Strongly Worded

Taking a Blogging Break

2008-07-20T15:36:00.002-04:00

See you in August!

Talking (Work)Shop

2008-07-17T21:17:00.005-04:00

I just enrolled in a writing class. I have taken a few workshops before, most recently a week-long course at the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown. I wanted to do travel writing but "Memoirs of Crisis" was the only class with available slots, so I spent a week in wacky and wild beach-side Provincetown, workshopping pieces about bulimia, AIDS, homelessness, and racism. It was intense.

I'm sure many of you are familiar with writers' workshops. Generally they comprise a mix of talented women, mainly on the friendly and down-to-earth side, many with edgy glasses. Thrown in are a few out-of-the-mainstream types who wear flowy outfits (made of hemp or other natural fabrics) and have names like Thunder. There is usually at least one person who is very thin and very serious and has an MFA. And usually there is a lone guy, one who is jokey and nice, and who gets undue attention and achieves mascot status because he possesses a Y chromosome.

Another characteristic of writer's workshops is that people tend to Put Things Out There, and often write about exceptionally private things in great detail. It is excruciating to workshop their pieces, to listen to them read about their wrenching experiences, and then to say: "That scene with the three acts of sod*my? I found the sentence structure a little off-putting; I noticed some inconsistent use of tense."

I liked the people in last night's class - for the most part, it seems like a good (and super talented) group. However, four very talkative, very macho guys have enrolled. And many of the participants have MFAs and published works, so I felt intimated. And we kicked off with some oversharing. The instructor asked us to write about the best or worst five minutes of our lives. One person wrote about hitting addict's rock bottom. Another person wrote about the birth of a child conceived after years of infertility. A third shared a detailed sex scene followed by a depiction of heartbreak. And we wrapped up with a story of someone's (unsuccessful) resuscitation of a dying relative.

No way in hell was I sharing my piece about a happy five minutes: riding cross-country at horse camp.

I Carried a Watermelon (Twice)

2008-07-13T20:49:00.004-04:00

My friend Erica is one of those people I like a lot but rarely see. We actually met through work, though our meeting was probably inevitable because we have many friends in common and in fact even dated the same guy (at different points in time). In the very small world that comprises Greater Boston Nonprofits, she now holds the job that was formerly held by the woman who replaced me at my former soul-sucking job.

Anyway. Erica is way busy. (Not that she's too-cool-for-school, just hard to get a hold of.) So I see her very occasionally when she's free for brunch at my house, and at her fabulous seasonal parties for which she goes all out. And by that I mean all out. She makes homemade crackers and bread sticks. Figs stuffed with marscapone and gorgonzola. Dates filled with almonds and dipped in dark chocolate. All kinds of fancy dessert goodness ... it goes on.

According to her E-vite, last night was "An Lazy Summer Evening of Deliciousness," whereas Erica invited a mix of people over for punch and treats on her gorgeous patio. I went over with a batch of friends and we burst confidently onto the patio, drinks in hand. And we found ourselves facing a group of seniors sitting decorously on lawn chairs. Erica was nowhere to be seen. The seniors raised their eyebrows at us, we smiled uncertainly, and then we turned on our heels and went back out to the street, laughing hysterically and thinking we must have barged in on the wrong party. Is that Erica's house? We felt like idiots. Someone suggested we call Erica to check. Someone else argued: "What are you going to say? That we think we're at your house but it's full of old people?" The point was moot because Erica did not answer her phone. In the end, we sheepishly traipsed back in, and it turned out that we were in the right place, and that the much older guests were board members from Erica's job. They arrived early and left early. The party was lovely. Nobody seemed to notice, or care, that we made two entrances.

I Am So Ordinary

2008-07-12T11:12:00.003-04:00

So I do not have anything monumental to report. I am not newly pregnant, like the beagle-owning, tap-dancing Jen, nor have I recently birthed a second child, like the hilarious, 7-Up chugging Big K. Nor have I completed a really cool documentary-spawning road trip like Marigoldie (whose blog is password-protected).

So what non-monumental things have been preventing me from regular blogging? Sleepiness and malaise caused by the cocktail of drugs that are supposed to lessen migraines and generally improve my neurological well-being. (The jury is very much out on that one.) Going on some decidedly non-monumental dates (unworthy of UpDATES, at least for now.) And working rather hard, visiting more students in intern-land. (I did, by the way, give an email smack-down to the .05% most brilliant student, but he never wrote back.)

This has proven to be exhausting and also interesting, since I meet separately with supervisors and students and act as a kind of double agent. One of our students is working on a revolutionary aircraft that will be test-flown in the Fall, and he's assembling some vital parts and sanding them down. "If you sand them too much," he told me, "you get holes, and then you have to patch them, and if you do that incorrectly, then you get air bubbles and that could cause a serious malfunction." I was taken aback and asked if that made him constantly stressed, given the responsibility and his friendship with the test pilot.The student was cavalier, confident that he was doing a good job, and that any errors on his part would be picked up by other members of the assembly team. The supervisor thought otherwise. Point blank, she said: "there are serious problems with his craftsmanship. I have pointed them out, but he doesn't seem to get it."

Another student seemed very happy at his placement, especially about his flexible hours. He did, however, express some scorn towards his supervisor's "traditional style," because he arrives each day at 8:00 a.m. precisely, and leaves at 4:00 on the dot. I snickered along with the student and introduced him to the term "clock watcher." Then I spoke with the supervisor and learned that the student's "flexible" hours are in fact erratic, and that he once rolled in at 3:00 p.m. and was late for an 11:00 a.m. meeting. I also learned that the "clock watching" was the result of parenting, and that the supervisor has a child at camp that needs to be picked up and dropped off at specific times, yes, on the dot. I felt like an idiot, but could not go back and say anything to the student, because unlike a real double agent I maintain confidentiality.

