I have recently discovered that I have been holding my breath. I attempted to resolve the issue with a large gulp of air. Only to find that my lungs have atrophied. I began to choke on my efforts. My mouth is dry. I have been gone for a long, long time.
I waited for a single domino to fall and set forth a chain reaction. I waited and I forgot what I was waiting for in the process of said waiting. My vision became blurry. The scenery changed in my absence. And when I awoke everything was unrecognizable. The walls were cracked. The paint peeling.
I have been waiting for everything to become just so. Absorbing minute amounts of oxygen through the surface of my skin during my hibernation. I have been asleep. I have been sleep walking.
In my waiting slumber I have overspent a precious commodity. Minutes have become months and years lost behind the protective walls I have mortared.
I find myself unsure and overwhelmed. My feet are frozen in a block of ice. I can not run. My head is buried in the hot desert sand. I can not see the path before me.
I have given in. I handed all of my power over to fear. But after the seventy-third episode of stress-induced vomiting I realized that I constricted myself in a shallow space. This was the beginning.
My very wise friend communicates most effectively through the use of a mix tape. And while "tape" is no longer an accurate technological description the phrase "mix tape" has a meaning that can only be fully understood using the antiquated term.
You should know that my very wise friend recently created a not-so-secret society in which strangers would be paired up with other strangers. Names and addresses would be doled out. Mixes would be created and exchanged.
As I write this post, I am currently listening to the mix created for me. When I reach the final song, everything becomes clear. This intrigues me because the song is sung entirely in Turkish and I neither speak nor do I understand the language.
I quickly discover - because I must - that "Ince Ince Bir Kar Yagar" is a Turkish protest song by the infamous Selda Bağcan. I am haunted by the melody and the lyrics. The English translations - accurate or not I cannot say, but that is hardly the point - provide me with a framework with which to consider my own predicament.
And although my understanding could easily be described in terms of comparing the trials and tribulations of lives in and out of chaos and turmoil, this is not the point I wish to address in this moment. It is the simple yet eloquent question to those with the power to enact change, why can these necessary things not be done?
It is a question that is self directed. And I begin to breathe again.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Two Things
People are losing their jobs at a shitdamnmotherfucking insane rate. I am reading the reports of these job losses and I cannot help but wonder if the numbers are a result of the various media organizations failing to properly proof their stories, resulting in a few too many zeros in the job loss numbers.
I know this is not so. But allow me to dream for a moment.
An interesting article was recently posted on BIG NAME NEWS ORGANIZATION FINANCIAL WEBSITE hypothesizing that large job losses aren't going to help THE ECONOMY rebound. Sometimes it's necessary to publish information that overstates the obvious. I'm certain that my posts here would also fall into that obvious overstatement category.
But I do not think that corporate executives are going to read this or similarly situated articles and have any sort of epiphany and revoke the tens of thousands of pink slips that have already been distributed.
I don't any answers for the folks that are unemployed. I can only hope that I do not join their club any time soon.
I will say that for those of us who are currently still employed it is more important than ever to do two things. 1. Keep your job. 2. Save save save.
I am not going to pontificate on the subject of how to keep your job in this post. I know you are all disappointed at this, because I know how much you all love to read my pages and pages of pontifications. Perhaps I will devote another post to this topic in the near future. But you should know that it shouldn't be difficult to lose your job if you've decided that you'd really rather be unemployed.
Now is the time to work harder and ask for less. Everyone needs to become the model employee. Stop surfing the internet. Stop the personal phone calls on company time. Find more work if you don't have enough to do. Offer to help with anything that needs doing. Work a few extra hours on your own time if need be. And STOP COMPLAINING AT WORK.
If you are actually successful in keeping you job and your hours aren't cut in half, the next thing you need to do is "save save save" and I really mean it. Saving money can be an intimidating idea for some folks. Perhaps you think it can't be done. Many of us are spread far too thin financially. That's also a topic for another post. But the first thing you need to know about saving is that it's never too little or too late. Every journey toward a solid savings begins with the saving of a single cent.
Seriously.
I have discovered that the only real way to know where you can cut expenses and what you can reasonably save is to document every cent you spend for a few months. You can do this the old fashioned way with pen and paper or you can get high tech about it and use one of the many free online programs to help you out. I've checked a few of them out and my personal favorite is Yodlee, because I think it's the most comprehensive. It's not pretty. It's not flashy. But it works well. However, you should decide what works best for your individual needs.
It is often surprising to find out how much is really being spent on groceries or dining out or toiletries or entertainment. You MUST MUST MUST track these things to the freakin' penny for at least several months to know what's really happening with your finances. You must be honest with yourself and your spending habits. These internet based programs will enable you to create a budget and they will let you know how well you're doing at meeting those budget goals. Review the tracking information to get a better sense of your finances and to determine what you might be able to save. How to save. Where to save. And how much to save are all topics for yet another post.
I guess I had better get to work writing. The rest of you better get started on your homework!
I know this is not so. But allow me to dream for a moment.
An interesting article was recently posted on BIG NAME NEWS ORGANIZATION FINANCIAL WEBSITE hypothesizing that large job losses aren't going to help THE ECONOMY rebound. Sometimes it's necessary to publish information that overstates the obvious. I'm certain that my posts here would also fall into that obvious overstatement category.
But I do not think that corporate executives are going to read this or similarly situated articles and have any sort of epiphany and revoke the tens of thousands of pink slips that have already been distributed.
I don't any answers for the folks that are unemployed. I can only hope that I do not join their club any time soon.
I will say that for those of us who are currently still employed it is more important than ever to do two things. 1. Keep your job. 2. Save save save.
I am not going to pontificate on the subject of how to keep your job in this post. I know you are all disappointed at this, because I know how much you all love to read my pages and pages of pontifications. Perhaps I will devote another post to this topic in the near future. But you should know that it shouldn't be difficult to lose your job if you've decided that you'd really rather be unemployed.
Now is the time to work harder and ask for less. Everyone needs to become the model employee. Stop surfing the internet. Stop the personal phone calls on company time. Find more work if you don't have enough to do. Offer to help with anything that needs doing. Work a few extra hours on your own time if need be. And STOP COMPLAINING AT WORK.
If you are actually successful in keeping you job and your hours aren't cut in half, the next thing you need to do is "save save save" and I really mean it. Saving money can be an intimidating idea for some folks. Perhaps you think it can't be done. Many of us are spread far too thin financially. That's also a topic for another post. But the first thing you need to know about saving is that it's never too little or too late. Every journey toward a solid savings begins with the saving of a single cent.
Seriously.
I have discovered that the only real way to know where you can cut expenses and what you can reasonably save is to document every cent you spend for a few months. You can do this the old fashioned way with pen and paper or you can get high tech about it and use one of the many free online programs to help you out. I've checked a few of them out and my personal favorite is Yodlee, because I think it's the most comprehensive. It's not pretty. It's not flashy. But it works well. However, you should decide what works best for your individual needs.
It is often surprising to find out how much is really being spent on groceries or dining out or toiletries or entertainment. You MUST MUST MUST track these things to the freakin' penny for at least several months to know what's really happening with your finances. You must be honest with yourself and your spending habits. These internet based programs will enable you to create a budget and they will let you know how well you're doing at meeting those budget goals. Review the tracking information to get a better sense of your finances and to determine what you might be able to save. How to save. Where to save. And how much to save are all topics for yet another post.
I guess I had better get to work writing. The rest of you better get started on your homework!
Thursday, January 08, 2009
The Econopocalype
Everyone is talking about "the economy" and what a mess everything is right now with it. "It" meaning, "the economy" which is indeed, pretty shitdamnmotherfucking fucked up at the moment. I don't need to re-hash the statistics here. Every media venue has posted and is continuing to post fucked economy related information.
I have been watching things closely. And I have been thinking a lot about money.
For those of you who know me, it will come as no surprise that I have been thinking a lot about money. I tend to think about money. And I tend to do it a lot. My father lived through the depression and my mother, twenty-five years his junior, lived during a war in her native county. Living frugally was the norm. But I have discovered over the years that frugal living was not the norm for many of my peers. I have also discovered that many of my peers have no knowledge about how to manage their own finances.
And when I say "no knowledge" I mean nothing, nada, zip, ziltch, zero. Maybe they think they do, but they don't. Not one bit.
Maybe that's how we got into this "economy" mess. "We" don't talk about money. Not really. Not in any significant way. We don't talk about how much money we have or what we do with our money. It's considered rude to ask someone how much money they make. Why? Seriously?
Most people have no clue what to do with their money. And it's no big surprise. There is a wealth of information available from a variety of sources, but it is often contradictory. In other words, financial information, like all information, is mediated through individuals that do or do not benefit in some way from providing the information.
I think that it's time that people begin to take responsibility and accountability for their lives and their happiness. And I think it's time for a return to frugal values. There are many individuals living well below the poverty level that are struggling to eat every day. Those folks need real, substantial, significant help to improve their lives. For the most part, I'm not really talking about those folks. At least, not yet. I'm talking about the folks that may not have much, but should have enough. I'm talking about people who could be making better choices.
I believe that it's time to start speaking openly and honestly about money. We live with a sense of the false dichotomy of instant v. delayed gratification. I don't think it has to be one or the other. Ultimately, I think we've lost focus on what's important and I think the only way things are really going to change is if we shift that focus.
This is the first in what I hope will be a series of posts by me about my thoughts, feelings, meanderings, and experiences on this topic. I hope for this venue to become a space for an ongoing dialogue and a sharing of information. Please keep in mind that I will be moderating all posts. In other words, no ass clown spammers please!
I have been watching things closely. And I have been thinking a lot about money.
For those of you who know me, it will come as no surprise that I have been thinking a lot about money. I tend to think about money. And I tend to do it a lot. My father lived through the depression and my mother, twenty-five years his junior, lived during a war in her native county. Living frugally was the norm. But I have discovered over the years that frugal living was not the norm for many of my peers. I have also discovered that many of my peers have no knowledge about how to manage their own finances.
And when I say "no knowledge" I mean nothing, nada, zip, ziltch, zero. Maybe they think they do, but they don't. Not one bit.
Maybe that's how we got into this "economy" mess. "We" don't talk about money. Not really. Not in any significant way. We don't talk about how much money we have or what we do with our money. It's considered rude to ask someone how much money they make. Why? Seriously?
