Bait and Switch revisited

Finally got around to calling the temporary agencies today to let them know I will no longer be in need of their services. Seems rather pointless, as my "relationships" with these two agencies has been rather fruitless. In fact, between the two of them, they netted me one job.

One job. In about six months or so of "trying".

Not exactly stellar performance, if you ask me.

Plus, they both engaged in what can only be seen as "bait and switch" recruiting tactics, which I find just, well, creepy. Both agencies caught my eye by advertising fabulous-sounding positions that seemed right up my alley, but wouldn't you know, the moment they got me in the door to take their tests and gather up my info, the jobs were already filled.

Weeks before, in fact.

So, they keep advertising tantalizing jobs weeks after they're filled.

What is that, if not a bait and switch?

Am very glad that I have a real job in my future, if only so it will mean I can bid these people a not-terribly-fond farewell.

On other fronts, I still have a cold. The bad news is I wake up feeling like a hacking shell of unhealthiness; the good news is I feel more humanoid as the day goes on. Also, I was supposed to go on a retreat this weekend, but cancelled due to my Linda's reluctance to go. Good thing, for not only was I not looking forward to going by myself, but I really have no desire to be sick away from home. Being sick is something one prefers to be in one's own bed, no?

And you know the people on the retreat would probably rather I keep my germs home and safe, too.

So here we are, coughing in the New Year....or something. Ah, 2005: You are a year I can say goodbye to without a hint of regret.

Here's to 2006: The year of The Jennifer Myszkowski, and much, much more! (Health, perhaps?)

I'm going to miss the Old Gang....

By this time next week, I will be working away from home. In an office. With people. It will represent a major change of pace for me, as I have been working at home. "Alone." For over nine years now.

My coworkers, such as they are, have been the animals in these photos. First Oatmeal and dear, departed Butler the cats, then Shwea the lab mix, and then, Linus, the shepherd mix. Butler's no longer in the picture, but as you can see, there's more than enough animal companionship around here to compensate for his departure.

I have enjoyed my time with all of them, but for the dogs crazed barking twice a day (for the postman and the paper boy). And the cats insistence that it's five o'clock (feeding time) somewhere, which usually starts around 1:30 in the afternoon. While I thought Butler was behind the begging, apparently Oatmeal is quite capable of whining without any prodding at all. Harrumph.

Doubt that my human coworkers will do anything remotely along those lines. Of course, one never knows, does one?

What's in my wallet?

Tried to get three charges off my credit card again today (this is my third attempt), and today's response, from the brain trust at CapitalOne, was to cancel my credit card.

Well, they're sending me a new one, but still.

The problem is that I made a reservation with the Surfside Inn in Provincetown via Travelocity in mid-October. Then, two days later (after reading about a guest's terrible experience at said hotel) I cancelled the reservation. There was some rumbling about a cancellation fee, and something that looked like a cancellation charge appeared on my credit card statement shortly thereafter. Fair enough.

But then, the next month's statement came, and the hotel submitted charges in the same amount as the cancellation fee again. Three times, in fact.

Altogether, the "cancellation fee" is now somewhere near TWICE the value of the room I had originally reserved.

Not good. Not good at all.

So, I've been trying to get this corrected via both CapitalOne and Travelocity, and so far: No luck.

What's in my wallet? A useless piece of plastic.

The good news is that I only use the plastic for emergencies, and happily, it's not the time of year we usually have those. (Shwea's paw tends to open up in the warmer months.)

On other fronts, I've been wondering if I should make a New Year's resolution, but as I don't remember what, if anything, was resolved last year, methinks it's a giant waste of time.

Plus, if I were to resolve to do anything, it would likely involve weight loss and/or exercise, as I have let myself go a bit the past year. (When one is underemployed, food and sloth are as cheap as thrills get.)

And as I'm starting a new job soon, methinks I don't need more stress.

Besides, Aunt Lib from Nebraska just sent a tub of home-baked cookies, wrapped in wax paper, as is required by women of her generation. For heaven's sake--I'm only human, after all.

T'is the season to be stuffy....

I woke up with a headcold yesterday, which was the cherry on top of a holiday season, perhaps a year, that could most kindly be called "Underwhelming."

Oh well, as Miss Ella Fitzgerald used to sing, "Into each life, some rain must fall...." Don't think I agree with the rest of the verse, which goes, "and too much too much too much is falling in mine." A little financial insecurity, a little disappointment, a little reno on the carcass, the end of the very long run that was Butler's life--nothing has happened to me in the past year that qualifies as cruel and unusual--it's just Life with a capital "L."

Actually, methinks I got sick due to a happy turn of events and the stress it brought to my oh-so-sheltered life. Don't want to say too much, but I have more options than I have all year on the employment front, and that does a gal a world of good.

And 2005 was the year I managed to wrangle a regular spot on The Comedy Studio stage, as did comedy buddy Jennifer, so I didn't even have to drive to Cambridge: How lucky can a gal get? This year also saw a few paid gigs and my first comedy column--also for a fee. Even a disappointing attempt at a regular NYC gig was a hoot--got to perform at Stand-Up NY in front of dear friends and former coworkers, and that went wonderfully well.

And I performed in front of my terminally wise-ass brother and he hasn't been taunting me ever since--now that verges on the miraculous!

So, headcold and body aches aside, I'm feelin' groovy--and that is as good a way to wind down the year as any.

What's coming in 2006?

I have it on good authority that 2006 is going to be The Year of the Jennifer Myszkowski.

Just so you know. (And it's about time, if you ask me. She's due, really and truly.)

But then, 2005 has not been a banner year for me, either, yet I'm going to keep my expectations low for 2006. I will be starting a fabulous new job, but also earning a fraction of my former pay. So, I'll be learning wonderful things that will enhance my resume, but also learning to live on less.

A lot less.

I've done it before, of course. My people are not well-to-do, to put it mildly, so I have had lots of experience trying to live on very little. Worse, I was trying to live on very little and earning it doing absolutely awful, degrading, and sometimes just plan disgusting jobs. Of course, I was younger then and had less stuff, but I think I'm up to the challenge.

Am hoping I am so engrossed in the new job I don't notice my lack of discretionary income.

It could happen.....couldn't it?

On other fronts, Sir Elton got hitched, U.K.-style yesterday. Sounds as though he didn't have any Rev. Fred Phelps-like loonies raining on his parade, and for that, I am grateful. Most of the onlookers who were asked about the proceedings said something to the effect of, "It doesn't hurt anybody--why not?"

One elderly woman, a Roman Catholic to boot, said something to the effect of, "If it makes him happy, I'm glad for him."

How very, very civilized.

I'm a sucker for a turn of phrase....

And goddess bless Molly Ivins, she has a million of them. Consider the following excerpt, from her article in the Boulder, Colo. Daily Camera, "So 9/11 Means It's Okay to Spy on Americans?"

"Here is a curious fact about the government of this country spying on its citizens. It always goes wrong immediately. For some reason, it's not as though we start with people anyone would regard as suspicious and then somehow slip gradually into spying on Girl Scouts. We get it wrong from the beginning every time. Never seem to be able to distinguish between a terrorist and a vegetarian."