That's pretty much it. I've seen robotic arms, and learned about all kinds of software, and emerging markets for hydroelectric power and how they relates to salmon populations. Who knew?

At the Car Wash

2008-07-06T16:24:00.003-04:00

The dental hygienist finally persuaded me to get an electric toothbrush. I've been resisting for years, mainly because I didn't (and still don't) want to own yet another thing that needs to be plugged in/charged (cell phone, iPod, wireless computer keyboard/mouse ... ), or that has a component that needs to be periodically replaced (Britta filter, contact lenses ... ). I also don't want another thing cluttering up my bathroom.

But in the name of periodontal health, I bought the Vitality, which promises to produce a "healthy mouth that shows in your smile." However, during the seemingly endless minute during which the "brushing" is supposed to last, it feels like there is a fucking car wash going on in my mouth.

Just sharing.

The Top .05%

2008-07-04T09:44:00.002-04:00

One of our students is getting conducting an internship at a nonprofit this summer. It's actually a "lipstick on a pig" type of situation, in which a fancy consulting outfit runs this very competitive "summer consultancy program" in which it farms out ivy leaguers to financially strapped organizations. "Buddy," the student in question, would never have chosen this gig if it hadn't been dubbed a "consultancy," and if he hadn't been rejected by the real consultants at McKinsey, Monitor, and all the other places where they only hire juniors and seniors.

All of our students get a site visit at some point during the summer to ensure that all is well in intern-land. In general, intern-land tends to be pretty sweet. Many of our 20-year-old students work with computers, and they get paid a lot (the record so far is $35 an hour.). The students who work in finance or who actually get the McKinsey/Monitor consulting jobs also get paid big bucks and live for free in penthouses in NYC and see clients in high-rise buildings with orchids in the lobbies.

Well, Buddy's "client" is a 4-person nonprofit organization that operates out of an inner-city warehouse. He is getting a stipend of $2,ooo, which works out to $5/hr. . And his project is to develop software for an inventory system. To his enormous credit, Buddy is not a computer science major and has never developed software before.

Somehow he has figured out how to do this, and he very proudly told me about his work and how the experience has really changed his career interests and that he is now interested in social enterprise and small business development. I was thrilled until he said, "But the organization is getting the sweetest deal ever. I mean, it's ridiculous. I'm in the top .05% of the smartest people on this planet, and they're getting me for $5/hr."

I was stunned. I retorted that he was getting not just $5 but experience, connections, learning, exposure, blah blah, but in retrospect so are his classmates that are getting $35/hr. It is lame that he is getting paid so little. But the lameness has nothing to do with his unbelievably arrogant (though probably accurate) assertion of his brilliance. I may follow up with an email that says that everyone deserves to be fairly compensated for his/her work. And that while he may be in a very high percentile of brilliance in a certain genre of smarts, he may be way down there in kinesthetic intelligence, emotional intelligence, social intelligence (definitely) ... and as we all know there are many ways to be smart. And on top of everything? He's had an exceptional level of privilege to hone and develop his gifts. There may be a ton of people he encounters every day, getting paid minimum wage at the mall, who could have the same abilities as he does, but not the opportunities to develop them at a fancy school. He may not be quite as unique as he thinks.

If you have anything else I should add to the email (other than "you arrogrant bastard," let me know).

This Is My Brain On Drugs

2008-06-30T19:50:00.006-04:00

So if you've read this blog for any length of time you'll know about my long and depressing health history, and that I've had frequent migraines since my teen years. Periodically, I get these intractable headaches that don't go away for months, and I've had one since late March. Basically I have a headache at some point of almost every day, with a handful of consecutive pain-free days to write home about. I consider this a truly boring topic, and do not discuss it much because when I do, people either feel sorry for me (which is awkward, and there's a fine line between compassion and pity) or they tell me stories about the migraines of their friend/husband/cousin, or they ask if I have tried one of the billion things (Imitrex, biofeedback, tea, cold compresses) that I promise you I have. I know people are trying to be helpful, but well-meaning input gets very, very old.

Anyway. After three courses of steroids and many tests and appointments (and much neurological complexity that I will spare you, and no, I do not have a brain tumor), my specialist (who is both a neurologist and a headache guru) has come up with a cocktail of new drugs. One of them costs $10 per pill (and works about as well as the old one, which costs "only" $6 per pill - and this is the co-payment, people, for Harvard Fucking Pilgrim insurance, not some no-frills health plan).

But the truly weird thing? Said drug, along with the two other medications, has a lovely array of vague side effects, and at any given moment I have no idea how I feel. I got home from work today and did not feel like going to the gym and wondered if that is just run-of-the-mill laziness or drug-induced depression and/or lethargy and/or drowsiness? Earlier I was edgy - was this straight-up work drama, or was it related to the other drug which can cause anxiety? Is my headache better or worse than it was last week? Is the posh drug kicking in? And appetite? Hello? Are you lost yet? Or am I just too lazy to make dinner? And finally: what about that typo earlier? Am I experiencing "mental cloudiness"?

Courthouse Rock

2008-06-25T09:57:00.005-04:00

So I was assigned to standby jury duty, and was so cocksure that I wouldn't have jury duty, in that completely baseless and irrational way that some pregnant women are sure they aren't carrying a child of a particular sex, when of course they are. Of course, when I called the hotline (1-800-THE-JURY, no joke) to confirm my status, I was told to get my ass to the courthouse at 8:15 a.m.

I took a cab to jury duty, because it was held in a courthouse at the vertex of several highways so frightening that just the idea of driving on any one of them made me shudder. I felt vindicated later on, when the juror wrangler (or whatever the official term is) urged everyone to stay within walking distance, "because if you get in your car you will get on one of several confusing and poorly marked highways and you could end up in Chelsea, Revere, or somewhere else very far away."