Most people have no clue what to do with their money. And it's no big surprise. There is a wealth of information available from a variety of sources, but it is often contradictory. In other words, financial information, like all information, is mediated through individuals that do or do not benefit in some way from providing the information.
I think that it's time that people begin to take responsibility and accountability for their lives and their happiness. And I think it's time for a return to frugal values. There are many individuals living well below the poverty level that are struggling to eat every day. Those folks need real, substantial, significant help to improve their lives. For the most part, I'm not really talking about those folks. At least, not yet. I'm talking about the folks that may not have much, but should have enough. I'm talking about people who could be making better choices.
I believe that it's time to start speaking openly and honestly about money. We live with a sense of the false dichotomy of instant v. delayed gratification. I don't think it has to be one or the other. Ultimately, I think we've lost focus on what's important and I think the only way things are really going to change is if we shift that focus.
This is the first in what I hope will be a series of posts by me about my thoughts, feelings, meanderings, and experiences on this topic. I hope for this venue to become a space for an ongoing dialogue and a sharing of information. Please keep in mind that I will be moderating all posts. In other words, no ass clown spammers please!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Thermal Runaway
Thermal Runaway: A situation where an increase in temperature changes the conditions in a way that causes a further increase in temperature leading to a destructive result. It is a kind of positive feedback. -- Wikipedia
I'm on a roll
I'm on a roll, this time
I feel my luck could change
-- Radiohead
Sometimes starting over is as easy as burning the past. And not as a way to sweep dust and ashes under the proverbial rug, but as a way to reclaim the phoenix. I opened the box and sat with letters written on so many pages of virgin paper that a staunch environmentalist would be required by her own oath and code to begin protest outside my door. I watched the postmarks progress. Almost twenty years of a life (lives) documented on paper. Handwritten. Typewritten. Ink smeared across the page. I read until my heart was full. I read until the letters began to dance around the page and no longer formed words. I lit the match.
Sometimes burning the past isn't as easy as starting over. Especially when a storm takes hold on what should be still, almost-summertime weather. The wind began with a whisper and increased exponentially. It reminded me that a life cannot be un-lived or re-lived. It reminded me that I burn the pages to remember. And to be cleansed. I want to be reborn full grown. I want to wash the bitter taste from my mouth. I want to let go of my attachment. I want the chains to soften and fall away.
I gave the matches to the wind and continued my efforts. I held each page over a flame provided by Q. I tossed the fragments one by one into a glazed ceramic planter until the words became smoke. I inhaled deeply. The fire grew and I was surrounded in the thick air. The planter shattered and a piece hit me in the leg. I am quiet. And listening.
I'm on a roll
I'm on a roll, this time
I feel my luck could change
-- Radiohead
Sometimes starting over is as easy as burning the past. And not as a way to sweep dust and ashes under the proverbial rug, but as a way to reclaim the phoenix. I opened the box and sat with letters written on so many pages of virgin paper that a staunch environmentalist would be required by her own oath and code to begin protest outside my door. I watched the postmarks progress. Almost twenty years of a life (lives) documented on paper. Handwritten. Typewritten. Ink smeared across the page. I read until my heart was full. I read until the letters began to dance around the page and no longer formed words. I lit the match.
Sometimes burning the past isn't as easy as starting over. Especially when a storm takes hold on what should be still, almost-summertime weather. The wind began with a whisper and increased exponentially. It reminded me that a life cannot be un-lived or re-lived. It reminded me that I burn the pages to remember. And to be cleansed. I want to be reborn full grown. I want to wash the bitter taste from my mouth. I want to let go of my attachment. I want the chains to soften and fall away.
I gave the matches to the wind and continued my efforts. I held each page over a flame provided by Q. I tossed the fragments one by one into a glazed ceramic planter until the words became smoke. I inhaled deeply. The fire grew and I was surrounded in the thick air. The planter shattered and a piece hit me in the leg. I am quiet. And listening.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Non Requiem
Sometimes I get stuck. The words for this post have been tumbling around inside my mind for some time. Every time I begin to string them together in an attempt to form sentences I stop. Re-read. Erase. Because it isn't right. It isn't perfect. For some reason I feel that it should be. Perfect. Even though I am not. Even though I have never been. And then I realize that my inability to create perfection is a necessary exercise in order for me to learn the lesson. Again.
I need to start at the beginning. I have a dear friend whom I have known for about ten years. I am typing the words "ten" and "years" strung together and I am shocked. I stop. Re-trace the path. Counting on my fingers. Ten. It is accurate. For the past ten years my dear friend and I have been all of the following: co-workers, acquaintances, friends, roommates, co-workers again, angry, estranged, re-acquainting, friends again. This is not meant to be an inclusive list, but I believe it is fairly accurate representation.
Not long ago I learned that her younger sister, Jenn, was diagnosed with cancer. As further testament to the irony of life you should know that my dear friend works at BIG ASS UNNAMED CANCER CENTER. I followed my friend's posts carefully. Then I received the message. Jenn died after her valiant fight with the disease. She wasn't even thirty years old.
You should know that I am telling you that Jenn died rather than telling you that she passed on, because I too once worked at BIG ASS UNNAMED CANCER CENTER (BAUCC). Typical terminology at BAUCC is that a patient "expired" like milk, but not like UNNAMED PROCESSED CHEESE PRODUCT NOT REQUIRING REFRIGERATION. If you work at BAUCC long enough you are bound to become desensitized about things like death. It is the only way you can survive an occupation like that without feeling the need to throw yourself off a bridge on a daily basis. This is one of the reasons why I can say that someone died so matter of factly. The other reason is that I experienced a great deal of death from a very young age. I developed a macabre sense of humor, much to the chagrin of those meeting me for the first time. However, I never became desensitized enough during my life or my employment at BAUCC which is why I don't use the term expired. It is also why I choose a new career.
Besides. Some people are lactose intolerant so comparing their death to dairy of any sort would seemingly be a slap in the face.
I have digressed, but you knew I would. It is important for me to say that this digression is meant with the utmost respect. You might not think so, but I ask you to humor me for a moment. Because I think it is important for us to explore language. What it means. Why we use it. How it impacts us. And because sometimes we need to laugh to prevent ourselves from drowning in our own tears.
With that said you should know that I didn't know Jenn well. Not as well as I would have liked to have known her. I do know that she was an amazing individual. I know that she touched many lives. I know that she will be missed.
It's easy to say nice things about someone when they are gone from this life. We want to sanctify the dead, because it feels good to do so. This isn't one of those situations. I am not merely pontificating for her eulogy. Jenn was amazing.
I first met Jenn under what was intended to be a delightful holiday brunch, but became a train wreck due to several intoxicated and/or obnoxious guests. Despite the unusual circumstances of the day she held her own like a compassionate warrior. I quickly learned that she had a vibrant personality. Every time I saw Jenn she would sparkle when she smiled and that doesn't come along very often. She was a kind and genuine soul with a passion for life. She made the world a better place. Really, she did. How many of us can honestly say that we have done that?
And so here I am going through the typical mundane-esque bits and pieces of life. As of late I have been feeling a bit sorry for myself for one reason or another. And then I stop and think of Jenn.
Perhaps it is egotistical of me to believe that people like Jenn are put on this earth to teach the rest of us how to live. Fully. Completely. Not merely the wake up, go to work, come home, feed the dog, take out the trash, go to bed, rinse, repeat kind of living. But living with joy every day. Honestly thrilled to be alive kind of living. Who doesn't want that?
I would like to believe that I am not being self absorbed for assuming that Jenn's purpose was to teach us (me) this lesson. Because the thought of this both inspires and comforts me. Sometimes I need to be reminded not to take myself so seriously. This is why I write these posts the way that I do. Strangely punctuated. Grammatically daring. Deliciously vague.
Sometimes I need to be reminded that life is happening with or without me. I need to be reminded to let go of my fear and worry. I need to be reminded to live. I feel as though I want to mark this moment. I want to do something special so I won't forget. Again. I am very good at forgetting just as I am very good at making resolutions. Unfortunately I am not very good at the follow through.
I do not have the answer today. I wanted to wrap this post up with a nice bow. Like a sitcom or dramatic television program where everything comes full circle within the hour. I cannot do it. I have no answer. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. But I can't promise. I can promise that I will continue to post what I know and what I haven't yet figured out.
Thank you Jenn. Thank you for living your beautiful life for all to see.
I need to start at the beginning. I have a dear friend whom I have known for about ten years. I am typing the words "ten" and "years" strung together and I am shocked. I stop. Re-trace the path. Counting on my fingers. Ten. It is accurate. For the past ten years my dear friend and I have been all of the following: co-workers, acquaintances, friends, roommates, co-workers again, angry, estranged, re-acquainting, friends again. This is not meant to be an inclusive list, but I believe it is fairly accurate representation.
Not long ago I learned that her younger sister, Jenn, was diagnosed with cancer. As further testament to the irony of life you should know that my dear friend works at BIG ASS UNNAMED CANCER CENTER. I followed my friend's posts carefully. Then I received the message. Jenn died after her valiant fight with the disease. She wasn't even thirty years old.
You should know that I am telling you that Jenn died rather than telling you that she passed on, because I too once worked at BIG ASS UNNAMED CANCER CENTER (BAUCC). Typical terminology at BAUCC is that a patient "expired" like milk, but not like UNNAMED PROCESSED CHEESE PRODUCT NOT REQUIRING REFRIGERATION. If you work at BAUCC long enough you are bound to become desensitized about things like death. It is the only way you can survive an occupation like that without feeling the need to throw yourself off a bridge on a daily basis. This is one of the reasons why I can say that someone died so matter of factly. The other reason is that I experienced a great deal of death from a very young age. I developed a macabre sense of humor, much to the chagrin of those meeting me for the first time. However, I never became desensitized enough during my life or my employment at BAUCC which is why I don't use the term expired. It is also why I choose a new career.
Besides. Some people are lactose intolerant so comparing their death to dairy of any sort would seemingly be a slap in the face.
I have digressed, but you knew I would. It is important for me to say that this digression is meant with the utmost respect. You might not think so, but I ask you to humor me for a moment. Because I think it is important for us to explore language. What it means. Why we use it. How it impacts us. And because sometimes we need to laugh to prevent ourselves from drowning in our own tears.
With that said you should know that I didn't know Jenn well. Not as well as I would have liked to have known her. I do know that she was an amazing individual. I know that she touched many lives. I know that she will be missed.
