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!!!!

More uncertainty? Sure, why the hell not?!

Well, I learned recently that the president of my former full-time (and now third-time) publisher is leaving. He had made some mild work-related promises to me after I was downsized (Now your job is two-thirds less filling!) that I really didn't expect him to fulfill, and now it seems pretty damn definite my pessimism was warranted. (Hate when that happens.)

Me and business journalism are on the outs, anyway, right? Yes indeed-y, I have had ample evidence in the past six months that the Universe (or What/Whoever is in charge) is not interested in seeing me seque smoothly into a similar job. Great, big changes are afoot, but what exactly they are is still filed under "To Be Determined."

If I may be so bold, may I ask the Universe to hurry the hell up? Not to be ungrateful or anything, but the new president of my former full-time publisher is a turnaround specialist, and to me, TURNAROUND SPECIALIST = KISS THE REMAINING 33% OF YOUR JOB GOOD-BYE.

Yes, I may be very wrong, but so little has gone right where this facet of my "career" is concerned, I think optimism would be foolish. So, I'm preparing for the worst, and praying something breaks on another front soon, so I don't have to cash in some of my retirement savings or something equally drastic to keep up my end of the bargain here.

That's it for the whining phase of my post. Wait, one more thing: Thanks to a clipping that crossed my desk en route to the Superintendent this afternoon, I came across a homophobe's letter to the editor in my hometown paper, titled, "Let voters have a say on gay marriage." The author reprinted the proposed anti-gay marriage amendment, then wrote "Clear. Concise. Straightforward."

Yes, straightforward. No irony implied, I'm certain.

He then went on to whine about how "We, as voters in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, deserve to have a say in the way marriage is defined for future generations." And in case you weren't sure what was fueling his missive, he quoted the Pope.

DAMN STRAIGHT, say I.

Does this homophobe really think anyone's civil rights should be put to a vote? I don't think equality is an issue that should be left to the whims of the electorate, any more than civil rights for dear, departed Rosa Parks were--cause you know, sure as I'm writing to you today, that had her rights been left to the electorate of the South, she and her fellow African Americans might STILL BE WAITING FOR THEIR SEAT ON THE BUS.

And I, like Ms. Parks, am not interested in waiting for the voters of Massachusetts or any other state to "allow" me my rights, no ma'am.

When asked why she didn't give up her seat, Ms. Parks said that a popular reason offered is that her feet were tired. In 1992, she said the real reason she didn't give up her seat was "I felt that I had a right to be treated as any other passenger. We had endured that kind of treatment for too long."

Well, I'm with her--I have the right to be treated as any other citizen. Anything less won't do.

Thoughts on P-town

The B&B we stayed at was called Seasons. The breakfast was wonderful (quiche, sausages, and fruit), and host John was a dear in person as well. Greeter cat Buddy was a sweet little fuzzbutt. The room was quiet and comfortable, and John left a pot of coffee outside our door first thing in the morning--isn't that a nice touch?

I thought so, too.

We also finally had dinner at the Lobster Pot, but it left us wondering why the place is always packed. It was okay, that's all. And pricey, considering the ambiance (or lack thereof).

Bottom line: We'll be back to Seasons, but not to the Lobster Pot.

Exhausted, but happy

What a weekend! Friday night, P-town, Saturday night, Cambridge, Sunday night, knackered.

But it was all worth it, for I had a tremendous set Friday night. Performing for a packed house of sober GLBTs was a thrill, and I replayed the recording today to hear the hilarity anew--I got my family hooting and hollering and carrying on, and there is no greater reward than that. Sure, I spent money I didn't really have to spend on this trip, but I'd do it all again. Tomorrow.

Saturday night, I enjoyed a productive trip to The Studio. Didn't perform, but that was not my purpose. Holding up my end of the comedy buddy bargain (and thank goddess I did--we drove home in a deluge, dear people, and a deluge is not something anyone would want to drive through alone) and making sure all was well on the human relations front. And, last but not least, picking up a working version of the DVD of my last show.

Missions accomplished.

Slept in this morning until 10:00 a.m.--sloth-n-a-half under normal circumstances. However, my head hit the pillow at 2:00 a.m., so I don't feel the slugmuffin label applies. Have been feeling bone tired all day, but thanks to the joy that is coffee, I have managed to vacuum the house and do a great deal of laundry.

And apply to a five-day grantwriting course in early November. It may take me a while to catch on to good ideas, but when I do, STAND BACK. The course is highly regarded from what I can find out, and best of all, it's in D.C., so I can stay with my brother and sister-in-law--oh, and my nephew, the Airedale Harry. As it is looking like we won't be going anywhere for Thanksgiving (far too much financial uncertainty on the horizon for that), I am very grateful for a chance to spend some time with my favorite brother and his family.

Well, it's now time for ice cream, so close I must. Tomorrow, it's back to the schools department and the super Super. WoooooooWeeeeeeeeeeee!

Budget, Shmudget

Here's the scoop. We were going to stay at a budget-minded hotel while in P-town, but I just checked the Travelocity listing for the place and it contained a customer's very recent tale of woe (including dirty linens, late-night partiers, the gamut of horrible hotel experience, in fact) that made me rethink my emphasis on economy.

Linda's coming along, for one thing; for another, I do not want to be worrying about our lodging AS WELL AS my set. Too much pressure, life's too short, and all of that.

So, I cancelled the budget-minded hotel, and found a fairly reasonable B&B (with a fabulous, full breakfast, BTW) that would let us stay just one night. Innkeepers of America, take note: I am rather powerless over the concept of a "fabulous, full breakfast," and if you offer me that and a private bath, I'm pretty much yours.

And, lest you think I'm a complete pushover, the person who booked the place was very nice. I asked him about the rooms, directions, parking, dining out options--and he was helpful on every count.

That goes a long way with me, it does. For while one would think people in the hospitality business would be helpful as a matter of course, it doesn't always follow. We've stayed at places where the "hosts" were absolutely PUT OUT because we wanted hospitality.