The last time I had jury duty was in a huge scary courthouse with an adjacent jail, and the jurors were shepherded around and nobody talked to each other. This time there were maybe 18 people (two named Marie) in the jury pool, and we all sat in this little windowless room and it was like The Breakfast Club. One woman talked about how she'd never be chosen for duty because she'd been arrested several times. Another guy, a 20-year-old college student, discussed how his lack of summer job and the rising cost of gas is cramping his social life; he has recently attended two parties at which the beer to person ratio was 20:1, and that the cost of the beer and its transportation is becoming a hardship. One chick just finished her master's in journalism and writes art reviews for a local arts magazine; she had lots of piercings and one of the Maries joked about how surprising it was that she made it through "security" (a woman at the front door with a hand-held the metal detector). We got a break and all walked to Dunkin' Donuts in a group.

We watched a sappy movie about the justice system in which a female judge and a very diverse group of lawyers depicted how progressive the makers of the film, and the Attorney General's Office, are (props to them - maybe they could work on acting now that they've nailed diversity). We all guffawed. Then at 10:30 the young judge (a real live woman of color) came down to the windowless holding tank where we waited and dismissed us, thanking us for being there and performing our civic duties.

Nicely done.

My Lady Friends

2008-06-22T17:29:00.004-04:00

So last night I had the rare pleasure of hanging out with several members of my former posse (who have defected to New Orleans and suburbia, respectively), and some other friends. I cannot tell you how awesome this was. Along with with their boyz, K., Robyn, and I had dinner and discussed the possibility of ordering a Tofu Square in honor of Melinda (whose love of turkey pot pies does not preclude her love for these). Melinda would have been there, too, had she not defected to the Midwest. I miss said posse in a big way. In the way that Carrie does, in one of the last SATC episodes. Remember that scene after she moves to Paris, and it sucks, and she walks by this coffee shop and through the window she sees a group of French Samantha-Miranda-Charlotte look-alikes, all nodding and laughing together? I see scenes like that, and experience wistful feelings like that, all the time. I see Robyn a fair amount, and we all keep in touch, but it's just not the same.

Last night, after dinner, we ended up convening outside a cafe, and I went inside to use the bathroom, and then I came out and everyone was assembled outside and I had this moment of pure happiness, seeing them all (well, sans Melinda, but still) together in one place, and I said hi, you guys, savoring the words, because how often do I get to say that?

My mom says maybe I will get a new posse. Maybe my work BFFs (the beloved chicks in my immediate office plus the Admissions Girls minus the Mean Admissions Girl) will get together more regularly and sit on blankets together on the Fourth of July. And watch the equivalent of gymnastics and American Idol together (Robyn and Melinda have even done this virtually, on g-chat). Maybe we will talk about race and whether it's OK to use the word "ghetto" to describe something of poor quality (Last night, the verdict was no.). Maybe we will talk about negotiating pay raises at work, or debate whether it is ethically different to illegally download music vs. illegally watch TV online.

But somehow I just can't imagine it. Maybe work BFFs can morph in to BFF 2.0s (because dude, I'll always have the 1.0s). I am blessed to have lots of other BFFs in my life - amazing women (and a stray guy!) who I really, truly, love. But they're not all friends with each other, and they belong to posses of their own.

I am not sure if it's possible for a posse to evolve at this stage in one's adulthood. I could maybe join one, but do they ever coalesce from scratch?

Pants on Fire

2008-06-19T22:19:00.002-04:00

Not "I misspoke" or "I may have misrepresented some facts." I just lied. One of my sweetest co-workers asked me if I have a blog. I've spoken many times about my love of writing and today she said, "I'm surprised you don't have a blog." (She has one in which she primarily posts gorgeous photos of her gorgeous baby.)

I murmured that I enjoy reading and posting on other people's blogs.

"Have you ever thought about starting one yourself?" she asked.

I muttered yes, mentioned concerns about privacy, said they deterred me, and changed the subject.

And then I almost backtracked and told her. I would never write anything bad about aforementioned co-worker, and she is a true friend who knows virtually everything I write about here. But still. She could mention something to another co-worker, unintentionally, and then things could get weird.

It sucks to lie, though, especially to someone so awesome.

Mean Girl

2008-06-14T20:51:00.003-04:00

So one of the extremely cool things about my foster job is my relationship with the Admissions Girls*. These are a batch of women of similar age and mindset, who work down the hall from me and my extremely cool two co-workers. The Admissions Office has a microwave and a fax machine (whereas ours does not), so we visit the Admissions Girls on a fairly regular basis. Also, our office features a well-stocked basket of candy "for the students," so they Admissions Girls pop over to our end of the hall as well. In the name of Cultivating Interdepartmental Relationships, we periodically get together after work. It is super fun.

There is one exception, however. I experience"Elyse" as really mean. On my very first day at my foster job, I asked to use one of their fax cover sheets. I had never met her before and she rolled her eyes and said, "I don't know why you'd to use those heinous looking things, but help yourself."

I was taken aback, but I faxed, then scurried away. A few weeks later, I heard that she was in fact shy and that her Outer Bitch was shielding a warm and vulnerable soul. I was open to that, but then, on several occasions I heard her speak sharply about her boyfriend ("Why won't he fucking commit? I'm 36. We've been together 6 months. My lease is up. Let's get this goddamned show on the road.") and about her boss ("He's a perverted asshole.").

Then, last night, we all went out for drinks. She declared that her drink tasted like "nail polish remover" and wanted it to be comped. "Who's asking the bartender for a refund?" She demanded. "Who's the Jew here?"

And I was all ... whoa. I know that Elyse herself is Jewish, as she hastened to add. But I, and the other Jewish woman present, was both horrified and taken aback. We may be authorized to mock members of our own tribe, but it should be done in a playful way, not one that is hateful and perpetuates stereotypes.