It's easy to say nice things about someone when they are gone from this life. We want to sanctify the dead, because it feels good to do so. This isn't one of those situations. I am not merely pontificating for her eulogy. Jenn was amazing.
I first met Jenn under what was intended to be a delightful holiday brunch, but became a train wreck due to several intoxicated and/or obnoxious guests. Despite the unusual circumstances of the day she held her own like a compassionate warrior. I quickly learned that she had a vibrant personality. Every time I saw Jenn she would sparkle when she smiled and that doesn't come along very often. She was a kind and genuine soul with a passion for life. She made the world a better place. Really, she did. How many of us can honestly say that we have done that?
And so here I am going through the typical mundane-esque bits and pieces of life. As of late I have been feeling a bit sorry for myself for one reason or another. And then I stop and think of Jenn.
Perhaps it is egotistical of me to believe that people like Jenn are put on this earth to teach the rest of us how to live. Fully. Completely. Not merely the wake up, go to work, come home, feed the dog, take out the trash, go to bed, rinse, repeat kind of living. But living with joy every day. Honestly thrilled to be alive kind of living. Who doesn't want that?
I would like to believe that I am not being self absorbed for assuming that Jenn's purpose was to teach us (me) this lesson. Because the thought of this both inspires and comforts me. Sometimes I need to be reminded not to take myself so seriously. This is why I write these posts the way that I do. Strangely punctuated. Grammatically daring. Deliciously vague.
Sometimes I need to be reminded that life is happening with or without me. I need to be reminded to let go of my fear and worry. I need to be reminded to live. I feel as though I want to mark this moment. I want to do something special so I won't forget. Again. I am very good at forgetting just as I am very good at making resolutions. Unfortunately I am not very good at the follow through.
I do not have the answer today. I wanted to wrap this post up with a nice bow. Like a sitcom or dramatic television program where everything comes full circle within the hour. I cannot do it. I have no answer. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. But I can't promise. I can promise that I will continue to post what I know and what I haven't yet figured out.
Thank you Jenn. Thank you for living your beautiful life for all to see.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
LMNOP Now or The Year of Not Waiting
In case you have not noticed I haven't been doing a very good job on this whole updating thing. I have many excuses. And I have found that it's a good idea to keep a few loose excuses around for occasions such as these. I have excuses. But I won't bore you with them. Actually I'm saving them. I think if I can collect enough excuses I can trade them in for something spectacular that I must have but do not need. If you have any new or gently used excuses please feel free to drop them off for me. I am hoping that with enough collected excuses I might be able to trade them in for some plutonium or perhaps some delicious cocoa. Either way I'm good.
But enough random rambling. You want news. You want an update. You want me to impart some of my brilliance upon you.
I'm afraid I'm fresh out.
We are now well into January. January people. January. Time is ticking. Soon the year will have slipped by and I will not have even finished typing this sentence. Because as you all know, the sky is falling. Seriously though. I often post some reflective nonsense prior to or shortly after the start of a new year. I suppose I should keep with tradition given my propensity toward nostalgia.
Okay. Here we go. Here are my plans for the year. Ready? Go.
1. Get a damn passport. For those of you that have been following this for some time you may be feeling a sense of deja vu. No. I still don't have a damn passport yet. But this year I vow to make it happen even if I have to suck it up and beg Soy to take my passport photo.
2. Be naked more. Who doesn't love that one? Seriously. I mean it.
3. Love the people I love more. This includes everything from spending more time with my wonderful friends to giving a bit more on the 60% front.
4. Take more photographs. Some of you may not be aware of the fact that a miracle has happened and I have acquired a digital camera. This doesn't mean I'm throwing the kid in the toilet, but it does mean I need to get my ass in gear. Exciting photographic expeditions are already being planned. If you're interested please contact me. Now, damnit!
5. Travel. Passport not necessarily required. I am looking to leave Seattle for a while. Perhaps I am looking to leave it for longer than a while. But there is much to see and I want to see it while my eyeballs still function.
I think that's it. I tend to put too much on my plate which I end up dropping. Then all of the food ends up on the floor and I'm stuck with stale crackers and a large selection of condiments.
I hereby name two thousand and eight the Year of Not Waiting. This means not waiting for XYZ to happen before LMNOP can occur. Starting....now. Go!
But enough random rambling. You want news. You want an update. You want me to impart some of my brilliance upon you.
I'm afraid I'm fresh out.
We are now well into January. January people. January. Time is ticking. Soon the year will have slipped by and I will not have even finished typing this sentence. Because as you all know, the sky is falling. Seriously though. I often post some reflective nonsense prior to or shortly after the start of a new year. I suppose I should keep with tradition given my propensity toward nostalgia.
Okay. Here we go. Here are my plans for the year. Ready? Go.
1. Get a damn passport. For those of you that have been following this for some time you may be feeling a sense of deja vu. No. I still don't have a damn passport yet. But this year I vow to make it happen even if I have to suck it up and beg Soy to take my passport photo.
2. Be naked more. Who doesn't love that one? Seriously. I mean it.
3. Love the people I love more. This includes everything from spending more time with my wonderful friends to giving a bit more on the 60% front.
4. Take more photographs. Some of you may not be aware of the fact that a miracle has happened and I have acquired a digital camera. This doesn't mean I'm throwing the kid in the toilet, but it does mean I need to get my ass in gear. Exciting photographic expeditions are already being planned. If you're interested please contact me. Now, damnit!
5. Travel. Passport not necessarily required. I am looking to leave Seattle for a while. Perhaps I am looking to leave it for longer than a while. But there is much to see and I want to see it while my eyeballs still function.
I think that's it. I tend to put too much on my plate which I end up dropping. Then all of the food ends up on the floor and I'm stuck with stale crackers and a large selection of condiments.
I hereby name two thousand and eight the Year of Not Waiting. This means not waiting for XYZ to happen before LMNOP can occur. Starting....now. Go!
Monday, December 10, 2007
Countdown to National Stomp Out Worry Day!
So. I wasn't kidding. Because I can't kid about these things. If you read my previous post you will recall my proposal to create National Stomp Out Worry Day! Without further ado, I proudly declare this Thursday, December 13, 2007, National Stomp Out Worry Day! Anyone who wishes to join me in celebrating this gently used day can do so by STOMPING OUT WORRY!!! Big worries. Little worries. High worries. Low worries. Skinny worries. Chubby worries. Flat worries. Lumpy worries. Polka-dotted worries. Puce worries. Grape flavored worries. Invisible worries. Worries of every shape, size, color, flavor. Worries of every type.
My plans for National Stomp Out Worry Day! are as follows:
1. Make a list of my most significant worries.
2. Light list of seemingly significant worries on fire.
3. Stomp out list of seemingly significant worries currently on fire so they will no longer be on fire.
4. Eat pie.
Celebrate National Stomp Out Worry Day! however you see fit. Just be sure to exclaim when you do it. Please feel free to share stories of your National Stomp Out Worry Day! celebrations.
My plans for National Stomp Out Worry Day! are as follows:
1. Make a list of my most significant worries.
2. Light list of seemingly significant worries on fire.
3. Stomp out list of seemingly significant worries currently on fire so they will no longer be on fire.
4. Eat pie.
Celebrate National Stomp Out Worry Day! however you see fit. Just be sure to exclaim when you do it. Please feel free to share stories of your National Stomp Out Worry Day! celebrations.
Monday, November 26, 2007
More than a Flurry of Worry
Some might describe me an individual who is prone to worry. Worry is a funny sounding word when you say it aloud. And I find that it sounds exactly like it feels. Tight. Constricting. Suffocating. Recently I have begun to realize that my propensity to worry is compromising a variety of wonderful things in my life. And I do not like it. I have been able to get away with excessive worry for the overwhelming majority of my life due to the fact that I have not been forced to share my aforementioned feelings of worry.
Early on I became quite skilled at kung fu subject changes which I would often call upon when the topic of worry surfaced with others. I maintained an excellent game face. That mask as since begun to crack. And I am beginning to realize that I may very well have a problem which just so happens to begin with a W much like other current problems facing the nation.
So I am seeking a reputable worry removal service. It sounds easy, but there is a problem. I am afraid to let go of worry. I need worry like a junkie needs junk.
Perhaps my biggest fear with this letting go of worry thing is the fear that I will shift my perspective from one extreme to the other and cease all worrying. And in doing so everything will fall apart. I know it isn't realistic for me to fear that after a lifetime of being a worrier I will suddenly fall into a worry-free slump and end up hustling my ass for mac and cheese. The generic variety no less. Logically I know this won't happen.
But it gets worse. Because...and I'm going to say it so sit down everyone...I may very well look at "non-worriers" as suspect. And what I mean is I may assume that those who don't appear to worry aren't ever worried and therefore could very well end up hustling for mac and cheese faster than you can say public defender. It seems that somehow I have equated the worrier with the responsible.
Okay. There. I've said it. It wasn't easy. But I think it's true.
I know it seems insane. You don't have to tell me so. And I would certainly seek out some professional help, but my health insurance isn't all that great. Hence, something else to potentially worry about which clearly I do not need, now or ever.
I have thought about making a list of my worries. Face them directly. Look them in the eye and sneer. But I don't think I'm ready for such a bold step. Mostly because I feel that I will embarrass myself if I actually put pen to paper which of course means that I should reconsider this whole list thing.
Besides. I like lists.
So perhaps I will be making a list. Checking it twice. Responding to my own insanity. Kicking worry in the junk. I feel stuck and I want to be unstuck. I feel that I am missing out on so many things and I don't want to miss out anymore.
I also tend to feel that I am very much alone in my worry. But I know that I cannot be. Perhaps what we worriers truly need is a national stomp out worry day. Actually, it's not a bad idea.
Therefore, I declare the 13th of December National Stomp Out Worry Day! Stay tuned for additional details on this exciting non-event. Maybe I can get the greeting card companies in on the action and get a kickback. That would certainly give me one less thing to worry about.
Early on I became quite skilled at kung fu subject changes which I would often call upon when the topic of worry surfaced with others. I maintained an excellent game face. That mask as since begun to crack. And I am beginning to realize that I may very well have a problem which just so happens to begin with a W much like other current problems facing the nation.
So I am seeking a reputable worry removal service. It sounds easy, but there is a problem. I am afraid to let go of worry. I need worry like a junkie needs junk.