She continues: "The Department of Defense has just proved this yet again with its latest folly of mistaking a flock of Florida Quakers for a threat to overthrow the government."

A FLOCK OF FLORIDA QUAKERS: Scary!

And since I can't help myself, here's one more:

"The usual suspects, like that silly congressman Dan Burton, solemnly try to scare us with the dread specter of war, as though they alone are the hard-headed pragmatists, while only woolly minded liberals care about the Constitution. 'Don't these people realize we're at war?' Well, yes. Why that justifies treating Unitarians like Islamofascists is beyond me."

Me, too--and a lot of other folks who don't easily fit the "wooly-minded liberal" label as well. Gives me hope: If we can't I-M-P-E-A-C-H, maybe we can at least C-E-N-S-U-R-E.

Maybe?

The unbearable sweetness of Shwea

Just to add to the sugar overload, those are Linda's pajamas she's sleeping on--Linda, her momma who's off to work for the day....

Give me an "I"!

"I-M-P-E-A-C-H," sung to the tune of the classic Tammy Wynette (SP?) tune, "D-I-V-O-R-C-E," is being sung in our house today. Have been reading editorials and columns and news galore that suggest THAT MAN may finally have overstepped his bounds to the point that even a GOP-controlled Congress can't look the other way.

Or can it?

We blew past (sorry, couldn't help myself) the Clinton Era "Trifles with Interns" impeachment standard years ago, but apparently:

• Stealing an election with the help of the Supremes wasn't enough.

• Using trumped-up evidence to start a war that killed thousands and maimed thousands more wasn't enough.

• Stealing another election by rousing the worst impulses of the electorate with gay-baiting and a smear campaign as well as more than a little election fraud wasn't enough.

Maybe, at long last, desecrating the Constitution by authorizing illegal wiretaps is.

Maybe?

Who knows--only time will tell, and if The Satanic Smirker wriggles out of this one, then we know that democracy's great experiment is really in peril.

But all is not bleak. On the home front, I finally put another coat of paint up in the bedroom and had my prelim interview with the for-profit outfit.

Doubt that will be going anywhere soon, however, so instead I'm readying myself for my glamorous, ill-paid position in the non-profit sector that's starting soon. WOO!

Amusing, or easily amused?

Got sidetracked from today's ambitious agenda by a distraction or two, the most time-consuming courtesy of my one-third employer. When discussing the latest fiasco with my supervisor at said place of bidness, I somehow found myself referring to our problem as the "Quagmire du jour."

Does that work for you? I rather like it, but then, between not having had enough sleep (we slept on our guest bed last night, and that meant sharing a much smaller-than-usual space with the bedhog of all bedhogs, our lab mix Shwea) and inhaling paint fumes for a while last night, I'm a little punchy.
Quagmire du jour.

Whattaya think?

Today, I was going to: Finish a job for said one-third employer, put another coat of paint on the bedroom, then put the finishing touches on a grants proposal.

What I did: Began work on the aforementioned job for said one-third employer, spoke with a contractor who apparently missed the memo about calling people before coming over (but then, every contractor missed that memo), finished work on the aforementioned job, fielded two clarifying calls regarding the job, scheduled an "appointment" for tomorrow, and then, finally, addressed the quagmire du jour for my one-third employer.

Oh, there was another job tossed to me in there, too. And the animals were carrying on something fierce for about an hour this afternoon, for I am trying to push their feeding schedule later and later in the day, so they will be on the proper schedule once I begin working outside the home in January.

That's the idea, anyway. So far, they're not acclimating. They're P.O.'d.

As to my agenda: The job? Done. The proposal? Tomorrow. The coat of paint? Tomorrow.

Yes, two of the three things on my "to do" list didn't get done.

Ah, Mondays.

Interesting development....

Wouldn't you know: Just after I accepted the non-profit job, I get a call about interviewing for a job with a for-profit enterprise that would probably pay twice the salary and include the full range of benefits--including three weeks of vacation to start and a very generous retirement plan. (The non-profit job offers health care and one week vacation and no retirement. No foolin'!)

That the non-profit job is compelling on an emotional and intellectual and perhaps even spiritual level is one major consideration. That the job that offers money and security entails writing about subject matter that is on the dull side is another. But then, a living wage that would allow me to show my semi-employer the door--that's a consideration that may trump them all!!

Though my heart belongs to the non-profit job, I have to follow up on this. If only to avoid a major case of the "What ifs." "What ifs" that will definitely occur to me the first time I am struggling to make my car payment and/or finance some other worthy investment on my non-profit salary.

That I haven't even had, much less passed, a screening interview, however, is the reality, and we shall see how that goes before we get all worked up about anything.

On other fronts, we began another painting project this weekend. We're painting our bedroom a dark purple, and it's stunning, if grape-y. Not that there's anything wrong with that.....

Also: Have been noticing a decided correlation between runners and bicyclists doing bone-headed things (like running or riding three abreast in heavy traffic when there's a perfectly good sidewalk available) and the wearing of Spandex or some other very tight pants/shorts.

In fact, I've seen so many Spandex-wearing dimwits, I think that someone should do a study of IQ before and during Spandex-wearing.

Wouldn't be surprised if these folks drop a good 100 IQ points. Maybe more.

Christmas came early this year!

The job has landed, and I am soooooo relieved, I can't tell you.

Okay, I'll try: A weight has been lifted, a BIG, PONDEROUS, PAINFUL weight.

And I almost feel like dancing. But since the music is not now, nor has it ever been, in me, I am thwarting that impulse.

We Midwesterners are EXPERT at thwarting impulses.

So, as I don't want to somehow hex the new job, the details will be kept to a minimum. However, I will say that I am very happy about the people I will be working with and where, and that means more than I can say. The first week of January can't come quickly enough.

Oh happy day!

Hope springs eternal, doncha know....

Isn't this a thing o' beauty? Why didn't I think of it?! You can get your own here.

On other news, I submitted a counter-offer to the non-profit and await word. As the youngest member of my Midwestern (largely) Catholic family and a female to boot, I am not what one would call assertive. (How's that for understatement, those who know me?)

In fact, being assertive in any way, shape, or form tends to make me nervous, so I'm doing my best cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof imitation right now.

That doesn't quite work, does it? What's a cold weather equivalent? Can't think of a one.

Wonder why: When it's seven degrees below zero, are nerves the least of one's worries? Could be.

I'm trying to be calm, and besides--I got the nicest three reference letters in the mail today. How nice? If my mother were alive, I'd send her copies of them all. And I got a little more editing work, so I have decided that come what may, I'll be okay.

(You nurture your delusions, I'll nurture mine.)

Eight months later....

Well, it appears I may have a job. Don't want to hex it, but it was offered today, and while we're working out some of the details, I am looking at starting something rather thrilling and fulfilling in 2006.

I am also looking at a fraction of my former income, but then, haven't I for a while now? Plus, this job is the one I mentioned that is so very, very cool, and the people seem so very, very nice, that I would be a fool not to take it.

Am I not the only MBA candidate who was disgusted by the industrial relations prof who said, "Your paycheck is life's report card"?

You betcha!

Non-profit (in oh-so-many ways) world, here I come!

Work to do!

Wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles--well, you get the idea: I have some work to do this week!

