGHT THERE. And, of course, I had my co-worker, who does not own a car, scope out the meter to make sure we were ok. (We were decidedly not but it, too, was unclear to her undriving self).
So I emerged from our office Festivus themed happy hour where, in the spirit of being a good boss, I threw down an extra $20 to take care of the first round of beers. Too bad, I could really need it now. When I saw the ticket, I was decidedly bummed, but it wasn't until I realized the amount that I was offended.
$100 for a parking ticket! Can you believe it? But, as my boyfriend astutely pointed out, they have to make the parking fines unreasonable,otherwise no one is going to pay for a garage.
I'm simply grateful that I have another month to pay it. With Christmas in full swing, that kind of money just isn't at my fingertips (see blog above). And might I also take this moment to wish the meter maid mafia a joyous holiday season.
Friday night brought forth my first parking ticket. Yes, at 29 years old I got my first parking ticket. And don't get me wrong, I knew it was too good to be true, but I'm easily confused by signs that say "No Standing" instead of "No Parking", particularly when there is a meter RIGHT THERE. And, of course, I had my co-worker, who does not own a car, scope out the meter to make sure we were ok. (We were decidedly not but it, too, was unclear to her undriving self).
So I emerged from our office Festivus themed happy hour where, in the spirit of being a good boss, I threw down an extra $20 to take care of the first round of beers. Too bad, I could really need it now. When I saw the ticket, I was decidedly bummed, but it wasn't until I realized the amount that I was offended.
$100 for a parking ticket! Can you believe it? But, as my boyfriend astutely pointed out, they have to make the parking fines unreasonable,otherwise no one is going to pay for a garage.
I'm simply grateful that I have another month to pay it. With Christmas in full swing, that kind of money just isn't at my fingertips (see blog above). And might I also take this moment to wish the meter maid mafia a joyous holiday season.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
On the reason for the season...
I'm very grateful tonight. For friends, for family, for love, for life, for health, for a wardrobe full of henley waffle shirts and fleece.
But more than that, I'm grateful to Jessica Alba for getting pregnant. I want to thank her for acknowledging her perfection was not fair to the rest of us, and it was about time she got fat.
Way to take one for the team, J. You're aces in my book.
But more than that, I'm grateful to Jessica Alba for getting pregnant. I want to thank her for acknowledging her perfection was not fair to the rest of us, and it was about time she got fat.
Way to take one for the team, J. You're aces in my book.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
On "WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE?"
My only child is showing...
I go home about once a year now.. at Christmas. Maine just isn't an easy place to get to. Summer is the ideal time for a second visit, but with a move this year I just couldn't make it work. So I know, at the very least, I'll get home for Christmas and to, what I hope, are some things I can rely on.
This Christmas is particularly special as my boyfriend is coming home with me. I can't tell you how angst ridden I've been about his missing Christmas with his own family for us. I missed Christmas at home a few years ago under different circumstances and it just didn't feel right. I couldn't be more appreciative or excited to have him with me. I've also continually sweetened the deal by reminding him that Christmas at home means lobster on Christmas Eve at my mom's place.. it's tradition.
Christmas Eve has always been spent with my mother, and we always have lobster, play Christmas music, and open gifts from our crazy relatives in California. Having my guy share in this tradition means a lot to me.
I guess she had something else in mind.
I got an e-mail from her this morning saying she wanted to give us whatever flexibility we needed, but Christmas Eve would be spent at her best friend's house. "We've never gotten to do this before, so I think it's important."
Insert my all star hissy fit.
I am LIVID. No, I'm not exaggerating. I've shed tears and I stomped all over my apartment this morning (sorry, downstairs neighbor). I've even consulted a few colleagues to see if I'm crazy - a resounding, "No you're not crazy, this is bullshit," came from all three.
Don't get me wrong, I adore my mother's best friend. She's a second mom to me and I love when she and her family stop by Christmas Eve, post-lobster and presents. My mother also spends all of Christmas Day over with this same best friend and her best friend's very large family, for which I'm also grateful, as Christmas Day is spent with my father and his side of the family.
This may come off as spoiled, but I don't care. I am absolutely devastated that our tradition is being sacrficed for no good reason at all. I'm actually having trouble focusing.
I wrote back and expressed my disappointment. Indicating it's all we'd been looking forward to. I softened it with "is there anyway we can do lobster another night I'm home?", to which she simply replied. "Of course! That was my plan all along!"
Still, it's not enough for me.
I wrote her back pleading was there anyway we could stick to our tradition and expressing my sadness.
Perhaps this all seems very dramatic to you but, again, as I get older, there are fewer and fewer things I can rely on. Fewer things that give me the warm and fuzzies. And, given a somewhat challenged past with my mom, I can't help but feel I'm being robbed of one of the truly special things we share, and during an incredibly important occasion - the holidays and my boyfriend, who I intend to be with as long as he'll have me, being there.
I, of course, can't help but feel she's being incredibly selfish and can't help but wonder if she's sticking it to me or simply doesn't care and wants to do her own thing. But I think it's wrong. I think the holidays are about your kids. If I have kids, you can bet your ass it will be about what makes it special for them.
The holidays also seem to bring out the very worst in us, and I'm wondering if I'm experiencing that right now. But I just don't understand why she'd do this without talking to me (likely b/c she would know my reaction) or put aside one of the few happy, special things we still share as mother and daughter.
Pardon me while I slam my bedroom door and turn up the New Kids on the Block.
I go home about once a year now.. at Christmas. Maine just isn't an easy place to get to. Summer is the ideal time for a second visit, but with a move this year I just couldn't make it work. So I know, at the very least, I'll get home for Christmas and to, what I hope, are some things I can rely on.
This Christmas is particularly special as my boyfriend is coming home with me. I can't tell you how angst ridden I've been about his missing Christmas with his own family for us. I missed Christmas at home a few years ago under different circumstances and it just didn't feel right. I couldn't be more appreciative or excited to have him with me. I've also continually sweetened the deal by reminding him that Christmas at home means lobster on Christmas Eve at my mom's place.. it's tradition.
Christmas Eve has always been spent with my mother, and we always have lobster, play Christmas music, and open gifts from our crazy relatives in California. Having my guy share in this tradition means a lot to me.
I guess she had something else in mind.
I got an e-mail from her this morning saying she wanted to give us whatever flexibility we needed, but Christmas Eve would be spent at her best friend's house. "We've never gotten to do this before, so I think it's important."
Insert my all star hissy fit.
I am LIVID. No, I'm not exaggerating. I've shed tears and I stomped all over my apartment this morning (sorry, downstairs neighbor). I've even consulted a few colleagues to see if I'm crazy - a resounding, "No you're not crazy, this is bullshit," came from all three.
Don't get me wrong, I adore my mother's best friend. She's a second mom to me and I love when she and her family stop by Christmas Eve, post-lobster and presents. My mother also spends all of Christmas Day over with this same best friend and her best friend's very large family, for which I'm also grateful, as Christmas Day is spent with my father and his side of the family.
This may come off as spoiled, but I don't care. I am absolutely devastated that our tradition is being sacrficed for no good reason at all. I'm actually having trouble focusing.
I wrote back and expressed my disappointment. Indicating it's all we'd been looking forward to. I softened it with "is there anyway we can do lobster another night I'm home?", to which she simply replied. "Of course! That was my plan all along!"
Still, it's not enough for me.
I wrote her back pleading was there anyway we could stick to our tradition and expressing my sadness.
Perhaps this all seems very dramatic to you but, again, as I get older, there are fewer and fewer things I can rely on. Fewer things that give me the warm and fuzzies. And, given a somewhat challenged past with my mom, I can't help but feel I'm being robbed of one of the truly special things we share, and during an incredibly important occasion - the holidays and my boyfriend, who I intend to be with as long as he'll have me, being there.
I, of course, can't help but feel she's being incredibly selfish and can't help but wonder if she's sticking it to me or simply doesn't care and wants to do her own thing. But I think it's wrong. I think the holidays are about your kids. If I have kids, you can bet your ass it will be about what makes it special for them.
The holidays also seem to bring out the very worst in us, and I'm wondering if I'm experiencing that right now. But I just don't understand why she'd do this without talking to me (likely b/c she would know my reaction) or put aside one of the few happy, special things we still share as mother and daughter.
Pardon me while I slam my bedroom door and turn up the New Kids on the Block.
Monday, December 10, 2007
On bringing it on...
Often I forget that I was a cheerleader.
No no no.. I don't mean that my high school days were so filled with popularity and partying that I can't keep it all straight. I think it's more that sometimes it's difficult to remember that I was a kid once, and that I bopped around the hallways of my high school on game days in my uniform, my ponytail flapping, and froze my butt off sitting in class seats with really just my briefs covering my rear.
How's that for a mental image? You were thinking Sandy from Grease the whole time until we got there, weren't you?
One of the women I supervise had a meeting with me this morning, and as we got through business and talked about her weekend, she shared the details of the cheering competition she attended this weekend. She's an assistant cheer coach at the high school where she was a cheerleader, herself, and I often find myself envious that she maintained such a connection and is able to still be involved.
What's great about this particular woman is that she, like me, is hard to peg as "cheerleader type". Despite my award winning good looks and beaming personality, people are often shocked I was a cheerleader. My colleague would fall into that boat as well.
So it's fun to have people walk by as we talk about the need to be fearless to stick a back tuck, and see our eyes light up at the thought of doing a routine on a springboard floor.
Being a cheerleader was one of the toughest things I ever did. People can laugh, but it requires a great deal of athleticism if you want to be any good at all, and mental toughness as well. Nothing like working your tail off the entire week on stunts and routines, only to get up in front of the crowd and have everyone immediately start making fun of you and your squadmates.
Honestly.
No no no.. I don't mean that my high school days were so filled with popularity and partying that I can't keep it all straight. I think it's more that sometimes it's difficult to remember that I was a kid once, and that I bopped around the hallways of my high school on game days in my uniform, my ponytail flapping, and froze my butt off sitting in class seats with really just my briefs covering my rear.
How's that for a mental image? You were thinking Sandy from Grease the whole time until we got there, weren't you?
One of the women I supervise had a meeting with me this morning, and as we got through business and talked about her weekend, she shared the details of the cheering competition she attended this weekend. She's an assistant cheer coach at the high school where she was a cheerleader, herself, and I often find myself envious that she maintained such a connection and is able to still be involved.
What's great about this particular woman is that she, like me, is hard to peg as "cheerleader type". Despite my award winning good looks and beaming personality, people are often shocked I was a cheerleader. My colleague would fall into that boat as well.
So it's fun to have people walk by as we talk about the need to be fearless to stick a back tuck, and see our eyes light up at the thought of doing a routine on a springboard floor.
Being a cheerleader was one of the toughest things I ever did. People can laugh, but it requires a great deal of athleticism if you want to be any good at all, and mental toughness as well. Nothing like working your tail off the entire week on stunts and routines, only to get up in front of the crowd and have everyone immediately start making fun of you and your squadmates.
Honestly.
On disappointment with the USPS
Rarely do I have much to say about stamps.
I shuffled over to The UPS Store on campus today to buy a few stamps for the first wave of holiday greeting cards we're sending out. Yes, I'm a bit late, I know. And, sadly, I have not made the special trip to the actual post office to get holiday themed stamps, so most card recipients will receive their holiday greetings via the Liberty Bell. There are worse things, I suppose. Christmas is a purely American holiday, right?
Anyway, the stamps available at The UPS Store were a nature series and, until I had already applied them to the cards and stuffed them in the mailbox, I did not realize just how in touch with nature they were..
USPS brings you.. the pollination series.
I can't believe I have steamy animal on flower action on my holiday cards.
Sorry, Grandma.
I shuffled over to The UPS Store on campus today to buy a few stamps for the first wave of holiday greeting cards we're sending out. Yes, I'm a bit late, I know. And, sadly, I have not made the special trip to the actual post office to get holiday themed stamps, so most card recipients will receive their holiday greetings via the Liberty Bell. There are worse things, I suppose. Christmas is a purely American holiday, right?
Anyway, the stamps available at The UPS Store were a nature series and, until I had already applied them to the cards and stuffed them in the mailbox, I did not realize just how in touch with nature they were..
USPS brings you.. the pollination series.
I can't believe I have steamy animal on flower action on my holiday cards.
Sorry, Grandma.
Friday, December 7, 2007
On loving where I'm from...
Though winter only recently hit here in DC, it's been raging for a while back in my home state of Maine. A week ago, my father walked out to his car in what he characterized as a pretty "pissah" snowfall, and took the shovel out of his car to dig the thing out. That's right. A shovel. In the car. It's how we roll back home.
He's had this shovel for about 15 years and, well, when he stuck it in the snowbank to tend to something else before putting it back in the trunk, he forgot about it and took off.
Poor little snow shovel was then abducted and no one has come forth with any details from the scene of the crime.
So Dad went shovel shopping the night before last. He made his way into one of the last remaining locally owned hardware stores in the area, one of the few who has survived the invasion of Lowe's and Home Depot. His theory is it's survived due to an incredible location and owners who are "crazy mother f*#(@!s." His quote, not mine.
He made his way into the store and took note of the display of shovels near the front counter. He stood there in his superlatively indecisive way, as he's done throughout my lifetime over the most mundane of decisions, picking one after another up, considering the weight of the handle, among other factors, and thinking about how much he really wanted to spend on an ugly shovel. The cashier at the counter then coughed.
"Sir?" a heavy set, unshaven older gentleman called to my father from behind the register.
My father turned around.
"You can hem and haw all you want but she's still gonna be pissed when she opens that up Christmas morning."
I love Maine.
He's had this shovel for about 15 years and, well, when he stuck it in the snowbank to tend to something else before putting it back in the trunk, he forgot about it and took off.
Poor little snow shovel was then abducted and no one has come forth with any details from the scene of the crime.
So Dad went shovel shopping the night before last. He made his way into one of the last remaining locally owned hardware stores in the area, one of the few who has survived the invasion of Lowe's and Home Depot. His theory is it's survived due to an incredible location and owners who are "crazy mother f*#(@!s." His quote, not mine.
He made his way into the store and took note of the display of shovels near the front counter. He stood there in his superlatively indecisive way, as he's done throughout my lifetime over the most mundane of decisions, picking one after another up, considering the weight of the handle, among other factors, and thinking about how much he really wanted to spend on an ugly shovel. The cashier at the counter then coughed.
"Sir?" a heavy set, unshaven older gentleman called to my father from behind the register.
My father turned around.
"You can hem and haw all you want but she's still gonna be pissed when she opens that up Christmas morning."
I love Maine.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
On flashbacks...