Perhaps my biggest fear with this letting go of worry thing is the fear that I will shift my perspective from one extreme to the other and cease all worrying. And in doing so everything will fall apart. I know it isn't realistic for me to fear that after a lifetime of being a worrier I will suddenly fall into a worry-free slump and end up hustling my ass for mac and cheese. The generic variety no less. Logically I know this won't happen.
But it gets worse. Because...and I'm going to say it so sit down everyone...I may very well look at "non-worriers" as suspect. And what I mean is I may assume that those who don't appear to worry aren't ever worried and therefore could very well end up hustling for mac and cheese faster than you can say public defender. It seems that somehow I have equated the worrier with the responsible.
Okay. There. I've said it. It wasn't easy. But I think it's true.
I know it seems insane. You don't have to tell me so. And I would certainly seek out some professional help, but my health insurance isn't all that great. Hence, something else to potentially worry about which clearly I do not need, now or ever.
I have thought about making a list of my worries. Face them directly. Look them in the eye and sneer. But I don't think I'm ready for such a bold step. Mostly because I feel that I will embarrass myself if I actually put pen to paper which of course means that I should reconsider this whole list thing.
Besides. I like lists.
So perhaps I will be making a list. Checking it twice. Responding to my own insanity. Kicking worry in the junk. I feel stuck and I want to be unstuck. I feel that I am missing out on so many things and I don't want to miss out anymore.
I also tend to feel that I am very much alone in my worry. But I know that I cannot be. Perhaps what we worriers truly need is a national stomp out worry day. Actually, it's not a bad idea.
Therefore, I declare the 13th of December National Stomp Out Worry Day! Stay tuned for additional details on this exciting non-event. Maybe I can get the greeting card companies in on the action and get a kickback. That would certainly give me one less thing to worry about.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Tiiiiiiiiimmmee Ain't on my Side. No it Ain't!
I have to tell you. I am exhausted! Seriously exhausted. Everything about me is exhausted. My brain is exhausted. My left ankle is exhausted. My nose is most certainly exhausted. Even my right earlobe is exhausted. I have exhausted intestines. My pancreas is very exhausted. The lower lobe of my left lung is exhausted. My blood cells feel quite exhausted. Even my mitochondria is exhausted. Do I have mitochondria? I don't know. My exhausted brain cannot remember anything I learned in college.
My exhaustion and sudden realization of said exhaustion causes me to realize that I have a question. And my question is simple. Here we go. How do people manage to wake up and make the bed and eat a healthy breakfast and get themselves together and go to work and travel to work and work an entire day and manage to drink enough water and maybe even eat lunch and accomplish everything they need to accomplish at their job and travel home from work and prepare and eat a healthy dinner and sift through junk mail and clean the bathroom and pay their bills and do laundry and exercise and spend quality time with friends and/or family and do something productive such as volunteer or finish an art project or plant a garden or read a good book or stay informed on current events or write their congressperson or read the damn voter's pamphlet and maybe even relax for a moment or two and then go to bed early enough to get a full night of sleep so the whole damn thing can repeat the next morning???
Notice the questioning punctuation. Because I REALLY want to know. And I really want to know how someone does it because I am -- as I have previously expressed -- incredibly exhausted in my attempt. I am also incredibly behind schedule. I am not "doing it" because I cannot seem to find the time to do everything. And maybe that's the problem.
How do we do everything. I know what you are going to say. You are going to tell me that one cannot possibly do everything and therefore one must make choices and prioritize the things of importance. But what if everything on the list is important? And the important things do not even make the list. What then?
There is all this talk about the decline of the family unit and blah blah blah. People are making a bigger "to do" than ever about what it means to be a family and how a family should be defined and what a family should be and so on and so forth. This isn't about any of those so-called conversations that are happening. But if it were about those conversations that shouldn't even be conversations I would say this. Get as many damn people as possible in the family to help with all this crap! Seriously people. This is a cultural SOS. How the hell are we supposed to find time to do all this crap? And what about people who have children? I cannot even imagine their lives. Granted they have chosen to procreate. They have made their proverbial bed. But seriously how do those people do it when I cannot even come close?
If I could afford it I would rent a wife. Someone who could do my laundry (and put it away!) A person who could prepare all of the healthy meals that I need to eat. I wouldn't even mind if they were prepared ahead of time and frozen. I would be fine with warming them up. Someone who could make my bed and clean the bathroom and make sure the mail is brought in and organized. Someone who could pay my bills when they need paying so I don't forget because there's nothing worse that having the money to pay a bill, but forgetting to pay it and then getting a late fee tacked on. Someone who could renew my car tabs and put more oil in ol' S.G. when she needs it. Someone who would gently remind me that I haven't been to the gynecologist in more than a year and a half and might even make an appointment for me to force me to go.
How much would I pay for this service? Well. This of course is the problem. Everything is becoming more expensive in the city. And wages are not increasing to match said increased expenditures. Unless of course you work for UNNAMED ENORMOUS TECHNOLOGY COMPANY or a similar high paying industry. But I do not. So what is the "little guy or gal" to do? I can't afford to pay someone to do even some of the aforementioned tasks for me. Living in the city is challenging enough. As it is I have resigned myself to the fact that if I want to remain in the city I will never be able to afford a house, townhouse, condo, or even a garage.
I am curious at the fact that we are expected to do more and more. I am also curious as to what this means with respect to our mental, physical and emotional health and well being. I wonder how our quality of life is impacted. And more than anything I would love to find a solution.
Not for the rest of you...for me. I've got enough on my plate!
My exhaustion and sudden realization of said exhaustion causes me to realize that I have a question. And my question is simple. Here we go. How do people manage to wake up and make the bed and eat a healthy breakfast and get themselves together and go to work and travel to work and work an entire day and manage to drink enough water and maybe even eat lunch and accomplish everything they need to accomplish at their job and travel home from work and prepare and eat a healthy dinner and sift through junk mail and clean the bathroom and pay their bills and do laundry and exercise and spend quality time with friends and/or family and do something productive such as volunteer or finish an art project or plant a garden or read a good book or stay informed on current events or write their congressperson or read the damn voter's pamphlet and maybe even relax for a moment or two and then go to bed early enough to get a full night of sleep so the whole damn thing can repeat the next morning???
Notice the questioning punctuation. Because I REALLY want to know. And I really want to know how someone does it because I am -- as I have previously expressed -- incredibly exhausted in my attempt. I am also incredibly behind schedule. I am not "doing it" because I cannot seem to find the time to do everything. And maybe that's the problem.
How do we do everything. I know what you are going to say. You are going to tell me that one cannot possibly do everything and therefore one must make choices and prioritize the things of importance. But what if everything on the list is important? And the important things do not even make the list. What then?
There is all this talk about the decline of the family unit and blah blah blah. People are making a bigger "to do" than ever about what it means to be a family and how a family should be defined and what a family should be and so on and so forth. This isn't about any of those so-called conversations that are happening. But if it were about those conversations that shouldn't even be conversations I would say this. Get as many damn people as possible in the family to help with all this crap! Seriously people. This is a cultural SOS. How the hell are we supposed to find time to do all this crap? And what about people who have children? I cannot even imagine their lives. Granted they have chosen to procreate. They have made their proverbial bed. But seriously how do those people do it when I cannot even come close?
If I could afford it I would rent a wife. Someone who could do my laundry (and put it away!) A person who could prepare all of the healthy meals that I need to eat. I wouldn't even mind if they were prepared ahead of time and frozen. I would be fine with warming them up. Someone who could make my bed and clean the bathroom and make sure the mail is brought in and organized. Someone who could pay my bills when they need paying so I don't forget because there's nothing worse that having the money to pay a bill, but forgetting to pay it and then getting a late fee tacked on. Someone who could renew my car tabs and put more oil in ol' S.G. when she needs it. Someone who would gently remind me that I haven't been to the gynecologist in more than a year and a half and might even make an appointment for me to force me to go.
How much would I pay for this service? Well. This of course is the problem. Everything is becoming more expensive in the city. And wages are not increasing to match said increased expenditures. Unless of course you work for UNNAMED ENORMOUS TECHNOLOGY COMPANY or a similar high paying industry. But I do not. So what is the "little guy or gal" to do? I can't afford to pay someone to do even some of the aforementioned tasks for me. Living in the city is challenging enough. As it is I have resigned myself to the fact that if I want to remain in the city I will never be able to afford a house, townhouse, condo, or even a garage.
I am curious at the fact that we are expected to do more and more. I am also curious as to what this means with respect to our mental, physical and emotional health and well being. I wonder how our quality of life is impacted. And more than anything I would love to find a solution.
Not for the rest of you...for me. I've got enough on my plate!
Friday, June 08, 2007
Attention. Attention. Attention.
I have been thinking. Since my last post I have not stopped thinking. And it isn't that I typically take a hiatus from thought. But I believe it is fair to say that there is a great deal going on around me and this has propelled me into an adjusted state of thinking about thoughts.
Quite a number of friends of mine have recently articulated varying degrees of difficulties that they are currently facing. And in their challenges I find myself questioning bits and pieces and fragments of my own life. It is a curious position.
I cannot help but wonder if there is a lesson in the difficulties those I care about are currently experiencing. I cannot help but feel that there is something I am supposed to be watching closely. I have been thinking a great deal about my experience with the crow. This is mostly due to the fact that my crow friend or foe once again flew about me in a way that caused me to take notice of his or her presence.
So now I vacillate between logical explanations and curious omens. My personality is split such that I could easily find an answer in either explanation. However to choose would only make me question my own decision moments later in favor of the alternative. Today I found the crow and told him or her that I was paying attention. No crow attack occurred.
And I am paying attention. Perhaps too much. I find myself noticing very small things and making efforts to determine how the pieces fit in my life. Or more importantly whether I want them at all. I believe it is time for something different. Only I do not know what that different should resemble. The only thing I am sure of in this moment is that nothing as it currently exists is safe from possible removal.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Quite a number of friends of mine have recently articulated varying degrees of difficulties that they are currently facing. And in their challenges I find myself questioning bits and pieces and fragments of my own life. It is a curious position.
I cannot help but wonder if there is a lesson in the difficulties those I care about are currently experiencing. I cannot help but feel that there is something I am supposed to be watching closely. I have been thinking a great deal about my experience with the crow. This is mostly due to the fact that my crow friend or foe once again flew about me in a way that caused me to take notice of his or her presence.
So now I vacillate between logical explanations and curious omens. My personality is split such that I could easily find an answer in either explanation. However to choose would only make me question my own decision moments later in favor of the alternative. Today I found the crow and told him or her that I was paying attention. No crow attack occurred.