In fact, in one place, the hosts were put out because we wanted common courtesy--we asked them to turn down their BLARING television so we could sleep. It seems running a B&B was part of their retirement plan; actually having guests was not.

Oh well, that was long ago and far away (well, last year and in Wisconsin, but I guess that qualifies), so let's put that behind us, shall we?

On other fronts, I spent the day working as a temp again, in the same schools department as before. Same wonderful gang, same wretched office furniture. Lovely.

And something new: Career advice. One of the dear folks and gentle people in the department strongly suggested to me that I look into grantwriting, and you know what? I may just do that. Lack of grantwriting experience was the reason I didn't make the cut for the last job I was up for, and it does seem that grantwriting jobs are more plentiful around here than whatever it was I was doing before. In fact, I'm looking into grantwriting courses, and may just take one, to see if it's something I may enjoy doing.

I'm realizing that other friends/family may have suggested this very course of action to me, and may be reading this and thinking, "Well, that ditz--didn't I suggest the very same thing to her months ago?" Well, yes, you probably did, and I'm sorry I wasn't open to your suggestion then, really and truly. But I am now, and may I say, I appreciate your planting the seed way back then. It took six months of job-hunting to loosen me up, apparently. For heaven's sake, I'm pursuing a CAREER IN COMEDY, so of course, I'm open to such notions now.

Sorry I wasn't open to them earlier, but that's just me. Stubborn. Slow, perhaps. (If you know anything about my personal history at all, you know that "better late than never" would be my motto, if I had one).

But I don't do mottos, not yet, anyway. I'm just happy to report it's been a very good day, and for that I am grateful.

Same as it ever was....

Recently saw "How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying," the '60s film version, and I hate to say it, but for all the outdated references, its basic premise is sound. Sure, "A Secretary Is Not a Toy" reflects a time when sexual harassment was part and parcel of everyday life for working women, and I hope those days are largely behind us.

But the idea that He who sucks up succeeds--well, it's as true today as it ever was.

It's slowly dawned on me (I have noted here and elsewhere that I am not the sharpest cheddar in the cheesehaus, remember) that the reason so many managers are atrocious at performance management is because it takes too much work. For most, it's much, much easier (not to mention more pleasant) to reward those who make you feel good about yourself than to actually examine what each and every one of your charges is doing.

This I understand.

But the rub is that the suck up school of rewards can backfire BIG TIME. Like FEMA's response to Katrina BIG TIME. I mean, wasn't "Brownie" in his spot because he was liked by someone higher up, after all? Certainly not because of the emergency response experience he gained working for the Arabian Horse Association (or whatever the heck it was).

I won't tell you why this is bothering me today, but I will tell you that I have written about the importance of performance management for over a decade now, and I believe in it. As much as I believe in any management topic, with the possible exception of the importance of good customer service.

But organizations are sending their customer service operations half a world away, where they can't really keep tabs on them, and when it comes right down to it, the best way to get ahead is not to hit your numbers, but to kiss the ass above you on the corporate ladder. With VIGOR.

Sigh. Maybe that's why I enjoy The Comedy so. On a good night, one gets results--immediate, satisfying results.

Not feeling very perky today, sorry. I think my hormones are in an uproar in preparation for my body's monthly exercise in futility. The signs: I needed a crowbar to get out of bed this morning, I'm entertaining dark thoughts, and last but not least, I'm eating everything that is not nailed down.

And if I met whoever wrote, "It's a Joy Being a Girl!" I'd kick him (and what else could it be?) right in his--well, that's enough for one missive, I'd say.

In case you haven't seen this....

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No wonder!

I was laid low a bit yesterday (as if my sunny post wasn't signal enough), and think part of the problem was the corner of my brain that worries about money was on high alert.

No surprise, for not only had I received a "thanks but no thanks" letter from the last job prospect I had, I had also sent out an e-mail to my kind references noting the fact that my one and only "prospect" at the moment is a comedy job.

MY SOLE "OPPORTUNITY" AT THE MOMENT IS A COMEDY JOB?!

No wonder I was feeling a little under the weather yesterday. COMEDY JOB is an oxymoron for the ages--and certainly presents a shaky enough financial foundation to set off all sorts of alarms in this noggin' of mine (particularly the portions installed by my dear departed mother, the Child of the Depression to the Nth Degree).

I found two ways to rise above this (at least so far) today, and they include: 1) Finishing a book that highlighted the folly of finding satisfaction through money ("Losing Moses on the Freeway: The 10 Commandments in America," by Chris Hedges) and 2) Paying my bills.

The book wasn't exactly news, but it was a good reminder that despite the prevailing culture, we reach our highest potential by helping others. Simply put: Self-worship is bad; community is good. No problem with that, none at all. (Still, I was disappointed in the book, and I have yet to figure out why. Will have to ponder for a while and see what, if anything, occurs to me. Yeah, I know--you're all aflutter.)

As for the bills, it was comforting to find I was caught up and I even had a little money leftover. So, for today, all is well.

And that will have to do.

The limits of the "forgetful" defense

Being a graduate of a journalism program who has also toiled on the outskirts of the journalism profession lo these many years, I find the whole Judy Miller/Valerie Plame hubbub of some interest. And having seen my own memory (which was never of the steel trap variety) become less reliable in recent years, I can appreciate that people of a certain age may indeed forget details of relatively recent events. However, the latest "Oops, I plumb forgot" from Miller boggles. As Arianna Huffington so aptly put it:

"When the Plame case broke open in July 2003, these notes were presumably no more than a few weeks old. But who had revealed Plame’s name was not seared on Miller's mind?
This is as believable as Woodward and Bernstein not recalling who Deep Throat was. It also means that Judy went to jail to protect a source she can't recall."

Which leads me to wonder just how dumb do Miller and others think we are.

Sadly, considering the non-reaction to all of this, they've guessed about right.

Sheesh!

Ran across some disturbing graffiti at Dog Heaven yesterday, written in magic marker on a log that serves as a seat next to the Mill River. To wit: "Yuppie scum, increasing homelessness since 1980."

WTF?

