Saw this wonderful film last night and was charmed to bits, even though any recollections of my dance classes in grade school bring on winces galore.
As I say in my standup routine, we NE Wisconsin types are not a sultry people--and this extends to our dancing (if one could really call it that--methinks our attempts at dance evoke "Dawn of the Dead" more than "Dirty Dancing"). Stiffs on parade, that was us!
Well, me, certainly. I still don't have the music in me, and I think the odds are good I never will. Oh well. Another cross to bear. (Pile 'em on! T'is the season, after all.)
The kids in the movie, on the other hand--many had crazy talent! And sweetness. Reading and watching the news these days, one could almost think childhood is a relic of an earlier time, but these kids were kids--and but for a few exceptions (some of the girls had to worry about drunken men in their buildings, for pity's sake), they were allowed to be kids by their families, teachers, and communities.
Add in some great music, inspired teachers, and you have a movie that is, as one teacher put it, "Fantastico." (I think that's how that's spelled--never studied Spanish, sorry.)
On other fronts, I gave someone a ride to chemo this morning, which certainly helps with the perspective part of the day. But please, dear Higher Power, don't let things get to the point where my sole source of comfort is, "I've got my health."
That would be sad, really and truly sad.
On brighter fronts, I wrote a scathing letter to my alumni magazine, On Wisconsin, for they reported that the University of Wisconsin system does not offer domestic partnership benefits to its employees. In fact, it's the only school in the Big Ten that doesn't do so--if that isn't appalling, what is?
What ever happened to "cool, hip" Madison, the liberal stronghold of the largely Republican Midwest??
I was stunned. I was outraged. I ripped the "Bucky" sticker off my car.
And then I wrote the magazine, and felt better. And now I'm going to write a letter to the service manager who made such a botch job of my car.
Oh, and since I apparently was too quiet about this (I was on holiday, after all), my birthday was on June 24th--my debut was in 1959, which is appalling to type, but that's the truth. And I was born late--10:35 p.m.--which explains a lot.
Now, I'm off to heap some righteous indignation on a deserving car dealership--woo!
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Visualize whirled peas--no, wait, that's not it....
Started yesterday off on the wrong foot--forgot to do my visualization of the perfect job, not to mention meditation, so that I began the week in a wee, panicked frenzy (how can a frenzy be wee, you ask? A Midwesterner has it).
Today, I'm going to start the day right, in the hopes I will face the day with more calm. Calm would be a nice change of pace. Calm and dry would be nice, too (it's raining buckets out there today).
On other fronts, I was bemused by my brother, who sent me an ageist birthday card even though he is a whopping 12 years older than I am. What gall, eh? Mr. Way Past Middle Age thought he was being clever by making it look as if their Airedale, Harry, sent the card.
As if. If he can't chew it up and/or swallow it whole, Harry wants nothing to do with it.
So this is what it's come to--using one's innocent dog to do one's dirty deeds? My brother should be ashamed of himself.
That will never happen, this I know.
Time to go think happy thoughts about my future job/commute/colleagues/paycheck and beyond.
(Speaking of happy thoughts, how's about that Linus picture up there? He had just roamed through the woods of the Becket quarry, and that makes him feel like a natural canine, let me tell you!)
Monday, June 27, 2005
Back to, uh, work
Yes, I'm back from my week's vacation in the Berkshires, even though it wasn't exactly a week and it wasn't all spent in the Berkshires.
There were complications, and it appears that I am a veritable magnet for complications these days (semi-employment was only the beginning).
The first involved my brand-new car with the brand-new front tire. Well, the car is equipped with a warning light that denotes drastic tire pressure changes, and it kept lighting up on me last week. First, I called the dealer, and he suggested I simply reset the light.
That worked for about 20 miles, then the light went back on.
Call #2 forced a drive back to town, where the dealer then tried something else. He checked the air pressure on all four tires, and adjusted them so they all had the same pressure.
That worked for about 20 miles, then the light went on--yes, again.
The third time I drove in from my supposed vacation, they kept the car and gave me a loaner and promised this time they would fix the damn problem.
And they did. Know what it was? The new tire they put on was the wrong size.
As my brother (he who makes me look optimistic) observed, "Of course, one couldn't expect the dealer who SOLD YOU THE CAR to know what size tire belongs on it."
Based on the fact that (1) they put the wrong tire on a brand of car they sell and (2) it took them three tries to figure that out and (3) they didn't seem to give a rat's ass that they were befouling my vacation, I'm thinking I should find a new place to get my car serviced. (You THINK?!) It's really irritating, for if they had done something to show they understood they were putting me out--say, washed my car and/or filled the gas tank--maybe I wouldn't be thinking such thoughts, but right now, THEY'RE GETTING THE BOOT. Linda thinks I was too nice to them on the phone--like it's my job to be such a bitch they understand they're screwing me over? I don't know about that--I told them I was on vacation, I had to appear at their shop many times, I told them I was getting tired of this, blah, blah. Are they SO STUPID they need me to point out that they're screwing up? Please.
(So, if you know any Pontiac-approved service places in Western Mass. that actually know what they're doing, please let me know.)
The other complication was that I got a call regarding freelance job possibilities last week, and though I had sworn I was not doing anything work-related last week, I broke my pledge to go interview at a temp agency in Hartford who handles "creative" folks such as myself. I was operating under the delusion that my other temp agency might have work for me this week, so wanted to keep my calendar clear.
Of course, there is no work for me as of yet this week, so I broke my pledge for naught.
But the last complications were good, for Linda and I had two parties this weekend, when we usually have one every six months or so. I drove a total of five hours on Saturday to attend Val and Joan's 10-year anniversary, then yesterday we returned home from the Berkshires to attend our friend Jennifer's 30th birthday party.
The only fly in the ointment was that it was hot, desperately, humidly hot during both of these parties, and while I can stand pretty much anything Mother Nature throws at me heat-wise (my thermostat got permanently fried in Morocco), Linda wilted big-time. Well, she made it through most of Val and Joan's party, but by the time we got to Jennifer's shin-dig, she was pretty much toast. So, we didn't stay very long, which I hope won't get us on anybody's "Bad Dykes" list or anything.
There's only so much you can do when your carcass turns on you--and when said carcass belongs to your partner, there's even less.
And oh--one more complication. I had insomnia last night, so am feeling rather tired. The good news is I don't have anything that I really MUST do today, so I can rest as needed.
The bad news is I don't have anything that I really MUST do today, so am a bit wracked with anxiety.
Oh, and I'm now 46. Does that number resonate with anyone? I can't quite grasp it.
So, what else is new?
There were complications, and it appears that I am a veritable magnet for complications these days (semi-employment was only the beginning).
The first involved my brand-new car with the brand-new front tire. Well, the car is equipped with a warning light that denotes drastic tire pressure changes, and it kept lighting up on me last week. First, I called the dealer, and he suggested I simply reset the light.
That worked for about 20 miles, then the light went back on.