She always turned the morning news on the television as she dressed, listening to the background noise as she applied her make up and did her hair. She'd make a cup of decaf coffee as Joe Cupo delivered the weather report. I'd always wonder what the point of decaf was as I drowned my Cheerios lifesaver by individual lifesaver. I'd push my cat away as she tried to drink the milk leftover in the bowl.
I'd walk by the bathroom to get my backpack for school. There she was, completing the masterpiece. She always made a funny noise as she applied her foundation. She'd rub it in both of her palms and apply it like she was splashing her face with water. It was the rubbing it in that made the sound, since her lips were always parted just slightly as she did it. I can't pinpoint the sound, all I can tell you is it made me think too much about nostrils.
She always.. always.. used rollers. Her undone hair fell flat and limp, but, when done, it emerged so full and the auburn in her hair shone so brightly.
In the winter, she placed her dress shoes in a plastic bag, and put heavy cotton socks over her pantyhose or trouser socks. Her pants or long skirt always seemed to be black. "She needs to wear more color," I'd think, finding her wardrobe of beige, gray and black completely boring. She then slipped her foot into her LL Bean boots, her mucklucks, as she liked to refer to them, before walking out to the icy driveway. The plastic bag awaited her departure by the door.
Scarves, she loved scarves. She wore them prominently.
Black wool coat. Black gloves. Black hat.
I turned the TV on this morning and listened to the weather report as I dressed and did my hair and makeup. I prefer sponges for applying foundation. God that noise was so annoying. But I always.. always.. use rollers to do my hair. Only a curling iron if I'm feeling rebellious. Wow, I have more auburn in my hair that I realized, taking note of the comment a colleague made about the shade yesterday.
I slip on a dark gray sweater. I put my trouser socks on under my black dress pants. "I need to wear more color," I think aloud. My heavy cotton "Maine Lobster" socks make up the next layer. I slip on my black snow boots and place my black ballet flats in a Safeway bag. I place the bag by the door to make for easy grabbing on my way out.
I take the rollers out of my hair; volume emerges. I always look a bit like the housewife of a Texas oil tycoon at first. But my ne'er manicured, bitten fingernails betray that identity full stop.
A scarf. I need a scarf.
I turn off the TV and put on my dark wool coat. Hat. Gloves. On my way.
I walk down the hallway and approach the door to the building. I catch my reflection in the glass.
I see my mom.
I'd walk by the bathroom to get my backpack for school. There she was, completing the masterpiece. She always made a funny noise as she applied her foundation. She'd rub it in both of her palms and apply it like she was splashing her face with water. It was the rubbing it in that made the sound, since her lips were always parted just slightly as she did it. I can't pinpoint the sound, all I can tell you is it made me think too much about nostrils.
She always.. always.. used rollers. Her undone hair fell flat and limp, but, when done, it emerged so full and the auburn in her hair shone so brightly.
In the winter, she placed her dress shoes in a plastic bag, and put heavy cotton socks over her pantyhose or trouser socks. Her pants or long skirt always seemed to be black. "She needs to wear more color," I'd think, finding her wardrobe of beige, gray and black completely boring. She then slipped her foot into her LL Bean boots, her mucklucks, as she liked to refer to them, before walking out to the icy driveway. The plastic bag awaited her departure by the door.
Scarves, she loved scarves. She wore them prominently.
Black wool coat. Black gloves. Black hat.
I turned the TV on this morning and listened to the weather report as I dressed and did my hair and makeup. I prefer sponges for applying foundation. God that noise was so annoying. But I always.. always.. use rollers to do my hair. Only a curling iron if I'm feeling rebellious. Wow, I have more auburn in my hair that I realized, taking note of the comment a colleague made about the shade yesterday.
I slip on a dark gray sweater. I put my trouser socks on under my black dress pants. "I need to wear more color," I think aloud. My heavy cotton "Maine Lobster" socks make up the next layer. I slip on my black snow boots and place my black ballet flats in a Safeway bag. I place the bag by the door to make for easy grabbing on my way out.
I take the rollers out of my hair; volume emerges. I always look a bit like the housewife of a Texas oil tycoon at first. But my ne'er manicured, bitten fingernails betray that identity full stop.
A scarf. I need a scarf.
I turn off the TV and put on my dark wool coat. Hat. Gloves. On my way.
I walk down the hallway and approach the door to the building. I catch my reflection in the glass.
I see my mom.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
On you've come a long way, baby...
There's a woman I work with, and am temporarily supervising who, despite a lot of smarts and even more work ethic, is just "so young". She's 27, looks 16, and acts like she's on the early side of prom more than she does her reality of 10 years post-dance.
She's someone who has it all figured out. Despite having held some pretty strong opinions in the past, I've always been a bit more balanced. As much as it hurts to have my "fantastic and don't you agree I'm amazing?!" ideas shot down, I'm usually willing to confess others' ideas can, at times, outshine mine. Ouch. That hurt.
Anyway, this week has been a particularly traumatic one on the job front. I've been asked to do and publically endorse something that, in my heart of hearts, I simply don't believe in. And, let's face it, I'm not that great of an actress, so it's taken a lot of careful word choice and facial control. I've lost sleep over it, I've shed tears over it, and my voice has quivered as I introduced the idea to those I know it would most disappoint. It's been a rough one; rough enough to make me thankful that there is a possibility that come this summer, I'll be gone.
And my dear, dramatic, full of potential but full of immaturity colleague has only made it worse. She is the one who will, in fact, suffer from this decision the very most. At least in the short term. Which can feel like forever when you're on the receiving end.
Still, sometimes it's just amazing to look at someone just a year or two younger than you, and marvel in the differences. I'm not saying I'm any better than this person, but I am saying I can work a professional environment with a lot more sophistication than she can. Her mentality is just.. well.. stuck. She's been there less than a year and seems incapable of learning from others. She references herself as "a veteran" often enough to make my stomach hurt. She's someone who I feel I could truly offer something to in the way of professional growth, but is also someone who I'm not sure I'm patient enough to walk alongside.
I need to find it in me. She has the potential to rule the world someday. And, given my current malaise is due to the reality that decision makers above me would be a lot more inspiring with more fire in the belly, maybe she could teach me somethings after all.
She's someone who has it all figured out. Despite having held some pretty strong opinions in the past, I've always been a bit more balanced. As much as it hurts to have my "fantastic and don't you agree I'm amazing?!" ideas shot down, I'm usually willing to confess others' ideas can, at times, outshine mine. Ouch. That hurt.
Anyway, this week has been a particularly traumatic one on the job front. I've been asked to do and publically endorse something that, in my heart of hearts, I simply don't believe in. And, let's face it, I'm not that great of an actress, so it's taken a lot of careful word choice and facial control. I've lost sleep over it, I've shed tears over it, and my voice has quivered as I introduced the idea to those I know it would most disappoint. It's been a rough one; rough enough to make me thankful that there is a possibility that come this summer, I'll be gone.
And my dear, dramatic, full of potential but full of immaturity colleague has only made it worse. She is the one who will, in fact, suffer from this decision the very most. At least in the short term. Which can feel like forever when you're on the receiving end.
Still, sometimes it's just amazing to look at someone just a year or two younger than you, and marvel in the differences. I'm not saying I'm any better than this person, but I am saying I can work a professional environment with a lot more sophistication than she can. Her mentality is just.. well.. stuck. She's been there less than a year and seems incapable of learning from others. She references herself as "a veteran" often enough to make my stomach hurt. She's someone who I feel I could truly offer something to in the way of professional growth, but is also someone who I'm not sure I'm patient enough to walk alongside.
I need to find it in me. She has the potential to rule the world someday. And, given my current malaise is due to the reality that decision makers above me would be a lot more inspiring with more fire in the belly, maybe she could teach me somethings after all.
On the weather outside being frightful
It's snowing in Virginia. Buckle up, everyone.
I've lived in the DC area off and on for a span of about 4 years since 1999. And throughout that time I've been more than happy to point and laugh at what the people here call "winter" or a "heavy snowfall". As a native Mainer, one who has lived through a variety of ice storms and blizzards in her time in New England, I feel like I carry a lot of street cred.
Well, I felt I did. Until now.
Driving. My parents really didn't let me drive in the snow. Something about that only child thing again. Consequently, I have little snow driving experience and, upon seeing the lightest and friendliest of flakes fall, I get a bit of panic in my belly. "Do I know what to do? Do I have the right tires?" Overall, I feel like I have a pretty good head on my shoulders for this stuff, but I'm also really fearful of people around me doing stupid things. After all, I live in Virginia. During a solid but hardly paralyzing storm last year, one man just got out of his car and left it on the Wilson Bridge. It was working just fine; he, however, was not.
So, as I take it slow and leave ample distance between me and the cars in front of me, I pray that the native Maine blood kicks in when I need it. I also sit and wonder why I ever thought driving to Maine for Christmas instead of flying was a wise idea. Stay tuned.
I've lived in the DC area off and on for a span of about 4 years since 1999. And throughout that time I've been more than happy to point and laugh at what the people here call "winter" or a "heavy snowfall". As a native Mainer, one who has lived through a variety of ice storms and blizzards in her time in New England, I feel like I carry a lot of street cred.
Well, I felt I did. Until now.
Driving. My parents really didn't let me drive in the snow. Something about that only child thing again. Consequently, I have little snow driving experience and, upon seeing the lightest and friendliest of flakes fall, I get a bit of panic in my belly. "Do I know what to do? Do I have the right tires?" Overall, I feel like I have a pretty good head on my shoulders for this stuff, but I'm also really fearful of people around me doing stupid things. After all, I live in Virginia. During a solid but hardly paralyzing storm last year, one man just got out of his car and left it on the Wilson Bridge. It was working just fine; he, however, was not.
So, as I take it slow and leave ample distance between me and the cars in front of me, I pray that the native Maine blood kicks in when I need it. I also sit and wonder why I ever thought driving to Maine for Christmas instead of flying was a wise idea. Stay tuned.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
On holiday sensitivity...
Honestly, I'm just trying to get it right.
I have roughly 19 people at work for whom I felt compelled to buy SOMETHING for the holidays. Basically, I won't be eating this month to ensure that no one feels like Charlie Brown back at the office. It's incredibly expensive. It's also forced me to make a spreadsheet for my holiday gift giving. Good grief, indeed.
Of course, further complicating things is the fact that Hanukkah is so flippin early this year. I want to be sensitive and aware of the different religious identities of my staff, but I take issue with the following:
1) I'm still imposing my "Christmas mentality" on my Jewish staff. That's bad enough. But, for the one gift they are receiving, do I give it on the first day of Hanukkah or the last?
2) So no one thinks I'm playing favorites, I've essentially bought everyone some version of the same gift. Call me what you want, but I resent losing the surprise factor for everyone else by giving some presents earlier. GRRR.
3) I went so far as to ask my staff (all of them, for equality's sake) if they were "Christmas people" or "Hanukkah people," to make sure I got the timing and gift bags (no Christmas theming for Jewish staff!) just right. The responses are the following:
"Well, I'm Jewish, but I'm not Jewish Jewish. Just give me my gift with the masses."
"I'm Jewish, but I have a Christmas Tree at home and I love Christmas."
"We celebrate both, but I'm a Hanukkah girl."
I can't get my head around treating different Jewish people on staff differently.
I really just want to give everyone their gifts on the same day. I'm essentially equipped that I could give everyone their gift the last day of Hanukkah. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Of course, with three office related holiday parties planned, all of them fall after that day, denying me any opportunity for natural timing.
My ultimate fear is that, if I give the gifts too early, people then feel compelled to buy me something, and I pray that does not happen. Still, if roles were reversed I would feel like I HAD to run out and get something, anything, in exchange.
Where is Linus and his lesson on the true meaning of Christmas when I need him?
I have roughly 19 people at work for whom I felt compelled to buy SOMETHING for the holidays. Basically, I won't be eating this month to ensure that no one feels like Charlie Brown back at the office. It's incredibly expensive. It's also forced me to make a spreadsheet for my holiday gift giving. Good grief, indeed.
Of course, further complicating things is the fact that Hanukkah is so flippin early this year. I want to be sensitive and aware of the different religious identities of my staff, but I take issue with the following:
1) I'm still imposing my "Christmas mentality" on my Jewish staff. That's bad enough. But, for the one gift they are receiving, do I give it on the first day of Hanukkah or the last?
2) So no one thinks I'm playing favorites, I've essentially bought everyone some version of the same gift. Call me what you want, but I resent losing the surprise factor for everyone else by giving some presents earlier. GRRR.
3) I went so far as to ask my staff (all of them, for equality's sake) if they were "Christmas people" or "Hanukkah people," to make sure I got the timing and gift bags (no Christmas theming for Jewish staff!) just right. The responses are the following:
"Well, I'm Jewish, but I'm not Jewish Jewish. Just give me my gift with the masses."
"I'm Jewish, but I have a Christmas Tree at home and I love Christmas."
"We celebrate both, but I'm a Hanukkah girl."
I can't get my head around treating different Jewish people on staff differently.
I really just want to give everyone their gifts on the same day. I'm essentially equipped that I could give everyone their gift the last day of Hanukkah. Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. Of course, with three office related holiday parties planned, all of them fall after that day, denying me any opportunity for natural timing.
My ultimate fear is that, if I give the gifts too early, people then feel compelled to buy me something, and I pray that does not happen. Still, if roles were reversed I would feel like I HAD to run out and get something, anything, in exchange.
Where is Linus and his lesson on the true meaning of Christmas when I need him?
On feeling threatened...
The first sin of blogging is never updating your blog.
My apologies. Life has been insanely busy lately, and not due to work travel. Office madness and the holiday season have reared their stressful heads and left me passed out on the couch when I should have been blogging.
But when my readers complain, I listen. Thanks for the kick in the butt, Kel.
I was driving home tonight around 8 pm. I stayed late to tend to various business, including being stood up by one of my students who was "so very eager" to profile me for a newsletter he's writing. To make myself feel better I made my fourth trip to Target in 5 days, and managed to spend yet another $90 or so on Christmas shopping. Honestly, you'd think I run an orphanage or something. I threw the bags in the car and headed home, for real this time, only to hear a familiar ring tone that made me groan.
When I was in high school, I was a cheerleader. One of the routines we did regularly was to "Be True to Your School" by The Beach Boys. Cheesy, campy, yes, all of it, but it was also tradition and Cony High School cheerleaders had been doing that routine, well, since the song came out. Anyway, I use that ring tone for people from work. I have a very sick since of humor.
Long story short, 'twas my boss.
She was really just calling to vent/brainstorm. It's not like I was in trouble or anything. Still, I really can't figure out if it's a good or a bad thing that, after two days straight of meetings together, meetings where we literally sit in the same room for 8 hours, that she still feels the need to call me at 8 pm to chat.