Ah, well. If only Northampton had remained a sleepy little factory town, with no pesky culture or commerce or diversity to befoul the Eden that it once was. And if only those factories hadn't closed, leaving the town in even more dire straights.

For a friend of mine who attended Smith in the late '50s/early '60s told me that Northampton was a bit of a dump back then, certainly not a candidate for the best small arts town in America as it is now.

I could understand the antagonism if the "yuppie scum" had closed all the factories, or razed all the buildings and put up hideous modern cubes in their place (that's Smith College's job), or somehow cheated the existing residents out of their homes for rock-bottom prices, but that's not the case. And that these same people who bemoan the "Scum" invading their towns sell their homes willingly to the "Scum" and do their shopping in places that ensure more American jobs go overseas, well, the enemy is alive and well and looking at us in our mirrors, as always.

Let's focus on the here and now, people, not some bygone era that is gone, if indeed it ever existed.

Speaking of the here and now, I've seen a sign against the Community Preservation Act (CPA) and a sign for the CPA. Both signs were handmade, but the pro-CPA sign carried the day, IMHO. It said, simply: "No to sprawl, Yes to CPA." Of course, there's more to it than that, but it certainly isn't "yet another baseless tax," as I've seen it described around town and in the papers.

With all the taxes we pay for insanity (the war in Iraq, for one major example), wouldn't it be nice to have a tax that actually served us as a community?

Yeah, I know. Color me naive....

Blinking, they left their caves...

Did I dream it, or did I see sunshine today? I think I did, but as it got bleak again shortly after my supposed sighting, I'm wondering if I made it all up--some sort of weather-induced hallucination, brought on by days of rain and clouds, clouds and rain, ad infinitum.....

The dogwoods in our front yard have vibrant red berries that have inspired a bird feeding frenzy the likes of which I've never seen. And so much for "birds of a feather"--there have been so many different birds sharing the bounty on the trees and ground, we haven't been able to identify them all. Linda was parked in the front bay window with a Petersen guide most of the morning, and she still doesn't know who they all are.

Oh dear--are we on the brink of becoming birdwatchers? Nothing wrong with that, but I hadn't planned on taking up that hobby until my 60s.

Further signs of middle age:
We went to a free workshop yesterday at ReStore in Springfield on making your house more energy efficient. It was packed. With other middle-aged folks like us. Sigh.

At the end, the presenter announced a promotion whereby each of us could get a free fluorescent bulb, just for filling out a form.

There was almost a stampede.

Linda and I came home and happily installed our new money-saving bulbs in the big bathroom. We turned the lights on and were both pleased at the result.

Yes, it's come to this.

Dreary doesn't begin to describe it.

New England during monsoon season is as dreary as anything one can imagine. True, it helps that there are vibrant leaves about, but thanks to all of the rain, they're mostly underfoot, which is pretty but treacherous (they're slippery little suckers).

That the dogs do not smell their best damp isn't helping the general ambiance around here, either.

And though I am not a cat person, I cannot help but be worried that our Butler's blood work indicates there may be some cancer in his carcass. Nothing's definite until the biopsy results are in next week, but he apparently has an abundance of the sort of white cells that signal big trouble.

We shall have to wait and see, as is almost always the case.

On other fronts, I just finished a little bit of freelance work, so feel terribly productive and all that. It's silly what a little paid work will do for this gal, but then, it's not silly what not having any paid work would do to this gal, so we'll just enjoy work when it comes.

In the hopes that it will feel welcome and keep coming back for more, see?

As for "real" work prospects, there's been no word from the earnest folks I interviewed with last week. And my experience suggests that no news from a prospective employer is generally bad news.

But you know, I'm handlin' it.

That's one of my favorite movie lines of all times, btw. It's from the classic "Desert Hearts," and it's the wonderful reply to a not-terribly liked woman saying, "Long time no see." (Isn't that wonderful? Maybe you had to be there....)

Finally made my lodging reservations for my P-town roundup performance. Perhaps one of these decades I will get my act together and stay around for the whole roundup, but considering my finances and all, it's likely best this is another over-nighter. Besides, it might be weird to perform for people one night, then spill my guts in workshops the next.

Perhaps it's best to keep a little separation between my comedy and program, eh? (That's my rationalization du jour, anyway.)

What else is new? Well, the president is now talking about reducing (or was it eliminating?) the individual tax deductions for mortgage interest and health care expenses, which would eliminate two of my major sources of tax relief for good.

Of course, since the miracle that is Busheconomics has hit my personal fan in the form of a 66% paycut, I guess I won't have high taxes to worry about for the foreseeable.

There's some good news in there somewhere, right?

No matter how you slice it, I just can't make Bush funny. He's a shitheel to end all shitheels, and I can find no relief from the ruination he's causing through The Comedy.

Yet.

What a relief!

The show last night went just fine (not my best, but certainly not my worst); but more important, there was no sign of animus from the impresario I thought I had offended to the detriment of my career and the careers of all who know me.

On the contrary, I received a more gracious reception than I would have ever expected--said impresario even announced the show I cancelled my appearance at his club for!

That was a very classy gesture, don't you think? (Or is it really a sign of my giant insignificance to this man?)

Or both?

You know, I don't really care, I am just grateful. For heaven's sake, I squirmed for days at the thought that I had offended him--I thought I had given up thoughtlessly offending people when I gave up drinking, and it really bothered me to think I could do it stone-cold sober. (Not exactly progress, you know?)

Oh happy day!

It was also a great night for Jennifer Myszkowski and the other member of the Western Mass. Comics Association on the roster, Mike Lemme. Jennifer got heckled and handled it beautifully--heroically, even. For the heckler derailed her train of thought, but she still managed to keep the crowd laughing. In fact, she raised the level of hilarity through her response to the heckler and her own discombobulation.

It was a joy to behold, let me tell you.

And so was young Mr. Lemme--how anyone at the age of 15 can find humor in life and convey it is beyond my comprehension (I was so damn bleak at his age, I can't begin to tell you). He has some great material, and I hope nothing deters him from his comic destiny.

The teen years are fraught, don't you know.