Call #2 forced a drive back to town, where the dealer then tried something else. He checked the air pressure on all four tires, and adjusted them so they all had the same pressure.
That worked for about 20 miles, then the light went on--yes, again.
The third time I drove in from my supposed vacation, they kept the car and gave me a loaner and promised this time they would fix the damn problem.
And they did. Know what it was? The new tire they put on was the wrong size.
As my brother (he who makes me look optimistic) observed, "Of course, one couldn't expect the dealer who SOLD YOU THE CAR to know what size tire belongs on it."
Based on the fact that (1) they put the wrong tire on a brand of car they sell and (2) it took them three tries to figure that out and (3) they didn't seem to give a rat's ass that they were befouling my vacation, I'm thinking I should find a new place to get my car serviced. (You THINK?!) It's really irritating, for if they had done something to show they understood they were putting me out--say, washed my car and/or filled the gas tank--maybe I wouldn't be thinking such thoughts, but right now, THEY'RE GETTING THE BOOT. Linda thinks I was too nice to them on the phone--like it's my job to be such a bitch they understand they're screwing me over? I don't know about that--I told them I was on vacation, I had to appear at their shop many times, I told them I was getting tired of this, blah, blah. Are they SO STUPID they need me to point out that they're screwing up? Please.
(So, if you know any Pontiac-approved service places in Western Mass. that actually know what they're doing, please let me know.)
The other complication was that I got a call regarding freelance job possibilities last week, and though I had sworn I was not doing anything work-related last week, I broke my pledge to go interview at a temp agency in Hartford who handles "creative" folks such as myself. I was operating under the delusion that my other temp agency might have work for me this week, so wanted to keep my calendar clear.
Of course, there is no work for me as of yet this week, so I broke my pledge for naught.
But the last complications were good, for Linda and I had two parties this weekend, when we usually have one every six months or so. I drove a total of five hours on Saturday to attend Val and Joan's 10-year anniversary, then yesterday we returned home from the Berkshires to attend our friend Jennifer's 30th birthday party.
The only fly in the ointment was that it was hot, desperately, humidly hot during both of these parties, and while I can stand pretty much anything Mother Nature throws at me heat-wise (my thermostat got permanently fried in Morocco), Linda wilted big-time. Well, she made it through most of Val and Joan's party, but by the time we got to Jennifer's shin-dig, she was pretty much toast. So, we didn't stay very long, which I hope won't get us on anybody's "Bad Dykes" list or anything.
There's only so much you can do when your carcass turns on you--and when said carcass belongs to your partner, there's even less.
And oh--one more complication. I had insomnia last night, so am feeling rather tired. The good news is I don't have anything that I really MUST do today, so I can rest as needed.
The bad news is I don't have anything that I really MUST do today, so am a bit wracked with anxiety.
Oh, and I'm now 46. Does that number resonate with anyone? I can't quite grasp it.
So, what else is new?
Friday, June 17, 2005
Class act
So, answer me this: If you paid someone a lot less than you were supposed to, then sent them the missing money via wire transfer, would you think it was a good idea to charge this someone for the cost of said transfer?
The cost? $5.00.
Really.
You know, since I've been covering HR issues for eons now, I keep up on management trends. Lately, I've read a lot about how organizations have begun to worry about employee retention and the looming labor shortage. In spite of this, day in, day out I hear about (or get to experience personally) the gross stupidity of managers who don't think--or care--about what their actions signal to their employees.
Yesterday, for example, I heard about a group of managers in a huge corporation who decided to stop reimbursing employees in their department who have cable modem computer access at home. The key: This was not a financial decision--the organization had the money. The rationale? The managers didn't want to have to make the hard decisions necessary to develop a policy for such reimbursements, so they took the easy way out. The reimbursement policy? NOBODY GETS REIMBURSED.
The people with cable modems used to be reimbursed for this access because they needed to log in to the company's computers remotely, either when they were on call or when a colleague needed help with a project they've worked on.
So what do you think the people who used to get reimbursed are thinking right now?
A. "What a savvy group of managers! Talk about streamlined policy-setting!!'
B. "What lazy sons-o'-bitches! As soon as the economy picks up/I'm vested/something better comes along, I'm outta here....."
C. "I'm going back to dialup. If they complain about how long it takes for me to respond to their overnight 'emergencies,' I'll tell them to go stuff themselves."
Or?
I dunno. People deserve more than pettiness and lack of regard. People who make you money deserve even more.
Don't they? (Or is my naivete showing?)
I'm outta here myself. We're taking a week's vacation (anyone saying, "From what?" is no longer my friend), since Linda took next week off (we were supposed to go out to California for a business/pleasure trip, but there's no time/money for that now....besides, with all the seismic activity out there, I'm rather grateful to be homebound).
May be checking in, but I don't know--I only have dialup where I'm going, after all....
The cost? $5.00.
Really.
You know, since I've been covering HR issues for eons now, I keep up on management trends. Lately, I've read a lot about how organizations have begun to worry about employee retention and the looming labor shortage. In spite of this, day in, day out I hear about (or get to experience personally) the gross stupidity of managers who don't think--or care--about what their actions signal to their employees.
Yesterday, for example, I heard about a group of managers in a huge corporation who decided to stop reimbursing employees in their department who have cable modem computer access at home. The key: This was not a financial decision--the organization had the money. The rationale? The managers didn't want to have to make the hard decisions necessary to develop a policy for such reimbursements, so they took the easy way out. The reimbursement policy? NOBODY GETS REIMBURSED.
The people with cable modems used to be reimbursed for this access because they needed to log in to the company's computers remotely, either when they were on call or when a colleague needed help with a project they've worked on.
So what do you think the people who used to get reimbursed are thinking right now?
A. "What a savvy group of managers! Talk about streamlined policy-setting!!'
B. "What lazy sons-o'-bitches! As soon as the economy picks up/I'm vested/something better comes along, I'm outta here....."
C. "I'm going back to dialup. If they complain about how long it takes for me to respond to their overnight 'emergencies,' I'll tell them to go stuff themselves."
Or?
I dunno. People deserve more than pettiness and lack of regard. People who make you money deserve even more.
Don't they? (Or is my naivete showing?)
I'm outta here myself. We're taking a week's vacation (anyone saying, "From what?" is no longer my friend), since Linda took next week off (we were supposed to go out to California for a business/pleasure trip, but there's no time/money for that now....besides, with all the seismic activity out there, I'm rather grateful to be homebound).
May be checking in, but I don't know--I only have dialup where I'm going, after all....
Thursday, June 16, 2005
When all else fails....Give blood!
Perhaps I should be ashamed to admit it, but I was feeling down in the dumps (again) today until I met my friend Laura for coffee. She's also job-hunting, so we got together to commiserate and have a treat at a local coffee shop to lift our spirits.
Talking helped, but what really did the trick was waiting for us across the street--the bloodmobile was parked right on Main Street, and when Laura saw it, she said, "Let's go give blood!"