What's worse is that she was calling because she was paranoid about something we both witnessed. As luck had it, I was paranoid about it too. I'm not sure if it's an only child thing or what, but having my boss suffer from the same level of paranoia and, by venting about it, essentially endorse it, makes me supremely frustrated. The last thing I need is my self-consciousness encouraged, and that's just what happened tonight. Whenever something is up, tension, plans, whatever sparks the radar, we both plummet into, "Shit, what did I do wrong?!" mode. Neither of us are capable of conceiving of the fact that one thing has nothing to do with us. It really is only child syndrome. Growing up in an atmosphere where everything, like it or not, really IS all about you, makes it difficult to let things go. If someone is in a bad mood, it's clearly my fault. Or, if not mine, my boss'. I need people around me who work this out of me, not allow it to fester. Alas, however, my current work environment will not allow it.
Still, my boss is a mover and a shaker. And maybe assuming you have a role in everything, good or bad, large or small, is just another key to success. Success and a heart attack, I suppose. Here's to hoping success comes first.
My apologies. Life has been insanely busy lately, and not due to work travel. Office madness and the holiday season have reared their stressful heads and left me passed out on the couch when I should have been blogging.
But when my readers complain, I listen. Thanks for the kick in the butt, Kel.
I was driving home tonight around 8 pm. I stayed late to tend to various business, including being stood up by one of my students who was "so very eager" to profile me for a newsletter he's writing. To make myself feel better I made my fourth trip to Target in 5 days, and managed to spend yet another $90 or so on Christmas shopping. Honestly, you'd think I run an orphanage or something. I threw the bags in the car and headed home, for real this time, only to hear a familiar ring tone that made me groan.
When I was in high school, I was a cheerleader. One of the routines we did regularly was to "Be True to Your School" by The Beach Boys. Cheesy, campy, yes, all of it, but it was also tradition and Cony High School cheerleaders had been doing that routine, well, since the song came out. Anyway, I use that ring tone for people from work. I have a very sick since of humor.
Long story short, 'twas my boss.
She was really just calling to vent/brainstorm. It's not like I was in trouble or anything. Still, I really can't figure out if it's a good or a bad thing that, after two days straight of meetings together, meetings where we literally sit in the same room for 8 hours, that she still feels the need to call me at 8 pm to chat.
What's worse is that she was calling because she was paranoid about something we both witnessed. As luck had it, I was paranoid about it too. I'm not sure if it's an only child thing or what, but having my boss suffer from the same level of paranoia and, by venting about it, essentially endorse it, makes me supremely frustrated. The last thing I need is my self-consciousness encouraged, and that's just what happened tonight. Whenever something is up, tension, plans, whatever sparks the radar, we both plummet into, "Shit, what did I do wrong?!" mode. Neither of us are capable of conceiving of the fact that one thing has nothing to do with us. It really is only child syndrome. Growing up in an atmosphere where everything, like it or not, really IS all about you, makes it difficult to let things go. If someone is in a bad mood, it's clearly my fault. Or, if not mine, my boss'. I need people around me who work this out of me, not allow it to fester. Alas, however, my current work environment will not allow it.
Still, my boss is a mover and a shaker. And maybe assuming you have a role in everything, good or bad, large or small, is just another key to success. Success and a heart attack, I suppose. Here's to hoping success comes first.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
On shame on you for laughing...
There is this standard line I use in my speech about the application process. I've been giving it a lot lately, given the time of year, and to groups from 20 to 900, both at my place of work and on location. It has to do with proofreading and, without giving too much away, references using the name of School A in an essay written for School B and how School B will make admission to School A happen for you because of it.
No, really, it's actually a funny joke. And I've been using it for 6 years. And I stole it, along with the rest of my colleagues, at what we'll call School A.
It's always killed. Parents and students think it's hysterical. It's the silliest little joke, but it works. So I stick with it.
It does, however, require mentioning the competition and, well, perhaps slightly implying a student's desire for the competition over us. But, again, it's silly and quick and harmless and really all it's about is getting kids to pay attention to what they submit to different schools.
Well, it's officially gotten me and my staff in trouble.
We all do some variation of quickly naming the competition in a humorous way and moving along. Our boss' boss, it was revealed to me today, has received three different complaints about our "defensiveness" about different schools and how inappropriate it is.
When I used this joke at School A, I never never never never heard a single complaint. So I've figured out the problem.
Washington, DC - you have NO sense of humor. Period.
I have to call General Counsel at least once a week to get permission to do something that I know, from taking a Legal Issues class for my master's, is completely unnecessary. Why? Because I work for a private institution and, well, we have a boatload of autonomy if precedence has anything to do with it.
Washington, DC - you host a correspondent's dinner once a year that allows you to let out the funny, but that's it. Karl Rove does an embarrassing rap while David Gregory dances in the background and it's "Thank you, DC! GOOD NIGHT!" until next year.
I now will soon have to tell my staff that we can no longer make references to other schools, period.
Basically, we can't attempt any humor in trying to humanize a process that causes a great deal of stress for the people with whom we deal.
Shame on you Washington, DC. Shame on you.
No, really, it's actually a funny joke. And I've been using it for 6 years. And I stole it, along with the rest of my colleagues, at what we'll call School A.
It's always killed. Parents and students think it's hysterical. It's the silliest little joke, but it works. So I stick with it.
It does, however, require mentioning the competition and, well, perhaps slightly implying a student's desire for the competition over us. But, again, it's silly and quick and harmless and really all it's about is getting kids to pay attention to what they submit to different schools.
Well, it's officially gotten me and my staff in trouble.
We all do some variation of quickly naming the competition in a humorous way and moving along. Our boss' boss, it was revealed to me today, has received three different complaints about our "defensiveness" about different schools and how inappropriate it is.
When I used this joke at School A, I never never never never heard a single complaint. So I've figured out the problem.
Washington, DC - you have NO sense of humor. Period.
I have to call General Counsel at least once a week to get permission to do something that I know, from taking a Legal Issues class for my master's, is completely unnecessary. Why? Because I work for a private institution and, well, we have a boatload of autonomy if precedence has anything to do with it.
Washington, DC - you host a correspondent's dinner once a year that allows you to let out the funny, but that's it. Karl Rove does an embarrassing rap while David Gregory dances in the background and it's "Thank you, DC! GOOD NIGHT!" until next year.
I now will soon have to tell my staff that we can no longer make references to other schools, period.
Basically, we can't attempt any humor in trying to humanize a process that causes a great deal of stress for the people with whom we deal.
Shame on you Washington, DC. Shame on you.
On fame and the wheel of fortune...
Tuesday was a big day in my professional career. I was one of three featured "quotes" in an article in the USA Today. I was quoted about three times, and my name was in the opening sentence of the article.
I travel a lot for work, as you know, and the USA Today is a publication I've come to know as the McPaper. It's just kind of a silly newspaper. Short articles, big pictures and kinder, gentler fonts. Let's be realistic. Still, it was a big moment for me and I seemed to come off ok in representing my place of work and my field in general.
So what did it get me? Some great praise from family and friends, certainly. But what did it GET me?
My big moment of recognition came today when I received the following phone call:
"Yes, hello! This is Bill Blahdeblah from Blahdeeblah and Hill. Great feature in the USA Today! How did the event go for you?"
"Oh, thank you. It was fine. We're getting feedback from the staff on everyone's experience."
"Well that's just great. Hey, I wanted to call and introduce myself and my company to see if there's a fit."
Yep, a sales call.
It was kind of depressing, really. I expect nothing to come from this article, other than jokes about me an my pajamas from those who read it. But to have him play the "Wow look at you!" card in a sales call. It bummed me out.
Then I took a moment to think about what he does for work. Scanning the USA Today for potential clients to cold call offering a service that takes the personalization out of my work completely.
Ok. Maybe receiving the call wasn't so bad after all. MAKING the call was the depressing part.
I travel a lot for work, as you know, and the USA Today is a publication I've come to know as the McPaper. It's just kind of a silly newspaper. Short articles, big pictures and kinder, gentler fonts. Let's be realistic. Still, it was a big moment for me and I seemed to come off ok in representing my place of work and my field in general.
So what did it get me? Some great praise from family and friends, certainly. But what did it GET me?
My big moment of recognition came today when I received the following phone call:
"Yes, hello! This is Bill Blahdeblah from Blahdeeblah and Hill. Great feature in the USA Today! How did the event go for you?"
"Oh, thank you. It was fine. We're getting feedback from the staff on everyone's experience."
"Well that's just great. Hey, I wanted to call and introduce myself and my company to see if there's a fit."
Yep, a sales call.
It was kind of depressing, really. I expect nothing to come from this article, other than jokes about me an my pajamas from those who read it. But to have him play the "Wow look at you!" card in a sales call. It bummed me out.
Then I took a moment to think about what he does for work. Scanning the USA Today for potential clients to cold call offering a service that takes the personalization out of my work completely.
Ok. Maybe receiving the call wasn't so bad after all. MAKING the call was the depressing part.
On letting the world know...
My friend Chrissy passed the New York Bar Exam and I am so incredibly proud of her.
Way to go, Chads!!!!!
Way to go, Chads!!!!!
Sunday, November 4, 2007
On the season in review..
I'm breaking a major travel rule of mine as I type. I've officially succumbed to my total suburban solo recruitment travel boredom.
I'm downstairs in the hotel bar having a drink. By myself.
What most people don't understand are the different rules women have to live by while traveling. After 6 years in the profession I had to be reminded by two women older than me in the office that I should never EVER arrive in a city I'm traveling to at night. Why? Cuz I'm a woman, traveling alone. Really, that should be enough. But some of these places were new to me, others not. Still, I shouldn't be wandering rental car parking garages or getting into taxis by myself once darkness falls. I guess because nothing has ever happened to me before, I take this for granted. But, new rule to be enforced next season - no arriving by myself at night. Done.
Sips wine. Mmm.. Delish.
Right, so the rule I'm breaking. My first or second year on the road I made the mistake of showing up to the Cheesecake Factory in Seattle and eating at the bar. It was the only way I was going to get to eat within the hour, and I've blogged before about the crappy treatment solo diners receive in restaurants. The bartender, alternatively, treated me like a queen, but the gentleman next to me, the one who was a roadie for Ozzy Osbourne, talked my freakin' ear off. Of particular interest was the concept he'd installed for the screen show that opened Ozzy's set. Something about static and maggots. Yes, it was fascinating.. and went over really well as I ate my Southern Fried Chicken Salad.
Ever since that fateful day, I've had a rule of no sitting at bars by myself when traveling. Fair or not, it sends this message of "I want to be talked to.. especially by a guy." and, really, I don't want to be talked to right now. I'm just bored as hell. And I really wanted a drink.
And I wasn't going to be that person that orders a drink for room service and has some poor waiter bring a glass of wine up to my room. I also didn't feel like my drink costing me an extra $3. But, at the risk of sounding like I have a problem, I just really wanted a drink tonight.
After keeping my boyfriend on the phone for about 45 minutes for no good reason, I walked downstairs to stake the place out. Filled with guys watching football. Sigh. OK. But to the left was a woman sitting at a table typing on her laptop. That's it! Take advantage of the wireless signal, order a glass of wine, have the game in the background and just get out of the room. Fantastic.
So here I am. And no one seems to be questioning my presence. Hooray!
So why do I really want a drink? I think it's some subconscious celebration of the fact that my recruitment travel season ends with this trip. I am quite excited about that. I miss home. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my friends. I hate that I'm not around for anything fun that gets scheduled (from national book festivals to happy hours). Plus I get this paranoia on the road that it doesn't matter that I'm gone and, well, that's no good to an only child.
Of course, there remains a rocky road ahead at work. But we'll be in review time soon, and that is my favorite time of year. Even though it's incredibly grueling, I love application time in admissions. I like to think of it as what separates the real deals from the passersby in the profession. If you don't love the file review time, yes MORE than travel, you're never going to last. Eventually, the travel loses its luster. It may be exciting at first, but it becomes downright draining. Plus, when you have people you love at home, you tend to focus on how much it stinks that you're not there. Finally, admissions, REAL admissions, is not so much about recruitment but about process.
OK, so some other lessons I've learned this year, in addition to never arriving at my destination at night..
Go with what you know... I KNOW I'm supposed to stay true to my hotel chain of choice, in order to build up the points. But I got talked out of my loyalty and ended up splitting my travel between chains. As such, I'm not building up to a string of free nights that way I could have. Grr. That will change in the spring.
Stop ordering room service. Or, let me clarify, stop thinking that the French Dip Sandwich from room service is a natural part of any healthy travel diet. Seriously, I think I've eaten 20 in the past month. Find the Whole Foods and get the salad bar, whenever possible.
No more potato chips or french fries. Time to adopt that once Lent sacrifice back into my life. My adoration for carbohydrates and sodium in addition to my love for the French dip sandwich is no longer something from which I am able to quickly recover.
Use plane time for work time! This has been the most fantastic lesson I have learned this year. I have specific projects I save for the plane. It makes the time absolutely fly and keeps my attention better than a book. Plus, it makes me feel much more productive and more entitled to crashing or exploring once I reach my destination. Plus, it makes me look important.
Stop fretting. Period.
Despite your desire to avoid it, check your work voicemail. I change my work voice mail every trip in order to instruct people that I'm gone, I won't return their call until I get back unless they want to send me an e-mail. Grr. They end up leaving me messages anyway and it gets me in trouble. Why can't I beat the system?
Get a rental car. Always. Having a car would have curbed a great deal of boredom, and given the fact that I'll most certainly end up paying at least $80 getting to and from the hotel in cabs, a rental car would have been worth the investment. I'd be out exploring right now!
Finally, leave the hotel bar when the Cowboys fans show up. They'll make your room look so much better.
I'm downstairs in the hotel bar having a drink. By myself.
What most people don't understand are the different rules women have to live by while traveling. After 6 years in the profession I had to be reminded by two women older than me in the office that I should never EVER arrive in a city I'm traveling to at night. Why? Cuz I'm a woman, traveling alone. Really, that should be enough. But some of these places were new to me, others not. Still, I shouldn't be wandering rental car parking garages or getting into taxis by myself once darkness falls. I guess because nothing has ever happened to me before, I take this for granted. But, new rule to be enforced next season - no arriving by myself at night. Done.
Sips wine. Mmm.. Delish.
Right, so the rule I'm breaking. My first or second year on the road I made the mistake of showing up to the Cheesecake Factory in Seattle and eating at the bar. It was the only way I was going to get to eat within the hour, and I've blogged before about the crappy treatment solo diners receive in restaurants. The bartender, alternatively, treated me like a queen, but the gentleman next to me, the one who was a roadie for Ozzy Osbourne, talked my freakin' ear off. Of particular interest was the concept he'd installed for the screen show that opened Ozzy's set. Something about static and maggots. Yes, it was fascinating.. and went over really well as I ate my Southern Fried Chicken Salad.