But then, so are one's 40s--but for completely different reasons. (Thank God.)

Now I have to clean up my office a bit, so I have room to do some new work that's come in (thank you God x 2). The bill for Butler represents a week of work as a temp, for heaven's sake, so every little bit helps.

November 1st it is!

So, my callback to the Laughing Liberally folks is on the 1st of November at StandUp New York (I think that's how they spell their name; will verify when I have more time). More details to come, in other words.

Elsewise, I just brought Butler home from the vet's, and he isn't happy. (Then again, when is he?) He didn't have surgery after all, because he was too dehydrated and the vet was worried about what else might be going on, so instead he had some bloodwork done and (Grossout alert: the following is not for the squeamish) a biopsy is being done on a fragment of bone and tissue that came out of his head when the vet pulled on a loose tooth.

Altogether now: Gak!

He now is taking painkillers along with his antibiotics, and we'll find out whether he has an infection or cancer in about a week. Did find out that his kidneys are starting to go, which is not at all unusual in a cat that is the equivalent of 105 years of age.

Well, speaking of the dear cats, it is getting to be feeding time, and I need to get out of here by 4:00 so I can rendez-vous with my comedy buddy and a young comic who is also on the bill at The Comedy Studio tonight. Will let you know how it all goes tomorrow, promise.

File under "What do I know?"

Despite my baseless (so what else is new?) fears of age discrimination and beyond, I managed to get a callback for the Laughing Liberally Showcase. They phoned last night, actually, which is darn civilized of them and bodes well.

(I could have squirmed all week, don't you know--I'm quite capable of it, just ask Linda.)

My next attempt will be in November in NYC at a venue my friends can come to--happy day! Once I find out the date, I will be spreading the word far and wide, not to worry.

Now I need to figure out what my most "liberal" material is, and put it together for tomorrow night's show at The Comedy Studio. Am excited and nervous and grateful I don't have to do anything but clean the house today (concentrating on any sort of "job" would be impossible under these conditions).

Elsewise, I brought Butler to the vet this morning, only to have to bring him home. The vet got the flu, for pity's sake, so I rescheduled for tomorrow with another vet. It was less than fun feeding the dogs while the cats carried on shamelessly, and I'm not happy I get to do that yet again tomorrow.

And I also got to try to get Butler to take his medicine, which entailed spitting and growling and fuss the likes of which I haven't experienced since I last heard something uttered by the "Rev." Fred Phelps.

Now, I must go take a pre-housecleaning nap. (Now who's being shameless?)

Hey--there are precious few "perks" to being under-employed, and taking a nap when needed is one of them.

Butler's immortality hits a snag.

After a very long period when I thought he was going to die at any minute but didn't, I had become reconciled to the fact that I was likely going to have to make provisions for Linda's ancient cat Butler in my will. He is decrepit and cranky and as slow moving a feline as I'd ever seen, but he wasn't getting any better or any worse for so long, I figured he had a paw on eternity.

Well, I may have figured wrong. He woke up this morning with a swollen face and a bloody nose, so I brought him to the vet. (That I am not bleeding is a minor miracle--he doesn't go to the vet quietly, shall we say.)

The result? Butler is going in for surgery tomorrow morning, for he may have 1) An abscess; 2) a bad tooth (or teeth); or 3) cancer.

Poor old guy. Poor Linda. She has known he was pushing his mortal envelope for all it was worth for a while now, but she's also known him his entire life, and the thought of his death is too much to bear.

Which explains why I went to the vet, not her. They left me, a non-cat person, in an examining room with the old codger for an uncomfortably long time--he kept trying to walk off the stainless steel table, but I knew the fall would kill him, so I ran interference. Quite literally.

Again, the fact that my skin is intact is a miracle. He usually bites/scratches first, then asks questions later. Actually, he skips the questions part, too.

Well, we shall see....

SOP: Foulups and missteps

I've been a bad, bad comic. Well, at least where one comic impresario is concerned, this I know. Was scheduled to perform at his club two weeks from now, but found out it was the same night as a fabulous show that I promised to perform in ages ago but didn't get the date until last week, and so cancelled with the comedy club impresario, explaining I had another show I HAD to attend.

Big mistake.

I should have said a family issue came up, apparently (which, as the show was for GLBT folks in recovery, would be stretching the truth but a little), for I have offended said impresario perhaps beyond repair. Simply put, I thought of The Comedy as a business, but sadly, it's a lot more like dating. You don't throw over a date just because you just got a chance with a sure thing.

And friends, there is little more sure in this life than the reception my comedy will get in a room full of sober queers, let me tell you.

And as I've had more than a few shows lately where the largely (if not completely) straight audience has regarded me as though I had an extra noggin' or two, I really could use a recharge with "my" people.

But it may have been at the expense of my budding career in a room to the East.

Oh dear, what to do? I've been worrying myself a little sick about it, not so much for my sake, but because I fear my misstep will cost my comedy buddy and anyone else affiliated with me points with said impresario.

Goddess willing, he'll keep his pique focused on me, where it belongs--but as the old Lotto slogan goes, "Hey, you never know." What to do, what to do? Apologize, this I know. Will see him soon, and see what, if anything, can be done.

On other fronts, I had an interview this week that left me disappointed. The position sounded cool, but then, it turned out to be something else. Not that I'm in any position to turn down the job if it is offered, but I am not too broken up at the prospect that I think I didn't impress the folks in the "cool" job any more than the job impressed me.

And how about the audition yesterday? Who the heck knows?! I did pretty well, I think (at least the nice woman from Minnesota who was checking comics in said so), but the people "casting" the liberal show were on the young side, and may not see me as a fit.

Of course, there could be a myriad of reasons why I wouldn't fit their vision besides my age, for "liberal" means many things to many people. We shall see next week.

As for other prospects, I came home to two rejection letters for jobs I had a hope or two for, so right now I'm not exactly happy about the life and times of yours truly.

I'm also bone tired, which doesn't help matters, either. Happily, it's raining, so we won't be able to work on our deck today (I'm trying to contain my disappointment), and are taking it easy. This I can do. (With passion, even.)