Then she started hating on the admissions director. Apparently the director was leading a staff retreat and melted down while relaying the fact that her stepson had left for Iraq earlier that week. Said Elyse: "Who does that? It's her stepson, dude. Not her own kid. And who fucking cries at a staff retreat? How unprofessional is that?"

At this point, the other Admissions Girls briefly defended the director and changed the subject. It was clear that Elyse had crossed the line of decency. She said some more unkind things about various topics and I have concluded that while her bitterness may stem from some vulnerability, she is still pretty damn mean.

*Department name changed to protect privacy

You Take the Good, You Take the Bad, You Take The Rest And There You Have The Facts of Life

2008-06-11T08:03:00.007-04:00

The Good:
Another really cool thing that has just happened is that, after months and months of talking about it, my co-worker finally ordered a coffee maker for our office. Until now, one of us has made at least one daily run to procure either overpriced coffee ($3.50 for a small latte!) or affordable coffee ($1.84 for brown water). Again and again, we discussed how much money and time we are wasting on this effort, and how we should really invest in an office coffee maker. Many, many discussions ensued about the cost of various models, whether our program budget (in the hundreds of thousands) could cover the cost ($24.99), and whether it made more sense to order a coffee maker online (and pay for shipping) or go to Target and physically buy one.

At some point, this became too annoying to bear, and I went to Target myself, bought the damn thing, and lugged it to work. (And I should mention that it was surprisingly heavy and awkward to haul on the subway). Everyone oohed and aahed at my initiative. But: as soon as we opened it, we noticed a manufacturer’s flaw, and I then had to schlep it back on the subway and make another special trip to return that bad boy. Luckily, I really enjoy going to Target. The upshot: is that we ordered another coffee maker online (with Amazon prime free shipping) and my former-barista-co-worker supplied some kick-ass java and now we can have as much iced or hot coffee as our little hearts (or jonesing neurons) desire. It really does fill me with joy and this week I’ve already reallocated the $17.50 that I was formerly wasting on weekly coffee. I spent it on an extraordinarily overpriced Ethiopian dinner ($16.95).

The Bad:
A much less thing cool thing also happened. Remember how I mentioned another former temp in our office has achieved permanent status? Which is all great for her but rather hard for me, given that I’m still a contractor and shelling out more than $130 a week on health care, plus trying hard to be agile without a job description or title? At the college where I work, all the offices have names on the doors. And today I was actually asked to call Facilities and get them to letter her name on the door. Note that there are three other permanent staff members who are perfectly equipped to handle such a procedure, but I was chosen to do it. And when I asked my dear and wise friend Banter Boy about whether this is worse than a slap in the face, he sensibly asked if I had ever been slapped in the face. Since I have not (thank God), I am agree that I’m unqualified to draw that kind of comparison. But he agreed that the situation sucks.

The Rest:
Forthcoming.

Some Upbeat Chatter to Offset Existential Questioning

2008-06-07T21:17:00.002-04:00

Today it was 92 degrees, and it's supposed to be similarly hot tomorrow. This fills me with joy. I love the heat. I'm like an iguana. Naturally cold-blooded (and constantly freezing), I am blissful when I can bask and soak up sun and warmth. This rocks especially right now, because it's still early in the season, and arctic air-conditioning is not yet blasting everywhere. I remain confounded about the fact that in the wintertime, people heat their surroundings to around 71 degrees. Yet in summer, it is deemed acceptable to chill stores and offices and homes to around 60 degrees, even though everyone is wearing much less clothing.

I am also chuffed because my friends Robyn, Melinda, and K. will be convening in New Orleans in July, for our second trans-national reunion. The four of us all used to live within the same area code, but then Robyn moved to suburbia, Melinda got all midwestern on us, and K. had the nerve to apply her brilliant educational psychologist training to the distressed school districts of Louisiana. But whatever. This is going to be awesome. Hopefully at least as awesome as our first reunion. Apparently it will be infernally hot, but I will be consuming snow balls, which are like Sno-cones but better.

But wait! There's even more good news! A while back, I took out a zillion books from the library (because, by having many options, I don't feel obligated to finish books if I am not feeling them), and three of them disappeared under the seat of my car, and thus I not only never read them (or even remembered I'd taken them out), but never returned them. After many weeks, I got a scary overdue notice from the library. I immediately dropped off the books, but did not inquire about the fine. Today I drove over there and braced myself and expected to shell out around $50. Which I kept reminding myself is still way cheaper than buying books, and also there are worse things than contributing money to the public library, right? And guess what? My fine was only $3!

And finally: I discovered an Ann Taylor outlet nearby, and I bought several cool shirts that don't make me look pregnant and were also affordable.

Yay!

End-of-the-week Angst

2008-06-05T21:54:00.002-04:00

All the students have left for the summer, and the university where I work is deserted. There are no interesting fliers stuck up in the hallways, or random students dropping by. There was lots of fancy excitement surrounding graduation, and I found myself looking longingly at the caps and gowns and wishing that I, too, were newly launching myself into the world.

I am not teaching this summer, so with work being slow, there is even less to do and think about.This leaves me time to worry about where my life is going. Before making the career change from the not-for-profit to academia, my sense of purpose was built-in. I didn’t have to think too much about my role in the world because my day job promoted the Greater Good. In my series of positions at scrappy organizations, I never had delusions that what I did was particularly effective (or even particularly interesting), but I felt secure in the knowledge that I was in some way Making a Contribution. And for many years, in addition to my professional good work, I also did a lot of volunteering. I served on boards and committees and was incredibly busy. I derived great satisfaction from these activities, but I also depended upon them to feel worthy. Over time, I learned to be OK with coming home after work and “just” seeing friends or going to the gym (or even doing nothing!). After a lot of angst, I let go of many commitments except two: I still work on health care quality issues, and belong to an infrequently-meeting group that promotes women’s mentorship in the Jewish community.