Ever since that fateful day, I've had a rule of no sitting at bars by myself when traveling. Fair or not, it sends this message of "I want to be talked to.. especially by a guy." and, really, I don't want to be talked to right now. I'm just bored as hell. And I really wanted a drink.
And I wasn't going to be that person that orders a drink for room service and has some poor waiter bring a glass of wine up to my room. I also didn't feel like my drink costing me an extra $3. But, at the risk of sounding like I have a problem, I just really wanted a drink tonight.
After keeping my boyfriend on the phone for about 45 minutes for no good reason, I walked downstairs to stake the place out. Filled with guys watching football. Sigh. OK. But to the left was a woman sitting at a table typing on her laptop. That's it! Take advantage of the wireless signal, order a glass of wine, have the game in the background and just get out of the room. Fantastic.
So here I am. And no one seems to be questioning my presence. Hooray!
So why do I really want a drink? I think it's some subconscious celebration of the fact that my recruitment travel season ends with this trip. I am quite excited about that. I miss home. I miss my boyfriend. I miss my friends. I hate that I'm not around for anything fun that gets scheduled (from national book festivals to happy hours). Plus I get this paranoia on the road that it doesn't matter that I'm gone and, well, that's no good to an only child.
Of course, there remains a rocky road ahead at work. But we'll be in review time soon, and that is my favorite time of year. Even though it's incredibly grueling, I love application time in admissions. I like to think of it as what separates the real deals from the passersby in the profession. If you don't love the file review time, yes MORE than travel, you're never going to last. Eventually, the travel loses its luster. It may be exciting at first, but it becomes downright draining. Plus, when you have people you love at home, you tend to focus on how much it stinks that you're not there. Finally, admissions, REAL admissions, is not so much about recruitment but about process.
OK, so some other lessons I've learned this year, in addition to never arriving at my destination at night..
Go with what you know... I KNOW I'm supposed to stay true to my hotel chain of choice, in order to build up the points. But I got talked out of my loyalty and ended up splitting my travel between chains. As such, I'm not building up to a string of free nights that way I could have. Grr. That will change in the spring.
Stop ordering room service. Or, let me clarify, stop thinking that the French Dip Sandwich from room service is a natural part of any healthy travel diet. Seriously, I think I've eaten 20 in the past month. Find the Whole Foods and get the salad bar, whenever possible.
No more potato chips or french fries. Time to adopt that once Lent sacrifice back into my life. My adoration for carbohydrates and sodium in addition to my love for the French dip sandwich is no longer something from which I am able to quickly recover.
Use plane time for work time! This has been the most fantastic lesson I have learned this year. I have specific projects I save for the plane. It makes the time absolutely fly and keeps my attention better than a book. Plus, it makes me feel much more productive and more entitled to crashing or exploring once I reach my destination. Plus, it makes me look important.
Stop fretting. Period.
Despite your desire to avoid it, check your work voicemail. I change my work voice mail every trip in order to instruct people that I'm gone, I won't return their call until I get back unless they want to send me an e-mail. Grr. They end up leaving me messages anyway and it gets me in trouble. Why can't I beat the system?
Get a rental car. Always. Having a car would have curbed a great deal of boredom, and given the fact that I'll most certainly end up paying at least $80 getting to and from the hotel in cabs, a rental car would have been worth the investment. I'd be out exploring right now!
Finally, leave the hotel bar when the Cowboys fans show up. They'll make your room look so much better.
On making your hands sweat...
It's a very strange thing to me that I could ever possibly make someone nervous.
Even in my work, where I currently have a fancy dancy title, I go out of my way to make the students I work with more comfortable. My style is more casual with weak attempts at humor from time to time. I even apologized to a student I was interviewing today because I was wearing a suit. I explained these were supposed to be informal chats not meant to intimidate, and that the suit was simply required for my next event. Still, it felt like I'd constructed a barrier I could not break down.
As I checked people in for our event today, a father and son approached who recognized me, though I did not recognize them. I hate that, as I typically have a good memory for at least faces, not to mention the fact that I hate to be on the receiving end of a lack of recognition that I've met someone before.
The father made an effort to talk to me separately about his son's particular interest in the school, how he'd been in love with our school since halfway through my remarks at the open house they attended. I could tell he was sincere and this wasn't about flattery. His son had made a real connection with our institution and I could see the fear in his eyes that his boy may not make it there.
Sometimes it's easy to forget you can have that sort of influence. And then consequently terrifying when you realize you do.
His father is a great guy, and looks a lot like the late Paul Wellstone, one of my favorite US politicians ever, so the family has that going for them.
The son waited to say hello to me after the event. I could tell in the little body language I spotted as I spoke to the girl in line ahead of him that he was really nervous to talk to me. And, poor kid, he basically displayed every bit of awkward behavior you possibly can.
First, he started speaking to me as I was still saying good-bye to the student before him. I think he'd been rehearsing.
Second, he began to drop things. And not even drop things, but shift in such a way that the papers he was holding basically flew towards me and attacked my face. I'm proud to report I caught them before any scarring occurred.
Thirdly, he used awkward phrases. Such as, when the papers went flying at my face he said, "Well, that seals it."
Huh? I get that's funny if he meant he wasn't getting in now. But it's not what he meant. Trust me.
Anyway, he's a sweet kid, and he really just wanted to say how much my remarks meant to him early on and how excited he was to attend AU. But there was nothing particularly natural about our exchange, no matter how hard I tried. It also didn't help that he punched his dad in the stomach with his elbow as a sign to "back off, I'm talking!'. Yikes.
I wish him all the best in the process. He's a sweet kid. He wants our school badly. It will break my heart if we can't make it happen for him.
Everyone thinks I can do whatever I want, admit whoever I want. I'm the boss, right? Well, no. I have a responsibility to my school. I can't admit a kid who won't succeed. And I'm a little nervous about this one. I feel he's a bit like Red Riding Hood. And I feel like we, DC and its environs, may be the big bad wolf. I hope he proves me wrong. I really really do.
Even in my work, where I currently have a fancy dancy title, I go out of my way to make the students I work with more comfortable. My style is more casual with weak attempts at humor from time to time. I even apologized to a student I was interviewing today because I was wearing a suit. I explained these were supposed to be informal chats not meant to intimidate, and that the suit was simply required for my next event. Still, it felt like I'd constructed a barrier I could not break down.
As I checked people in for our event today, a father and son approached who recognized me, though I did not recognize them. I hate that, as I typically have a good memory for at least faces, not to mention the fact that I hate to be on the receiving end of a lack of recognition that I've met someone before.
The father made an effort to talk to me separately about his son's particular interest in the school, how he'd been in love with our school since halfway through my remarks at the open house they attended. I could tell he was sincere and this wasn't about flattery. His son had made a real connection with our institution and I could see the fear in his eyes that his boy may not make it there.
Sometimes it's easy to forget you can have that sort of influence. And then consequently terrifying when you realize you do.
His father is a great guy, and looks a lot like the late Paul Wellstone, one of my favorite US politicians ever, so the family has that going for them.
The son waited to say hello to me after the event. I could tell in the little body language I spotted as I spoke to the girl in line ahead of him that he was really nervous to talk to me. And, poor kid, he basically displayed every bit of awkward behavior you possibly can.
First, he started speaking to me as I was still saying good-bye to the student before him. I think he'd been rehearsing.
Second, he began to drop things. And not even drop things, but shift in such a way that the papers he was holding basically flew towards me and attacked my face. I'm proud to report I caught them before any scarring occurred.
Thirdly, he used awkward phrases. Such as, when the papers went flying at my face he said, "Well, that seals it."
Huh? I get that's funny if he meant he wasn't getting in now. But it's not what he meant. Trust me.
Anyway, he's a sweet kid, and he really just wanted to say how much my remarks meant to him early on and how excited he was to attend AU. But there was nothing particularly natural about our exchange, no matter how hard I tried. It also didn't help that he punched his dad in the stomach with his elbow as a sign to "back off, I'm talking!'. Yikes.
I wish him all the best in the process. He's a sweet kid. He wants our school badly. It will break my heart if we can't make it happen for him.
Everyone thinks I can do whatever I want, admit whoever I want. I'm the boss, right? Well, no. I have a responsibility to my school. I can't admit a kid who won't succeed. And I'm a little nervous about this one. I feel he's a bit like Red Riding Hood. And I feel like we, DC and its environs, may be the big bad wolf. I hope he proves me wrong. I really really do.
On the little things...
There are two "little things" that I value above all others. One is laughter. The other is kindness. Perhaps when considered alone they're not all that little, but, in the context of life, neither require much, but their presence can make all the difference.
Take, for example, my arrival here Friday evening. My cabbie interaction wasn't my favorite part of the day, and then the front desk people thought I was married and a man. Plus, I was tired and increasingly discouraged by the fact that I would be "stranded" for the next few nights in this suburban hotel with nothing in walking distance. It wasn't adding up to a great night.
I walked into the handicapped designed room I didn't need (the big bathroom is great but I'd gladly exchange it for a real closet, an ironing board, and the need to not mop up the shower water from the floor) and threw my bags down. As I walked into the bathroom, I saw this:
It cracked me up. For a few minutes. So, thank you to this hotel for that. My question, in all sincerity, is do I get to keep the duck?
Onto kindness. So there is ONE place within walking distance from the hotel. I built up the courage to run across the big highway in front of my hotel to get lunch at Potbelly. I was good enough to shower for these folks, but didn't do my hair nor did I apply any makeup. I was there to grab a sandwich for lunch, not to win any type of beauty pageants.
The minute I walked in, I was treated like royalty. And I wasn't the only person in the joint. They're just THAT nice.
Everyone was smiling. Eyes were twinkling. Everyone said hello and asked how I was. The staff chatted me up as my sandwich was made. When the sandwich guy made a mistake and realized his error, it was a team effort to get my sandwich right again. And the manager said, "You know what I'm going to do? I'm doing to buy you a cookie. You shouldn't have had to wait for this sandwich."
They then chatted me up about the time change, weather (please, man with the Midwest accent, say "upper wiscahnsin again.. it makes laugh), snow blowers, and we even started talking about the situation in Pakistan when my sandwich made its way to me.
It was one of the most pleasant consumer experiences of my life.
I'm slowly starting to realize that friendliness isn't rare, it's just much more difficult to find in the Washington, DC area. I'm becoming less and less enamoured with DC and am becoming eager to find a place where kindness prevails, chatting each other up and smiling doesn't make you a lunatic, and a sense of community exists. DC is less and less that place, and, in a way, so are many of the places I've spent time over the past few years (Boston and New York included).
As I chatted with a person from a different part of my life last week in New York, she looked horrified as I shared with her the potential that there may be a move to the Midwest, among other places, in my near future.
"Ugh. That's so weird. You'll be like the most popular person there." She then went on to tell me about attending a conference where, at break times, she and her other New Yorkers only hung out with other attendees from New York, because everyone else was too weird.
What?
I was so disheartened by this response. So much of the past 8 years has been about cities and appearing relatively cosmopolitan. I've come to the conclusion, as I 'get older', that I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of the city attitude and sense of superiority that seems to accompany people and that place. I crave different things now. I crave kindness, I crave community, I crave laughter and a sense of what's real.
If that makes me weird and un-cosmopolitan, bring it on.
Take, for example, my arrival here Friday evening. My cabbie interaction wasn't my favorite part of the day, and then the front desk people thought I was married and a man. Plus, I was tired and increasingly discouraged by the fact that I would be "stranded" for the next few nights in this suburban hotel with nothing in walking distance. It wasn't adding up to a great night.
I walked into the handicapped designed room I didn't need (the big bathroom is great but I'd gladly exchange it for a real closet, an ironing board, and the need to not mop up the shower water from the floor) and threw my bags down. As I walked into the bathroom, I saw this:
It cracked me up. For a few minutes. So, thank you to this hotel for that. My question, in all sincerity, is do I get to keep the duck?
Onto kindness. So there is ONE place within walking distance from the hotel. I built up the courage to run across the big highway in front of my hotel to get lunch at Potbelly. I was good enough to shower for these folks, but didn't do my hair nor did I apply any makeup. I was there to grab a sandwich for lunch, not to win any type of beauty pageants.
The minute I walked in, I was treated like royalty. And I wasn't the only person in the joint. They're just THAT nice.
Everyone was smiling. Eyes were twinkling. Everyone said hello and asked how I was. The staff chatted me up as my sandwich was made. When the sandwich guy made a mistake and realized his error, it was a team effort to get my sandwich right again. And the manager said, "You know what I'm going to do? I'm doing to buy you a cookie. You shouldn't have had to wait for this sandwich."
They then chatted me up about the time change, weather (please, man with the Midwest accent, say "upper wiscahnsin again.. it makes laugh), snow blowers, and we even started talking about the situation in Pakistan when my sandwich made its way to me.
It was one of the most pleasant consumer experiences of my life.
I'm slowly starting to realize that friendliness isn't rare, it's just much more difficult to find in the Washington, DC area. I'm becoming less and less enamoured with DC and am becoming eager to find a place where kindness prevails, chatting each other up and smiling doesn't make you a lunatic, and a sense of community exists. DC is less and less that place, and, in a way, so are many of the places I've spent time over the past few years (Boston and New York included).
As I chatted with a person from a different part of my life last week in New York, she looked horrified as I shared with her the potential that there may be a move to the Midwest, among other places, in my near future.
"Ugh. That's so weird. You'll be like the most popular person there." She then went on to tell me about attending a conference where, at break times, she and her other New Yorkers only hung out with other attendees from New York, because everyone else was too weird.
What?
I was so disheartened by this response. So much of the past 8 years has been about cities and appearing relatively cosmopolitan. I've come to the conclusion, as I 'get older', that I'm just sick of it. I'm sick of the city attitude and sense of superiority that seems to accompany people and that place. I crave different things now. I crave kindness, I crave community, I crave laughter and a sense of what's real.
If that makes me weird and un-cosmopolitan, bring it on.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
On what's in a name...
I know I've blogged before about the challenges of my first name. How many presume it to be a man's name and, in turn, I get all sorts of e-mail with the greeting Dear Mr. .... Whenever I've e-mailed candidates who've applied to jobs in our office, inviting them in for an interview, more often than not they call our main office line to ask "Um, I know this is odd, but is this person a man or a woman?!"
Just when I think I'm used to it, and that it's actually kind of funny (truly, it is), I get frustrated again.
As I checked into my hotel last night, the woman asked for my last name. She then wanted to confirm my first name.
"Christian?"
"No, Cristan, actually, but it's a common mistake." I smiled it off.
"Ah, is that your husband's name?"
You know that scene in Mean Girls when Lindsay Lohan talks about how something would be handled in the wild? And, suddenly, all the mean girls and their cronies begin attacking each other like monkeys?