It involves writing two grants for a small nonprofit, and as you might imagine, it is a job-and-a-half. Perhaps too much for a week, but I'm going to give it the old college try. A little challenge is a wonderful thing, for my brain could use something new to think about besides the sorry state of my finances and job prospects, believe me.

One other bit of sunshine--came across a discussion of the difference between religion and spirituality today that warms my heart and almost makes me wish I lived in Cleveland.

Yes, Cleveland.

It's called "Praying for the Demise of Religion," by the Rev. Kenneth W. Chalker, and it first appeared in the Cleveland Plain Dealer. It discusses the recent United Methodist Judicial Council ruling that reinstated a pastor who had refused church membership to an openly gay man. Choice bit:

"In these religious times, church organizations are forsaking their initial spiritual impetus and going over to the dark side. Employing labored, amplified heavy breathing, they have become religious institutions. Like most institutions, religious ones are very much interested in preserving their various ways of doing things. That is, in large part, why there are judicial councils. Their job is not to keep the faith. Their job is to keep the rules and make folks think that 'the rules' and 'the faith' are the same thing. Most often, they are not.

"While the decision of the United Methodist Judicial Council purports to protect a pastor's right to ascertain a person's readiness to affirm the vows of membership in the church, it does nothing of the sort. The decision does what religion so often does: It sanctified acts of hidden prejudice and self-righteousness."

Sorry, one excerpt isn't enough. One more:

"...In the meantime (and sometimes the times are very mean), institutional religion continues to be a mind-numbing reality. In all cultures, it preserves the status quo in ice. That is why religious folks often seem to be the 'frozen chosen' rather than ones warmed by the fire of the Spirit with tolerance, acceptance and love, and set ablaze with a passion for justice.

"Putting people out is a coldly religious thing to do. In the end, the rooms from which people have been excluded become empty. The temperature is turned way down to save expenses. Not much is going on in those rooms, but at least they are neat and orderly. Current judicial councils, like all of them over time, very much like it that way...."

Amen, Rev. Chalker!

Hammock season's shot, I suppose

Happiness is a good show

Last night's benefit for Jessie's House did not have the attendance of last year's (I blame the bitter cold), but it was a good show nonetheless. A lot of variety in the comics, and the audience was receptive to just about everything I brought to the show.

One audience member even came up to me afterwards to thank me for my Pres. Bush material (another comic riffed on the Clintons, for heaven's sake--Hello: 2005 calling!--so I was glad to update the proceedings, even if it means acknowledging the existence of THAT MAN).

Am still stewing over the bloody homophobes who are doing their damndest to take away rights from people like me all over the country, but in the scheme of human events, they won't really do a thing to me unless I let them. And, I must admit, I was a little chastened by a woman I spoke to last night who was angry at the "Christians" who got all worked up about Pres. Bush not saying "Merry Christmas" in his holiday card but who say nothing--nothing at all--about all of the children who are not going to have a home of their own this holiday season.

Yes, the GLBT set is not the only strata of society that is being trod upon by the "Christians" and the regressive right that's running the show these days. Word of new tax cuts for the wealthy were on the radio just this morning--along with news of cuts in Medicare, childcare assistance, and a host of programs that help the poor.

Jesus wept--and odds are, He's still soaking his pillow, thanks to these hypocritical so-n-sos......

The United Straights of America

Sounds as though Massachusetts' crackpot Christians and/or homophobes have more than enough signatures to vote on the civil rights of their gay and lesbian neighbors next year, specifically to green light an anti-gay (marriage) amendment to the state constitution. You know that the Catholic church and other defenders of the sanctity of marriage (if not childhood) will ensure that queers get smacked down yet again, spending money and spreading slanders galore to get the job done.

Wisconsin, not to be outdone on the homophobic front, apparently is not content to just have an anti-gay marriage law on the state books. It is following this same vicious course, in an effort to protect straight cheeseheads everywhere from what, exactly?

Oh yeah, equality with queers.

Because if one is the same as a gay or lesbian, what, exactly, can one feel good about? Being a good parent/husband/wife? Personal/spiritual development? Making a positive difference in the world? Helping others, maybe?

Hell no--that takes work! Why do anything if they can insure that the simple and completely accidental fact of their sexuality alone makes them better than someone else? (If it didn't, then the straight folks behind these petitions might have to get off their collective asses and do something, no? HORRORS!)

That's the kindest spin I can put on this anti-gay activity, and even that's a stretch. For when your country is embroiled in a quagmire of a war, your schools are underfunded, your neighbors are losing their jobs and pensions, your elderly relatives are fearful of losing their health insurance and Social Security, your environment is on the brink of no return, and a dizzying array of real and present dangers confront your family and country each and every day, spending your time trying to f*** other people over--and I'm sorry, but that's how the anti-gay marriage movement looks from here--seems, well, beyond misguided. It's wrong. It's selfish.

And worse, it's not going to stop any time soon.

My goodness, I'm in a state today. The state of Massachusetts in the United Straights of America, unfortunately. The only good news I have is that another one of my references was called yesterday by the person who would be my boss, and offered very positive feedback about the experience. So, there's still hope on that front, at least. So much so I even dreamed of working at the place last night.

But then, I also dreamt that we lived in a huge house with a bathroom the size of our living room that had a tub area so huge Shwea was swimming in it while getting her bath!

The house also had a foundation that was being threatened by soil erosion, though, too.

(Perhaps it's best not to read too much into one's dreams, eh?)

On other fronts, an old Peace Corps buddy of mine is on an adventure to Australia, and this morning I found reading her blog a wonderful diversion from the fussy ol' here-and-now.

That's better!

Had a pretty good set last night at PACE, considering all my material was new. Looks like my mutterings on cats and the president were most well-received, followed by the yak incident.

Hard not to laugh at a word like yak. And it does get the brain working. Right after my set, Jennifer came up with "If I knew you were coming I'd have baked a yak." Fabulous. When I got Linda home (yippee!) and we got around to talking about my set, she had another inspiration: "There's always room for yak."

This could keep me going for months, if not years. (You think I'm kidding?)

Not only is Linda home, but late yesterday afternoon I heard that two of my references had been contacted for that cool (if low-paying) job I have my eye on. The fact that Linda is home has also made the herd much happier (they get nervous when their human population dips 50%). The fact that I am in the running for a real, live job that from all appearances would be a tremendous opportunity doesn't hurt the overall mood around here, either.

So yes, things are looking up--and I'm enjoying it while it lasts.

Tidying up does a gal a world of good

Today I finally tackled a long-overdue expense report that has been a source of agitation for weeks.

Okay, months.

It's idiotic, for it is for money owed me, for heaven's sake, so why the foot-dragging?

That would require professional help of the sort I cannot afford right now, but the good news is that today's efforts will soon result in money going into my checking account, which is a very good thing indeed.

Also "found" some money in my checking account that will certainly come in handy.

And last but not least, had a nibble for some more work of a freelance nature last night, but nothing has come of it. Yet.

Oh well. Such is life in the purgatory known as "between jobs."

The good news today is that tonight is comedy open mic night at PACE, and I am going to try out ALL NEW MATERIAL.

Then I have to dash, for the other good news is tonight I get to pick up my Linda at the train station.