We have reservations for dinner and a play tonight, and I think a little break from my preoccupation with The Comedy and the Job Hunt will be good for me. And, likely, you.

One last thing: New York City was surprisingly hot and disgusting yesterday, and I was horrified to be caught behind so many smokers--cigarettes and cigars--while trying to get to where I wanted to go on foot. (As there is an alert regarding an attack on the subways, I promised Linda I wouldn't take them. Got a whole lotta walking in yesterday, let me tell you!) Almost had to pull my inhaler out near Madison Square Garden--sheesh! But I still love New York, for I love New Yorkers. In fact, since she worked near to where I had my audition, I managed to have lunch with Ellen, a dear friend I don't get to see nearly enough. And if you're a New York-based friend who I didn't see yesterday (yes, Val and/or Joan, I mean you), I will be back--for comedy, I hope--and will give you a call. Promise.

Here's hoping the liberals let me.

That was easy!

The interview I had scheduled for this morning? Cancelled.

I had a feeling, truth be told, so I e-mailed the interviewer last night to ask if we were still on.

Well, we weren't.

Good thing I checked (I don't like driving the Pike when I have to, much less for a nonexistent interview). He likely wouldn't have bothered, as he is also the person who asked for a "professional manor" in his Help Wanted ad on Craigslist.

Yes, manor. Was tempted to ask, "I live in a humble ranch--can I still apply?" But of course, I didn't. The job market is not one to allow sarcasm or anything resembling spine, from all appearances.

Finished, "Bait and Switch" last night, the latest from Barbara Ehrenreich (she of "Nickled and Dimed" fame). It was a major downer, as we used to say, until the end, when she had some choice words about the current requirement for employees to have passion in their work. It rang true, shall we say?

Will try to find it and report on it here, but now I must go eat lunch. At home. Happily, as you may imagine.

The mad round of pleasure continues....

Well, tomorrow is my last day at the school department, and, I'm bemused to note, I'm going to miss (most of) those people. Who'd a thunk it?

File that under "Sweet Surprise."

But no, I don't regret my decision not to go for the job--I have two interviews this week (one Wednesday, one Thursday) and while I have no idea if I'm a match for either, I still have options that do not involve answering the phones and taking notes at long, drawn-out, meetings and dealing with board members who seem to be on a permanent fault-finding mission (they, of course, have none).

And, last but not least, I have an audition on Friday. Yes, an audition. In New York City. For a liberal comedy troupe, of all things.

The day after I interview with a nonprofit dedicated to peace in Amherst.

Life is one crazy patchwork quilt, eh?

I am exhausted already, just contemplating this list. Plus, I spent most of the weekend with a power sander in my hand, trying to get the 1,345 layers of paint off our deck. Not pretty, not easy, not possible. Not in two days, anyway.

And painful as heck. Did I mention that?

(Life without ibuprofen would be impossible.)

Must toddle--have to get my rest, for tomorrow night my friend Holly Givens and I are the visual aids for a intro to standup comedy class. Will do my best to represent The Comedy.

Yes, as a matter of fact...

I did fall off the face of the earth. It's been a WEEK, what can I say?

First, what of the show last Sunday in Cambridge? Bad as they get. Worse, maybe, because it was at The Studio, the hallowed comedy hall of them all (or whatever). I felt each member of the small audience was his or her own black hole--all air, all energy, all humor was being sucked out of the room by these people, and I don't know what the hell they were doing in a comedy club.

The idea behind going to a comedy club is to laugh, no? To have some fun? Apparently not.

I have had warmer receptions from members of an Elks Club, people. Brutal way to spend seven minutes. B-R-U-T-A-L. A colonoscopy is worse, but not by much.

Did fax the near-ream proof when I got home--had to have a productive end to a clearly nonproductive night, if you know what I mean. I was so tired, however, that it took me three tries before I realized my fax machine wasn't hooked up to a phone line.

Burning the candle at both ends? Not a good idea, it seems. (And some days I think burning the candle at one end may be too much for me.)

And as for the job I did the faux interview for? I didn't get it. What I wrote was fine, "workwomanlike" even, but the CEO wanted passion and even suggested it might be time for me to consider a different career, since I clearly don't have the juice.

Happily, I don't take my career advice from relative strangers, but I must admit, if my career as a writer depends on my getting all passionate about marketing or insurance or something else of that nature, I will, indeed, need to change direction.

For that stuff just bores me to tears, people.

But, strangely enough, writing about these and other less-than-compelling topics doesn't bore me--I enjoy the process of researching and writing and coming up with something that is clear and compelling and maybe even a bit entertaining.

Here's hoping somebody, somewhere needs writing like that. And could we make it soon?

But, all is not lost, I had a fabulous show last night, the "Girls! Girls! Girls!" show at PACE that Jennifer Myszkowski put together, bless her heart. The wonderful Deb Farrar-Parkman was the host, and all of the comics--Kim "Boney" Deshields,Andrea Henry, Holly Givens, Jennifer and yours truly--did great. It was a thrill to be part of a show that worked (especially after last Sunday's debacle), and an honor to work with women who all have something unique and hilarious to say.

Was feeling a little low this week, but I feel much better now, thanks to The Comedy. Thanks, Comedy! The only wrinkle in last night's show was that I forgot about three minutes of material--but it was about aging, so my memory lapse has a certain delicious irony to it. Oh, and I forgot to turn on my chronograph, so I could keep tabs on my time. But these were minor quibbles.

Well, now I feel we've caught up with one another. Have another week and two days at the temp job, so should try get so more resumes out today, in the hope that perhaps there's a job waiting for me after all.

You never know (which increasingly seems like a good thing).

Whirlwind weekend continues

Well, let's see. I took my Pet First Aid class this morning (in case I pursue the dog tending career), then tackled the test article for the latest prospective employer. Was going to do that yesterday, but got caught up in the near-ream-of-paper proof job also due Monday I got from what's left of my current employer.