When I left the not-for-profit world, I assured myself that while I was selling out to some extent, I would find other ways to do good. I would get active in new organizations and find new ways to be idealistic. But I left my soul-sucking-but-philanthropic job about a year ago, and so far I haven’t done that. Occasionally, when I’m sitting on the train or walking or spacing out, I feel really disappointed in myself. Through my day job (which is still a foster job), I realize maybe 20% of my energy and brain power. Nurturing my friendships is important to me, but I don’t have a family or partner to take care of, nor do I do creative things like so many of my friends. So what am I doing with my life and what’s the point of having a good heart, an able mind, and a stellar education?

I don’t think I need a life coach or therapy or yoga or a silent retreat. But I don’t know how I’m going to figure this out.

I'll Have the Clam Creme With Potato Morsels

2008-06-01T20:18:00.004-04:00

So my parents live in a small town about two hours away, and I see them maybe every six weeks or so. Usually I visit them on the weekends; on the few occasions when they come to the city, it's just for the day. They arrive in the morning, and we go out to lunch, and perhaps we go to a museum, or browse in some store for a while. They dislike driving in the dark, so they usually leave early.

Because of this, while I have lived in Greater Boston for eight years, I have yet to go out to a fancy city dinner with my parents. This week my dad is in town for a conference, and so he and my mom are here for most of the week. A long time ago I got a gift certificate as a work appreciation thing, and it was to a restaurant about which I was unenthusiastic. So I sold the gift certificate on craigslist (There is a major secondary market for gift cards on there ... I sold it to this older couple who buy cards all the time, and we conducted the transaction in a bank parking lot ...), and have been hoarding the cash ever since. So this confluence of events inspired me to take my parents out to dinner (finally) to Oleana, which is one of the area's best-known delicious restaurants. And it was meh. My dad was tense and fussy - all he wanted was lamb. My mom's order was good but not amazing. We had two desserts: salted caramel ice cream served over a sesame-cashew cake with roasted pineapple; and a pistachio crepe with poached cherries, pistachio ice cream, and buttermilk semifreddo. I thought both were exquisite, but my mom didn't. While I did not personally cook or choose the dishes we had, I still wanted her to love them.

For tomorrow night, I made reservations at Radius, which is even more famous (and also much more pretentious - it's the kind of place where the waiters present each dish to you as if it were a celebrity, and they give you a new napkin if you get up to go the the bathroom). I've only been there once, when Banter Boy took me there to celebrate my liberation from my soul-sucking job; It was one of the most memorable meals I've ever had. But now I don't know. It's weird: my mom is as fascinated by food as I am. She watches Top Chef (and all those shows on The Food Network). She reads cookbooks. She entertains constantly. But she was lukewarm about tonight, has already expressed reservations about tomorrow night, so maybe we should call the whole thing off and go eat at some seafood place she spotted near their hotel.

I'm so disappointed. I so rarely get to go out and eat fancy food. But I think eating out with people who are not enjoying or appreciating the meal is decidedly un fun. So if you're in the mood for New England clam chowder, let me know. I'll probably be on the waterfront tomorrow night, with my parents. Maybe we can meet up.

Riding the Ruby on Rails*

2008-05-30T05:17:00.004-04:00

At my foster job, we are launching a new program, which, on a good day, I'll describe as "continuously evolving." The program is overseen by a large advisory board, and its design constantly (daily, hourly) changes. The ultimate goal of the program is to provide special training to students studying scientific and technical subjects, and so the prospective participants are also at the mercy of these changes.

Apparently this process mirrors the "agile" method of software development, in which companies pound out a product even before it's ready for prime time, and then issue patches and new versions as bugs and problems are discovered (obviously this is a very dumbed-down explanation of a concept I am barely familiar with). The goal is to avoid getting hung up on perfection early on, and get the product out in the marketplace. At my job, the program development process has to be agile, since it will be rolled out before we have clarity on many key components. This means that I, as the acting coordinator, have to behave in agile ways, and this is a major growth experience for me. It also means that we need to recruit "early users" for the program: students who are pumped about being in the first class and shaping it for others, and students who are comfortable with ambiguity and some level of risk.

Working in this environment makes me question my own capacity for "early use." I don't think I am an early user or even an early adopter. While many of my friends had gmail back when you still needed an invitation, I just recently got an account, and that was mainly for blog-related reasons. I got an iPod and digital camera just last year. I don't have a Blackberry or a Palm. I don't do Facebook. I hardly ever use my cell phone.

However: I'm curious about my place on the spectrum of luddite to techno-whiz because my objection (for the most part) isn't technical. It's not that I find new technology cumbersome or scary, it's just that I usually don't find it necessary. I like writing down appointments in a paper datebook that I can easily and cheaply replace if it got lost or ruined. I like talking to people when I am present and available, and not when I'm at the grocery store or on the bus. And while having an iPod is cool and cute (and I'd never want to give mine up), I've never felt that it filled a major void in my life. I am curious about the whole idea of early adoption and how it applies to other facets of one's personality. Even outside of technology, I like things that are tried and true and recommended, and I'd rather choose something I know I'll enjoy (movie, book, music) than take a random activity or product for a spin.

If you're similarly intrigued, you can take a quiz here to find out where you fall on the technology adoption spectrum.

*Ruby on Rails is a cutting-edge programming language.

A Mysterious Encounter

2008-05-26T12:12:00.004-04:00

OK, just a little more about men:

So in my last spate of JDating there was only one guy I liked, and after date #2, said guy told me that he thought friendship was a "better fit" for us than dating. This phrase made me want to hurl, but I decided to be all grown up about it, and I agreed that we could hang out as friends. I never thought it would actually happen, but he did contact me, and we've talked on the phone a bunch of times since then, and gone out a non-date (dinner and a movie with no kissing).