Things are looking UP!

How I'll know it's serious....

Have been having a time lately, and while it has meant I've been uncharacteristically snippy and otherwise out of sorts, it hasn't been enough to make me think I'm in real peril.

That day may come, but it's not here yet.

For as long as David Bowie's "Suffragette City" gets my Midwestern groove on, I know I'll be okay.

In other words: When Bowie can't get this gal dancing, then she's in trouble.

On other fronts, I found five compelling job prospects over the weekend, and they have all been e-mailed or faxed or whatever was appropriate. We are well over the "100 Prospective Employers Served" milestone by now, and good golly something's got to give.

And please, goddess, don't let it be my retirement savings.

As for other news, found out that my favorite music shop in wonderful downtown Northampton, B-Side Records, is closing. Seems that business was down (MP3s and internet shopping, I'm guessing) and rent was WAY up (how unusual), so there was little else to do. It's a marvelous shop with great people and they have a lot of CDs, DVDs, vinyl, stickers, and absolute kitsch still for sale (can you say "SpongeBob Squarepants traffic light"?). If you need/want anything of this sort--or know anyone who does, head on over!

The bison of Tibet

Decided to learn a little more about the yak, based on yesterday's experience. Wikipedia offers a good description, but I think this picture says it all.

Yakety Yak! (Don't talk back)

We were both so proud of ourselves for getting our respective Saturday acts together in time to have lunch at one of our favorite places in town (one of the places that has joined that odd restaurant cabal that closes between lunch and dinner). In our seats well before 3:00, we looked forward to a delicious meal.

We ordered our favorite items, and were a little taken aback when one of our entrees was delivered. It was supposed to be three types of dumplings--beef, chicken, and vegetable. The waiter informed us that as they were short of vegetable dumplings, they had substituted dumplings filled with yak.

Yes, yak.

Now, poor Linda wasn't sure if a yak was a sort of vegetable, but I let her know that it was, instead, an animal. Perhaps a delicious animal, but when one has one's mouth set on vegetable dumplings, yak is not the first substitute that leaps to mind.

It's rather like a waiter saying, "I'm sorry, we were out of the veggie cutlet you ordered, so we cooked up a nice buffalo cutlet instead." Isn't it?

Well, we tried to be good sports, open minded diners, and so forth, and gamely (deliberate word choice) tried the yak dumplings. Didn't taste like chicken, I'll tell you that.

The one upside of the situation was that we were having all sorts of fun with the situation, coming up with idiotic advertisements: "When in doubt, serve yak." "Yak--the new dark meat." "Yak: It's what's for supper."

Well, perhaps you had to be there, but both Linda and I were having quite a bit of fun with it all.

We were having fun, I should say, until the owner of the restaurant brought our bill and told us he regretted that we didn't like the yak dumplings and felt terrible and that the dumplings were on the house.

We protested (while we didn't enjoy eating them, the comic value of the yak dumplings was immeasurable), but he stood firm. Oh dear.

Now we feel a bit bad about it. Oh well, it is always something.

After the yak debacle, we went to see the film, "The Squid and the Whale," only because Laura Linney was in it (we have been avid fans of hers since she was part of the "Tales of the City" franchise).

As movies go, it was a lot like a yak dumpling--without the fun.

Let us now give thanks...

That "advance" that was going to be deducted from my meager income starting in January? It's going to be written off, and not by yours truly--thanks to a certified letter I sent at the instruction of my lawyer.

The people who proposed this idiocy apologized for any "anxiety" this proposed action may have caused me, but say I was a bit "rushed" in calling in an attorney.

I'd say she was right on time.

Let us now praise the honorable profession that is the law--in the right hands.

Not for lack of trying....

Have been pounding the pavement, exploring every avenue, knocking on doors--you name it--to get myself some sort of income. Yesterday, I had a really good interview with an organization that has a terrific job, but that pays the sorts of money that would make my cat bark.

If my other position doesn't go anywhere, that would be fine. However, recent events suggest that my other position may be going the way of the eight-track.

Even so, the opportunity is so great, I would take the job in a heartbeat. Yes, it's that cool of a job.

Knowing that a good interview doesn't guarantee anything, however, I applied this morning to another temp agency, and then, as I was already in my corporate drag, I stopped by yet another place for temp work. Get this: They require three letters of reference, so this is application is going to take a while longer to get going.

Yes, three letters of reference SO I CAN FILE for them. Don't get me started.

The upside is I was in the neighborhood, so I quickly swung by the old schools department, and snagged my three references on the spot. Plus, I got to say hi to some of my favorite peeps, and that's always a good thing.

Now I must get my "Thank you" letters in order, then get my car to the shop for its oil change and what-all (I'm overdue, I'm embarrassed to report).

Gotta say, though, is I made the mistake of reading over some comments on Sheryl Swoope's coming out, and there was the usual HOMOPHOBIC puddin'head comparison of people like me (gays and lesbians) to murderers, thieves, and rapists. Oh--and using the Bible as backup to their slander.

Nothin' like using the Bible to do your dirty work for you! Wouldn't Jesus be proud?

I understand that fear is at the root of this and most other forms of bigotry, but I am getting so tired of people who seem to get a tremendous sense of self-worth from the accident of their sexuality. It's rather like being proud of being Caucasian or tall.

Pathetic, no? Well, I think so, and as this is my blog, that's all that matters.

Cleaning day blues....

Yup, I've got the cleaning day blues. Had every intention of getting up with the fishes to clean our house, but then last night I got sick (please goddess let it not be psychosomatic), and it took several antacids last night and several ibuprofen this morning to get myself feeling humanoid.

What a wuss! When I was a drinking gal, headaches and nausea were part and parcel of my everyday life. Now, when I have a headache and nausea, I think I'm going to die.

So does Linda. She kept saying, "You know, a lot of bad things start out with 'flu-like symptoms.'"

Thanks, Sweetie!

No, I understand her concern--a coworker's husband dropped dead over the holiday weekend. To make matters worse, he was in his early 50s.

That's young when you get to our neck of the aging woods, let me tell you (especially to Linda, who is 55).

Otherwise, I got news of my getting a spot in a GLBT comedy show on--get this--Long Island. It's a schlep, to put it mildly, but it is Linda's old stamping grounds (and she has suggested she may come along), and it's a chance to perform with a bunch of queer comics, hopefully for other queers. Oh, and it's paid. That's a wonderful combination, really and truly.

And tomorrow I have a job interview--yes, a real, live job interview. With a human being. In person!

What a rare and wonderful thing.

The shame of a pie-snatcher

Today has been a mixed bit o' business.

First, I heard that the comedy benefit scheduled for this Thursday is cancelled. That news was a little bit of a bummer, because it feels like eons since my last set and in this week's prevailing gloom and drizzle, I could use the adrenalin. The upside, however, is that I also have a job interview that day, and my nervous system might not be able to take the stress of an interview plus a standup performance.

Oh my, yes, I'm a delicate flower.

Secondly, I brought our lab mix Shwea in for her weigh-in at the puppy equivalent of Weight Watchers (a.k.a. our vet). She lost another seven pounds or thereabouts, which is wonderful news. Alas, she should lose even more, so I picked up another giant bag of her pricey prescription kibble. (Speaking of vets, we got a condolence card regarding Butler from our old vet out in Southampton, even though they haven't seen him in years. Many years! Nice touch, that.)