I rather enjoyed putting the test article together, but worry that I'm missing key facets of their oh-so-particular style guidelines somehow. Will check again tomorrow, just in case.

Am at the point where I don't really care what they think. I've written a good, solid, informative article, and if it's not their idea of good/solid/informative, well, we won't work out. That's okay.

Part of me thinks this "real" job pursuit is not what I should be doing, but I don't think I'll throw in the "real" job towel until I've been looking for six months.

Next month, in other words. That's a bit scary, truth be told.

The near-ream-of-paper proof continues, and I'm in the home stretch--just four chapters to go. Of course, then I get to fax it.

That might take most of the morning, come to think of it. Or should I do it when I get back from Cambridge, still a little wired from The Studio?

Yes, I have a comedy show tomorrow night. Hard to imagine what exactly I'll have in the way of inner resources by then, but one never knows. Adrenaline can work wonders on a sluggish soul. Hope I have the nerve to try my "Lezzies and Trannies and Fags, Oh My!" line. If I can figure out how to work it in.....

Now it's time to prep the next chapter of my proof, then toddle off to bed. Though I don't often find myself thinking such thoughts and it worries me a little, I'll be so damn grateful when this weekend is over, you have no idea.

Wishing my life away? No, mother, not really. More like, Wishing my deadlines were met. That's different.

There's hope, after all

My friend Tom, whom I have known since high school (!), has a son who just started college in Cleveland, OH. He told me a story about said son that just--well, it was the perfect antidote to the Christian Crackpot poison circulating in my system earlier today. The story:

"[The son's name] told me that he found one person at school who was willing to go out for sushi. [He] said that one of his suite mates said: “[Son's name], I think the guy is gay.” [He] replied you have an amazing grasp of the obvious but what difference does his orientation make to you or me. The suite mate persisted by saying “”Do you want people to think you're gay?” [He] replied (maybe not the most articulate reply) 'I don’t give a rat’s ass if anybody thinks less of me because I have a friend who is gay. But I’ll tell you this, I certainly would think twice about having that narrow minded person for a friend.' I told [my wife] that we must have instilled some good values in our child. Not only is he pretty liberal, he is not afraid to stand up for his views. By the way, I understand that the sushi was just so-so. Imagine that, I thought people went to Cleveland specifically for the sushi."

What's not to love about that? A story that gives one hope for our nation's future and a crack about Cleveland--a win-win!

Thanks, Tom!

"Lezzies, and Trannies, and Fags, Oh My!"

Karl Rove's favorite chant? Maybe. Is it me, or is there a pattern here: When the going gets tough, the Bush Administration plays the homo card.

They've played it to avoid responsibility for everything from election fraud to levee failures, and the sad thing is the majority of the American people buy it.

Which leads me to wonder, what would the GOP do without homophobia?

They'd probably go back into the GOP archives and dig up some of their old standbys: Anti-semitism, racism, nativism, sexism.

And there's always guns and dead babies, if all else fails.

The list is (almost) endless. The situation is (almost) hopeless.

But I have work to do, so I'll quit brightening your day for now.

Such a busy (not-so-little) bee

Good grief, when did I become a quasi-workaholic?

Did seven hours at the Superintendent's today, now am buckling down to a night of preparation (for tomorrow afternoon's faux interview) and proofing (of a document that is almost a ream of paper, but who's counting?).

Then there's the little matter of a comedy show on Sunday, but that's just eons away in 1559 Pierce Avenue time. Sheesh!

Busy beats nothing to do, that's for certain, but I am out of "fun" time for the foreseeable. That's not good.

And did you hear the supposed latest from Pat Robertson? Wherein he blames Ellen Degeneres' moral degeneracy for everything from 9-11 to Hurricane Katrina?

God must have a terrible aim, for he took out a lot more than New Orleans from last account. Is Robertson suggesting God can't smote straight? (Uh-oh, that could be trouble.)

Must be a hoax..... right? No one is that off their rocker, are they?

Perhaps I need to revamp my Crackpot Christian Hall of Fame to reflect achievement above and beyond the usual, some sort of Christian Crackpot on Crack Award or something.

That needs work, this I know. But for now, I have paying work to do, and that trumps comedy for now.

All-nighter, middle-aged version

So it's not quite 1:00 a.m., and I'm still up. How is this possible?

I am doing temp work, and I am trying to meet deadlines.

And I am doing housework, and I am trying to keep up my end of the finances.

I am getting punchy, and I should be in bed, instead of writing in my blog.

But I felt the need to note this occasion. Haven't done this in a long time, and I'm glad.

Also found out for certain today that my family home is no more. It's a sand lot right now, according to the owner of the bike shop next door, John. Nice guy, John. He's my future source for hometown news, I've decided.

Not that there's much of that going around.

And September 11 passed by quietly yesterday. I still don't quite accept that it happened, even though I've been to the former site of the Twin Towers three times since. Seeing isn't necessarily believing.

Ditto what's happening in New Orleans and elsewhere. Can't fathom it.

And my brother is working day and night, for he decided to go work for FEMA a while ago. No, he's not a political appointee.

He actually knows what he's doing. (Please don't tell him I said that.)

Which means right now, he's not home much, poor guy. Poor sister-in-law. Poor dog.

And I must say, I hope that Andre Agassi doesn't let his recent loss force his retirement. I know I'm gay and all, but I find that man endearing. I love his walk, and the fact that he can be both boyish and bald.

What's not to like?

A haus frau's lament

Well, the house is clean once again, and no animals were hurt, maimed, or otherwise abused in the process. So far so good.

Our best and biggest house plant, however? Well, that's another story.

I was trying to go around the corner where said house plant rests atop a stand, when suddenly Butler, the ancient/addled cat who will outlive us all, managed to put himself right in front of my moving foot.

I'm at a loss as to how to explain how that happened. One minute, the aged furball was sunning himself on the floor in the living room, the next minute, he was in the hall, trying to see if he could trip the cleaning lady.

That would be me.

Well, I barely missed stepping on the old codger; unfortunately, I could not manage to do that without jerkily taking the vacuum with me.