"Yes, let's!" was my reply, even though I don't think I've given blood since the 1980s. (I know, THAT is something to be ashamed about.)
It was easy, it was virtually painless (the pinprick test hurt more than the actual blood giving), and the nurses were wise-cracking hoots.
Plus you get juice and cookies and a coupon for a pint of ice cream.
Yes, FREE ice cream.
What's not to like?
So yes, I gave blood, and am feeling so much better about things. Maybe they got the blood with poor self-esteem out of me (my apologies to whomever gets it), maybe I just needed to lie still and do something productive (instead of sending resumes and cover letters into the void), maybe I just needed to get out of my office for a few hours.
Whatever, it worked, and I feel really good. Upbeat, even.
Well, let's not get carried away.....
On other fronts, I got my tire replaced today, and also put together the claims questionnaire and supporting documents to the city claims council and the mayor for the cost (Yes, red tape a-plenty, but I've worked for the government, they can't scare me.)
They might accept their responsibility, they might not, but at least I'm giving them the opportunity, right?
Yeah, right.
Talking helped, but what really did the trick was waiting for us across the street--the bloodmobile was parked right on Main Street, and when Laura saw it, she said, "Let's go give blood!"
"Yes, let's!" was my reply, even though I don't think I've given blood since the 1980s. (I know, THAT is something to be ashamed about.)
It was easy, it was virtually painless (the pinprick test hurt more than the actual blood giving), and the nurses were wise-cracking hoots.
Plus you get juice and cookies and a coupon for a pint of ice cream.
Yes, FREE ice cream.
What's not to like?
So yes, I gave blood, and am feeling so much better about things. Maybe they got the blood with poor self-esteem out of me (my apologies to whomever gets it), maybe I just needed to lie still and do something productive (instead of sending resumes and cover letters into the void), maybe I just needed to get out of my office for a few hours.
Whatever, it worked, and I feel really good. Upbeat, even.
Well, let's not get carried away.....
On other fronts, I got my tire replaced today, and also put together the claims questionnaire and supporting documents to the city claims council and the mayor for the cost (Yes, red tape a-plenty, but I've worked for the government, they can't scare me.)
They might accept their responsibility, they might not, but at least I'm giving them the opportunity, right?
Yeah, right.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Murphy was an optimist, Round II
Well, the tire is a complete loss, but--happy day!--the guy at the dealership said I'd just have to replace it, not all four.
That constitutes good news today.
Unfortunately, I returned home to a "Thanks, but no thanks" letter from an organization that I would dearly love to work for--sadly, they don't share my feelings.
Guess I wasn't supposed to work there. At least not in that position. Good to know.
On other fronts, drove by the spot where my tire met its untimely end, camera in tow, and wouldn't you know it, but the workers were gone and they had completely cleaned the road. (It wasn't the rubble-strewn mess I drove through this morning.)
Should I be surprised?
OF COURSE NOT!
Oh dear--must work on my attitude. Linda's coming home in a few hours, and we must celebrate her birthday with all due joy.
Or a reasonable facsimile.
That constitutes good news today.
Unfortunately, I returned home to a "Thanks, but no thanks" letter from an organization that I would dearly love to work for--sadly, they don't share my feelings.
Guess I wasn't supposed to work there. At least not in that position. Good to know.
On other fronts, drove by the spot where my tire met its untimely end, camera in tow, and wouldn't you know it, but the workers were gone and they had completely cleaned the road. (It wasn't the rubble-strewn mess I drove through this morning.)
Should I be surprised?
OF COURSE NOT!
Oh dear--must work on my attitude. Linda's coming home in a few hours, and we must celebrate her birthday with all due joy.
Or a reasonable facsimile.
Murphy was an optimist, indeed
Feeling down? I submit that my day so far will have you counting your blessings in no time.
First, I'm driving back home with Linda and the dogs through Florence, and come across a city road crew who has left a load of concrete fragments on the road. Not surprisingly, I hit one, and by the time I got home, I had a flat tire.
Then, as today is tax day for us self-employed folks, I checked to make sure that my company deposited my fees for the past two-1/2 weeks. Well, they made a deposit, alright, but it was a couple of grand short--they, apparently, moved up my paycut a month.
To top it off, the nice man who came to change my tire said that the tire looks like a total loss, and since my car has AWD, I'll probably have to have all four tires replaced. On a car with 1700 miles on it.
Would anybody blame me if I went right back to bed?
But I can't, since I have to pay those taxes and so forth.
Yesterday was so fabulous, it's almost hard to believe I'm living the same life. I applied for a job at a local college, then remembered that a woman I took a writing group with worked there and thought I should ask her what she knows about the department and so forth. As luck (real luck) would have it, she turned out to work in the career center, and is such a generous soul she gave me a lot of wonderful advice and strategies, help, and a whole lot of hope. And lunch--did I mention she also bought me lunch?
What a sweetheart!
Yesterday I drove home with love and gratitude in my heart; today, my thoughts run along the lines of, "What the heck?!"
So, I've had me a real-live emotional roller coaster ride, and I'm okay about it. Truly, I haven't had a flat tire before, which is pretty remarkable for a 45-year-old. And I have documentation supporting the agreement I had with my employer, so odds are good they'll make good on what they owe me.
The tires, that I'm finding a little challenging to feel upbeat about, but then, I don't know for certain if I have to change them all or not. We'll have to cross that bridge and so forth.
And another thing: This is my Linda's 55th birthday. No matter what this day brings me, it once brought her on the scene, and for this all will be forgiven.
Eventually.
First, I'm driving back home with Linda and the dogs through Florence, and come across a city road crew who has left a load of concrete fragments on the road. Not surprisingly, I hit one, and by the time I got home, I had a flat tire.
Then, as today is tax day for us self-employed folks, I checked to make sure that my company deposited my fees for the past two-1/2 weeks. Well, they made a deposit, alright, but it was a couple of grand short--they, apparently, moved up my paycut a month.
To top it off, the nice man who came to change my tire said that the tire looks like a total loss, and since my car has AWD, I'll probably have to have all four tires replaced. On a car with 1700 miles on it.
Would anybody blame me if I went right back to bed?
But I can't, since I have to pay those taxes and so forth.
Yesterday was so fabulous, it's almost hard to believe I'm living the same life. I applied for a job at a local college, then remembered that a woman I took a writing group with worked there and thought I should ask her what she knows about the department and so forth. As luck (real luck) would have it, she turned out to work in the career center, and is such a generous soul she gave me a lot of wonderful advice and strategies, help, and a whole lot of hope. And lunch--did I mention she also bought me lunch?
What a sweetheart!
Yesterday I drove home with love and gratitude in my heart; today, my thoughts run along the lines of, "What the heck?!"
So, I've had me a real-live emotional roller coaster ride, and I'm okay about it. Truly, I haven't had a flat tire before, which is pretty remarkable for a 45-year-old. And I have documentation supporting the agreement I had with my employer, so odds are good they'll make good on what they owe me.