Anyway, the last bit of news so far today is that when Shwea and I came home from our trip to the vet, I found an empty pie tray in the living room. Linda bought a half pumpkin pie for us this Sunday, and while we each managed to have a small slice from it, about a quarter of a pie was left when Shwea and I headed to Williamsburg this afternoon.

Linus, the wily beast, managed to get hold of the pie, which had been resting in a secure (or so we thought) location on the counter.

Come to think of it, this was the same "secure" location that used to hold a tray of mini-pecan pies, which Linus and Shwea polished off on Saturday.

Hmmmm. Seems we need to rethink where we store our baked goods, eh?

Anyway, the moment I noticed the empty pie tray, I put on my best disgusted and/or disappointed voice and said "Bad dog!"

The riot is, both Linus and Shwea skulked away--and Shwea (for once) was innocent as a lamb.

Linus, on the other hand, had a look that said he would be red with shame--if only his face wasn't covered with that marvelous black fur.

He may be a pie-snatcher, but he's a handsome devil.

Almost forgot....

Being reared in a "We only watch PBS and the Packers on TV" sort of home, I am almost ashamed to allow that I enjoy a number of popular TV programs. Some I even love. For example, I am an avid fan of "Gilmore Girls" and "Commander in Chief," and was a great fan of "West Wing" before it began its slide and made even Alison Janney's C.J. Craig an unattractive character.

No small feat, that.

Anyway, this is by long introduction to something wonderful I saw on yet another hot TV property, "Desperate Housewives." I watch mostly for Felicity Huffman, but every once and a while another actor grabs my attention. Last night it was the actress who plays Bree (Marcia Cross), who had the delicious duty of loading and shooting a shotgun while wearing a beautiful gown. Her ex was causing such a ruckus her dinner party was threatened, so she took matters into her own hands.

Made my inner drag queen squeal with delight. (Yes, I have one of those, and embrace her warped sense of humor with all my might.)

If the episode ever airs again, you MUST watch it.

Out with the old....

Cleaned a lot of materials for a publication I no longer edit out of my office yesterday, and now actually have wide open spaces on my library table--a miracle!

In what is perhaps a sign of how desperate things have become, I spent the weekend reading a book on Fung Shui. From what I can pick up, my fortunes have not been helped by all of the clutter around here, so it was time to rid my office of the old to make room for the new. I haven't gotten to the part where I determine which of the four elements are needed in each part of my office to aid and abet my prospects, but this is a start.

And a good one--I was inspired to send off a number of resumes and inquiries yesterday as well, which I've been too bummed to do for a while now.

Today, I get working on the grantwriting project, and talking to a attorney.

Oh? Am thinking my relationship with my formerly full-time employer is going to be coming to an end, and it's not necessarily a bad thing. The fragment of work that I have with them may be holding me back in ways I hadn't imagined--what seemed to be offering a toehold on financial stability may have been really a drag on my self worth and potential.

At least that's today's theory (hey, you want a good rationalization? Find a Catholic!).

It occurred to me....

Was thinking about my job situation, and I realized that I have the sort of experience that today's employers hate. No, not my nearly 20 years of writing and editing experience, though glory knows that and $3.50 will get you a nice latte, but experience of another sort: My nearly 20 years of experience getting benefits.

Today's employers want people who don't think that benefits are part of the deal--better yet, they seek people who are genuinely surprised when they get paid for what they do on the employer's behalf.

That's today's ideal candidate--and that sure as heck isn't me!

My mood is still on the gloomy side, don't you know, but we did see "Capote" yesterday afternoon, and that was wonderful. A study of a man who could be incredibly charming and chillingly soulless--sometimes in the span of a few moments. A MUST!

We're on a road to nowhere....

Heard from the comedy group/troupe, and from what I can discern, it's not going to amount to much of anything in the way of work any time soon.

So much for that avenue--it's not closed, but it appears to be under construction. It's a great idea, but not one whose time has come where I'm concerned. Disappointing, but good to know. Time to hang my hopes somewhere else. If time and finances were on my side, I could hang in with this concept a while longer, but sadly, I am in a situation that demands action, and soon. Am guessing that by the time there's space for me in this venture, I'll probably be unable to take it. Oh well....

Onward and upward and so forth and so on. Thanks to the latest news from the apparently sinking ship that is my sole source of regular income, it appears things will be getting even more dire around here, so I have to redouble my job hunting efforts. What that will look like, I don't know.

It was pretty vigorous already, but maybe it's time to rethink my approach. Like instead of looking for "the" job, let's just go for "any" job. That's what I'm talking about. Woo!

A plump little chickadee just hopped on a branch outside my office window--a good sign, I hope. (If it isn't, don't tell me, okay?)

All is not doom, gloom and financial insecurity, however. We had a delightful dinner at the Blue Heron yesterday. Everything was delicious, and the portions were just right--okay, a little too much, but t'is the season, no?

Speaking of the season, woke to a LOT of snow yesterday--so much, I heard myself say, "Holy cow!"

That is an expression from the Wisconsin archives, as you can imagine, so that should indicate how much snow there was. Not that I'm complaining: We were thoroughly into the drab post-leaf-peep part of fall, so this blanket of snow is a welcome addition to the scene (even if I did have to figure out how to start the snow throw all over again). And our friends at the DPW (Dept. of Public Shirks around here) did their usual "Let's wait until everyone has cleared their driveways before we pass through with the snowplows" bit, bless their hearts.

Winter has arrived in New England.

Uh, let me rephrase that...

Just got an e-mail from the only source of regular income I have. They're calling in something they've decided was an advance to the tune of enough money to reduce my income to nothing for about two months. This money came in so long ago, I don't even remember exactly what it was, damnitall. I remember something about a bonus--or it being as close to a bonus as I'll ever see. But it was an advance? WTF?!

And they send this announcement to me just before Thanksgiving--classy, that.

But I'm still grateful, not to worry. Just grateful and P.O.'d at the moment.

Is this a week for the record books, or WHAT?!!

Getting my gratitude on....

Well, as I'm still semi/under-employed, just had a cat put down, have still heard no word regarding what seemed like a tremendously promising comic opportunity, and am otherwise not having the best possible time of my no-longer-young life, one might think that putting together my Thanksgiving gratitude list poses quite a challenge this year.

Well, one would be wrong. Can't really explain it, but it's not much of a challenge at all.

For one thing, I have long put together gratitude lists when I had much less to be grateful for--like when I was first getting sober, and my main thoughts were along the lines of, "I'm a DRUNK and a LESBIAN?! What sort of SICK COMIC JOKE is this?!!!"

Then, I had to settle for gratitude lists along the lines of: "I'm alive, I'm sober, I'm (sort of) healthy. And I'm no longer a fag hag, I guess."

Woo!

But today, I have a lot more to be thankful for, full-time work or no full-time work. I'll spare you the details, but my list includes my Higher Power/spirituality, my family of choice, (most of) my family of origin, my friends, my health, The Comedy, and last, but not least, my prospects.