Last night we went on non-date #2, and now I am totally confused. We decided to get together in the evening but had no concrete plans, so he came over and we looked online at movies/music and found nothing too enticing. So the guy suggests we get some food near my house and then rent a movie to watch afterwards. Now if this were pre-meditated (meaning he'd proposed watching a movie to begin with), I might take it to mean: "after dinner I would like us to make out," but since the suggestion was made in the context of other options not panning out, I reserved judgment. We had a very lovely meal, and during the meal he told me about how he went out with this woman and felt unattracted to her, but she kept insisting there were sparks when there were none. I took that as warning.

So we got a video and returned to my house and the guy suggested we crack open a bottle of wine, which we did. (Most of you know I don't drink, but I had a few sips to be social). He had a decent amount of wine. We put the DVD on, and I settled onto the armchair as he settled onto the couch. He says: I can't watch this if you're sitting all the way on the other side of the room. Come sit with me.

Now when a female friend comes over to watch a flick, I always sit on the other side of the room, because my couch is pretty small. But whatevs. This guy is cute. I was willing to get a little cozy. So I sat down and he splayed out and puts his arm over the back of the couch/my back, and I'm all: is this a meekly executed arm-around-the-girl? (He was not touching me at all.) Or just a guy taking up space because the world is male-dominated?

We watched the hilarious and vulgar movie. We laughed and chatted. And I was completely mystified. After it ended we lolled around for a little while longer and he left shortly after midnight.

I consulted with a wise male advisor this morning, and he asked why I didn't make a move. I know that I am not a strong sender of signals, so under other circumstances I may have been a little more assertive. But I wasn't feeling electric energy last night, and I also felt like my dignity was in mad jeopardy. He did say explicitly that he wasn't into me in a romantic way (even if it was a long time ago), and if I would have made a move, and been spurned, I might dissolve into a puddle of shame.

So there you have it. Close encounters of the inexplicable kind.

Get Well Soon

2008-05-22T21:27:00.005-04:00

So a close friend of mine (BB) is now fine, but he just survived a serious medical emergency. Actually, said emergency occurred on Sunday night, but I just learned of it this morning (Thursday) because of a combination of a) not personally knowing the person who took him to the ER; b) the indecipherable voicemail she left on my cell phone; and c) lack of cell service at my office.

When I did put the pieces together today, and called my friend's workplace and then the hospital, and then heard his cranky-but-very-much-alive-and-well voice on the phone, I melted down. My co-worker hugged me and plied me with an overpriced latte. I slurped and sobbed not just because what had happened was so scary, but because it had happened days ago and I just found out. I had not been there for BB in any sense, and, worse: I had even been somewhat pissed at him because a) I felt a little blown off by non-materializing dinner plans; b) he didn't alert me of a major event in a mutual friend's life; c) he gave my cell to some random woman (the one who brought him to the ER and tried to summon me indecipherably); and d) he wasn't on IM last night, and he's always on IM, and I attributed his absence to promiscuous behavior, because really, in my sick and twisted mind, if he's not on IM, what (who?) could he possibly be doing?

I asked if I could do anything for BB and he said no, and he specifically told me not to cook anything. His parents are with him, and a whole slew of friends had either visited or were planning to do so. I was welcome to stop by later, he said, but he had plenty of peeps. And at this moment I began to understand that when our friends undergo crises, there are really two sets of responses. The first is all about the friend, and the second is all about ourselves. After the initial wave of concern for BB, and loving feelings inspired by his kindness, his top-notch banter, and his brilliance, I became concerned about me. I wanted to see BB and confirm for myself that he is, indeed, healthy and safe. I wanted to be counted among the People Who Care Deeply About BB. I wanted to cook him a healthy meal because cooking is a concrete way for me to show love and care, and I want BB to feel loved and cared for.

Having been hospitalized myself, I know that other people's love and care and concern can be burdensome. It can be tiring and awkward to entertain visitors when you feel (and probably look and smell) wretched, and you've got tubes sticking out of you, and are wearing a backless hospital gown that doesn't cover squat. Responding to a barrage of well-meaning medical questions also sucks. And having to politely and graciously accept sympathy, generosity, and help can also get old after a while.

Still, I dropped in on BB, who had been discharged from the hospital. He looked and sounded normal. He was watching baseball and eating unsalted cashews. His mom, two visitors, and cats were keeping him company. I felt better knowing he's OK, and in good hands.

When I asked BB if there was anything to do for him (since cooking was off-limits), he said I could write an entertaining blog entry. I wracked my brain to see if I could come up with something pithy or funny. I came up short. I hope this is better than nothing. At least for today, it seems to be all I can do.

We Are Family

2008-05-19T20:29:00.004-04:00

This weekend marked my first-ever visit with my three cousins on U.S. soil.

I have this tiny extended family. Three of my grandparents died when I was little; I lost my grandmother right after college. My parents have one sibling each (and my dad's brother died a few years ago). I have six cousins. That's it. Other than my nuclear family, there are only nine people on this planet to whom I have familial ties.

Also: all of these nine people live in another country. The last time I visited said country was in 2000, and there have been only a few U.S. visits since then.We email on birthdays, and my mom and aunt talk all the time, so I get all the details about the fam (I hear about everything from my cousins' marital challenges to their home appliances).

The fact that the three cousins decided to visit was a huge deal. One of them has four (!) kids and the other one has two kids, and they've never been super close as sisters. This bonding trip is not only freeing for them, but also incredibly cool for me, since we got to really talk without sippy-cup-, diaper-, or time out-related interruptions.

I was so, so excited and nervous to see them, especially since my three cousins and my mom stayed with me last night in my one-bedroom apartment. There is something about side-by-side airbeds that breeds hilarity and closeness, and we snapped tons of sassy photos. My cousins were also enthusiastic about my home and neighborhood and appreciated all kinds of things I'd never considered before. For example, at most crosswalks in my area (and I imagine in most of the U.S.) the "Walk" sign is followed by beeping and a numeric countdown that allows you to saunter across the street, or haul ass, as appropriate.