And I am paying attention. Perhaps too much. I find myself noticing very small things and making efforts to determine how the pieces fit in my life. Or more importantly whether I want them at all. I believe it is time for something different. Only I do not know what that different should resemble. The only thing I am sure of in this moment is that nothing as it currently exists is safe from possible removal.
Curiouser and curiouser.
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Two Days of Reading Tea Leaves
On edge. I have been. Admittedly. I feel shaken. Not stirred. And my gin has become bruised. I am naive. But no one seems to believe that possible. I possess the optimism of a child. But there are very few that actually know who I am. Anymore.
The burn surfaced. And everything became clear. My melancholy was spread out before me. And in one instant I understood. I am the caricature of a character in a non existent novel depicted in a mediocre film.
But I am not counting brush strokes. Rather I believe that have allowed myself to accept less as enough. And because I so much want to believe in half-full glasses I smile and nod. Sometimes the smiling and the nodding are not always beneficial. The art of diplomacy can also find its end in tragedy.
This will make no sense unless you understand. If you understand it may continue to remain non-sensical. But it will make perfect sense all the same. I want a life filled with those who will make me eat cookies.
I didn't realize I was falling. I developed amnesia. But I think I am remembering now. Remembering all of the things that I never learned. And now there must be something different.
But that was last evening. When everything was clear. This morning something happened. And now I feel as though everything I thought I learned in an instant was perhaps wrong.
As I was walking to the twenty-eight I was followed by a crow. And perhaps a more accurate description is that I was stalked. I felt a swoosh of air and heard a loud cawing. And the flapping of wings I could almost feel against my skin. But he or she did not rest. Rather this crow continued to fly past me in extremely close proximity. Flapping and cawing. This occurred several times until I turned the corner at the end of the block.
And then I missed my stop. The twenty eight passed the corner of "this street and that" without notice. I looked up and realized that I was several blocks south of "that". Something unusual seemed to be occurring. But what I could not say.
I continued. Far too busy to consider it in any depth. Until I read T's recent post. And then I could not help but wonder if the universe was trying to tell me something. Maybe everything I thought I understood last night was wrong wrong wrong. Maybe there are things more important that I have failed to recognize. Or maybe I am misreading everything entirely. How does one know the most accurate way to interpret emotion and signs and words and actions.
I have no secret message decoder. If you find one please let me know.
The burn surfaced. And everything became clear. My melancholy was spread out before me. And in one instant I understood. I am the caricature of a character in a non existent novel depicted in a mediocre film.
But I am not counting brush strokes. Rather I believe that have allowed myself to accept less as enough. And because I so much want to believe in half-full glasses I smile and nod. Sometimes the smiling and the nodding are not always beneficial. The art of diplomacy can also find its end in tragedy.
This will make no sense unless you understand. If you understand it may continue to remain non-sensical. But it will make perfect sense all the same. I want a life filled with those who will make me eat cookies.
I didn't realize I was falling. I developed amnesia. But I think I am remembering now. Remembering all of the things that I never learned. And now there must be something different.
But that was last evening. When everything was clear. This morning something happened. And now I feel as though everything I thought I learned in an instant was perhaps wrong.
As I was walking to the twenty-eight I was followed by a crow. And perhaps a more accurate description is that I was stalked. I felt a swoosh of air and heard a loud cawing. And the flapping of wings I could almost feel against my skin. But he or she did not rest. Rather this crow continued to fly past me in extremely close proximity. Flapping and cawing. This occurred several times until I turned the corner at the end of the block.
And then I missed my stop. The twenty eight passed the corner of "this street and that" without notice. I looked up and realized that I was several blocks south of "that". Something unusual seemed to be occurring. But what I could not say.
I continued. Far too busy to consider it in any depth. Until I read T's recent post. And then I could not help but wonder if the universe was trying to tell me something. Maybe everything I thought I understood last night was wrong wrong wrong. Maybe there are things more important that I have failed to recognize. Or maybe I am misreading everything entirely. How does one know the most accurate way to interpret emotion and signs and words and actions.
I have no secret message decoder. If you find one please let me know.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
12,410 * 24 = 297,840
Once upon a time I was born. It is not uncommon for me to post something reflective on or around the day of my birth. However I am not feeling particularly reflective at the moment. I believe this is due to the fact that I have been incredibly busy as of late. Both personally and professionally. I have been distracted and I have not had much opportunity for reflection. And maybe this is good because I do have a tendency to over-reflect.
But I am wondering how it is possible that another year has passed so quickly. 12,410 -- give or take a few -- is a rather large number of direct oxygen breathing days. How do these things happen. Yes, yes. Rhetorical. But if someone could explain how time is able to pass so quickly on some occasions and so slow on other occasions it would be appreciated. I am particularly curious as to explanation behind the scientifically proven fact that time does indeed take two or three and sometimes four times as long to pass when one's body is prone on an examination table with a speculum inserted into one's girl parts. Perhaps the reason that I do not understand the scientific principle behind this phenomena is due to the fact that I did not enjoy the year of physics I was forced to take while attending college and missed the lesson that discussed this principle.
As an aside I occasionally see my college physics professor while waiting for the bus in the morning. It seems that we both reside in the same neighborhood. I have been tempted to approach him at times and inform him that he was the worst instructor I have ever had to suffer through during my many years of formal education. I have not done this. But that could change for I have heard that age tends to make an individual say things they might not otherwise be inclined to say.
Another interesting and seemingly unrelated side note I will share is that I have never personally known anyone who was born on this day. This is still somewhat the case. Somewhat because although I am not personally in the know, the man I am currently in a relationship with has a former partner who was born today as well. I find this comical, but also incredibly convenient for it is far less likely that he will forget the day due to this fortunate albeit odd coincidence. It would be more interesting if we were also born in the same year. Alas this is not so.
Despite 297,840 seconds and counting I have no words of wisdom. Actually it hasn't been 297,840 seconds as of yet, because I was born in the evening. But that is not the point. The point is rather than imparting my lack of wisdom to you all today I am more interested in the wisdom that you might have to share with me. I still have a great deal to learn and since I do not have as much time as I once did I could certainly use the added assistance.
And in case you're wondering I'm not very fond of cake. But cash is always accepted.
But I am wondering how it is possible that another year has passed so quickly. 12,410 -- give or take a few -- is a rather large number of direct oxygen breathing days. How do these things happen. Yes, yes. Rhetorical. But if someone could explain how time is able to pass so quickly on some occasions and so slow on other occasions it would be appreciated. I am particularly curious as to explanation behind the scientifically proven fact that time does indeed take two or three and sometimes four times as long to pass when one's body is prone on an examination table with a speculum inserted into one's girl parts. Perhaps the reason that I do not understand the scientific principle behind this phenomena is due to the fact that I did not enjoy the year of physics I was forced to take while attending college and missed the lesson that discussed this principle.
As an aside I occasionally see my college physics professor while waiting for the bus in the morning. It seems that we both reside in the same neighborhood. I have been tempted to approach him at times and inform him that he was the worst instructor I have ever had to suffer through during my many years of formal education. I have not done this. But that could change for I have heard that age tends to make an individual say things they might not otherwise be inclined to say.
Another interesting and seemingly unrelated side note I will share is that I have never personally known anyone who was born on this day. This is still somewhat the case. Somewhat because although I am not personally in the know, the man I am currently in a relationship with has a former partner who was born today as well. I find this comical, but also incredibly convenient for it is far less likely that he will forget the day due to this fortunate albeit odd coincidence. It would be more interesting if we were also born in the same year. Alas this is not so.
Despite 297,840 seconds and counting I have no words of wisdom. Actually it hasn't been 297,840 seconds as of yet, because I was born in the evening. But that is not the point. The point is rather than imparting my lack of wisdom to you all today I am more interested in the wisdom that you might have to share with me. I still have a great deal to learn and since I do not have as much time as I once did I could certainly use the added assistance.
And in case you're wondering I'm not very fond of cake. But cash is always accepted.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Take a Flying Fuck at the Moooooooooooooon!
I am sitting in my office. I am typing on my super cool "natural ergonomic" keyboard. I am drinking coffee which is swill-ish in nature. I am eating a pop tart. I am wearing flip flops.
I am doing all of these things simultaneously. Wait. That is inaccurate. I am not simultaneous drinking coffee and eating a pop tart. I eat a bite of tart. Chew thoroughly. Swallow. Moments later I take a sip of coffee. And then swallow. I do not simultaneously have a piece of tart and a sip of coffee in my mouth together. It would make for a soggy tart. And that would be gross. Maybe not to some, but to me it would be foul.
This is not the point of this post, but I thought you should know.
I must confess that I did not in fact have a point when I began typing. But then I glanced at the morning newspaper headlines. And I found this article:
Combined Effort Aims to Stop Suicides off Aurora Bridge
I read the article and I have questions. My first question is rhetorical. As is typical with my rhetorical questions there will be no question affiliated punctuation. But I want my rhetorical question to be clear. So I will assist you. I will segregate my question so there will be no confusion.
Who cares.
Yes. Who cares. Clearly I do not. And let me share with you one of the reasons why I could give a flying fuck less. If individuals wish to jump off the Aurora Bridge to their death or permanent disfigurement or merely for the hell of it why should I be concerned. It amuses me that we live in a world where we value our right to personal choice often to the death -- no pun intended -- yet suicide or merely bridge jumping is deemed unacceptable.
Toothpaste is a good example of our obsession with personal choice. We can choose among various brands of toothpaste. I cannot even count the total number of toothpaste brands available in your average toothpaste retail location. We can choose either a paste or gel. Toothpaste flavors are so plentiful I can barely keep up. I have witnessed at least seven different types of mint alone. We can choose the "special features" we wish our toothpaste to impart upon our teeth and gums. Tartar control. Whitening. Breath freshening. Toothpaste for sensitive teeth. Sensitive gums. Fluoride. No fluoride. Baking soda. Various herbs and spices. We can choose whether we want our toothpaste to be contained in a tube or a pump. We can even choose organic toothpaste.
It's overwhelming. But this is the United States of America and apparently we value personal choice so much -- even with respect to our toothpaste -- that we must have a three foot by two foot section of shelving devoted to this tooth cleaning product.