No, I didn't do that. But I thought about it.
When I called to order my dinner last night, it happened again. "Good evening Mr. or Mrs. ... How can I help you?"
Sigh.
It's the assuming my name is male AND assuming I'm married that doesn't work for me, I guess. If it happens anywhere, it usually is in the Midwest. And, in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal at all. It's just when I've gotten off a 4 hour flight, been treated like a fool by a cabbie, taken a long taxi ride to the middle of nowhere that I get on my "accomplished woman I don't need no husband" high horse. Don't worry.. I'm climbing down right now.
Just when I think I'm used to it, and that it's actually kind of funny (truly, it is), I get frustrated again.
As I checked into my hotel last night, the woman asked for my last name. She then wanted to confirm my first name.
"Christian?"
"No, Cristan, actually, but it's a common mistake." I smiled it off.
"Ah, is that your husband's name?"
You know that scene in Mean Girls when Lindsay Lohan talks about how something would be handled in the wild? And, suddenly, all the mean girls and their cronies begin attacking each other like monkeys?
No, I didn't do that. But I thought about it.
When I called to order my dinner last night, it happened again. "Good evening Mr. or Mrs. ... How can I help you?"
Sigh.
It's the assuming my name is male AND assuming I'm married that doesn't work for me, I guess. If it happens anywhere, it usually is in the Midwest. And, in the grand scheme of things, it's not a big deal at all. It's just when I've gotten off a 4 hour flight, been treated like a fool by a cabbie, taken a long taxi ride to the middle of nowhere that I get on my "accomplished woman I don't need no husband" high horse. Don't worry.. I'm climbing down right now.
Friday, November 2, 2007
On tooting my own horn...
On my end of the field, it's a rare day when you hear good news. Mostly, you're just managing the bad, putting out fires here and there, and calming waters. As such, I'm going to appear like a big ole ego-maniac and tell you about something really wonderful that happened to me recently at work.
We were contacted by the aunt of a student who applied to us last year and was admitted, but who ended up turning us down to stay closer to home as his father had been diagnosed with cancer. Sadly, the father has since died and the mother was hoping to relocate to the Washington, DC area, to be with family, but not without her son. The aunt contacted us about allowing him to transfer in for the spring, despite missing the deadline and, long story short, we worked it out and had him admitted for the spring within a week.
The aunt was incredibly appreciative and wrote one of the kindest e-mails to me I have ever received, praising my ability to cut through red tape and take care of her nephew. She asked if she could draft a letter to someone at the university highlighting how helpful and kind I had been. I told her that wasn't at all necessary and that I was simply happy that we could help in a little way at a time of great pain for her nephew.
Of course, I still would have said that if she hadn't unknowingly been cc'ing my boss on her e-mails the entire time. I swear. :)
Anyway, my boss writes her back and bcc's me, indicating that I set a standard for professionalism, how students matter to me and how she's enjoyed working with me so much over the last two years. It will also go in my "Yay Me" file.
As if that wasn't good enough, the aunt writes HER back asking, truly, who she may write to about my actions. My boss responds that she should feel free to write a letter to our provost if she'd like to go forward with such a kind gesture.
Of course, the truth is, I really did nothing. I sent e-mails, appointed people to the task, and they got it done. Of course, I was quick to share these e-mails with them and thank them for their quick actions and understanding. Still, my point is that it's necessary to savor these moments. You can be great at your job, but they can still be few and far between. Let's face it.. you never hear from the happy people, only the complainers.
So, I leave a charge with you that I have before. The next time you receive exemplary service, write a letter to that person's boss and thank them. You never know how much that person may appreciate, or require, some positive recognition. Allow their boss the opportunity to say "Great job."
I feel very lucky to have a boss who sings my praises all the time. So what if everyone else is kicking me in the stomach at the same time.
We were contacted by the aunt of a student who applied to us last year and was admitted, but who ended up turning us down to stay closer to home as his father had been diagnosed with cancer. Sadly, the father has since died and the mother was hoping to relocate to the Washington, DC area, to be with family, but not without her son. The aunt contacted us about allowing him to transfer in for the spring, despite missing the deadline and, long story short, we worked it out and had him admitted for the spring within a week.
The aunt was incredibly appreciative and wrote one of the kindest e-mails to me I have ever received, praising my ability to cut through red tape and take care of her nephew. She asked if she could draft a letter to someone at the university highlighting how helpful and kind I had been. I told her that wasn't at all necessary and that I was simply happy that we could help in a little way at a time of great pain for her nephew.
Of course, I still would have said that if she hadn't unknowingly been cc'ing my boss on her e-mails the entire time. I swear. :)
Anyway, my boss writes her back and bcc's me, indicating that I set a standard for professionalism, how students matter to me and how she's enjoyed working with me so much over the last two years. It will also go in my "Yay Me" file.
As if that wasn't good enough, the aunt writes HER back asking, truly, who she may write to about my actions. My boss responds that she should feel free to write a letter to our provost if she'd like to go forward with such a kind gesture.
Of course, the truth is, I really did nothing. I sent e-mails, appointed people to the task, and they got it done. Of course, I was quick to share these e-mails with them and thank them for their quick actions and understanding. Still, my point is that it's necessary to savor these moments. You can be great at your job, but they can still be few and far between. Let's face it.. you never hear from the happy people, only the complainers.
So, I leave a charge with you that I have before. The next time you receive exemplary service, write a letter to that person's boss and thank them. You never know how much that person may appreciate, or require, some positive recognition. Allow their boss the opportunity to say "Great job."
I feel very lucky to have a boss who sings my praises all the time. So what if everyone else is kicking me in the stomach at the same time.
On signs I'm getting old...
You know you're getting old when..
The SuperShuttle driver picks you up to bring you to the airport and, after 30 seconds of the hip hop radio station plays, he comes to his senses and turns it to easy listening. Not pop. EASY LISTENING.
They give you a specially designed handicapped accessible room in your hotel, just because.
You arrive in your hotel on a Friday night and flipping through the channels squeal in glee when you arrive on America's Funniest Home Videos.
I'm going to go do a keg stand to make myself feel better.
The SuperShuttle driver picks you up to bring you to the airport and, after 30 seconds of the hip hop radio station plays, he comes to his senses and turns it to easy listening. Not pop. EASY LISTENING.
They give you a specially designed handicapped accessible room in your hotel, just because.
You arrive in your hotel on a Friday night and flipping through the channels squeal in glee when you arrive on America's Funniest Home Videos.
I'm going to go do a keg stand to make myself feel better.
On getting hosed..
This is not my average trip to Chicago.
Northbrook, from what I can tell, is the middle of nowhere. When I arrived at O'Hare and got in the cab stand, I was advised I should use the courtesy phone to call a "suburb" cab. The "city" taxi line supervisor told me his guys would charge me $55-60 whereas a suburb cab would be $25-30. Pleasantly surprised by his honesty, I trudged through my tiredness and recalled seeing something on the hotel website about a flat rate with a cab company called American. $30. Excellent.
I make my way to the courtesy phone and begin punching around the taxi screen. About 30 taxi companies are listed. Most, naturally, have some version of American in the name.
American Taxi
American Cab and Limo
AAA American
An American Cab
All American Taxi
All American Cab
United American Cab
I'm not joking.
So I opted for American Cab and Limo.
15 minutes later he arrived, and I made my way into the minivan cab. As he bucked his seatbelt I asked, "What is the rate for this fare?"
"The what?" He answered back in a thick Ukranian accent.
"The rate." I had $47 in my wallet and just wanted to be sure I wasn't about to be scammed.
"Rate?"
"Yes, the rate."
"$45."
"Um. The website, the Marriott website, said flat rate of $30."
"Is $45."
"But the website said.. and the city cab guy said."
"American Taxi. You think of American Taxi. This American Cab and Limo."
Say it with me now. Good grief. It was a true Charlie Brown moment.
The thing is, you can't tell me the confusion around these taxi names isn't completely intentional. 50 American Taxis must have passed by as I waited, meaning they are THE name in the suburb taxi business given their value. And other cab companies are just taking advantage of the confusion. Grrr...
Of course, my cynical self also wonders what the rate would have been if I wasn't a single female traveling alone in Chicago at night.. but that's another blog.
Northbrook, from what I can tell, is the middle of nowhere. When I arrived at O'Hare and got in the cab stand, I was advised I should use the courtesy phone to call a "suburb" cab. The "city" taxi line supervisor told me his guys would charge me $55-60 whereas a suburb cab would be $25-30. Pleasantly surprised by his honesty, I trudged through my tiredness and recalled seeing something on the hotel website about a flat rate with a cab company called American. $30. Excellent.
I make my way to the courtesy phone and begin punching around the taxi screen. About 30 taxi companies are listed. Most, naturally, have some version of American in the name.
American Taxi
American Cab and Limo
AAA American
An American Cab
All American Taxi
All American Cab
United American Cab
I'm not joking.
So I opted for American Cab and Limo.
15 minutes later he arrived, and I made my way into the minivan cab. As he bucked his seatbelt I asked, "What is the rate for this fare?"
"The what?" He answered back in a thick Ukranian accent.
"The rate." I had $47 in my wallet and just wanted to be sure I wasn't about to be scammed.
"Rate?"
"Yes, the rate."
"$45."
"Um. The website, the Marriott website, said flat rate of $30."
"Is $45."
"But the website said.. and the city cab guy said."
"American Taxi. You think of American Taxi. This American Cab and Limo."
Say it with me now. Good grief. It was a true Charlie Brown moment.
The thing is, you can't tell me the confusion around these taxi names isn't completely intentional. 50 American Taxis must have passed by as I waited, meaning they are THE name in the suburb taxi business given their value. And other cab companies are just taking advantage of the confusion. Grrr...
Of course, my cynical self also wonders what the rate would have been if I wasn't a single female traveling alone in Chicago at night.. but that's another blog.
On being a one mountain kind of girl..
I’m on a plane from
My jaunt to
Well, wait a minute. Let me clarify.
What I adore about trips to places like
There’s something so breathtaking about this scenario. While a mountain chain such as the Rockies has its splendor, there’s just something so much more magical to me about the singular magnificence of the
Or maybe it’s an only child thing.
Either way, when I landed in
I made my way to my hotel room. I opened the shade.
I’ve loved her ever since.
The same can be said of Ranier in
I adore this region for any number of reasons. The mountains, the hills, the trees, the fashion (where fleece is hip and makeup minimal), the cleanliness and, as always, the people. At times too subdued for my taste, Northwesterners nevertheless remind me that they are in the running for the kindest folks in the States. They just accomplish it in a much laid back kind of way.
So my trip to
I look out the window and we’re over the
Ok, ok. Kind of like me.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
On muzzling certain sports broadcasters...
I'm not a big fan of Jeanie Zelasko. And I'm definitely nervous about benching Youkilis for Ortiz given the no DH rule in Game 3 tonight. But I swear to God JZ (ha ha, that's funny) just said the following:
"Don't worry about the glove, Ortiz, just bring the bat."
Right, cuz nothing bad has ever happened to the Red Sox down the 1st baseline due to "glove trouble" in the World Series before. Wanker.
"Don't worry about the glove, Ortiz, just bring the bat."
Right, cuz nothing bad has ever happened to the Red Sox down the 1st baseline due to "glove trouble" in the World Series before. Wanker.
On not ready to make nice...
I often take a great deal of crap for my taste in music. Not all of it. Just some. The fact of the matter is I truly like a little bit of everything, having grown up around, well, everything. But I'm not ashamed that my car radio is tuned, more often than not, to a pop music station. I grew up watching way too much MTV and VH1 and listening to radio stations called 92 Moose. No, that's not a joke.
I take the most crap for the female artists I enjoy. Bonnie Raitt can never be ripped on without the threat of a slap across your face, but I know some find me silly for admiring people like Sheryl Crow and the Dixie Chicks.
The thing is, I really can't be bothered with female artists unless they're the kind of woman I'd want to hang out with socially. Otherwise, what exactly do we have in common? How can I really relate to your art? And, since it's fact that the music business is tougher on female artists, I respect the few and proud who survive, particularly without nudity or any sort of skank factor. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, the one exception to the "could I grab a beer with this chick sometime" rule is the "does the song have a beat strong enough to make me want to shake my arse?". I'll blast that on the radio as well.
I came home tonight delighted to find the Dixie Chicks "Storytellers" on VH1. This really is one of my more favorite series and I wish it was one I could catch more regularly. Some might say that knowing the story takes the fun out of the personal interpretation music allows, but as an English major who always felt guilty for making assumptions about the motivations of the writers I was reading, I appreciate the ability to marvel at the art behind the spinning of the true tale. For example, take Silent House. I never knew it was about Natalie's grandmother suffering with Alzheimer's.
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
The song that got me the most worked up, as it always does, is Not Ready to Make Nice. The ladies described it as the only therapy after the media backlash (instigated by America's favorite redneck Toby Keith) brought upon the band in light of some unfavorable, but honest and candid remarks about the current administration. I adore this song and will turn it "up to 11" whenever I hear it. It's sad to say that I've related to this song on a number of levels, but oddly enough, more in terms of career struggles faced in the last year. How odd it could relate, but it does. Of course I also tune it to past relationships, both platonic and romantic, but, at its core, simply appreciate the honesty of the reaction and the pain of suppression and misunderstanding. I leave the lyrics for you now. I hope you might pull it up on YouTube and enjoy it for yourself. I love the mixture of melodies used, guiding you on a journey of melancholy then anger, weakness then strength. It's my personal war cry whenever needed.
As a parting thought, shame on you VH1 for playing a Toby Keith video after the episode tonight. Does somebody out there still think he didn't have his fair share of airtime or was it a sophomoric attempt at being clever? Either way, it lacked class.
"Not Ready To Make Nice"
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it
I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I take the most crap for the female artists I enjoy. Bonnie Raitt can never be ripped on without the threat of a slap across your face, but I know some find me silly for admiring people like Sheryl Crow and the Dixie Chicks.
The thing is, I really can't be bothered with female artists unless they're the kind of woman I'd want to hang out with socially. Otherwise, what exactly do we have in common? How can I really relate to your art? And, since it's fact that the music business is tougher on female artists, I respect the few and proud who survive, particularly without nudity or any sort of skank factor. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, the one exception to the "could I grab a beer with this chick sometime" rule is the "does the song have a beat strong enough to make me want to shake my arse?". I'll blast that on the radio as well.
I came home tonight delighted to find the Dixie Chicks "Storytellers" on VH1. This really is one of my more favorite series and I wish it was one I could catch more regularly. Some might say that knowing the story takes the fun out of the personal interpretation music allows, but as an English major who always felt guilty for making assumptions about the motivations of the writers I was reading, I appreciate the ability to marvel at the art behind the spinning of the true tale. For example, take Silent House. I never knew it was about Natalie's grandmother suffering with Alzheimer's.