The vacuum cord got twisted up with the plant stand somehow, and gravity, that constant bastard, did the rest.

What a mess!

Of course, it was a section I had already cleaned quite thoroughly. And if there's anything I hate more than cleaning, it's cleaning something over right after I've already cleaned it. I mean, except my hands and other necessary exceptions (you know what I mean). What a waste of time!

Worse, I even had to get the hideously noisy wet/dry vac out, for potting soil is a moist business, and had worked its way thoroughly into the rug. Not only that, the pot the plant was in broke into pieces, and it managed to put a few more scratches/dents in the wood floor--a nice complement to the dents/scratches the dogs already put in, I must say, but we weren't really looking for a more "distressed" look. We've got it now!

I have cleaned the house many times since April, and this is the first time I've had to deal with cat interference. Of course, Linda was around to hear the commotion (if not see the actual event), and is convinced that if I had just been a little more careful, all could have been averted.

Thanks, Sweetie!

Was already feeling a little down on myself today, and this did not help. (Not only can she not get a job in her field, she can't manage a little mindless housekeeping without breaking something. Vot an idiot!)

But I will rally, once I take a shower and make the bed. There's little like the prospect of fresh, clean sheets to perk this gal up--no, I've said it before, and I'll say it again, it doesn't take much.

And the house is clean, even if it is shy one house plant.

Glad that's over! (And so, likely, are you)

Well, I didn't burst into flames while emceeing Thursday night at the open mic, so my number-one criterion for a successful show was met. (We keep our expectations low, don't you know, so as to improve our chances of success.)

But I didn't feel exactly on top of things, which is to be expected. And I do have a heightened admiration for my comedy buddy Jennifer's ability to keep the show going and keep the energy up--while I may have managed the former, I don't think I did very well at the latter.

Energy, thy name is not Annie P.

My mother wasn't exactly a sizzler, herself. As she was fond of recalling, the only thing she remembered from her gym classes as a girl was the teacher yelling, "EVERT! Pick up your feet!"

But for a few demographic details, I am my mother's daughter. This is true.

So, while I didn't exactly set energetic performance heights, I didn't ruin the show for life, so that no one would darken its door again. In other words, I'm content.

No, it doesn't take much.

Now, I must try to figure my finances (light a candle, if you can) and try to put the finishing touches on my latest deadline for the folks in NYC. Not exactly a weekend for the ages, but at least I'm not sitting around sulking.

I'm saving that for later.

Time to put the humor on...

I got in late last night, and as I am not one of those people who can get by on less than a full night's sleep, I'm a bit knackered. Unfortunately, I'm going to try to emcee a comedy open mic tonight for a friend of mine. From what I've seen, this job requires a sharp wit, keen sense of timing, and the ability to keep things moving along.

All of which make me want to start humming, "The impossible dream."

I don't have it, people. But perhaps I'll get it.

Tried the Frappucino and cookie cure midafternoon, but it's starting to wear off. Perhaps some dinner will do the trick.

There's always ice cream, if things get truly desperate. It might not help me perk up, but I won't care so much if I suck.

As for the fruits of my NYC trip, the less said the better is still the best course. Let's just say I'm kicking the job hunt up a notch.

Gotta go--full, demoralizing details to come tomorrow. Or Saturday, if I just don't have the gumption to blog.....

Riding the rails....

Wednesday/tomorrow, I head back to Gotham, my former Home Sweet Home, for business. Nothing but business.

The less said the better (right, Dooce?).

Anyway, I am glad for the break in the administrative assistant action, as well as for the time to just sit and think and write on the train. It's my favorite way to travel, bar none--unless there are several cell phone addicts aboard, then I spend my time wondering when public shame was removed from the collective consciousness.

One time, I was riding down to NYC, and we stopped for the usual engine switch in New Haven. Well, there was a young woman on board who had obviously never taken the trip before, for as soon as the power went out, she called someone on the phone and said so we all could hear (it's soooo quiet when the engines shut off, it's almost hold-your-breath quiet...well, for me), "You won't believe where I am--completely in the dark!"

I, for one, doubt her friend was surprised at this news, but that's on the order of mean. Sorry. Must get to bed and rest, for I may be (1) fighting for what's left of my job tomorrow, (2) learn that resistance is futile, or (3) find a way to get more work.

Won't tell you which I'm betting on.....I've been wrong too many times to count.

And lest I forget, I just want to tell the Universe that I am very grateful that I can still become a wreck nervosa when qualifying before a room full of my people. Someone once told me that nerves are proof I'm being honest, but I take it as a sign I'm still not bored with my recovery and the miracle it represents--that means the world.....

The bar stayed open?!

Heard on NPR this morning about a bar on New Orleans' infamous Bourbon Street that has remained open through the entire hurricane and what followed, even though there's no water, electricity, or, well, plumbing to speak of.

Apparently, the place has been filled with locals trying to "cope" with the aftermath of Katrina.

Gotta love drunks, man--they don't let a little human catastrophe get in the way of a good excuse to get shitfaced. And really, who can blame them? Not me--there was a time when I found a barstool the best refuge from every storm, though most of mine were self-inflicted.

There used to be a "joke" going around that after the end of the world, all that will be left are roaches and Cher. I'd like to humbly suggest that we add alcoholics to the list.

Active ones, any way.

Me, I'd hope to be swept up in the whirlwind, thank you very much. No survivor skills here, no siree, no ma'am.

Let the good times roll, my a##!

Another entry to the Crackpot Christian Hall of Shame was on the TV last night (or was it this morning? The horror that is the Katrina aftermath has all run together in my brain). It wasn't a Fallwell or a Robertson, but it was a preacher in a church in Biloxi, Mississippi who felt compelled to note that perhaps the people of the affected region, especially in New Orleans, need to rethink their motto of "Let the good times roll." Perhaps, he suggested, it's time to embrace an ethos that involves God and church, not just "good times."

Oh, like the poverty that plagued the folks who weren't included in the official evacuation plans was due to their enjoyment of "good times," not the institutionalized racism that has plagued this country since it was begun hundreds of years ago.