But if someone chooses to jump off of a bridge that is somehow deemed socially unacceptable. We must "do something" to stop it. Choice is not permitted. This brings me to my second question which is not rhetorical. How much money does the Washington State Department of Transportation intend to spend on trying to curb the bridge jumping "problem" as they see it? I imagine they will have an entire team including, but not limited to, psychological experts, public relations experts, engineering experts, construction experts, advertising experts, and graphic designers to name but a few.
And please understand I am not suggesting that we should not be providing services and resources for those who need them. But do we really feel the need to create an entire campaign to deter bridge jumping? There have always been suicidal individuals and there will always be suicidal individuals. Should we put suicide hot line telephone numbers on razor blades, knives, rope, aspirin bottles, or the barrel of a gun. Each of these items and many many more are all used to assist in committing suicide. They are also used to shave, cut bread, reduce fevers, and hunt for food.
It is important to keep in mind that bridges are primarily used to assist people in getting from one place to another over a body of water. Perhaps the solution is to cease in the building of bridges completely. Rather we could simply fill every body of water. That would solve the problem entirely. It would also solve the problem of individuals who attempt to commit suicide by drowning. In fact why don't we just ban water.
How many warning labels and advertising campaigns do we really need. Again, rhetorical I know.
I don't mean to be insensitive. But I feel that we as a society often fail to think logically about problem solving. We fail to analyze which solutions are reasonable and which are not. We are blinded by emotion and feel even if a solution is illogical it should be undertaken so as not to seem insensitive to the needs of others.
Let us remain sensitive to the needs of all, but continue to use our logic and intellect in the process. Actions should not be undertaken because they give the impression of concern. Rather they should be undertaken because they are sound and just. Rather than slapping a band aid on a bridge, perhaps we should try to reach out and connect more directly with our fellow human beans for we could all benefit from reassurances that we are wonderful and worthy and valued.
I am doing all of these things simultaneously. Wait. That is inaccurate. I am not simultaneous drinking coffee and eating a pop tart. I eat a bite of tart. Chew thoroughly. Swallow. Moments later I take a sip of coffee. And then swallow. I do not simultaneously have a piece of tart and a sip of coffee in my mouth together. It would make for a soggy tart. And that would be gross. Maybe not to some, but to me it would be foul.
This is not the point of this post, but I thought you should know.
I must confess that I did not in fact have a point when I began typing. But then I glanced at the morning newspaper headlines. And I found this article:
I read the article and I have questions. My first question is rhetorical. As is typical with my rhetorical questions there will be no question affiliated punctuation. But I want my rhetorical question to be clear. So I will assist you. I will segregate my question so there will be no confusion.
Who cares.
Yes. Who cares. Clearly I do not. And let me share with you one of the reasons why I could give a flying fuck less. If individuals wish to jump off the Aurora Bridge to their death or permanent disfigurement or merely for the hell of it why should I be concerned. It amuses me that we live in a world where we value our right to personal choice often to the death -- no pun intended -- yet suicide or merely bridge jumping is deemed unacceptable.
Toothpaste is a good example of our obsession with personal choice. We can choose among various brands of toothpaste. I cannot even count the total number of toothpaste brands available in your average toothpaste retail location. We can choose either a paste or gel. Toothpaste flavors are so plentiful I can barely keep up. I have witnessed at least seven different types of mint alone. We can choose the "special features" we wish our toothpaste to impart upon our teeth and gums. Tartar control. Whitening. Breath freshening. Toothpaste for sensitive teeth. Sensitive gums. Fluoride. No fluoride. Baking soda. Various herbs and spices. We can choose whether we want our toothpaste to be contained in a tube or a pump. We can even choose organic toothpaste.
It's overwhelming. But this is the United States of America and apparently we value personal choice so much -- even with respect to our toothpaste -- that we must have a three foot by two foot section of shelving devoted to this tooth cleaning product.
But if someone chooses to jump off of a bridge that is somehow deemed socially unacceptable. We must "do something" to stop it. Choice is not permitted. This brings me to my second question which is not rhetorical. How much money does the Washington State Department of Transportation intend to spend on trying to curb the bridge jumping "problem" as they see it? I imagine they will have an entire team including, but not limited to, psychological experts, public relations experts, engineering experts, construction experts, advertising experts, and graphic designers to name but a few.
And please understand I am not suggesting that we should not be providing services and resources for those who need them. But do we really feel the need to create an entire campaign to deter bridge jumping? There have always been suicidal individuals and there will always be suicidal individuals. Should we put suicide hot line telephone numbers on razor blades, knives, rope, aspirin bottles, or the barrel of a gun. Each of these items and many many more are all used to assist in committing suicide. They are also used to shave, cut bread, reduce fevers, and hunt for food.
It is important to keep in mind that bridges are primarily used to assist people in getting from one place to another over a body of water. Perhaps the solution is to cease in the building of bridges completely. Rather we could simply fill every body of water. That would solve the problem entirely. It would also solve the problem of individuals who attempt to commit suicide by drowning. In fact why don't we just ban water.
How many warning labels and advertising campaigns do we really need. Again, rhetorical I know.
I don't mean to be insensitive. But I feel that we as a society often fail to think logically about problem solving. We fail to analyze which solutions are reasonable and which are not. We are blinded by emotion and feel even if a solution is illogical it should be undertaken so as not to seem insensitive to the needs of others.
Let us remain sensitive to the needs of all, but continue to use our logic and intellect in the process. Actions should not be undertaken because they give the impression of concern. Rather they should be undertaken because they are sound and just. Rather than slapping a band aid on a bridge, perhaps we should try to reach out and connect more directly with our fellow human beans for we could all benefit from reassurances that we are wonderful and worthy and valued.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Eating Cake
Some of you have recently discovered that I don't so much care for cake. I'm sorry if this upsets you. I do enjoy a good cheesecake every now and then. Sometimes a torte. And I'm semi-fond of angel food cake. I must admit "regular" cake is not so much my thing. But I have been thinking recently about the eating of cake.
And when I say that I have been thinking about the eating of cake what I am actually referring to is the metaphorical having and eating of cake. I mean to say that I have been thinking about having cake and eating cake in a metaphoric sense.
I am being vague. I know this. Say no more. I will explain.
Once upon a time I was "progressive" thinking. I say "progressive" but what I actually mean is "different" and by putting "progressive" in quotes I am attempting to be humorous or ironic or something else.
Uh...where was I. Oh yes. I shudder to admit that I once scoffed at the man holding a door open for me or the one willing to give me his seat on a bus. I saw no reason why women should not have to register for selective service. I refused to let a man I was dating pay for dinner.
I think I was wrong. No. I don't think. I know I was wrong. I've known this for some time, but I'm somewhat of a procrastinator so I'm really just now getting around to formulating these thoughts in print for your reading pleasure.
And I know that in this moment feminists everywhere are falling over dead. Okay. I'm exaggerating. But seriously. Some women may say that I have lost my grip on feminism. Maybe that's true. I would like to think that as a former women studies major in college I have not. But college was a long time ago. And as I have gotten older I have realized that I want cake. And looking at it isn't enough.
Being a feminist isn't a crime although it can feel that way. I think the reason for this is simple. There are a number of wack jobs out there that give the rest of us a bad name. There are women who date and simultanteously hate men. Those that blame every male on the planet for patriarchy. There are women who believe that the pyramid should be flipped and men placed under the heel of our collective boots.
But they still date and fuck men. And this I will not ever understand. I am perfectly willing to accept that some women believe that all men are the root of every bit of evil in the world. I cannot say that I agree, but I consider myself fairly tolerant and if you believe this more power to you. HOWEVER if you are going to FUCK MEN and let men FUCK YOU IN RETURN then you absolutely cannot believe that men are the problem without being an absolute moron and a raging hypocrite.
These women need medication. And any man who agrees with such a philosophy is simply trying to get laid by as many women as humanly possible in his lifetime. This isn't feminism. Feminism is very simple. It's about equality. Boot kissing is not equality. End of story.
All of this brings me back to my current state of being. For I have digressed once again. This is not a rant about women who hate/fuck men. This is about something different.
I have now come to believe that women have missed the boat. We -- being the collective we -- want this equality thing -- whatever that is -- so badly that we give up what I will refer to as social pleasantries.
And then we don't even get the equality anyway. Not really. So we're double screwed.
I live in Seattle now. I didn't always. I say this because things are different here. Men are different here. They're not as aggressive as the men on the east coast. Maybe they have less testosterone. Perhaps it's nurture and not nature. I don't really know. But I can tell you that most men in this general area are considerably more shy and sensitive and so on and so forth.
They are also seemingly more "progressive" which means that they will let you struggle with your hands full and not make any attempt to help you with a door. They won't hold the elevator for you if you're running. You will almost never get one of them to give up their seat on the bus.
It's different. I do not believe that it's better or worse, merely different. And here's the one thing that's going to go over wonderfully with all of you. I believe women are at least in part to blame. And you should know that I originally typed the previous sentence to read "I believe women are to blame" but it even disturbed me so I added the "at least in part" so that I would not spontaneously combust.
Waitwaitwait! Before you attempt to stone me to death you should at least hear me out. Women overall refuse these social pleasantries from men. I observe this numerous times per day. We refuse the open door. We decline the seat on the bus offered to us. We arm wrestle with men and the winner gets the privilege of paying for dinner. We do these things so often that men don't know what to do anymore. They are confused in part because we have confused them. So they let us stand on the bus. They permit us to pay for dinner. And I suppose this means that we've achieved equality. As long as equality equates to tired legs and a less substantial bank account.
We as women need to accept the fact that these small things do not equate us with being weak and ineffectual. It isn't easy to permit someone to do something nice for you. And I can not help but wonder why some of us still fight so hard against such things. In short, permitting a man to pay for dinner or taking his seat on the bus doesn't make him a filthy patriarch who wants to slap that bitch up.
I am not immune to this disease. In fact you should know that I absolutely refused to let the man I am exclusively dating pick up the check for dinner this weekend. I insisted that we split the bill. He gave me that look that he gives when I'm being difficult. He tried to fight me on the issue, but he didn't fight me too hard because he knows how stubborn I am and that I will win. And in an interesting twist when our cards were returned he discovered that they ran my card twice instead of running both cards.
Until the "pollo asado incident" I had been working on this post for some time. I was unable to finish it. When I was informed of the card error I realized this may very well be the universe poking fun at my continuing inability to permit anyone to do anything nice for me.
"Fine. We'll show her," said the Universe. I chuckled while my dining companion signed his name or mine name or someone's name to the receipt and thanked me for dinner. In this moment I that these ideas required posting and it needed to be soon if I am ever to end this madness.