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
The song that got me the most worked up, as it always does, is Not Ready to Make Nice. The ladies described it as the only therapy after the media backlash (instigated by America's favorite redneck Toby Keith) brought upon the band in light of some unfavorable, but honest and candid remarks about the current administration. I adore this song and will turn it "up to 11" whenever I hear it. It's sad to say that I've related to this song on a number of levels, but oddly enough, more in terms of career struggles faced in the last year. How odd it could relate, but it does. Of course I also tune it to past relationships, both platonic and romantic, but, at its core, simply appreciate the honesty of the reaction and the pain of suppression and misunderstanding. I leave the lyrics for you now. I hope you might pull it up on YouTube and enjoy it for yourself. I love the mixture of melodies used, guiding you on a journey of melancholy then anger, weakness then strength. It's my personal war cry whenever needed.
As a parting thought, shame on you VH1 for playing a Toby Keith video after the episode tonight. Does somebody out there still think he didn't have his fair share of airtime or was it a sophomoric attempt at being clever? Either way, it lacked class.
"Not Ready To Make Nice"
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it
I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
On a compact sized problem..
I just returned home from New York. I couldn't be happier. Particularly given the fact that I opted to take the Metro home during a power outage that I was not aware of (aka very heavy suitcase and multiple steep escalators with.. again.. no power... aka stairs.) Though I would sincerely chop off the toes on my right foot for New York pizza right now, I am pleased as punch to be curled up on my couch, awaiting the start of Game 3.
I was very sleepy this morning. It was entirely my fault. A marathon phone conversation initiated by my overly chatty self ended around 1:30 and I had to be up by 6. Luckily, the breakfast I was rising for was excellent, as was the program to kick off the day. As I sat there listening to 6 high school students speak as to why their individual high schools were so inspiring, the woman to my left, a lovely counselor advocate from California, opened her purse to get out her lipstick and compact.
As she closed the compact, I noticed the writing on the outside of the mirror. "Women in Educational Leadership". A makeup compact.
I was so bloody irritated.
Could the subliminal marketing be any more apparent? Be a leader! But don't furget to look purtty. Don't get me wrong. I get it. I'm often using the back of my shiny Blackberry or the reflective section of my cell phone to check my teeth and apply the occasional lip gloss. I'm not saying it's not useful. It's just ... annoying. Seriously annoying.
Next time, make a money clip.
I was very sleepy this morning. It was entirely my fault. A marathon phone conversation initiated by my overly chatty self ended around 1:30 and I had to be up by 6. Luckily, the breakfast I was rising for was excellent, as was the program to kick off the day. As I sat there listening to 6 high school students speak as to why their individual high schools were so inspiring, the woman to my left, a lovely counselor advocate from California, opened her purse to get out her lipstick and compact.
As she closed the compact, I noticed the writing on the outside of the mirror. "Women in Educational Leadership". A makeup compact.
I was so bloody irritated.
Could the subliminal marketing be any more apparent? Be a leader! But don't furget to look purtty. Don't get me wrong. I get it. I'm often using the back of my shiny Blackberry or the reflective section of my cell phone to check my teeth and apply the occasional lip gloss. I'm not saying it's not useful. It's just ... annoying. Seriously annoying.
Next time, make a money clip.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
On warm blankets..
"Oh crap, my boobs are in the way."
I bet our waiter never heard that one before.
Tonight I was wrapped in the warm embrace of dinner with a dear friend. As such, in a matter of minutes, we were as crass and comfortable as ever, discussing everything from whose husband and boyfriend is probably gay to butt pimples. And then the waiter tried to place my entree in front of me. But, well, my boobs were in the way.
Chrissy took me to dinner at this fantastic Swedish restaurant. We scored a table by the window which was also fantastic, but tight. She's a size 0, I'm decidedly not, and even she had to squeeze into her seat. In terms of table size, if I extended my arms in front of me, I could have hugged her. Hence the waiter needing to negotiate my chest as he brought my dinner.
"Oh my God," Chrissy hooted. "Now he can't help but look!"
Chrissy became a very fast friend in 2001. She started work at our place of employment just a couple of short weeks before me and, as with most "classmates" at work, we became close despite some major differences. Chrissy is thin and petite. I am taller and curvier. She's brunette, I'm blonde (ish). She's from New York; I'm from New England. She's hot. I'm "grandma pretty" (see my friend Meg for a definition). Chrissy is an aggressor; I tend to watch from the sidelines. Chrissy is a shopaholic who returns everything she buys. I am a shopaholic who buys things that don't fit but is too lazy to return them and just increases her credit card debt whilst looking ridiculous.
Yes, we couldn't be more different in a lot of respects. But we get along famously.
Chrissy is also incredibly smart and is one of my favorite friend stories. She's completely self-made and has enjoyed tremendous success due to a lot of hard work and determination. As I enjoyed the view from her 41st floor apartment near Wall Street tonight, I marveled at what she has achieved.
I am incredibly proud of my girlfriends. Those of us who are unmarried, without kids and currently falling victim to the puzzled looks our married peers with children are left at times to feel as if we've made a dreadful sacrifice. "We're getting old," Chrissy lamented tonight. But I'm just in awe of the incredible women in my life who are really lighting the world on fire, even though they may not realize it, professionally. We're kind of a stellar group, if you don't mind me saying.
She also has a wonderful boyfriend who I like more with every encounter. Of course, what I like most about him, in addition to the fact that he's friendly, hugs me back when I greet him and actually converses with me, is that he basically worships the ground she walks on. But not in a creepy way. The simple fact of the matter is he adores her and respects her, and loves taking care of her. I loved watching them interact. And I loved, really loved, seeing her so completely happy.
There's no greater gift than seeing those you care about reach those moments in life when they can't help but smile. Particularly because I couldn't help but smile in return.
I bet our waiter never heard that one before.
Tonight I was wrapped in the warm embrace of dinner with a dear friend. As such, in a matter of minutes, we were as crass and comfortable as ever, discussing everything from whose husband and boyfriend is probably gay to butt pimples. And then the waiter tried to place my entree in front of me. But, well, my boobs were in the way.
Chrissy took me to dinner at this fantastic Swedish restaurant. We scored a table by the window which was also fantastic, but tight. She's a size 0, I'm decidedly not, and even she had to squeeze into her seat. In terms of table size, if I extended my arms in front of me, I could have hugged her. Hence the waiter needing to negotiate my chest as he brought my dinner.
"Oh my God," Chrissy hooted. "Now he can't help but look!"
Chrissy became a very fast friend in 2001. She started work at our place of employment just a couple of short weeks before me and, as with most "classmates" at work, we became close despite some major differences. Chrissy is thin and petite. I am taller and curvier. She's brunette, I'm blonde (ish). She's from New York; I'm from New England. She's hot. I'm "grandma pretty" (see my friend Meg for a definition). Chrissy is an aggressor; I tend to watch from the sidelines. Chrissy is a shopaholic who returns everything she buys. I am a shopaholic who buys things that don't fit but is too lazy to return them and just increases her credit card debt whilst looking ridiculous.
Yes, we couldn't be more different in a lot of respects. But we get along famously.
Chrissy is also incredibly smart and is one of my favorite friend stories. She's completely self-made and has enjoyed tremendous success due to a lot of hard work and determination. As I enjoyed the view from her 41st floor apartment near Wall Street tonight, I marveled at what she has achieved.
I am incredibly proud of my girlfriends. Those of us who are unmarried, without kids and currently falling victim to the puzzled looks our married peers with children are left at times to feel as if we've made a dreadful sacrifice. "We're getting old," Chrissy lamented tonight. But I'm just in awe of the incredible women in my life who are really lighting the world on fire, even though they may not realize it, professionally. We're kind of a stellar group, if you don't mind me saying.
She also has a wonderful boyfriend who I like more with every encounter. Of course, what I like most about him, in addition to the fact that he's friendly, hugs me back when I greet him and actually converses with me, is that he basically worships the ground she walks on. But not in a creepy way. The simple fact of the matter is he adores her and respects her, and loves taking care of her. I loved watching them interact. And I loved, really loved, seeing her so completely happy.
There's no greater gift than seeing those you care about reach those moments in life when they can't help but smile. Particularly because I couldn't help but smile in return.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
On the early bird getting the worm...
I've had what I like to refer to as a Kelly day today. Kelly is a former roommate of mine, a still dear friend and a loyal reader of this blog. When Kelly and I lived together, I would wake up on a Saturday morning, move my tired rear from my bed to the couch, watch an unacceptable amount of I Love the 80's on VH1 and maybe, just maybe, get in the shower by 11:30.
If in the right mood, Kelly would have been to the grocery store and back, TJ Maxx and back and maybe even taken the bus to Marshalls and back, after waxing the kitchen floor and cooking breakfast for everyone.
While I still have more domestic goals for the day, I got out of bed at 8, made my way to Target, the grocery store (the one I REALLY love to go to but is a bit far out of the way) and made a stop at Dunkin Donuts for the ride home. Got home, put groceries away, cleaned up the kitchen, showered, had breakfast, took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, addressed a clog in the shower and made the place look pseudo presentable for my guy's return tonight. And it's only 11:30. If I wanted to be REALLY amazing, I'd do the pile of laundry currently awaiting my attention, but the fact of the matter is we've entered the danger zone time in the laundry room. There's probably already a line waiting for the washers.
As much as I long to be one of those people who can sleep until 10 or 11 every weekend morning, there's something so wonderful about being awake and in motion while the rest of the world slumbers. If only this would inspire me to get up and exercise in the morning. Ha. Not a chance. But how wonderful when there is no traffic, the sun has just finished rising with still a hint of orange in sky, no lines, and you have every excuse to wear your hair back in a baseball cap and no makeup applied. Without judgement. There's also a great sense of satisfaction in building up justification for a long afternoon nap.
After all, I have a game 7 to be alert for tonight. Go Sox!
If in the right mood, Kelly would have been to the grocery store and back, TJ Maxx and back and maybe even taken the bus to Marshalls and back, after waxing the kitchen floor and cooking breakfast for everyone.
While I still have more domestic goals for the day, I got out of bed at 8, made my way to Target, the grocery store (the one I REALLY love to go to but is a bit far out of the way) and made a stop at Dunkin Donuts for the ride home. Got home, put groceries away, cleaned up the kitchen, showered, had breakfast, took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, addressed a clog in the shower and made the place look pseudo presentable for my guy's return tonight. And it's only 11:30. If I wanted to be REALLY amazing, I'd do the pile of laundry currently awaiting my attention, but the fact of the matter is we've entered the danger zone time in the laundry room. There's probably already a line waiting for the washers.
As much as I long to be one of those people who can sleep until 10 or 11 every weekend morning, there's something so wonderful about being awake and in motion while the rest of the world slumbers. If only this would inspire me to get up and exercise in the morning. Ha. Not a chance. But how wonderful when there is no traffic, the sun has just finished rising with still a hint of orange in sky, no lines, and you have every excuse to wear your hair back in a baseball cap and no makeup applied. Without judgement. There's also a great sense of satisfaction in building up justification for a long afternoon nap.
After all, I have a game 7 to be alert for tonight. Go Sox!
Friday, October 19, 2007
On a weekend with me...
Thanks to the unforgiving nature of my fall travel recruitment season, tomorrow is my first day off in a month and this is the only weekend I have at home in October. Because higher powers enjoy mocking me, my guy is out of town this weekend attending a conference. While I would like nothing more than to share a weekend with him, I have no issues with my plans for total vegging out and relaxation. Oh, and seeing at least one of my best girlfriends in the process.
As I drove home tonight, exhausted from our full day open house and the energy required to give remarks and be "on" all day, I contemplated my complete lack of desire to prepare dinner. All I could think about was fast food, ice cream and chips and dip. AKA, Celtic Not's Bermuda Triangle of Nutrition. Despite my exhaustion, I made my way to the grocery store to stock up for a weekend of baseball, naps and catching up on DVR.
Standing in the checkout line, I considered my purchases and it made me giggle. Reduced fat potato chips. French Onion Dip. Edy's Slow Churned Reduced Fat Samoas Girl Scout Cookie Ice Cream (cookies AND ice cream together = perfecto!). Rotisserie chicken. (I intend to make three meals out if it). Wine. Coke Zero. Lean Cuisines for next week's lunch.
Am I the portrait of a chick hanging out by herself this weekend or what?
My mood was tired, yet nevertheless indulgent and celebratory. And the good news is I was inspired to at least cook some corn and couscous to compliment the chicken legs I decided on (sitting down with the entire bird and just a fork did cross my mind). Unfortunately, I've already had WAY too much ice cream. It really IS the most delicious ice cream on the face of the earth. But it's all good. I'm enjoying my first Saturday to myself by getting up at 6 am to meet a friend and her daughter for a charity 10K walk where I will walk it all off. And then get right back to where I started with a celebratory lunch of Indian food.
It's only Friday and it's already a truly magnificent weekend.
As I drove home tonight, exhausted from our full day open house and the energy required to give remarks and be "on" all day, I contemplated my complete lack of desire to prepare dinner. All I could think about was fast food, ice cream and chips and dip. AKA, Celtic Not's Bermuda Triangle of Nutrition. Despite my exhaustion, I made my way to the grocery store to stock up for a weekend of baseball, naps and catching up on DVR.
Standing in the checkout line, I considered my purchases and it made me giggle. Reduced fat potato chips. French Onion Dip. Edy's Slow Churned Reduced Fat Samoas Girl Scout Cookie Ice Cream (cookies AND ice cream together = perfecto!). Rotisserie chicken. (I intend to make three meals out if it). Wine. Coke Zero. Lean Cuisines for next week's lunch.
Am I the portrait of a chick hanging out by herself this weekend or what?
My mood was tired, yet nevertheless indulgent and celebratory. And the good news is I was inspired to at least cook some corn and couscous to compliment the chicken legs I decided on (sitting down with the entire bird and just a fork did cross my mind). Unfortunately, I've already had WAY too much ice cream. It really IS the most delicious ice cream on the face of the earth. But it's all good. I'm enjoying my first Saturday to myself by getting up at 6 am to meet a friend and her daughter for a charity 10K walk where I will walk it all off. And then get right back to where I started with a celebratory lunch of Indian food.
It's only Friday and it's already a truly magnificent weekend.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
On the way life should be?
In order for my home state to make the news, Dubbya is typically visiting the Bush compound in Kennebunkport, or a moose has walked through one of the downtowns, providing a nice "aw golly shucks" moment to end your nightly national news programming.
Today, however, is a bit different.
The public school system in Portland, ME has announced they are making a special in-house, school-based, full-service health clinic available to middle school students. In order to participate in this health clinic, the middle schoolers must secure their parents' permission. Once that permission is granted, students may have access to a variety of health services without parent notification.