Not bad, not bad at all--especially as that is but a partial list.

And while we're on the subject, I have appreciated the many condolences that have been sent our way from friends of Butler and folks who never even met him. We even got a card today from the vet who put the old guy down--how sweet is that?!

Very, in case you're wondering.

Well, I must attempt to finish up some work so I can forget all about it for the next four days--all I have ahead of me is turkey and napping and the Macy's Parade and a whole lotta unstructured time. Woo x 2!

R.I.P. Butler

Butler Small, June 1985 to November 2005

Contrary to the end, Butler did not die in his sleep, so we had to take him to vet this morning to be put down. Once there, he resisted leaving the cat carrier (as the vet observed, "He wasn't born yesterday"), and when the vet tried to get him on his side, Butler hissed at him but good. (No going out with a whimper for this guy.)

The vet was wonderfully gentle and quick, and Butler was gone in a moment; peacefully, too.

We buried him in the back yard near a row of birdfeeders, and can see his final resting place from a number of windows in the house.

We were both very sad to see him go, but ultimately, I think we're both relieved--I know I am. It was hard to see him dragging his wounded carcass around, to see his body shrink down to nothing, to not know how much pain he was in, and to watch the cancer grow on his face.

Last time we had him weighed, he was 6.5 pounds. At his most robust, he was 18 pounds of kitty (see photo). Our furry Orson Welles.

We're going to miss you, but we'll be seeing you later, Butler boy.

Rowe, Rowe, Rowe your boat...

Spent the weekend commuting to a retreat in the Berkshire hills. The subject was "spirit and psyche," the instructor the fabulous former therapist of my dearly beloved, the attendees were, for the most part, dear, sweet people on a quest.

For the most part.

Must admit I was distracted by a person who seemed to think he/she had all the answers, and as said person was barely half my age and seemed to know no more about life than the average person barely half my age, I found this person's all-knowingness irritating in the extreme.

Having all the answers is common in this age range, this I know; it is also common in people around their second year of recovery. The knowing-all phase of the youth/novice is eventually replaced by a growing sense of "I-don't-know-diddly" that comes with mistakes, disappointments, pain, and all the rest of the humbling business that accrues to the aging human being.

But knowing this fact of life and not being irritated by it, this I struggle to do. Often unsuccessfully, I'm sorry to report.

Methinks it has to do with growing up with a vicious know-it-all, a person who lorded her superiority over others (me in particular) with the tact of a bull in a china shop. The person in the retreat did not do this in the least, and obviously came from a place of great, if misdirected, caring--but the person's "Shell Answer Man" approach to the workshop was galling, still.

That small irritation aside, the workshop was very illuminating. Have a real sense of why I've been out of sorts, and while the circumstances of my life have contributed to my general sense of discombobulation, the real reason is far deeper, and far older, than these temporary setbacks. But since this is not a blog put together for the purpose of examining my warp and woof, I'll spare you any further details.

Suffice to say it has to do with my Super Ego (that rat bastard).

But enough about that. The retreat was populated with a number of wonderful people, including one of my gal's exes--small world! She's a dear soul, and it was good to see her. We had most of our meals together, and at one point, Linda was serving food and asked, "Sweetie, would you like some salad?" Her ex admitted she almost responded to that, and we all had a hoot over the situation. It's been eons since they were an item, but old habits die hard, eh?

Also heard something quite helpful from a fellow retreatant, someone who had also had a period of unemployment that seemed to stretch out, without pity, for a long, demoralizing time. She had a 91-year-old friend who told her not to worry, it was not wasted time, she was actually being prepared for what's next.

What's next for me, I'd like to know, but in the meantime, I'm preparing. That helps, somehow (yes, these are desperate times).

Lastly, this weekend also helped Linda and me come to a conclusion. Butler is failing so quickly, suffering so obviously, we have to take action to put him out of his misery. He's long been a contrary creature, so the fact that he's hanging on despite all of the horrors that are happening to his body surprises no one who knows him.

So, unless he leaves of his own accord, we will be taking Butler to the vet tomorrow morning to be euthanized (SP?). It's going to be hard, but it would be harder still to watch him suffer more. And wrong, I think (even though, truth be told, we both hope he decides to go on his own tonight).

One way or another, Butler boy is going home.

Muy better

Thank goddess things went well--at least better--at last night's show. People laughed. People understood. Ah, The Comedy makes sense again!

And I got to see my friend Jennifer slay the people of West Hartford. People were laughing with such abandon, it made my heart glad. Even saw the waitress wipe tears from her eyes from the laughter--how wonderful is that?

You did your comic duty, Ms. Myszkowski.

Me, I did okay--I had a brownout in the middle of what I thought was going to be a 20-minute set, and had to refer to my notes, which somehow shortened the whole thing to 15 minutes. Whazzit?

I think I'm under duress this week, and am not entirely sure why. For one thing, Jennifer noticed I had cursed--twice--in her presence this week, which is rather a lot for me. The list of usual suspects: Is it the job/financial worry (spiked by a client forgetting to submit two--not just one, but two--of my invoices), is it the long-past-missed deadline (for said client--call me passive, call me aggressive, I just don't care), is it Butler's poor increasingly-misshapen face (the cancer is really starting to show in the poor codger), is it the return of my formerly monthly exercise in futility?

Anything is possible in this best of all possible worlds.

And what of the comic--a seasoned professional with no small sense of his place in the world--who turned out to be a Republican? Not that there's anything wrong with that--no, wait a minute, there is a LOT wrong with that--but how does this happen?

Oh yeah, that's right: He was a Democrat until Clinton started getting blowjobs. He said this with a straight face (what else?).

Not because he agrees with Bush--in fact, he says he doesn't agree with most of what he does.

ARRRRRRRGH! When did sexual conduct become the PRIMARY indicator of fitness for office? And how is consensual sex with an adult more of a breach of the public trust than sending men and women to their death/dismemberment for COOKED-UP reasons?

I don't friggin' get it! (Oh, there I go again.) Am beginning to think there's some deeply rooted jealousy at work here--was it Clinton was only doing what a lot of married men wish they could do, and they resented the hell out of him because of it? And, as is often the case, this resentment turned into sanctimony--think the sanctimony of the unpopular girl or boy "tsk! tsk-ing" the behavior of their more popular peers after the school prom sanctimony.

That would sure explain Dennis Miller. If anyone seethes sexual frustration with a dash of bitterness, it's Dennis Miller. What a wretch!

That's today's theory--nothing else works right now.

Must finish up my overdue work and get cleaning--also waaaaaay overdue. The house is coated with fur, and as I am the cleaning lady, it is my job to remove it.

Watch that green-eyed monster, now.

Ho Hum

Not exactly a stellar night at The Studio. Seven audience members; 12 comics. I am never quite at ease with a lopsided comic:audience ratio, and when said audience is from Romania, England, India, and Canada (not that Canada is really that different), the comfort level is harder still to maintain.

Worrying about the slice-of-UN-life nature of the audience, I second-guessed myself as to the material I was planning to present, and it caused a little chaos in my brain--unfortunately, the chaos wasn't kind enough to remain in my brain, and spilled over into my set.