For those of us afflicted I cannot say that it will be easy to develop a cure overnight. I know that I am often far too independent for my own good. And this doesn't mean that I think I or anyone else should swing the pendulum in the opposite direction and merely take what can be taken. But I can say that from this point forward if a man offers me his seat on a bus I'm going to sit my tired ass down and graciously thank him. No political analysis required.
Maybe then we can begin to make some real and significant change regarding the gender related problems that both men and women face in our current society.
And when I say that I have been thinking about the eating of cake what I am actually referring to is the metaphorical having and eating of cake. I mean to say that I have been thinking about having cake and eating cake in a metaphoric sense.
I am being vague. I know this. Say no more. I will explain.
Once upon a time I was "progressive" thinking. I say "progressive" but what I actually mean is "different" and by putting "progressive" in quotes I am attempting to be humorous or ironic or something else.
Uh...where was I. Oh yes. I shudder to admit that I once scoffed at the man holding a door open for me or the one willing to give me his seat on a bus. I saw no reason why women should not have to register for selective service. I refused to let a man I was dating pay for dinner.
I think I was wrong. No. I don't think. I know I was wrong. I've known this for some time, but I'm somewhat of a procrastinator so I'm really just now getting around to formulating these thoughts in print for your reading pleasure.
And I know that in this moment feminists everywhere are falling over dead. Okay. I'm exaggerating. But seriously. Some women may say that I have lost my grip on feminism. Maybe that's true. I would like to think that as a former women studies major in college I have not. But college was a long time ago. And as I have gotten older I have realized that I want cake. And looking at it isn't enough.
Being a feminist isn't a crime although it can feel that way. I think the reason for this is simple. There are a number of wack jobs out there that give the rest of us a bad name. There are women who date and simultanteously hate men. Those that blame every male on the planet for patriarchy. There are women who believe that the pyramid should be flipped and men placed under the heel of our collective boots.
But they still date and fuck men. And this I will not ever understand. I am perfectly willing to accept that some women believe that all men are the root of every bit of evil in the world. I cannot say that I agree, but I consider myself fairly tolerant and if you believe this more power to you. HOWEVER if you are going to FUCK MEN and let men FUCK YOU IN RETURN then you absolutely cannot believe that men are the problem without being an absolute moron and a raging hypocrite.
These women need medication. And any man who agrees with such a philosophy is simply trying to get laid by as many women as humanly possible in his lifetime. This isn't feminism. Feminism is very simple. It's about equality. Boot kissing is not equality. End of story.
All of this brings me back to my current state of being. For I have digressed once again. This is not a rant about women who hate/fuck men. This is about something different.
I have now come to believe that women have missed the boat. We -- being the collective we -- want this equality thing -- whatever that is -- so badly that we give up what I will refer to as social pleasantries.
And then we don't even get the equality anyway. Not really. So we're double screwed.
I live in Seattle now. I didn't always. I say this because things are different here. Men are different here. They're not as aggressive as the men on the east coast. Maybe they have less testosterone. Perhaps it's nurture and not nature. I don't really know. But I can tell you that most men in this general area are considerably more shy and sensitive and so on and so forth.
They are also seemingly more "progressive" which means that they will let you struggle with your hands full and not make any attempt to help you with a door. They won't hold the elevator for you if you're running. You will almost never get one of them to give up their seat on the bus.
It's different. I do not believe that it's better or worse, merely different. And here's the one thing that's going to go over wonderfully with all of you. I believe women are at least in part to blame. And you should know that I originally typed the previous sentence to read "I believe women are to blame" but it even disturbed me so I added the "at least in part" so that I would not spontaneously combust.
Waitwaitwait! Before you attempt to stone me to death you should at least hear me out. Women overall refuse these social pleasantries from men. I observe this numerous times per day. We refuse the open door. We decline the seat on the bus offered to us. We arm wrestle with men and the winner gets the privilege of paying for dinner. We do these things so often that men don't know what to do anymore. They are confused in part because we have confused them. So they let us stand on the bus. They permit us to pay for dinner. And I suppose this means that we've achieved equality. As long as equality equates to tired legs and a less substantial bank account.
We as women need to accept the fact that these small things do not equate us with being weak and ineffectual. It isn't easy to permit someone to do something nice for you. And I can not help but wonder why some of us still fight so hard against such things. In short, permitting a man to pay for dinner or taking his seat on the bus doesn't make him a filthy patriarch who wants to slap that bitch up.
I am not immune to this disease. In fact you should know that I absolutely refused to let the man I am exclusively dating pick up the check for dinner this weekend. I insisted that we split the bill. He gave me that look that he gives when I'm being difficult. He tried to fight me on the issue, but he didn't fight me too hard because he knows how stubborn I am and that I will win. And in an interesting twist when our cards were returned he discovered that they ran my card twice instead of running both cards.
Until the "pollo asado incident" I had been working on this post for some time. I was unable to finish it. When I was informed of the card error I realized this may very well be the universe poking fun at my continuing inability to permit anyone to do anything nice for me.
"Fine. We'll show her," said the Universe. I chuckled while my dining companion signed his name or mine name or someone's name to the receipt and thanked me for dinner. In this moment I that these ideas required posting and it needed to be soon if I am ever to end this madness.
For those of us afflicted I cannot say that it will be easy to develop a cure overnight. I know that I am often far too independent for my own good. And this doesn't mean that I think I or anyone else should swing the pendulum in the opposite direction and merely take what can be taken. But I can say that from this point forward if a man offers me his seat on a bus I'm going to sit my tired ass down and graciously thank him. No political analysis required.
Maybe then we can begin to make some real and significant change regarding the gender related problems that both men and women face in our current society.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Bank of America is the Devil
We interrupt this regularly scheduled post for a new and irregular and not-so-scheduled post. In this post you will find my current rant about Bank of America.
Normally I would have typed UNNAMED EVIL FINANCIAL INSTITUTION but not this time. This time I'm naming names. That's right Bank of America. This means you!
I should have known. With an acronym like BOA I should have suspected they would attempt to constrict the life out of me. But until recently my complaints were few and far between.
It all started when I decided to enroll in the Bank of America Keep the Change program. It seemed like a good idea. They round up your debit card purchases and put the difference in your savings account. What's not to love. Especially since I do all (and I mean A-L-L) of my banking via my debit card. I haven't physically walked into a branch for years.
I start the on-line enrollment process. After a series of prompts I am informed that I must have a check type debit card to enroll. I've never had one of these check card things because I already have a credit card. But I'm not opposed to the idea so I follow the link to get a check card so I can enroll in the program.
It seems I have options. I decide to go for the airline miles card because who doesn't love airline miles? The only thing left to do is wait for my card in the mail. So I wait.
And wait and wait and wait. I wait some more. I finally decide to email Bank of America. I tell them the whole deal and inquire about the status of my check card. I receive a response from Nancy Ware that reads as follows:
"Our records for your account ending in [-XXXX] do not show that a check card has been ordered for the account. Unfortunately, we are unable to order check cards through this channel."
Now I'm worried. Because I know I did not dream the ordering a check card. I start wondering what went wrong. I start thinking that something bad happened. I write another email and copy the message from Nancy Ware along with it. When I arrive home later that evening my check card is waiting for me with the rest of my mail.
I receive a response from Jennifer Hinebaugh. She explains that I have an airline miles check card. She does not address why I was informed that there was no record of my request. She does explain that I cannot use this card with the Keep the Change program because I cannot keep my own change and earn miles simultaneously. She states:
"If you still want to be enrolled in the Keep the Change, please send us another email and we will take care of it immediately!"
I respond. Because now I'm angry. I express deep concerns about Bank of America's record keeping system and their inability to respond to my concerns. If they had no record of my check card order perhaps they might have no record of my latest deposit. I ask for an explanation and chastise her for not providing one in the previous message. I also ask for an explanation as to why I was not informed that I could not use this card with this program when I signed up for the card. She responds, explaining why I cannot do both and "apologize[s] for the misinformation [I] received earlier." She ends her message with "Have a great day!"
Are you fucking kidding. What happened to her "we will take care of it immediately!" response. She didn't tell me that they would send me a new check card or that I would be enrolled in this program. I send another email copying all the previous responses.
The next day I decide to give up with email communication and call the bank directly. I explain the situation and I'm informed that they can send me a new check card. I am told that my old debit card will be active for one month and that my current PIN will be used for the new card.
Then I receive a response via email from J. Cline. J is smart not to use a first name. I think J knew I would be writing this post. J informs me that my airline miles check card should arrive by March 10, 2007. Keep in mind I received it on March 2. I was informed that I would need a new card to enroll in Keep the Change. Again I am told:
"Note that we are unable to order another card for you through this channel." Again note that they have no record of my order.
I decide not to respond to J. So now I wait for my new card. I am already fairly pissed, but I know that customer service isn't what it used to be. I receive my new card roughly seven days later. It's a weekend. I activate my card.
I then take a trip with the Sprinkel to UNNAMED NEARBY STORE to buy soap and toothpaste and such. I decide to use my new check card. I am told that my PIN is "incorrect" so I try re-entering it. It is still incorrect. So I try my old debit card. Same problem.
Thankfully I have a credit card. Otherwise I would have been without soap and toothpaste for the entire weekend. That would have been unpleasant not only for me, but for those close to me. Seriously.
Then I start thinking about how lucky I am to have a credit card. I know people that don't have a credit card. For some individuals this is a personal choice. What if I was one of these people. I had no cash whatsoever. What if I needed to purchase gas for my car or food or life saving medicine. What if I needed to bail someone out of jail or bribe a cop. These things often require cash or access to cash. I spent the entire weekend without access to MY OWN MONEY.
And people wonder why crime happens. I think we should ask the question to individuals who are arrested for robbery and burglary, "Do you bank with Bank of America?" If the answer is "yes" we should immediately release them without further question. They have been punished enough.
On Monday I call the local customer service number to my bank. I speak with Adam. I tell Adam that I am cranky and angry and I know it isn't his fault, but I am probably not going to be terribly pleasant. I go through the entire story. From beginning to end. Adam tries to interrupt me. I don't let him. He explains that Bank of America didn't change my PIN number. He cannot look up my PIN and tell me what it is, but he tells me that I must have changed it because Bank of America would not do this. I told him that I have had the same PIN number for more than fifteen years. I'm glad he has such faith in Bank of America.