Including access to birth control pills.
Parents are, of course, livid. Even my own. When I called my dad to celebrate a Red Sox run, it was the first thing he brought up after we moaned about the Sox recent performance for only 2 or 3 minutes.
"If you were in that school, Cris," he said, "we'd be transferring you to another school today."
Of course, 4 of the 100 students in this age range who used this clinic last year reported they were sexually active. But the headline, and the supposed justification for this action, is that 17 girls under the age of 14 became pregnant in the community last year. Of course, that figure nationally is 17,000, but no matter. Parents are outraged by this new service. One parent, a nurse, got up at last night's board meeting and did her best to present the education side of it; how this could increase STDs among the student population. She went on to list about 30, most of which I hadn't heard of, as she made her plea against the plan. The parents resent the board taking over their responsibilities, but the school system feels they are simply doing their part to provide education and access and prevent what they fear is inevitable if they do not do something.
I do not pretend to know what it's like to be a middle school girl anymore. As one who didn't even have her first kiss until the 8th grade, I can tell you sex was hardly on my mind at that age, and I don't remember any of my friends starting to do anything of the sort until our junior year of high school or so. Still, I acknowledge times have changed. I acknowledge that a lot of 12 year old girls look 16 and dress like whorish 19 year olds, primarily because a) they don't know any better and b) they aren't growing up with a father like mine, who would have dragged them by the stiletto heel back into the house never to see the outside world again. Since these girls don't have my dad, the high school boys who hang out around the school are happy to provide an older male figure for them.
I do not subscribe to the notion that access invites participation that would not have been engaged in prior to the fact. But I'm also simply not convinced this is a wise course. I'm just not convinced there's some sexual free love revolution going on in Portland's middle schools that require this type of step.
Nevertheless, I feel sick to my stomach thinking about girls so young becoming sexually active. As parents focus their energy on being outraged at the school board, I hope they'll soon change focus and put that energy towards honest conversations with their children. I do not envy the day I may be put in this same situation, forced to have an awkward and way too grown up conversation years before I ever intended, but I can also say that my parents managed to keep me entirely well behaved with nothing but conversation as to why drinking was a bad idea at the time, as was sex, etc. I was a pretty damn good kid. Pretty unpopular, but a damn good kid. :)
So, I don't offer you a concluding opinion on the issue, other than hoping parents realize they have a major role in guiding their children down a more appropriate path, one that doesn't require them to grow up so fast or sacrifice their all to precious innocence in too hasty a manner.
Today, however, is a bit different.
The public school system in Portland, ME has announced they are making a special in-house, school-based, full-service health clinic available to middle school students. In order to participate in this health clinic, the middle schoolers must secure their parents' permission. Once that permission is granted, students may have access to a variety of health services without parent notification.
Including access to birth control pills.
Parents are, of course, livid. Even my own. When I called my dad to celebrate a Red Sox run, it was the first thing he brought up after we moaned about the Sox recent performance for only 2 or 3 minutes.
"If you were in that school, Cris," he said, "we'd be transferring you to another school today."
Of course, 4 of the 100 students in this age range who used this clinic last year reported they were sexually active. But the headline, and the supposed justification for this action, is that 17 girls under the age of 14 became pregnant in the community last year. Of course, that figure nationally is 17,000, but no matter. Parents are outraged by this new service. One parent, a nurse, got up at last night's board meeting and did her best to present the education side of it; how this could increase STDs among the student population. She went on to list about 30, most of which I hadn't heard of, as she made her plea against the plan. The parents resent the board taking over their responsibilities, but the school system feels they are simply doing their part to provide education and access and prevent what they fear is inevitable if they do not do something.
I do not pretend to know what it's like to be a middle school girl anymore. As one who didn't even have her first kiss until the 8th grade, I can tell you sex was hardly on my mind at that age, and I don't remember any of my friends starting to do anything of the sort until our junior year of high school or so. Still, I acknowledge times have changed. I acknowledge that a lot of 12 year old girls look 16 and dress like whorish 19 year olds, primarily because a) they don't know any better and b) they aren't growing up with a father like mine, who would have dragged them by the stiletto heel back into the house never to see the outside world again. Since these girls don't have my dad, the high school boys who hang out around the school are happy to provide an older male figure for them.
I do not subscribe to the notion that access invites participation that would not have been engaged in prior to the fact. But I'm also simply not convinced this is a wise course. I'm just not convinced there's some sexual free love revolution going on in Portland's middle schools that require this type of step.
Nevertheless, I feel sick to my stomach thinking about girls so young becoming sexually active. As parents focus their energy on being outraged at the school board, I hope they'll soon change focus and put that energy towards honest conversations with their children. I do not envy the day I may be put in this same situation, forced to have an awkward and way too grown up conversation years before I ever intended, but I can also say that my parents managed to keep me entirely well behaved with nothing but conversation as to why drinking was a bad idea at the time, as was sex, etc. I was a pretty damn good kid. Pretty unpopular, but a damn good kid. :)
So, I don't offer you a concluding opinion on the issue, other than hoping parents realize they have a major role in guiding their children down a more appropriate path, one that doesn't require them to grow up so fast or sacrifice their all to precious innocence in too hasty a manner.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
On being in the zone...
Tonight was another event night. This time, Tarrytown, NY, otherwise known as Westchester County. In this part of the world, my "clientele" can be incredibly challenging. I wasn't sure what to expect tonight, and wasn't feeling 100% on top of that, so I quickly went over my notes, suited up and went downstairs.
Tonight's was a fantastic event. I nailed everything I wanted to say. My tone was spot on. My jokes worked. My colleague was on her game too. At the conclusion of the program, parent upon parent, student upon student, came up to compliment us on the program and me on my presentation. We seemed to really pull people in. Those who had already been to campus were officially hooked. Those who had yet to visit campus suddenly couldn't wait to get there.
I'm not naive. I understand that some of this is good manners and the conscious realization that they're supposed to come talk to me and say SOMETHING. Still, the compliments I was receiving on my presentation, my skill, my demeanor, seemed different than usual. One parent said to me, "you must be individually responsible for bringing so many students to your school." Another, "You do a wonderful job. Really. We've had a fantastic time." As I skipped up to my room, I checked my blackberry to read emails from last week's students (yes, those in "no personality" Hartford) thanking me for the presentation and how influential I have been in their decision to apply.
Flattery really will get you everywhere. Particularly with me.
Again, I know some of it I should just take with a grain of salt, but it all means so much to me. It's the validation I need in a time of constant uncertainty and turmoil at work. Though many of the "haters" are gone, there are still some who look at me and wonder why.. why is SHE in the position she's in. What has SHE done to deserve it? It's nights like this that I am able to remind myself that I do have a gift of connection, of making cold and distant things more personable, of fighting off smoke and mirrors and having honest conversations. The very thought that there were 5 or so people tonight who told me I have made an influence (and a positive one!) in their decision making is incredibly meaningful.
For the first time in a 6 year career, I feel like I actually RECRUITED. That I actually spread the message that's been needed to be shared, in a effective manner. It's funny how easy it is to become spoiled. My first job in this field required little of me in terms of relationship building. It was churning out volume, being a road runner and doing as I was told. I was quite good at it, no question. But I couldn't always say I was a good recruiter. And, if I'm being completely honest, I was a bit turned off when I first took this job as to how much outreach we had to do. As with anything else, it's hard to suddenly have to work for something that's always been there for free. But I've finally turned the corner. I feel like I ramped up my game tonight. And it feels amazing.
Tonight's was a fantastic event. I nailed everything I wanted to say. My tone was spot on. My jokes worked. My colleague was on her game too. At the conclusion of the program, parent upon parent, student upon student, came up to compliment us on the program and me on my presentation. We seemed to really pull people in. Those who had already been to campus were officially hooked. Those who had yet to visit campus suddenly couldn't wait to get there.
I'm not naive. I understand that some of this is good manners and the conscious realization that they're supposed to come talk to me and say SOMETHING. Still, the compliments I was receiving on my presentation, my skill, my demeanor, seemed different than usual. One parent said to me, "you must be individually responsible for bringing so many students to your school." Another, "You do a wonderful job. Really. We've had a fantastic time." As I skipped up to my room, I checked my blackberry to read emails from last week's students (yes, those in "no personality" Hartford) thanking me for the presentation and how influential I have been in their decision to apply.
Flattery really will get you everywhere. Particularly with me.
Again, I know some of it I should just take with a grain of salt, but it all means so much to me. It's the validation I need in a time of constant uncertainty and turmoil at work. Though many of the "haters" are gone, there are still some who look at me and wonder why.. why is SHE in the position she's in. What has SHE done to deserve it? It's nights like this that I am able to remind myself that I do have a gift of connection, of making cold and distant things more personable, of fighting off smoke and mirrors and having honest conversations. The very thought that there were 5 or so people tonight who told me I have made an influence (and a positive one!) in their decision making is incredibly meaningful.
For the first time in a 6 year career, I feel like I actually RECRUITED. That I actually spread the message that's been needed to be shared, in a effective manner. It's funny how easy it is to become spoiled. My first job in this field required little of me in terms of relationship building. It was churning out volume, being a road runner and doing as I was told. I was quite good at it, no question. But I couldn't always say I was a good recruiter. And, if I'm being completely honest, I was a bit turned off when I first took this job as to how much outreach we had to do. As with anything else, it's hard to suddenly have to work for something that's always been there for free. But I've finally turned the corner. I feel like I ramped up my game tonight. And it feels amazing.
On my future's so bright...
I have had horrible luck with sunglasses. I've broken 3 pairs since July.
As I put my bags in the car to make my way to Westchester County today, I realized I was missing one thing.
I didn't have a pair of sunglasses.
It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it was a very bright day and my eyes are very sensitive to the sun. I'm not a vampire or anything, I just wear contacts and am incredibly susceptible to eye fatigue.
Don't worry, I try not to share this fascinating story on first dates or anything.
I ran around looking for the one non-broken pair I thought I still had, but to no avail. Sunglasses are one of those things I've actually become incredibly cheap about. They break running loose in the gigantic mommy bag you carry for work or you lose them so easily. I watched a woman I was traveling with in Latin America last year spend $200 on a pair of sunglasses she'd been coveting for a year, only to lose them two days later. No thanks.
So I always go cheap when it comes to sunglasses for these very reasons. And, well, because the one time I splurged on sunglasses, this beautiful pair of Serengetti driving lenses, my appendix burst. Yes, the same day. I can't help but think I was being punished for spending $100 on a pair of shades when I could have spent $9.99. And I know I can't burst my appendix again, but, what if something else bursts?
So my trip began with a stop at Target to get a $9.99 pair of driving lenses that looked fun on me as I left the store but, a four hour drive later, just look stupid. Oh well, at least I didn't spend $100 on them. Or lose an appendix in the process.
As I put my bags in the car to make my way to Westchester County today, I realized I was missing one thing.
I didn't have a pair of sunglasses.
It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it was a very bright day and my eyes are very sensitive to the sun. I'm not a vampire or anything, I just wear contacts and am incredibly susceptible to eye fatigue.
Don't worry, I try not to share this fascinating story on first dates or anything.
I ran around looking for the one non-broken pair I thought I still had, but to no avail. Sunglasses are one of those things I've actually become incredibly cheap about. They break running loose in the gigantic mommy bag you carry for work or you lose them so easily. I watched a woman I was traveling with in Latin America last year spend $200 on a pair of sunglasses she'd been coveting for a year, only to lose them two days later. No thanks.
So I always go cheap when it comes to sunglasses for these very reasons. And, well, because the one time I splurged on sunglasses, this beautiful pair of Serengetti driving lenses, my appendix burst. Yes, the same day. I can't help but think I was being punished for spending $100 on a pair of shades when I could have spent $9.99. And I know I can't burst my appendix again, but, what if something else bursts?
So my trip began with a stop at Target to get a $9.99 pair of driving lenses that looked fun on me as I left the store but, a four hour drive later, just look stupid. Oh well, at least I didn't spend $100 on them. Or lose an appendix in the process.
On appreciating "up"...
Yesterday was Boss Appreciation Day. Yah, I didn't realize that either. Until one of my friends on staff, someone who I "kind of" supervise, showed up at my door with a Starbucks card and said "Thanks for all you do for us!".
You know me. Between that and PMSing, I came THIS close to tearing up.
It was such a thoughtful gesture. And, thanks to her kindness, I was able to fuel up for my drive to Tarrytown today with a vendi Pumpkin Spice Latte and a chocolate chip scone (Um, they have caramel inside. Go get one. Immediately.) Receiving that card made my day.
And it got me thinking. I was warned by two colleagues that the assistant I inherited in my acting role would essentially cast a spell on me and my loved ones if I forgot Administrative Assistant Day. So I took her out to lunch and we had a lovely time. And it really was my pleasure to do so. I just think it's funny how clearly she had no idea what yesterday was and, if she did, did nothing in recognition of it. Honestly, I would never have expected her to and I absolutely believe the world would be a better place without Boss' Day, Admin. Asst. Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day, etc. Isn't it better to receive a card or flowers or a small gift, "just because"? Isn't it better to say "thank you", "you're wonderful", "I'm so lucky" or "I appreciate you" on a random day? But no, if you receive something like chocolates, clearly it's in recognition of a special occasion. And even those of us who would prefer flowers out of nowhere have that feeling of pressure on days like Valentine's Day because, despite your philosophy, if you don't get something, the absence is that much more glaring. Sigh.
Maybe I'll look up some spells to cast after all.
You know me. Between that and PMSing, I came THIS close to tearing up.
It was such a thoughtful gesture. And, thanks to her kindness, I was able to fuel up for my drive to Tarrytown today with a vendi Pumpkin Spice Latte and a chocolate chip scone (Um, they have caramel inside. Go get one. Immediately.) Receiving that card made my day.
And it got me thinking. I was warned by two colleagues that the assistant I inherited in my acting role would essentially cast a spell on me and my loved ones if I forgot Administrative Assistant Day. So I took her out to lunch and we had a lovely time. And it really was my pleasure to do so. I just think it's funny how clearly she had no idea what yesterday was and, if she did, did nothing in recognition of it. Honestly, I would never have expected her to and I absolutely believe the world would be a better place without Boss' Day, Admin. Asst. Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day, etc. Isn't it better to receive a card or flowers or a small gift, "just because"? Isn't it better to say "thank you", "you're wonderful", "I'm so lucky" or "I appreciate you" on a random day? But no, if you receive something like chocolates, clearly it's in recognition of a special occasion. And even those of us who would prefer flowers out of nowhere have that feeling of pressure on days like Valentine's Day because, despite your philosophy, if you don't get something, the absence is that much more glaring. Sigh.