The tires, that I'm finding a little challenging to feel upbeat about, but then, I don't know for certain if I have to change them all or not. We'll have to cross that bridge and so forth.
And another thing: This is my Linda's 55th birthday. No matter what this day brings me, it once brought her on the scene, and for this all will be forgiven.
Eventually.
Monday, June 13, 2005
Believe it: There's no place like home.
Especially compared to Florida. Hot, sticky, Republican, over-crowded, strip-malled, big-bugged (and how) Florida.
The family part of this trip was uneventful, thank goddess. They all seemed to be on their best behavior, which was good (who cares what they say after we go home?). It was a hoot to see an alligator floating in the water with just his bumpy head and snout sticking out, just like in the comics. It was also wonderful to see egrets and pelicans and a number of birds I couldn't pick out of a lineup, but were cool nonetheless.
It wasn't cool to see so many Bush-Cheney bumperstickers. It wasn't cool to drive on four-lane highways that seemed to be crowded all the time. It wasn't cool to have no access to organic fruits or vegetables. (It also wasn't cool to come home to a rejection letter, but I digress.)
But otherwise, it was a very successful trip. We came, we saw, we got the hell outta there before state officials found out big dykes were in town.
Altogether now: Whew!
The family part of this trip was uneventful, thank goddess. They all seemed to be on their best behavior, which was good (who cares what they say after we go home?). It was a hoot to see an alligator floating in the water with just his bumpy head and snout sticking out, just like in the comics. It was also wonderful to see egrets and pelicans and a number of birds I couldn't pick out of a lineup, but were cool nonetheless.
It wasn't cool to see so many Bush-Cheney bumperstickers. It wasn't cool to drive on four-lane highways that seemed to be crowded all the time. It wasn't cool to have no access to organic fruits or vegetables. (It also wasn't cool to come home to a rejection letter, but I digress.)
But otherwise, it was a very successful trip. We came, we saw, we got the hell outta there before state officials found out big dykes were in town.
Altogether now: Whew!
Thursday, June 09, 2005
At least that went well...
Went to the temp agency this morning, and it wasn't the huge exercise in futility I had feared. While there aren't a lot of temp gigs around, there are enough to have some hope of something, and perhaps with an organization that has other jobs I may be able to weasel--uh, work--my way into eventually. One never knows.
Plus, I did well on the software tests they gave me and they already called my references (who said the rep sounded impressed with me), which makes me unreasonably happy (I needed a little ego boost, pathetic or not, okay?).
Must get back to the "vacation" prep--happy weekend to you!
Plus, I did well on the software tests they gave me and they already called my references (who said the rep sounded impressed with me), which makes me unreasonably happy (I needed a little ego boost, pathetic or not, okay?).
Must get back to the "vacation" prep--happy weekend to you!
It's all practice, right?
Am heading off to a local temp agency this morning, to see what, if anything, this gal can do while she waits for the employers of the world to wake up to the fact that Ann Podolske is available. (That's today's line, and I'm sticking to it.)
I've done temp work in-between real jobs before, and find it helpful to be doing something each day instead of waiting for the phone to ring/e-mail to appear. Besides, I think making a little money would help keep the financial insecurity goblins at bay.
Problem is, the rep I spoke to said that her agency, like most in the area, is primarily a temp-to-hire agency, meaning they don't do so much in the way of temp work as in permanent placements.
If they placed writers/editors, that wouldn't be bad, but they place a lot of administrative/secretarial type folks, and while my mother did that kind of work for a large part of her life, I am not interested in maintaining her tradition of doing work that doesn't pay/challenge just for security's sake. She's the Child of the Depression, not me.
(At least that's today's line, and I'm sticking to it.)
Of course, if the employers of the world realize I'm available and still do nothing to procure my fabulous self (okay, I don't boast, but I just got three letters of recommendations from former colleagues and am basking in their high opinion of me--it'll pass, believe me), then I'll consider following in Mother's footsteps.
Best go get in my corporate drag du jour....
I've done temp work in-between real jobs before, and find it helpful to be doing something each day instead of waiting for the phone to ring/e-mail to appear. Besides, I think making a little money would help keep the financial insecurity goblins at bay.
Problem is, the rep I spoke to said that her agency, like most in the area, is primarily a temp-to-hire agency, meaning they don't do so much in the way of temp work as in permanent placements.
If they placed writers/editors, that wouldn't be bad, but they place a lot of administrative/secretarial type folks, and while my mother did that kind of work for a large part of her life, I am not interested in maintaining her tradition of doing work that doesn't pay/challenge just for security's sake. She's the Child of the Depression, not me.
(At least that's today's line, and I'm sticking to it.)
Of course, if the employers of the world realize I'm available and still do nothing to procure my fabulous self (okay, I don't boast, but I just got three letters of recommendations from former colleagues and am basking in their high opinion of me--it'll pass, believe me), then I'll consider following in Mother's footsteps.
Best go get in my corporate drag du jour....
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Forty and counting....
Yes, sirree, I have 40 resumes out in circulation. Almost as many resumes as I have years on this earth, but am trying not to dwell.
And the response? Well, as I've noted already, not exactly encouraging.
Did revise my resume for each of the jobs I applied for this week, just to see if using a standard resume was working against me. Am also going to meet with a friend who works at a local college next week, to see what the possibilities are there. (As well as to get a sense of what salaries are like, not to mention the working environment and so on--there's one very expensive school in the area that's infamous fo paying absolute peanuts, so you can't be too careful.)
Yes, I'm networking. In a very low-key way. Low key in that I'm only "networking" (I call it "talking") with people I like.
Otherwise, I'm also trying to get geared up to clean the house. My inner hausfrau isn't exactly jumping up and shouting, "Let's go!" so it's been a struggle. It has to be done, however, for we're leaving the house and the herd to a petsitter this weekend, and I don't want her to think us complete slobs. (We can be, but we also have some pride.)
That we're heading down to Florida this weekend to visit Linda's parents is not exactly thrilling. But, if Linda can go to two funerals in Wisconsin in the dead of winter, I can head down to Florida during hurricane season. Right?
Boy, this is boring even me. Time to clean!
And the response? Well, as I've noted already, not exactly encouraging.
Did revise my resume for each of the jobs I applied for this week, just to see if using a standard resume was working against me. Am also going to meet with a friend who works at a local college next week, to see what the possibilities are there. (As well as to get a sense of what salaries are like, not to mention the working environment and so on--there's one very expensive school in the area that's infamous fo paying absolute peanuts, so you can't be too careful.)
Yes, I'm networking. In a very low-key way. Low key in that I'm only "networking" (I call it "talking") with people I like.
Otherwise, I'm also trying to get geared up to clean the house. My inner hausfrau isn't exactly jumping up and shouting, "Let's go!" so it's been a struggle. It has to be done, however, for we're leaving the house and the herd to a petsitter this weekend, and I don't want her to think us complete slobs. (We can be, but we also have some pride.)