Like the decision to divert funds earmarked for the Gulf coast restoration project to the Iraq war was made because the people of New Orleans were too devoted to "good times."

And the decision by FEMA to rebuff efforts to send supplies to the devastated peoples of New Orleans and elsewhere--to the point where they cut phone lines of centers devoted to helping these people, according to this morning's "Meet the Press"--this was due to the "good times" rolling down the streets of New Orleans.

Any suggestion that the people of the region got what they deserved isn't any sort of Christianity I recognize. Because it's the exact opposite of Christian to point fingers and try to make people ashamed of being poor, homeless, and without any resources at all. It's Christian instead to reach out to these people, to take action to lift them out of their poverty and despair, isn't it?

Besides, if one needs to point fingers, why aren't they pointing them at the government who failed its citizens on a scale unimaginable in modern times?

Also, there's the possibility that this was an act of nature that was not brought on by anybody's "good times", but perhaps instead our entire society's inability to wean itself from fossil fuels and the havoc they wreak on our environment and weather systems.

And last but not least, if we embrace the premise of what this pastor suggests, then the fact that I and my lesbian partner have been living in relative peace, safety and tranquility lo these 12+ years we've been together must mean we're on the right side of the Lord, no?

Well, doesn't it?

I'm sorry, but this whole mess has me so angry, my humor hasn't much chance to show itself. Though I know it has many faults, I adore New Orleans, and each day I think of something else that likely is no more thanks to this debacle. Today, I remembered the new space that the GLBT 12-step meetings were held in when I visited in April, and how nice it was compared to the old space they had. It's likely all gone.

And what of the people I met there? Right now, I'm remembering a man who attended a meeting with me; he had just moved into a new place that had a good yard for his dog. (Love those sorts of priorities, don't you know.) Pray that he and his pooch got out of town before the flooding....but who knows?

Deja vu and then some.....

Yes, I've been away for a while. It appears that working during the day and keeping up with my writing deadlines during the night leave little--make that no--time for such fun and frolic as blogs.

Bet you're broken up as all heck, eh?

That my online access is severely restricted at work doesn't help, either (not that I have oodles of free time on my hands--no one working in a superintendent of school's office just before the first day of classes has any of that). It is annoying, though, that one is given a break in the morning and afternoon, which would be the ideal time to check one's e-mail and so forth--if only one could check one's e-mail and so forth. It's the city's Internet connection, this I understand, and likely they fear that porn downloads would preoccupy their staff (not to mention use up their bandwidth) if unfettered access were allowed. (Although I must say, having met a lot of the staff, I would think a more likely download would involve quilting.)

It was an exhausting week, for not only did I have to show up showered and dressed at the stunning hour of 8:30 a.m. (in my NYC-affiliated days, I didn't have to sit in front of my PC until 9:30, and as I worked at home, a shower, not to mention dressing, was optional), but I had a lot to learn. A dizzying array of procedures and protocols and personalities and what-all were presented to me, and I fielded some well and some, well, I just fumbled. Yes, I made doozies of mistakes, but also managed to retain some information as well. Perhaps not as much information as my boss would have liked--she was of the opinion that because I typed a memo about a meeting I would remember it. Poor, dear woman--I haven't the heart to tell her I drank away most of my memory banks in the '80s.

Although it might make her less avid about my coming on full-time, which she appears to be. And, sorry to report, my gal Linda appears to be jumping on that bandwagon as well.

I know this is the closest to a job offer as I've come in my nearly five months of searching, but I pray that my lot is not in the administrative/secretarial realm.

No, I have nothing against the work--it is honest, it is helpful, and it keeps the wheels of commerce (or in this case, education) rolling along. And the Super is aptly titled--she's a fabulous boss and a wonderful person, and the other people in the office seem hard-working and affable and genuinely devoted to what they do. So it's a lovely work environment in many ways.

But while the job has a lot going for it, I still balk. It is just not what I'm trained to do, it is not something that I am particularly good at, it is not the highest expression of my talents (not that I've had any job that really allowed that), and worst of all, it's exactly the sort of work my mother did the last two (or was it three?) decades of her working life.

And she was disappointed with her lot, I believe. Very disappointed.

After years of teaching English (she was an English major), she ended up typing memos for people who had but a passing acquaintance with the language, but who sat in the corner office and therefore called the shots. And while she tried to make her work interesting by editing the memos and letters that came her way, it wasn't enough.

So I am resisting the pressure to apply for this job, for I really fear I'll be following in my mother's footsteps in a way she would not have wanted me to, really and truly. She had many talents and gifts, but the way she earned her living did not use them much at all. And while she found many ways to express her talents and gifts in the countless acts of charity and political organizations she was engaged in throughout her life, I think she ended her career rather sadly, rather wondering, "What if?"

I already have enough of those "What ifs?" bouncing around in my cranium, thank you. Despite my many months of looking, it's still not time to jump at a job just because it seems as though I could get it.

Besides, I still have a writing prospect out there that I haven't been able to act upon because of this temp job, so I'm not giving up. Not yet.

So that's my decision as of right now, even if I do realize in five month's time that this was the best thing that I would ever have a shot at and I blew it.

Whatever, it won't be the end of the world. If watching the news this past week has told me anything, it is that my challenges are nothing at all. I have a home, I have food, I have my nearest and dearest right under my own safe roof with me, and job or no job, I am okay.

But a lot of the people of New Orleans aren't, and it's hard not to see racism and foolish priorities at the root of it all.

Funds and personnel diverted to Iraq, poor people left to die in squalor, levees failing--just like the experts said they would, and a president and government standing by with empty rhetoric and falsehood heaped upon falsehood, hoping most of us won't notice we're being sold a bill of rotten goods for the 2,356th time.

Will "we" get fooled again? I hope not, but after the 2004 election, I have just about given up on my fellow Americans. Perhaps this hideous, unnecessary mess will help turn the tide against the prevailing winds of Government as Corporate Lackey instead of Guardian of the People. Perhaps not.

But there's got to be some good to come of this tragedy, this turmoil--doesn't there?