Note to self: If you've developed a set for the night, just stick to it. Fluster doesn't help The Comedy, not in the least.

So what if they don't understand the concept that is The Midwest?

(My goddess, I'm not sure I understand it, either.)

Jennifer went first, bless her heart, and she did her usual amazing job of keeping up her end of the hilarity bargain in the midst of deafening silence. Admirable, to say the least. There was really only one comic who was able to rouse the sparse assembly; he fired off jokes machine-gun style and just kept them laughing. Exhausting.

Oh well, it was one of those nights. There were at least a few bright spots in the evening, as always. Had a few minutes to catch up with comic Andrea Henry, who had a tale of audience feedback that makes me grateful I don't get out more. (Andrea, that woman was not just a drunk narcissist, she was also wrong on every count. Okay, except for the fact that you're not exactly tall--but everything else was puddin'head talk.)

Also met some other Boston area comics, including a comic who went to my formerly dear alma mater, The University of Wisconsin-Madison (formerly dear since I found out they don't offer domestic partner benefits, and are the ONLY Big Ten school to be so benighted). He mentioned a card game that was a staple of UW campus life, and I found myself transported in a snap back to my late teens.

That was freaky.

And last but not least, I was supremely grateful to be disappointed in the latest innovation in Ho-Ho technology. Back in my teens/20s, I was a major fan of Ho-Ho's and other Hostess snack cakes, and the combination of the so-so show and the UW flashback propelled me to the dark side of the snack food aisle at the rest stop on the way home. I was drawn to the new caramel Ho-Ho's, and they didn't taste anything like I remembered. It wasn't a chocolate covering, it was more like mildly sweet plastic. And the filling--it was so sweet, it made my crown hurt.

Of course, I ate every last one--I am a grandchild of the Depression and all that--but I won't be doing that again any time soon.

Well, I have to finish what's left of my job for today, and then prepare for another show tonight--here's hoping the comic:audience ratio is a little better. We shall see....

Zen Guidance

Today's entry on the Zen Calendar:

"It's not what you think it is. And neither is it otherwise."

Well, that clears things right up for me--how's about you?

Sing it, Jimmy!

If you want to know why Jimmy Carter is the best post-president who ever lived, you need read no further than an editorial he wrote for today's Los Angeles Times, "This Isn't the Real America."

Goddess bless, Mr. President.

Back in the saddle again!

Was I just in D.C.--for a week?! It was a whirlwind. Felt like forever, felt like a minute, if you know what I mean.

Fantastic class, really and truly. Recommend the "Grantsmanship Training Program" from The Grantsmanship Center without reservation. It was an intense five days, spent with a phenomenal instructor and a room full of women (yes, just women--not always the case, mind you) of extraordinary intelligence, humanity, and verve. Heard of "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen"? Well, I felt as thought I got to sit in with "The League of Extraordinary Women."

Not only that, the more I learned about writing proposals and the grantmaking process, the better I liked it. And though I had work to do today, I've begun the pursuit of a few opportunities to apply what I've learned on the cheap, if not for free. We shall see....

As for D.C., it was beautiful, as always. Never tire of looking at the embassies on Massachusetts, nor the GLBT set paging through books and saucy magazines at Lambda Rising in Dupont Circle. And my dearly beloved (and very generous) brother and sister-in-law who put me up for the week saw me perform and the planet kept on a' spinnin'--a MAJOR relief.

Of course, where The Comedy was concerned, they focused on the Midwestern parts of my act (not the drunk straight girl bits), but who can blame them?

Certainly not me!

And it was good to practice my act in a new town and with new people, even if one of the shows was a minor debacle. Even it wasn't all bad--met a grand comic from New Orleans who joined me in a post-set commiseration session that did us both good. (Almost as good as ice cream.)

Still no word on the Laughing Liberally front, but it's still not time to worry. That will be in about a week or so--I'll let you know.

Love D.C. and the D.C. branch as I do, I still am very grateful to be home--even if I did spend a lot of the weekend digging/raking/mulching.

But not all--we went to a film festival and an open studios exhibition at a huge art space in town. Gotta love a small college town that gives you a heaping helping of culture along with the quaints.

Gotta.

Remind me....

...never to become a full-time proofreader. I read four chapters of a mss today, and my eyes are killing me. "How dry I am" is their current theme song, poor, poor peepers. Had all these ambitious plans for today, but this job sucked up the entire day. (Well, this job and five loads of laundry, actually--that's Ms. Multitasker to you!)

Am about to send an 86-page fax of corrections to the publisher, but needed a little break before I tucked into that task--since my elderly fax machine only allows me to feed in one page at a time, I will be busy for, say, the next hour-and-a-half.

Oy.

Maybe it's time for a little supper, then on to the fax.

Pardon the compelling commentary--that's enough about W-O-R-K, the four-letter-word to end all four-latter words (only bested by the dreaded O-U-T-O-F-W-O-R-K).

Had a good set at PACE last night, not stellar or anything, but my mutterings about Sheryl Swoopes seemed to go over well. Thought of another bumpersticker on the "A homophobe is a homo waiting to happen" theme: "Scratch a homophobe, find a homo."

Kinda catchy, eh? Linda is of the opinion that people laugh just because I say the word "homo," but I like to think there's more to it.

I'd like to think there's more to everything I do, however, so perhaps I should just enjoy the laughs and move on....

Have a little over a day before I leave for my grant writing seminar, so I feel a little pre-trip panic coming on--will try to check in before I flee, but if I don't, I'll be back soon.

I know, I know--you're handlin' it.

PACE is the place!

Last night I had my last writing group, probably for the foreseeable (or until I get a well-paying job, whichever comes first). I'm going to miss it, even if I relish the prospect of getting my Wednesday nights back. The group is populated with immensely talented writers, and listening to each person share their precious first attempts at poems, stories, or undeclared jottings was a privilege. Left there many a night thinking I had just witnessed genius, often sacred genius at that.

What's not to miss?

On a less exalted front, Linda loaded up the crockpot this morning, and I have been smelling corned beef and cabbage ALL DAY. I love corned beef and cabbage--it's something my mother made that was quite good. (A list of my mother's "quite good" meals would be brief, I'm sorry to report--she was the typical Midwestern "boil-it-till-it's-showing-no-signs-of-life" kind of cook, bless her soul.)

Received even more proofing work to do today, so it's looking more and more as though I will be able to easily afford my upcoming grant writing class/trip. File that under: Relief.

And tonight I get to go to the open mic at PACE.

What's not to love?

That went well--can you believe it?

Am so glad to report that my return attempt for the LL folks was not bad, not bad at all. The night went far better than I had hoped (though I tend to keep my expectations on the below-the-basement side, just to be safe), and not just because I had a delightful entree at the Popover Cafe. (Chicken pot pie in a popover? What a fantastic idea!)

The audience was receptive to my particular warp, happily, and I received many kudos and glad-hands and what-all afterwards from comics and friends alike. File under: "Whew!"

What will come of it, I don't know. But as soon as someone explains it to me, I'll explain it to you. (Unless it involves exchanging state secrets; then "mum's" the word.)