That we're heading down to Florida this weekend to visit Linda's parents is not exactly thrilling. But, if Linda can go to two funerals in Wisconsin in the dead of winter, I can head down to Florida during hurricane season. Right?
Boy, this is boring even me. Time to clean!
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Anybody home?
I'm beginning to wonder if something is happening to my resumes/cover letters as they wend their way to prospective employers. Is "Dear Mr. [Hiring Manager's Name]" somehow being revised to read "Dear Mr. Snub-Nosed Sea Pig"?
Or is my list of particulars being similarly morphed into insults to myself or others? Does my ability to "conceive, edit, and write a broad array of management publications" become my ability to "fabricate, obfuscate, plagiarize, and toss together cheesy, useless products that nobody reads"?
What else could be going on here? My goddess, I have serious skills, people, and they're being ignored on a tragic (for me) scale.
Linda is sensing my despair. She sent me an e-mail today telling me basically to visualize a successful job hunt, as opposed to what I have been doing: Visualizing my descent into abject poverty. So here goes:
"I am sitting at my desk, looking at so many great job offers that I don't know which one to take. The reason being they are all great. Of course, I'll easily choose the one that is best for me.
"I am working with great colleagues and for a boss I really enjoy and with whom I like to work. I am doing work I love and am paid a salary that is beyond my wildest dreams. And I have a very short commute to and from work."
That about covers it, eh? Let's see if this helps....
Or is my list of particulars being similarly morphed into insults to myself or others? Does my ability to "conceive, edit, and write a broad array of management publications" become my ability to "fabricate, obfuscate, plagiarize, and toss together cheesy, useless products that nobody reads"?
What else could be going on here? My goddess, I have serious skills, people, and they're being ignored on a tragic (for me) scale.
Linda is sensing my despair. She sent me an e-mail today telling me basically to visualize a successful job hunt, as opposed to what I have been doing: Visualizing my descent into abject poverty. So here goes:
"I am sitting at my desk, looking at so many great job offers that I don't know which one to take. The reason being they are all great. Of course, I'll easily choose the one that is best for me.
"I am working with great colleagues and for a boss I really enjoy and with whom I like to work. I am doing work I love and am paid a salary that is beyond my wildest dreams. And I have a very short commute to and from work."
That about covers it, eh? Let's see if this helps....
Monday, June 06, 2005
Them that has, get....
I have to catch up with my bills AND clean the house--doesn't today, Monday, seem the perfect day for such things?
Not that I've done anything yet, mind you. Had to apply for a job that leapt out at me on this morning's e-mail first. It's at Harvard, so of course all of my state-school insecurities have been having a field day. Morning. I know, I know--I should really worry more about all of the brain cells I murdered while at that state school, rather than the school itself (which is a fine institution and I shouldn't be ashamed of it; my behavior while there, well that's another story....).
And I'm all better now (and, God willing, will remain so), so why worry?
No, I haven't a snowball's chance with that job, so why torture myself. It just seemed so perfect--it entailed research on business solutions to global poverty. Yes, I could apply all this business expertise I've been amassing all these many years to a humanitarian issue.
Humanitarianism and writing/research: Does it get much better than that??
Well, no, it doesn't. So I applied, even though I realize a job like that will likely draw 1,000s of resumes and while I am qualified, I got a report on my resume that this morning that said it stunk.
Problem is, it was also attached to an offer to "fix" said resume for $75.
I'm afraid I don't find that a Kosher combination, so am sticking with my stinky resume for now.
On other fronts, I spent part of the morning stewing about something I read in The Berkshire Eagle over breakfast. It was a front-page article on how Nantucket is becoming an island equivalent of a gated community for the super-nouveau riche of our age. What really got me was a quote from the guy who made his $500 million fortune from Yankee Candle (whose name I've forgotten in the hopes that it will vanish along with his story). He wasn't surprised that Nantucket was filling up with rich folks like himself, for "successful people like to be with successful people." Besides, there he can have a "nice" bottle of wine without having to worry about it, citing the fact that he could spend $300 for said bottle of wine while the guy at the next table would likely spend $400.
So, these birds of a feather flock together so they can indulge themselves in peace, basically. No poor or even middle-class people around to ruin their fun. Awaken what's left of their conscience, if any.
While I don't begrudge anyone the occasional indulgence (one look at me, and you'd know I walk that talk), but when indulgence becomes a way of life, I find myself turning away. Doesn't help that another paper carried a headline about the starvation "epidemic" sweeping across Africa.
Problem is, I can't help but thinking about how much food $300 could buy, much less $400.
That's just the way I think, I suppose; learned that at my mother's knee. When she was a little girl (during the Depression, as I may have already told you), she asked her mother why the richest family in town did nothing to help all the people on breadlines. "They didn't get rich thinking that way," she replied.
Guess not. And they sure won't start thinking that way as long as they hide themselves away in swanky island ghettos, will they?
Oh my--now I am in a state. Time to hit the stack of bills on my desk. Woo!
Not that I've done anything yet, mind you. Had to apply for a job that leapt out at me on this morning's e-mail first. It's at Harvard, so of course all of my state-school insecurities have been having a field day. Morning. I know, I know--I should really worry more about all of the brain cells I murdered while at that state school, rather than the school itself (which is a fine institution and I shouldn't be ashamed of it; my behavior while there, well that's another story....).
And I'm all better now (and, God willing, will remain so), so why worry?
No, I haven't a snowball's chance with that job, so why torture myself. It just seemed so perfect--it entailed research on business solutions to global poverty. Yes, I could apply all this business expertise I've been amassing all these many years to a humanitarian issue.
Humanitarianism and writing/research: Does it get much better than that??
Well, no, it doesn't. So I applied, even though I realize a job like that will likely draw 1,000s of resumes and while I am qualified, I got a report on my resume that this morning that said it stunk.
Problem is, it was also attached to an offer to "fix" said resume for $75.
I'm afraid I don't find that a Kosher combination, so am sticking with my stinky resume for now.
On other fronts, I spent part of the morning stewing about something I read in The Berkshire Eagle over breakfast. It was a front-page article on how Nantucket is becoming an island equivalent of a gated community for the super-nouveau riche of our age. What really got me was a quote from the guy who made his $500 million fortune from Yankee Candle (whose name I've forgotten in the hopes that it will vanish along with his story). He wasn't surprised that Nantucket was filling up with rich folks like himself, for "successful people like to be with successful people." Besides, there he can have a "nice" bottle of wine without having to worry about it, citing the fact that he could spend $300 for said bottle of wine while the guy at the next table would likely spend $400.
So, these birds of a feather flock together so they can indulge themselves in peace, basically. No poor or even middle-class people around to ruin their fun. Awaken what's left of their conscience, if any.
While I don't begrudge anyone the occasional indulgence (one look at me, and you'd know I walk that talk), but when indulgence becomes a way of life, I find myself turning away. Doesn't help that another paper carried a headline about the starvation "epidemic" sweeping across Africa.