And the weirdest thing? My cousin couldn't get over the American accents. Everyone sounded, to her, like the people from American Pie. She kept laughing, and saying (over and over)" "this one time ... at band camp ..."

I Don't Like Mike

2008-05-17T14:45:00.002-04:00

Remember Mike? The guy I met through work a few months ago? The guy with whom I/people in my office thought I could fall in love? The one who turned out to be schmoozy and slick?

Of course you remember. And of course you'll be intrigued when I tell you that Mike was in town this week. He's an "independent consultant" based in New York, and was invited to my workplace, along with some other alums, to give input on a new academic initiative. Mike is all about his consultant status, and is constantly checking his blackberry/voicemail. Interestingly, the other meeting participants were VPs at major corporations - one was featured on the cover of Forbes magazine last year - but somehow they were able to unplug completely. Just recently I heard two people snorting when I mentioned what I assumed to be Mike's consulting prowess. "Mike has been unemployed for four years," I was told. "And he IMs obsessively with his ex girlfriend."

Alas. Mike stayed on campus after the meeting, and hung out in my office for hours, and somehow the topic of dating emerged, and Mike got all pedagogical and started sharing his fool-proof strategies. First, he discussed how he's a champion ballroom dancer, and how whipping a chick around on a dance floor is Phase I of a Sure Thing Seduction. Then, he talked about his home decor. Apparently Phase II is based on scented candles. Lots and lots of scented candles. He has vanilla, cookie spice, and pine-y passion. It made me a little nauseous just thinking of that (What is it with guys and vanilla? Another guy I dated thought it was sex-promoting as well. It's so not.) And interestingly, Mike is 38 and single.

I told him that dancing and scented candles seemed trite and presumptuous to me, and that what is truly hot is listening and asking questions. "I ask questions," he insisted. "If anything, I ask too many questions."

Now over the last few months, I've spent a significant amount of time with Mike, and he has not asked me one single question. I know about his ballroom dancing, his candles, his ex-girlfriend, his consulting, his networking, his work history ... and what has he asked me? Zip. While I realize Mike is not courting me, he still sucks and is not a good listener. It's like the classic When Harry Met Sally line: "everyone thinks they have good taste and a sense of humor." I debated whether to tell him this, and decided against it.

I think I am done writing about men for a while.

Semi Pseudo Date #500,228

2008-05-14T21:39:00.002-04:00

So two of my exes were at a bar a few weeks ago and met a third guy. They confirmed that said guy is Jewish, straight, sweet, smart, and single, and proceeded to fix us up. His only known shortcoming: he hooks his Blackberry on to his belt. I consider this egregious but also easy to fix.

We had our first uneventful date (#500,227) some time ago. I had hoped we would fall in love instantly, because my last spate of JDating was so completely unsuccessful. And the date was fine. Mr. Blackberry was super polite and gentlemanly, but there wasn't anything special. If my two exes hadn't assured me that there is both humor and edge behind his polite facade, I don't think I would have pursued anything. But because of those assurances, I followed up, and Mr. Blackberry proposed a second get-together. He emailed and suggested that we go see Harold & Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, and when I read the message I slumped deep down in my chair and started pouting, because I hate that kind of movie and would only go if doing so would be an act of love and support that would later be reciprocated. Also his emails were riddled with emoticons.

Luckily he offered an alternative, and suggested I join him at a book reading/fundraiser. I was wary because it was sponsored by some Jewish professional schmoozy doctors-and-lawyers outfit, and I generally strive to avoid that scene, but whatever, it beats a stoner movie hands down. I envisioned we'd chat and then sit with a bunch of other young professionals, eat a mediocre kosher meal, listen to the speaker, and then go out for coffee or a drink or something.

But no. This was an incredibly noisy room packed to the gills with young Jewish lawyers and doctors, and the "dinner" originated from a buffet wedged in the back of the room. It was one of those things where you try to squeeze the food on your tiny plastic plate and hold it, along with your plastic cup of ginger ale, your coat, and the bag you schlepped from work. While doing this, you are also trying to chatter brightly and intelligently while a) not dropping food, drink, coat, or bag; b) ensuring teeth remain free of parsley and spinach; c) actually chewing and swallowing food; and d) enduring the pain caused by cooler-than-normal shoes worn in anticipation of a date-like encounter.

To add to this weirdness, Mr. B clearly knew many people at this event, and while he greeted me warmly when I arrived, there was no evidence that we were on a date or even affiliated in any way. We barely talked to each other, and in fact, others who joined our broader conversations kept introducing me to him. One girl asked where I worked, and when I mentioned VPS, she said, "Oh, Mr. B went to VPS." And I'm all: step off, chica. I know. The same girl offered to save seats (there were rows of chairs set up for the reading), and then she saved seats for herself and Mr. B, but not for me, so I ended up sitting by myself some distance away.

I was ravenous, my back/feet hurt, and I was simultaneously bored and exhausted by the small talk, but things still went downhill. The only two souls I knew in this place were grad school classmates, both on the annoying side, both married, one pregnant. The pregnant one proceeded to update me on the four classmates me know in common, all of whom are newly married and/or pregnant, and this is not information that makes a single girl feel good when she's on a semi pseudo date with a guy to whom she is repeatedly being introduced.

After the speaker wrapped up, Mr. Blackberry scanned the room and sighed and said he hated the awkward goodbye phase of such events, and I suggested we skip it and leave. But no, he told me: "I have a few more people I need to talk to." So he turned on his heel and went to make his rounds, and I stood there by myself like an idiot, and then continued my depressing conversation with my grad school peeps. Shortly thereafter, there was a general announcement that the Young Lawyers and Doctors were heading across the street to a bar. It was only 8:30 but there was nothing I wanted less than to continue meaningless and even louder conversations with even more strangers, so I hugged Mr. B and set off for home.