Maybe I'll look up some spells to cast after all.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
On you ain't seen bumpy yet...
Fasten your seat belts everyone. It officially sucks to travel.
I travel my fair share for work, as those of you most loyal to this blog know. As such, I've become intimately acquainted with the challenges of throwing yourself to the mercy of airlines, rental car companies and hotels. Often it seems like it's just not about service anymore. Rarely do you encounter the "customer service agent" who acts in a manner supportive of the possibility that you may have sat through a 2 hour delay at the airport, only to be bumped off of your flight, only to sit next to a disgruntled and overweight passenger taking up half of your seat on the next flight, and oops we don't have any more room on the plane for your baggage so we'll have to check it, and no there won't be beverage service because of the constant turbulence. Oh, and sorry about that, but we lost that bag we ended up having to check. Have a good day.
Don't get me wrong, very little of this happened to me this evening, only part of it, but I often feel beaten and bruised on my travel days as I watch it happen to those around me. While much of this probably can't be helped given the very real circumstances associated with the travel industry today, I think everything could be a bit improved if everyone would just try to help each other out.
And I'm not just speaking of the flight attendants I really don't know how they do their job every day. Every flight brings some issue, at least one pain in the ass traveler who can't understand that everyone gets inconvenienced once in a while.
Passengers just don't play fair anymore, and are doing their part to contribute to the overall horrible experience of travel today. Take my flight this evening... the oversold flight. The initial announcement puts everyone on edge. Oh no. Am I going to be bumped? They need five volunteers. Have five people gone up yet?
Because of my preference for aisle seats, I always end up boarding in one of the later zones. And, on an oversold flight, in that situation you are essentially guaranteed that there will be no room left for your bag when you board. I like to think of myself as a conscientious traveler. Any bag I bring on board is, in fact, carry on size and, when given a seat with normal room in front of it, I can typically fit BOTH of my carry-ons in front of my feet. Suck on that.
But not today.
And as I boarded the flight and looked down toward my seat, I saw a decidedly not carry-on sized bag occupying my seat. Hmmm.
The couple next to me had no place to put their over sized carry-on baggage. For shame. Seriously, I do feel their pain. But, at the same time, they should have been more responsible and checked them in the first place. Instead, they were incredibly rude to the flight crew, how it was somehow THEIR fault and what were they going to do about it. The crew then proceeded to hold up take off while they moved other people's bags around trying to find place to stow them. A similar incident happened on my flight up to Hartford, but I was a hell of a lot more impressed with how the crew handled that. After a certain point, everyone boarding the flight was handed a check tag for their baggage, as there was, in fact, no room left. Sure, people were pissed but, at the same time, they didn't have to go through the humiliation of making their way up and down the aisle desperately looking for a place to put their gigantic carry-on. I do wish airlines would do their part in enforcing carry-on policies, but I also wish travelers would be a little more considerate of their fellow passengers as they weigh their options.
Then there were the children. Nothing can be done about crying children and I was very impressed that the three babies on the flight tonight were almost totally silent It was the two year old whose mother was encouraging her to beat on the seat in front of her that nearly set me off. No, I'm not kidding.
I just wish we could all cut each other a little bit of slack. I keep hearing about these days when travel was a luxurious experience and service was guaranteed. These are different times now, certainly, but I really am convinced that if we didn't chew each other out at the first inconvenience, if we could just laugh things off from time to time and give each other the benefit of the doubt, a return to a more pleasant travel experience could be on the horizon
I travel my fair share for work, as those of you most loyal to this blog know. As such, I've become intimately acquainted with the challenges of throwing yourself to the mercy of airlines, rental car companies and hotels. Often it seems like it's just not about service anymore. Rarely do you encounter the "customer service agent" who acts in a manner supportive of the possibility that you may have sat through a 2 hour delay at the airport, only to be bumped off of your flight, only to sit next to a disgruntled and overweight passenger taking up half of your seat on the next flight, and oops we don't have any more room on the plane for your baggage so we'll have to check it, and no there won't be beverage service because of the constant turbulence. Oh, and sorry about that, but we lost that bag we ended up having to check. Have a good day.
Don't get me wrong, very little of this happened to me this evening, only part of it, but I often feel beaten and bruised on my travel days as I watch it happen to those around me. While much of this probably can't be helped given the very real circumstances associated with the travel industry today, I think everything could be a bit improved if everyone would just try to help each other out.
And I'm not just speaking of the flight attendants I really don't know how they do their job every day. Every flight brings some issue, at least one pain in the ass traveler who can't understand that everyone gets inconvenienced once in a while.
Passengers just don't play fair anymore, and are doing their part to contribute to the overall horrible experience of travel today. Take my flight this evening... the oversold flight. The initial announcement puts everyone on edge. Oh no. Am I going to be bumped? They need five volunteers. Have five people gone up yet?
Because of my preference for aisle seats, I always end up boarding in one of the later zones. And, on an oversold flight, in that situation you are essentially guaranteed that there will be no room left for your bag when you board. I like to think of myself as a conscientious traveler. Any bag I bring on board is, in fact, carry on size and, when given a seat with normal room in front of it, I can typically fit BOTH of my carry-ons in front of my feet. Suck on that.
But not today.
And as I boarded the flight and looked down toward my seat, I saw a decidedly not carry-on sized bag occupying my seat. Hmmm.
The couple next to me had no place to put their over sized carry-on baggage. For shame. Seriously, I do feel their pain. But, at the same time, they should have been more responsible and checked them in the first place. Instead, they were incredibly rude to the flight crew, how it was somehow THEIR fault and what were they going to do about it. The crew then proceeded to hold up take off while they moved other people's bags around trying to find place to stow them. A similar incident happened on my flight up to Hartford, but I was a hell of a lot more impressed with how the crew handled that. After a certain point, everyone boarding the flight was handed a check tag for their baggage, as there was, in fact, no room left. Sure, people were pissed but, at the same time, they didn't have to go through the humiliation of making their way up and down the aisle desperately looking for a place to put their gigantic carry-on. I do wish airlines would do their part in enforcing carry-on policies, but I also wish travelers would be a little more considerate of their fellow passengers as they weigh their options.
Then there were the children. Nothing can be done about crying children and I was very impressed that the three babies on the flight tonight were almost totally silent It was the two year old whose mother was encouraging her to beat on the seat in front of her that nearly set me off. No, I'm not kidding.
I just wish we could all cut each other a little bit of slack. I keep hearing about these days when travel was a luxurious experience and service was guaranteed. These are different times now, certainly, but I really am convinced that if we didn't chew each other out at the first inconvenience, if we could just laugh things off from time to time and give each other the benefit of the doubt, a return to a more pleasant travel experience could be on the horizon
On doing time at Bradley...
Greetings from Bradley International. If you've been following my blog over the past few days, you've learned it's one of my least favorite airports ever. Well, at least the US Air terminal. In all fairness, as I arrived today I glanced at the other terminal and it looks like it may carry some potential. But not this end. I've just downed two of the worst pieces of pizza of my existence from a pizza and sub place where the pizza slicer was CHAINED to the counter. What kind of place is this? Is pizza cutter theft a major issue here? Is it a safety concern or is it just the employees needing something to cut the real pizza they order at home after a day's work surrounded by imitation pie? The world may never know.
So, 2 hours to go before my flight and here I am. There's a bar down the way showing the Patriots game on a static-filled 19" tv, but said bar is the same establishment that owns the pizza that will likely give me heartburn in time for takeoff. What's odd is there are two guys at the bar wearing Pats jersey, like a couple of locals who have shown up to their favorite sports bar . Too weird.
My event went ok today. The trouble is that our Boston event was DYN-O-MITE and incapable of having an equal. I knew this event would be smaller, but it didn't necessarily have to indicate duller. A small group of the right kind of people, after all, is always better than a large group of the wrong.
Sigh. Sadly, we had a small group where the wrong outnumbered the right.
It's odd to consider how, in my job, I have learned a true appreciation for what stand-up comics do. Confused? Let me explain. Much of what we do at these events and the sessions we give on campus consists of a one hour PowerPoint presentation. I know. Aren't you on the edge of your seat?
So, because we're only human, we try to throw in jokes here and there, mix it up a bit, and keep those in the crowd alert and ok about sacrificing a couple of hours of their life to our purpose. And when it goes well, it goes REALLY well. In Boston last week you would have thought I was Elvis. People laughed when I wanted them to, they participated when I "turned the mic their way" and there was a line of adoring fans waiting to meet me and my colleague at the end.
In Connecticut? Not so much.
Now, there was certainly more energy to feed off of in Boston, but, the major difference I'm pointing out here is audience and geography's role in it. They laugh in Boston, they press in Connecticut. At my old institution, we would do two events back to back, one in Tysons Corner, VA, the other in Bethesda, MD. In Virginia, they would smile and laugh. In Maryland, they would display little to no personality and not respond to any of the same attempts at humor. Period. And we're talking a difference of about 11 miles. What gives?
So I don't understand how stand-ups do it. How they move from crowd to crowd with the same material over and over and over again, and have it kill in some areas and fall completely flat in others. I know I've written in the past about loathing the DC concert scene because NO ONE gets into it. People must dread coming to the DC area, period.
So, I'm feeling less confident about our event, even though there wasn't really any difference in how we presented the information or anything like that. My event on Wednesday should be much the same, in Westchester County, but I'll hope for more signs of life when I hit Portland, Oregon and Chicago next month.
Or maybe I just need to change my approach. Know the places that will get the humor and use it to my favor, and play up the seriousness for the other places. It just seems like such a shame though. I work in an industry where so many students feel so stressed out and confused. One of things things I think I offer my field is a lighter, more realistic approach that, I hope, calms people down a bit and educates them. Who knew one might prefer the smoke and mirrors?
So, 2 hours to go before my flight and here I am. There's a bar down the way showing the Patriots game on a static-filled 19" tv, but said bar is the same establishment that owns the pizza that will likely give me heartburn in time for takeoff. What's odd is there are two guys at the bar wearing Pats jersey, like a couple of locals who have shown up to their favorite sports bar . Too weird.
My event went ok today. The trouble is that our Boston event was DYN-O-MITE and incapable of having an equal. I knew this event would be smaller, but it didn't necessarily have to indicate duller. A small group of the right kind of people, after all, is always better than a large group of the wrong.
Sigh. Sadly, we had a small group where the wrong outnumbered the right.
It's odd to consider how, in my job, I have learned a true appreciation for what stand-up comics do. Confused? Let me explain. Much of what we do at these events and the sessions we give on campus consists of a one hour PowerPoint presentation. I know. Aren't you on the edge of your seat?
So, because we're only human, we try to throw in jokes here and there, mix it up a bit, and keep those in the crowd alert and ok about sacrificing a couple of hours of their life to our purpose. And when it goes well, it goes REALLY well. In Boston last week you would have thought I was Elvis. People laughed when I wanted them to, they participated when I "turned the mic their way" and there was a line of adoring fans waiting to meet me and my colleague at the end.
In Connecticut? Not so much.
Now, there was certainly more energy to feed off of in Boston, but, the major difference I'm pointing out here is audience and geography's role in it. They laugh in Boston, they press in Connecticut. At my old institution, we would do two events back to back, one in Tysons Corner, VA, the other in Bethesda, MD. In Virginia, they would smile and laugh. In Maryland, they would display little to no personality and not respond to any of the same attempts at humor. Period. And we're talking a difference of about 11 miles. What gives?
So I don't understand how stand-ups do it. How they move from crowd to crowd with the same material over and over and over again, and have it kill in some areas and fall completely flat in others. I know I've written in the past about loathing the DC concert scene because NO ONE gets into it. People must dread coming to the DC area, period.
So, I'm feeling less confident about our event, even though there wasn't really any difference in how we presented the information or anything like that. My event on Wednesday should be much the same, in Westchester County, but I'll hope for more signs of life when I hit Portland, Oregon and Chicago next month.
Or maybe I just need to change my approach. Know the places that will get the humor and use it to my favor, and play up the seriousness for the other places. It just seems like such a shame though. I work in an industry where so many students feel so stressed out and confused. One of things things I think I offer my field is a lighter, more realistic approach that, I hope, calms people down a bit and educates them. Who knew one might prefer the smoke and mirrors?
On let's be clear about one thing...
I am not at all excited about the Sex and the City movie.
Don't get me wrong, I will likely end up going with a group of women (to be named later) and we'll probably do something predictable like go out for cosmos before or after the fact. I vote before in order to a) make the movie funnier than it actually is or b) allow me an excuse to sleep through it.
I was completely devoted to the show during its run, but I think for the social benefits outside of the episodes. More often than not, watching the show meant Kelly, Chrissy and I put on pajamas and busted open a bottle of wine... or three. Or, at work the next day, discussing the show gave an excuse to go to Starbucks and get a morning coffee. I never fully related to these women. How could I possibly? I'm not a trust fund baby, I'm not a gold digging whore, I'm not THAT bitchy, and I'm not a chain smoker with a fetish for $500 shoes. I also don't have any friends who meet this description.
So, as all this press floats around about the anticipation for this movie, my prediction is it won't do well at all. Only SJP has had any element of success in staying truly relevant, and she's done so outside the world of entertainment, opting for perfume and clothing lines instead. I think it's been too long since the show ended for anyone to really care anymore. I'm fully prepared to be proven wrong, but I think the typical SATC audience can agree that if this group of women is STILL meeting at coffee shops and overpriced restaurants to discuss Samantha's sexual escapades and how her AARP dues have gone up, the ladies have simply gone from chic to sad.
Don't get me wrong, I will likely end up going with a group of women (to be named later) and we'll probably do something predictable like go out for cosmos before or after the fact. I vote before in order to a) make the movie funnier than it actually is or b) allow me an excuse to sleep through it.
I was completely devoted to the show during its run, but I think for the social benefits outside of the episodes. More often than not, watching the show meant Kelly, Chrissy and I put on pajamas and busted open a bottle of wine... or three. Or, at work the next day, discussing the show gave an excuse to go to Starbucks and get a morning coffee. I never fully related to these women. How could I possibly? I'm not a trust fund baby, I'm not a gold digging whore, I'm not THAT bitchy, and I'm not a chain smoker with a fetish for $500 shoes. I also don't have any friends who meet this description.
So, as all this press floats around about the anticipation for this movie, my prediction is it won't do well at all. Only SJP has had any element of success in staying truly relevant, and she's done so outside the world of entertainment, opting for perfume and clothing lines instead. I think it's been too long since the show ended for anyone to really care anymore. I'm fully prepared to be proven wrong, but I think the typical SATC audience can agree that if this group of women is STILL meeting at coffee shops and overpriced restaurants to discuss Samantha's sexual escapades and how her AARP dues have gone up, the ladies have simply gone from chic to sad.
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