Problem is, I can't help but thinking about how much food $300 could buy, much less $400.
That's just the way I think, I suppose; learned that at my mother's knee. When she was a little girl (during the Depression, as I may have already told you), she asked her mother why the richest family in town did nothing to help all the people on breadlines. "They didn't get rich thinking that way," she replied.
Guess not. And they sure won't start thinking that way as long as they hide themselves away in swanky island ghettos, will they?
Oh my--now I am in a state. Time to hit the stack of bills on my desk. Woo!
Friday, June 03, 2005
Could my latest editorial nightmare finally be over?
Ahhhh. I finally finished my latest deadline for my soon-to-be-part-time publisher.
This represents the triumph of financial necessity over the desire to tell said publisher to, in so many words, stick it.
I know, I know--the world's full of companies cutting back on employees and I am but one of many being put to pasture. Bahhh! But my mind, without my consent, keeps returning to bone-headed moves said publisher and other top executives made to bring about this sorry state of affairs, and it's made for some disgruntlement.
Okay, a lot of disgruntlement.
It certainly doesn't help that the world isn't beating a path to my door, employment-wise. Fear that I have crossed the line between "well qualified" and "over qualified" somewhere along the way (funny--it seems not that long ago that I was being told I didn't have enough qualifications at all). My, time sure flies.....
But, wouldn't you know, these things take time. I'm an aging enigma wrapped in a connundrum, people, but then again, I don't turn into a pumpkin anytime soon. So, I will keep sending off resumes and cover letters and waiting for the phone to ring. Patiently, of course.
On other fronts, I had a so-so set last night at PACE. It's been a tough week for comic thoughts, and it showed--to me, anyway. Some new stuff re being unemployed went over well, so we're getting a little gold from all of this dross.
Must go tidy up and prepare for the weekend--oh happy Friday!
This represents the triumph of financial necessity over the desire to tell said publisher to, in so many words, stick it.
I know, I know--the world's full of companies cutting back on employees and I am but one of many being put to pasture. Bahhh! But my mind, without my consent, keeps returning to bone-headed moves said publisher and other top executives made to bring about this sorry state of affairs, and it's made for some disgruntlement.
Okay, a lot of disgruntlement.
It certainly doesn't help that the world isn't beating a path to my door, employment-wise. Fear that I have crossed the line between "well qualified" and "over qualified" somewhere along the way (funny--it seems not that long ago that I was being told I didn't have enough qualifications at all). My, time sure flies.....
But, wouldn't you know, these things take time. I'm an aging enigma wrapped in a connundrum, people, but then again, I don't turn into a pumpkin anytime soon. So, I will keep sending off resumes and cover letters and waiting for the phone to ring. Patiently, of course.
On other fronts, I had a so-so set last night at PACE. It's been a tough week for comic thoughts, and it showed--to me, anyway. Some new stuff re being unemployed went over well, so we're getting a little gold from all of this dross.
Must go tidy up and prepare for the weekend--oh happy Friday!
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The calendar says it best
Today's entry, from the Zen Calendar and Jack Kornfield:
"If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete."
I'm trying.....
"If your compassion does not include yourself, it is incomplete."
I'm trying.....
A dastardly day
Oh my, am I ever out of sorts. Yesterday was a day for the dark side to shine, if indeed darkness can shine, and I am still unhappy about it. Received a terribly testy response to an inquiry to a gatekeeper of a comedy shop, a man who is reputed to be one of the "good ones," which, of course, led me to doubt my comic intentions/abilities and, while we're at it, my entire purpose for being (why stick to just comedy, when one's can call one's entire EXISTENCE into question?).
Then, to make matters worse, I realized that negative feedback had the exact same effect on Rory Gilmore on last night's repeats--my life is playing out like a WB drama, for heaven's sake! (That I also had a similar career-ending experience with a professor when I was an undergraduate wanna-be artist provides no comfort at all, none.)
To add to my dismay, I saw in the paper that one of the big winners of the weekend's soapbox derby is one of the kids who was being screamed at the loudest by his father--and he and his proud (if hoarse) papa got a big, "Ain't we grand?" photo in the paper. And no word of what happened to the girl in the pink cart.
Where is the justice in that?!
Then, I realized that I missed my favorite 12-step meeting (since I was too busy watching my life unfold on "The Gilmore Girls"), and that the PACE comedy open mic is this Thursday--tomorrow night! The problem? This means it has been a month--a month--since the last show, the show I missed because I had a job interview the next day.
And, of course, I haven't had a job interview since.
What is the matter with me?! Quite a lot, apparently.
This Chinese proverb, from Monday's Zen Calendar, offers a tad of solace:
"To be uncertain is to be uncomfortable, but to be certain is to be ridiculous."
Well, then--at least I'm not ridiculous. There's hope for me yet!
Then, to make matters worse, I realized that negative feedback had the exact same effect on Rory Gilmore on last night's repeats--my life is playing out like a WB drama, for heaven's sake! (That I also had a similar career-ending experience with a professor when I was an undergraduate wanna-be artist provides no comfort at all, none.)
To add to my dismay, I saw in the paper that one of the big winners of the weekend's soapbox derby is one of the kids who was being screamed at the loudest by his father--and he and his proud (if hoarse) papa got a big, "Ain't we grand?" photo in the paper. And no word of what happened to the girl in the pink cart.
Where is the justice in that?!
Then, I realized that I missed my favorite 12-step meeting (since I was too busy watching my life unfold on "The Gilmore Girls"), and that the PACE comedy open mic is this Thursday--tomorrow night! The problem? This means it has been a month--a month--since the last show, the show I missed because I had a job interview the next day.
And, of course, I haven't had a job interview since.
What is the matter with me?! Quite a lot, apparently.
This Chinese proverb, from Monday's Zen Calendar, offers a tad of solace:
"To be uncertain is to be uncomfortable, but to be certain is to be ridiculous."
Well, then--at least I'm not ridiculous. There's hope for me yet!
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
The usual emotional rollercoaster
Memorial Day, as usual, was fraught. Found myself tearing up at the aged WWII vets, my typical practice when confronted with anyone who looks like my dear departed father. The guy wearing the three-sizes-too large shirt really got me--my dad wore shirts that fit him 60 pounds ago till the end of his life. Was he frugal or in denial?
Trust me--he was in denial. Mother cornered the frugality market in our household. The Great Depression was a cataclysmic event for her--she went from relative luxury (well, Midwestern Calvinist style--still wearing a hairshirt, but it was of wonderful quality) to relative penury overnight. Made her distrust money almost as much as Republicans.
Dad's working-class family likely didn't see any change in their fortunes, Depression or no Depression--they muddled along on the same barely-making-it strata their entire working lives. As a result, Mother worried about money, Dad's experience taught him that no matter what crunch they found themselves in, it would somehow work out. To say they had different money styles would be, as the old saying goes, a "masterpiece of understatement."