He followed up the next day with a neutral "thanks for coming out" - it's unclear what his desired outcome is, or what (if anything) will happen next.

Temp to Perm

2008-05-11T17:55:00.004-04:00

One of the things I am working hard to internalize - by which I mean believe as opposed to just know - is that happiness is not finite. There is absolutely no relationship between my happiness (or lack thereof) and the success, romance, health, whatever, of other people. But my subconscious isn't totally down with this notion. Some years ago I had this dream(which I still think about, obviously) in which I was at a large fondue-centric gathering. It included my high-school-friend-who-was-always-cooler-than-me (who I haven't seen since 1995). We all had our forks at the ready, and the party host was doling out cubes of cake and dip-able goodness, and everyone got a piece, except (of course) for me.

I started at my foster job in August, and a few weeks later, the office hired a second temp to coordinate The Office Moves to End All Moves (we moved a 3-person staff from room #146 to room #151, but the drama paralleled the transfer of nuclear waste). Anyway, said temp stayed on after the move and worked her ass off. I have also worked my ass off, but to be fair, my ass remains mainly intact and hers shows significant shrinkage. Because it sucks sucks sucks to be a contractor, we periodically commiserated and compared notes about how long it would take for us to be instated officially.

Last week she got the word: she is now an official VPS employee, and is chirping (not in a mean way) about vacation time and sick time and retirement benefits and access to the gym and all that. Everyone is super sensitive about my reaction, and our mutual boss said right away that "her #1 job is to work the bureaucracy to get Dori hired permanently," but this woman is an admin (former temp) and really? There is not much she can do. Our supervisor talks constantly about how hard she is working to get this sorted out. I know that the other woman's official employee-dom has no bearing on mine, and that she's totally deserving of everything, and that this means the world to her.

But still. I have already suggested plans for a celebration (and the purchase of a VPS T-shirt), but I know it will be really hard to get fully joyful. Even though I know I should.

Shaking. Then Shaking it Off.

2008-05-06T22:18:00.002-04:00

So this morning I attended a very important meeting. Previously, I'd organized two separate meetings to strategize for this one. I did hours of research on key topics. I obsessed about what to say, how to present my objectives, and what to wear.

Last night, I engaged in my patented prepare-a-palooza. This entailed: trying on my professional looking clothes to avoid last-minute stain removal/ironing/underwear shortage, organizing all papers related to the meeting, typing up talking points, setting two alarms to ensure I'd wake up on time, leaving tons of extra time for the commute, checking a zillion times to ensure possession of pen, keys, subway pass, and wallet.

In addition, I have been so paranoid about this meeting that I've actually checked and rechecked the meeting agenda on several occasions, because I had this nagging fear that I'd misread it and that the meeting had actually been scheduled for last Tuesday, or Monday, or a different day altogether.

So. I arrived at the meeting destination exactly 30 minutes early. I settled in at a different lobby with a crossword puzzle, to avoid appearing like a crazy early meeting stalker. After sufficient time had passed, I arrived at the office and was greeted by a puzzled staffer who told me that the meeting had started at 8:00. EIGHT. Not EIGHT fucking THIRTY. In the billions of time I'd checked the agenda, the room location, the names of the participants, and every other detail, I'd somehow managed to get that wrong. I have no excuse or explanation. I just fucked up.

There was no way to convey how out of character this was for me, without revealing just how insanely prepared I actually was. So after several apologies, I took a deep breath and did my best to shake off my horror, and move on, and rock the meeting to the extent possible. Still, since 8:30 this morning, I have periodically thought about what happened, and writhed in shame and disbelief.

But now that I have blogged about my major gaffe, I am officially laying it to rest.

Bills, bills, bills

2008-05-01T22:02:00.002-04:00

I am an organized person, I swear. I set up e-mail alerts for birthdays, street cleaning, new contact lenses, the britta filter replacement. I do the six month dentist thing. My house is mostly clean. My car almost always has adequate gas in the tank. My possessions are arranged in a logical manner, and I generally can find stuff when I need it. And for the most part, I stay on top of time commitments.

But the bills? What's the deal with the bills? Most of my expenses are managed electronically, so really I have four checks to write each month: student loan, rent, health insurance, and credit card. Only FOUR bills to contend with. And what do I do? I think about them all month, wondering if they are due or if I already paid them. I put the checkbook and bills in a pile that migrates from the desk to dining room table and the pile is featured on multiple to-do lists that include "pay bills." And eventually I become so lame that I take stamped envelopes and checks - one by one - to the mailbox outside my office. I am incapable of writing out the check in advance, and actually do it it while standing in the hallway next to the mail drop.

I have no explanation for this. Do you?

The Mall

2008-04-26T09:27:00.002-04:00

My office is located close to a mall, and last night I decided to go after work. I am in the market for some plain black dress shoes, and maybe some pants.

As soon as I got to the there, I knew it was a mistake. Throngs of teenagers were roaming around in an old-making way. I ate some food court food. It came in a styrofoam container, and I'm still imagining it choking some sea turtle somewhere. The merch was either slutty, overpriced, or unflattering. I tried on a few things and they fit poorly. Worse, I took a look at myself in the scary full-length dressing room mirror, under the scary dressing room lighting, and had a minor meltdown about a mole on my back (has it become more irregularly shaped since the last time I looked at it - which was, who knows, maybe last year?) and a visible vein on the back of my leg (is it revolting? are my days of skirt-wearing numbered?).

Also: fashion designers of America? Lots of us are not pregnant. So could you please, please make some tops that aren't fitted right under the bustline?

It's so confusing - one would think the mall would entice us to stay and buy, rather than leaving with a bad mood and no stuff.