It was grand to see my friends, too. Val and Joan were wonderful hosts, and thanks to them, I got a clue as to why people live on the Upper East Side. I used to sneer at that part of town as being too clean, too controlled, too unlike my New York, but you know, a person can actually sleep through the night there. I was bracing myself for the usual onslaught of car alarms, sirens, and passive-aggressive garbage truck drivers, but it was quiet.

Yes, indeed, I'm getting old. Like this is news.

Anyway, I also saw my former boss and coworker, and it was sweet. It was good to give each of them a proper hug, too, the hug I wanted to give them when I found out they were being fired by my now semi-employer.

Long overdue, that hug.

Now, I'm supposed to be getting ready to go to my writing group. Am ambivalent about it, for I'd much rather stay home and crash the crash of the over-traveled, but it's likely my last group, so go I must.

Laughing Liberally? Or Sobbing Soberly?

We shall see. My big callback is coming up, and I will soon find out if my comedy is what the LL people are looking for--here's hoping, but not to worry, I'm not banking on this.

No matter what, I will be heading to NYC for an overnighter and seeing some old and dear friends I haven't seen for a while--especially some of my former coworkers. Haven't seen them since we were all fully employed! (Yeah, that was a while ago!)

So this will be sweet, even if I have to endure an audition in the midst of it all.

And we'll be eating at the Popover Cafe (or whatever it's called) on the Upper West Side. I love the Popover Cafe, or at least I did the last time I ate there (which was when I lived on the UWS, nearly 20 years ago).

Well, things likely have changed since then, but how can something called a "popover" not be good, I ask you?

And since they're bread, they'll be easy on my pre-performance stomach, so all is well there, too. (The friends we're dining with also suggested Vietnamese food, which ordinarily I would be interested in; however, Asian food has been known to give my stomach the willies, and we don't take any such chances on a night devoted to The Comedy, no Ma'am.)

Well, I must go prepare for the Hallowe'en hordes. I'm dressed like the Skipper--well, really a combination of the Skipper and Gilligan. (My outfit is pure Gilligan, but my hat is the Skipper's. Okay, my hat and my body type are more Skipper-esque, truth be told. The kids won't care--they'll be too focused on the candy.)

Here we go!

It's so DARK out there....BOO!

Love the extra hour, hate the early sundown. Oh well, there are always trade-offs, no?

Am trying to get to work on a proof, and I have to tell you--working on the weekend goes against everything I hold dear. But, I do have a huge VISA bill to tend, as well as a week in D.C. to finance, so I need to get over myself, and soon.

On other fronts, am still aglow over Swoopes being family--I remembered this weekend that she was one of the supposedly het players who was trotted out by the WNBA at its inception to try to break the lezzie-athlete link that so many teams fear. It was embarrassing--any player with a kid and and/or a boyfriend was sent to every media event they could think up, and photos were tagged with lines like, "Here's the WNBA hoops star and her husband Bill, their three children, and exhausted grandma." Or: "Here's the WNBA rookie, her fiance, and their three children." It was SO obvious, SO over-the-top. So American.

That one of the subjects of the WNBA's "straighten up" campaign was a lesbian waiting to meet the right girl warms my heart, really and truly. And from what I've been reading, back in her youth, Ms. Swoopes changed schools once, to get away from all the lezzies on the team.

You know, it seriously doesn't get better than that--more proof that a homophobe is often a homo waiting to happen.

I rather like that: A homophobe is a homo waiting to happen. Think that has bumpersticker possibilities? I do, too!

This morning, Linda and I were pondering the current sorry state of affairs that is the Bush Administration, and while a small, petty part of me is thrilled that he and his are in deep doo-doo (as Poppy used to put it), his downfall comes at such great cost, it is no time to gloat.

However, it may be time to capitalize, and Linda wondered if it's time to put together a cautionary tale along the lines of "A Christmas Carol," whereby ol' Dubya could see what he's wrought--the servicemen and women killed because of the war he began under false pretenses, the poor drowned because he diverted funds for levy repair to this war, the species eradicated because of his environmental policies, the children who lack food or health care or decent schools because of his redistributing money from programs to tax cuts for the wealthy--I mean, the list is too long for here.

However, I think justice might be better served by a version of "It's a Wonderful Life," whereby we could see how the world would be different if George hadn't been president--the servicemen and women and the poor still alive, the species still with us, the children getting the help they need, the wealthy scraping by with just one yacht/trophy house/wife. Now THAT I'd want to see.

Speaking of which, I strongly suggest you see "Good Night, and Good Luck" when you get a chance. It isn't perfect, but it's pretty wonderful. Must say, we saw the trailer for "Capote," and think THAT looks like perfection. We'll see....

Who am I kidding? No one.

I am not now, nor have I been for a loooooooong time, the sort of person who can just go-go-go-go without stopping. Especially sober. Of late, I feel fortunate on days when I sort of go-go, you know?

Have been temping this week (back at the beck and call of the superintendent, yes indeed) and in addition, I've been proofing and editing and going to a writing group and interviewing and--yes, I'm exhausted just LOOKING at this list, much less contemplating that I actually DID EVERYTHING ON IT.

(Pardon the caps; I've been reading Dooce too long.)

Today was my last day at the schools department, and that's a good thing. Next week Tuesday, I have my callback, necessitating a trip to NYC, and I also have a deadline for that 30% of my job that is still hanging on (thank you). This weekend, I had planned on sleeping early and often, but it appears that my proofing skills are needed, and as I am getting ready to head off to NYC for a day or two, not to mention a week-long class the week after that, I am in no position to say "No, thank you" to more work.

That said, Linda and I are going to the movies, no matter what. We really want to see "Good NIght, and Good Luck," but it's not playing anywhere in our Happy Valley (neither is "Capote"--what's going on here?!), so we're driving down to Hartford to see it.

So there.

Not that I'm in a big hurry to see archive footage of who is perhaps Wisconsin's most embarrassing Native Son (Sen. Joseph McCarthy beats Liberace ANY DAY OF THE WEEK on that score, if you ask me), but it sounds like a film we must see, so drive we must.

Okay, now I must stop typing, for my head feels as though it's stuffed with cotton (which may have more to do with the toxic cologne somebody was wearing at work today--I don't know what it is, or who was wearing it, but even after washing my hands repeatedly, this "fragrance" is clinging to me like a cheap nightie). BLEAH.

That said, I am still buzzing over Sheryl Swoopes, and the indictment announced this morning doesn't hurt, either.

HAPPY FRIDAY!!!!

Sheryl Swoopes--FREE AT LAST!

Houston Comets Sheryl "I feel like I've been living a lie" Houston is OUT. She won her third WNBA MVP award last month, and now THIS?! Wonderful news!

It made me hoot. Out loud, of course. At work. (I do not hoot at work, as a rule, in case you're wondering.)

According to my source (sorry it's Fox Sports, but that's where I saw it), "The five-time All-Star and three-time Olympic gold medalist also says she didn't always know she was gay and fears that coming out could jeopardize her status as a role model."

Well, she may lose some of her role model status with the folks back in Lubbock (they're also the folks who are teaching their kids that the average lifespan of gays is 40 years, so she shouldn't be surprised), but she'll gain enough new admirers she won't miss them for a moment.

There is plenty of hope to go around, at least for today. THANKS, MS. SWOOPES!!!!