As it turns out, Dad was right. Something to remember these soon-to-be jobless days of 2005.
While we're talking tears, I also cried when the marching band went by--I'm a former band geek, and there's something about a line of clarinets (one of my former instruments) that chokes me up almost as much as the WWII vets. Noted no one was marching with a tenor sax as my band director used to make me do--he didn't like me, that was plain, and I believe making me march with a big ol' sax was one way to make me pay (I was first chair and would not relinquish my throne to his pockmarked son for one good reason; certainly, considering my rocky adolescence, he had more reasons than that).
So yes, it was a Memorial Day--remembering dead dads, tyrannical teachers, and more. Woo!
It was not just a day of remembrance, it was a day of new experiences as well. Saw my first soap box derby, and while I think I wanted to do it as a kid, watching yesterday's spectacle of family strife and ambition play out on Locust Street certainly erased that "wish" from my list.
Not that every parent behaved badly--there was one dad who offered nothing but sweetness and support to his indifferent-yet-winning daughter (she had a pink car with flames--how cool is that?), but enough parents coached their kids into pre-race cowers and screamed from the sidelines to make me think, "There but for the grace of God...."
What a weekend! Am almost glad to be back in my office, facing my one remaining deadline.
Almost.
Trust me--he was in denial. Mother cornered the frugality market in our household. The Great Depression was a cataclysmic event for her--she went from relative luxury (well, Midwestern Calvinist style--still wearing a hairshirt, but it was of wonderful quality) to relative penury overnight. Made her distrust money almost as much as Republicans.
Dad's working-class family likely didn't see any change in their fortunes, Depression or no Depression--they muddled along on the same barely-making-it strata their entire working lives. As a result, Mother worried about money, Dad's experience taught him that no matter what crunch they found themselves in, it would somehow work out. To say they had different money styles would be, as the old saying goes, a "masterpiece of understatement."
As it turns out, Dad was right. Something to remember these soon-to-be jobless days of 2005.
While we're talking tears, I also cried when the marching band went by--I'm a former band geek, and there's something about a line of clarinets (one of my former instruments) that chokes me up almost as much as the WWII vets. Noted no one was marching with a tenor sax as my band director used to make me do--he didn't like me, that was plain, and I believe making me march with a big ol' sax was one way to make me pay (I was first chair and would not relinquish my throne to his pockmarked son for one good reason; certainly, considering my rocky adolescence, he had more reasons than that).
So yes, it was a Memorial Day--remembering dead dads, tyrannical teachers, and more. Woo!
It was not just a day of remembrance, it was a day of new experiences as well. Saw my first soap box derby, and while I think I wanted to do it as a kid, watching yesterday's spectacle of family strife and ambition play out on Locust Street certainly erased that "wish" from my list.
Not that every parent behaved badly--there was one dad who offered nothing but sweetness and support to his indifferent-yet-winning daughter (she had a pink car with flames--how cool is that?), but enough parents coached their kids into pre-race cowers and screamed from the sidelines to make me think, "There but for the grace of God...."
What a weekend! Am almost glad to be back in my office, facing my one remaining deadline.
Almost.
Friday, May 27, 2005
A little sunshine today....
Though it didn't last, I saw some sunshine this afternoon while running errands in beautiful downtown Florence. I was grateful to see it, for if our local weather mavens are to be believed, it will be the last sun I will see this month. (Maybe next month, too.)
Not to worry, I'm not going to lapse into a sarcastic commentary on the use of the term "spring" to describe this time of year, tempting though it may be. Instead, I'm going to note that I applied for another couple of jobs today, bringing my grand total somewhere near 30 (I've had a few outright rejections so far, so am not sure whether to count those). Today's favorite application was for a news reporter post at my hometown paper. It may pay less (okay--a lot less) than what I make now, but it may be interesting--which is a lot more than I can say for some of the work I've done lo these many years for my shrinking publisher. Also got a follow-up letter from a university development job, so there's a little hope there, too.
Ran across a riot of a job on a media jobs site that entailed following crazed people on a trek across the desert for four to six weeks--the "reporter" would follow along in his/her RV, posting two articles a day on such vital topics as local microbrews (in the desert?!) and mushrooms (I kid you not) and beyond.
Yeah, not exactly a perfect job for a 45-year-old sober person (though I bet it wouldn't be hard to get people to sample beer for me), but it certainly was the most entertaining job prospect I've seen so far.
Elsewise, I've been kept busy going through all of the mail and other nonsense that accumulates on one's desk while away, and think I'm finally on top of it. Should be able to get back to work on my one remaining deadline next week. Altogether now: Woo!
Sorry. Didn't mean to let any sarcasm in this entry. Couldn't be helped.
Till next week, then.
Not to worry, I'm not going to lapse into a sarcastic commentary on the use of the term "spring" to describe this time of year, tempting though it may be. Instead, I'm going to note that I applied for another couple of jobs today, bringing my grand total somewhere near 30 (I've had a few outright rejections so far, so am not sure whether to count those). Today's favorite application was for a news reporter post at my hometown paper. It may pay less (okay--a lot less) than what I make now, but it may be interesting--which is a lot more than I can say for some of the work I've done lo these many years for my shrinking publisher. Also got a follow-up letter from a university development job, so there's a little hope there, too.
Ran across a riot of a job on a media jobs site that entailed following crazed people on a trek across the desert for four to six weeks--the "reporter" would follow along in his/her RV, posting two articles a day on such vital topics as local microbrews (in the desert?!) and mushrooms (I kid you not) and beyond.
Yeah, not exactly a perfect job for a 45-year-old sober person (though I bet it wouldn't be hard to get people to sample beer for me), but it certainly was the most entertaining job prospect I've seen so far.
Elsewise, I've been kept busy going through all of the mail and other nonsense that accumulates on one's desk while away, and think I'm finally on top of it. Should be able to get back to work on my one remaining deadline next week. Altogether now: Woo!
Sorry. Didn't mean to let any sarcasm in this entry. Couldn't be helped.
Till next week, then.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
It's cold, it's damp, it's WONDERFUL
It is wonderful indeed to be home in New England again, even if I got stuck in various airports on my way home from New Orleans (was supposed to fly through Dallas/Ft. Worth, but thanks to the weather yesterday, I flew through Miami--which, is aptly named "MIA" in airport code) and didn't get home until 2:00 this morning.
Yes, this morning.
So, I am not exactly the sharpest cheddar in the cheesehouse AND I'm sleepy--watch out world, here I come!!
The conference was worthwhile, for I picked up quite a few quotes, stats, and case studies that will help perk up future stories. It also helped reinforce some of my feelings regarding being a business journalist, for the organization hosting the show treated the press like pariahs--which, I suppose we are (who wants the truth, when the marketing people have so much happier news to share?).
In fact, the press were treated progressively worse by this organization. On day one, "we" had a room, but it didn't have any tables and chairs (for basis of comparison, I've been to conferences in the past where we not only had a room with tables and chairs, we also had Internet access and printers and fax machines at our disposal). But, on day two, the room itself was shut (it was now posted as being a "Quiet Room," whatever the heck that is), and there was a sign by a table (laden with press releases that had the news value of a candybar wrapper) reading simply, "Press Area."
So, we were to huddle by the table? And do what, exactly?
Maybe I'm just disappointed. I was supposed to introduce myself to the director of communications for this outfit in the hopes of landing one of the rare freelance gigs his association offers folks like me, but I didn't. Well, I did introduce myself, but only to say hello and thanks for the press pass. The problem was that I attended a session led by this man, and he distinguished himself as (1) having no sense of humor; (2) having an ego roughly the size of Texas, and (3) being the kind of guy that takes himself more seriously than Supreme Court justices do.
I've worked for people like that before, and you know--life is too damn short to court such people, too short by far.
But this I know: If things ever got so desperate on the financial front that it came down to: You butter up this guy or give your doggies away, I'd butter him up as only a Wisconsin gal can. In a heartbeat.
Where are my scruples? My principles?? Where my dear dogs are concerned, let's just say I agree with a post I saw on the wonderful Web site Dooce (http://www.dooce.com/archives/daily/05_23_2005.html) in which Heather Armstrong, the site's diva, was confronted with the illness of her dear dog Chuck. She and her husband had "the talk" about how much they would spend to save him, and they came to the conclusion that: "We'd sell our cars! We'd sell our house! We could start a meth lab in the basement! ANYTHING!"
I hear that, sister, loud and clear--where Linus and Shwea are concerned, money is no object. Neither is pride.
(But please, dear God, don't let it come to that!)
Yes, this morning.
So, I am not exactly the sharpest cheddar in the cheesehouse AND I'm sleepy--watch out world, here I come!!
The conference was worthwhile, for I picked up quite a few quotes, stats, and case studies that will help perk up future stories. It also helped reinforce some of my feelings regarding being a business journalist, for the organization hosting the show treated the press like pariahs--which, I suppose we are (who wants the truth, when the marketing people have so much happier news to share?).
In fact, the press were treated progressively worse by this organization. On day one, "we" had a room, but it didn't have any tables and chairs (for basis of comparison, I've been to conferences in the past where we not only had a room with tables and chairs, we also had Internet access and printers and fax machines at our disposal). But, on day two, the room itself was shut (it was now posted as being a "Quiet Room," whatever the heck that is), and there was a sign by a table (laden with press releases that had the news value of a candybar wrapper) reading simply, "Press Area."
So, we were to huddle by the table? And do what, exactly?
Maybe I'm just disappointed. I was supposed to introduce myself to the director of communications for this outfit in the hopes of landing one of the rare freelance gigs his association offers folks like me, but I didn't. Well, I did introduce myself, but only to say hello and thanks for the press pass. The problem was that I attended a session led by this man, and he distinguished himself as (1) having no sense of humor; (2) having an ego roughly the size of Texas, and (3) being the kind of guy that takes himself more seriously than Supreme Court justices do.
I've worked for people like that before, and you know--life is too damn short to court such people, too short by far.
But this I know: If things ever got so desperate on the financial front that it came down to: You butter up this guy or give your doggies away, I'd butter him up as only a Wisconsin gal can. In a heartbeat.
Where are my scruples? My principles?? Where my dear dogs are concerned, let's just say I agree with a post I saw on the wonderful Web site Dooce (http://www.dooce.com/archives/daily/05_23_2005.html) in which Heather Armstrong, the site's diva, was confronted with the illness of her dear dog Chuck. She and her husband had "the talk" about how much they would spend to save him, and they came to the conclusion that: "We'd sell our cars! We'd sell our house! We could start a meth lab in the basement! ANYTHING!"
I hear that, sister, loud and clear--where Linus and Shwea are concerned, money is no object. Neither is pride.
(But please, dear God, don't let it come to that!)
Friday, May 20, 2005
Beignets et cafe, here I come!
I'm off to New Orleans tomorrow for a business trip/beignet binge. Hope to amass enough editorial to see my sole remaining publication through the year--perhaps enough to write a few freelance ditties as well.
Am having a day of wonderment/worry over my situation. For a little while, I felt elated that I am going to be doing something new; a little while later I became fearful that this new thing isn't going to appear any time soon. Then an e-mail arrived from a friend with this command enclosed: "Enjoy the time off!"
But then, what if the "time off" is indefinite? I'd enjoy it if I knew in 1.5 months I would be shaking the hand of my future manager/director/editor, excited about the fabulous opportunity that awaits me--but what if that great glorious moment doesn't arrive for three months? Five?? A year?!! (Dare we say it: Never??!!)
Can't enjoy that much time off, at least not with two mortgages to feed, a new car--and, last but not least--a partner who has issues about supporting deadbeat girlfriends.
Not that she's ever supported me financially, mind you, but I know this was one of her biggest problems with past girlfriends (she asked me about my financial situation before she asked me on a date, for heaven's sake).
So, I'm torn, that's what I am--but not about going to N.O. My company has already paid for this trip, so I need to just show up and enjoy what might be my last "fun" trip for a while. (No, the upcoming trip to Florida does not qualify--that's a "duty calls" trip, if ever there was one. Linda made two trips to NE Wisconsin in the dead of winter; the least I can do is go to Florida in hurricane season.)
Won't be checking in for a while (don't think I'll want to pay what they charge for Internet access in the hotel, but one never knows)--I'll be back Thursday the 26th.
Am having a day of wonderment/worry over my situation. For a little while, I felt elated that I am going to be doing something new; a little while later I became fearful that this new thing isn't going to appear any time soon. Then an e-mail arrived from a friend with this command enclosed: "Enjoy the time off!"
But then, what if the "time off" is indefinite? I'd enjoy it if I knew in 1.5 months I would be shaking the hand of my future manager/director/editor, excited about the fabulous opportunity that awaits me--but what if that great glorious moment doesn't arrive for three months? Five?? A year?!! (Dare we say it: Never??!!)
Can't enjoy that much time off, at least not with two mortgages to feed, a new car--and, last but not least--a partner who has issues about supporting deadbeat girlfriends.
Not that she's ever supported me financially, mind you, but I know this was one of her biggest problems with past girlfriends (she asked me about my financial situation before she asked me on a date, for heaven's sake).
So, I'm torn, that's what I am--but not about going to N.O. My company has already paid for this trip, so I need to just show up and enjoy what might be my last "fun" trip for a while. (No, the upcoming trip to Florida does not qualify--that's a "duty calls" trip, if ever there was one. Linda made two trips to NE Wisconsin in the dead of winter; the least I can do is go to Florida in hurricane season.)
Won't be checking in for a while (don't think I'll want to pay what they charge for Internet access in the hotel, but one never knows)--I'll be back Thursday the 26th.
Till then, all good!
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