He then tells me that he cannot help me. That I must go into the branch. I explain that this is impossible for me to do. I have a job. I cannot simply take valuable time off work and hop down to the branch to resolve this problem. This is why I'm calling. I ask to speak with his supervisor.
Adam tells me he can have me speak to the supervisor but it will not help. He says that I should speak with the branch and he can transfer me. I tell him that is fine because I am about to tell Adam to fuck off.
I speak with Melissa at the Madison-Pike Branch. I go through my whole story. She tells me that she will need to do some research and determine the problem, but she will call me in one hour. She is nice and apologetic. She calls me in exactly one hour. She explains everything that went wrong and why. She tells me that a new PIN is always assigned with a new check card. She explains that I should have been told this would happen. She explains that I shouldn't have been told that my old debit card would remain active. They are always inactivated with a new card. She said I should get my new PIN in the mail in a day or so.
She then tells me that she is very sorry, but she will not be able to change my new PIN to match my old PIN. She said I need to come into the branch. The entire time she is the only one who is attempting to be helpful, not blaming me, not misinforming me, and not making me feel like Bank of America is taking my money.
I explain that I appreciate her assistance, but that I will be closing my account as soon as I can GET TO THE BRANCH. I am expecting the hard sell, but she doesn't give it. Instead she tells me that she wishes I would reconsider, but understands my position. I tell her I intend to write a nice letter about her to the company. She thanks me for this and tells me that she would like me to include all of the problems I have had in whatever letter I write. I tell her I have every intention of doing so. I also have every intention of reporting them to the Better Business Bureau.
It has now been more than fourteen days since I originally ordered the check card. I still don't have a PIN. My account will be closed soon enough. I will keep you posted on the results of my letter to Bank of America as well as my complaint with the Better Business Bureau as soon as both are completed and filed.
Maybe I'm just getting older, but customer service seems to have gone by the wayside. I worked in customer service for years. It isn't an easy job, but my requests were not complex. Businesses seem to expect us to accept poor service rather than take our business elsewhere. I say it's time we all start to put our money where our mouth is rather than merely accept status quo. Not just in who we choose to bank with, but in everything.
Normally I would have typed UNNAMED EVIL FINANCIAL INSTITUTION but not this time. This time I'm naming names. That's right Bank of America. This means you!
I should have known. With an acronym like BOA I should have suspected they would attempt to constrict the life out of me. But until recently my complaints were few and far between.
It all started when I decided to enroll in the Bank of America Keep the Change program. It seemed like a good idea. They round up your debit card purchases and put the difference in your savings account. What's not to love. Especially since I do all (and I mean A-L-L) of my banking via my debit card. I haven't physically walked into a branch for years.
I start the on-line enrollment process. After a series of prompts I am informed that I must have a check type debit card to enroll. I've never had one of these check card things because I already have a credit card. But I'm not opposed to the idea so I follow the link to get a check card so I can enroll in the program.
It seems I have options. I decide to go for the airline miles card because who doesn't love airline miles? The only thing left to do is wait for my card in the mail. So I wait.
And wait and wait and wait. I wait some more. I finally decide to email Bank of America. I tell them the whole deal and inquire about the status of my check card. I receive a response from Nancy Ware that reads as follows:
"Our records for your account ending in [-XXXX] do not show that a check card has been ordered for the account. Unfortunately, we are unable to order check cards through this channel."
Now I'm worried. Because I know I did not dream the ordering a check card. I start wondering what went wrong. I start thinking that something bad happened. I write another email and copy the message from Nancy Ware along with it. When I arrive home later that evening my check card is waiting for me with the rest of my mail.
I receive a response from Jennifer Hinebaugh. She explains that I have an airline miles check card. She does not address why I was informed that there was no record of my request. She does explain that I cannot use this card with the Keep the Change program because I cannot keep my own change and earn miles simultaneously. She states:
"If you still want to be enrolled in the Keep the Change, please send us another email and we will take care of it immediately!"
I respond. Because now I'm angry. I express deep concerns about Bank of America's record keeping system and their inability to respond to my concerns. If they had no record of my check card order perhaps they might have no record of my latest deposit. I ask for an explanation and chastise her for not providing one in the previous message. I also ask for an explanation as to why I was not informed that I could not use this card with this program when I signed up for the card. She responds, explaining why I cannot do both and "apologize[s] for the misinformation [I] received earlier." She ends her message with "Have a great day!"
Are you fucking kidding. What happened to her "we will take care of it immediately!" response. She didn't tell me that they would send me a new check card or that I would be enrolled in this program. I send another email copying all the previous responses.
The next day I decide to give up with email communication and call the bank directly. I explain the situation and I'm informed that they can send me a new check card. I am told that my old debit card will be active for one month and that my current PIN will be used for the new card.
Then I receive a response via email from J. Cline. J is smart not to use a first name. I think J knew I would be writing this post. J informs me that my airline miles check card should arrive by March 10, 2007. Keep in mind I received it on March 2. I was informed that I would need a new card to enroll in Keep the Change. Again I am told:
"Note that we are unable to order another card for you through this channel." Again note that they have no record of my order.
I decide not to respond to J. So now I wait for my new card. I am already fairly pissed, but I know that customer service isn't what it used to be. I receive my new card roughly seven days later. It's a weekend. I activate my card.
I then take a trip with the Sprinkel to UNNAMED NEARBY STORE to buy soap and toothpaste and such. I decide to use my new check card. I am told that my PIN is "incorrect" so I try re-entering it. It is still incorrect. So I try my old debit card. Same problem.
Thankfully I have a credit card. Otherwise I would have been without soap and toothpaste for the entire weekend. That would have been unpleasant not only for me, but for those close to me. Seriously.
Then I start thinking about how lucky I am to have a credit card. I know people that don't have a credit card. For some individuals this is a personal choice. What if I was one of these people. I had no cash whatsoever. What if I needed to purchase gas for my car or food or life saving medicine. What if I needed to bail someone out of jail or bribe a cop. These things often require cash or access to cash. I spent the entire weekend without access to MY OWN MONEY.
And people wonder why crime happens. I think we should ask the question to individuals who are arrested for robbery and burglary, "Do you bank with Bank of America?" If the answer is "yes" we should immediately release them without further question. They have been punished enough.
On Monday I call the local customer service number to my bank. I speak with Adam. I tell Adam that I am cranky and angry and I know it isn't his fault, but I am probably not going to be terribly pleasant. I go through the entire story. From beginning to end. Adam tries to interrupt me. I don't let him. He explains that Bank of America didn't change my PIN number. He cannot look up my PIN and tell me what it is, but he tells me that I must have changed it because Bank of America would not do this. I told him that I have had the same PIN number for more than fifteen years. I'm glad he has such faith in Bank of America.
He then tells me that he cannot help me. That I must go into the branch. I explain that this is impossible for me to do. I have a job. I cannot simply take valuable time off work and hop down to the branch to resolve this problem. This is why I'm calling. I ask to speak with his supervisor.
Adam tells me he can have me speak to the supervisor but it will not help. He says that I should speak with the branch and he can transfer me. I tell him that is fine because I am about to tell Adam to fuck off.
I speak with Melissa at the Madison-Pike Branch. I go through my whole story. She tells me that she will need to do some research and determine the problem, but she will call me in one hour. She is nice and apologetic. She calls me in exactly one hour. She explains everything that went wrong and why. She tells me that a new PIN is always assigned with a new check card. She explains that I should have been told this would happen. She explains that I shouldn't have been told that my old debit card would remain active. They are always inactivated with a new card. She said I should get my new PIN in the mail in a day or so.
She then tells me that she is very sorry, but she will not be able to change my new PIN to match my old PIN. She said I need to come into the branch. The entire time she is the only one who is attempting to be helpful, not blaming me, not misinforming me, and not making me feel like Bank of America is taking my money.
I explain that I appreciate her assistance, but that I will be closing my account as soon as I can GET TO THE BRANCH. I am expecting the hard sell, but she doesn't give it. Instead she tells me that she wishes I would reconsider, but understands my position. I tell her I intend to write a nice letter about her to the company. She thanks me for this and tells me that she would like me to include all of the problems I have had in whatever letter I write. I tell her I have every intention of doing so. I also have every intention of reporting them to the Better Business Bureau.
It has now been more than fourteen days since I originally ordered the check card. I still don't have a PIN. My account will be closed soon enough. I will keep you posted on the results of my letter to Bank of America as well as my complaint with the Better Business Bureau as soon as both are completed and filed.
Maybe I'm just getting older, but customer service seems to have gone by the wayside. I worked in customer service for years. It isn't an easy job, but my requests were not complex. Businesses seem to expect us to accept poor service rather than take our business elsewhere. I say it's time we all start to put our money where our mouth is rather than merely accept status quo. Not just in who we choose to bank with, but in everything.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Government Cheese
Many of you know that I submitted some of my photographs to a call for art by the Seattle Public Utilities some time ago. Those who are aware of this also know that none of my photographs were chosen for purchase by SPU. I did quite well with the rejection if I do say so myself. It was the first time I submitted anything to anything and I felt quite accomplished having done so. It was empowering to actually complete a project, regardless of the outcome.
Recently I received an email from my good friend Soy. Apparently some individuals affiliated with INSANELY EXPENSIVE PRIVATE ART SCHOOL had their work accepted by the project. As an alumni of said institution he received notice of this news. Check out one of the works of art that was accepted:
ACCEPTED WORK OF ART
Soy also included the following message:
"If a paper airplane photoshopped [sic] onto a satellite image of Washington (how lame!) got into that show, then I'm glad that your work is NOT associated with SPU! Unfortunately for me, my work IS associated with [INSANELY EXPENSIVE PRIVATE ART SCHOOL]!"
I appreciate Soy's sentiments because he is an artist that I respect highly and a good friend. And this is by no means intended to be any disrespect toward the artist in question. Kudos to you for your efforts. However I am curious about one thing. Because in thinking about this further I was reminded of the numbers. Let me explain.
My rejection letter read (in part) as follows:
"The panel viewed more than 1800 submission, with a purchase budget of $50,000 to award, and selected 49 artworks."
For those of you not well versed in mathematics you should seriously consider a refresher course. Just kidding. Okay. I'm not kidding, but this isn't my point. My point is that given the above information Seattle Public Utilities paid an average of $1020.41 for each piece of art. Not too shabby considering my work was priced at 10% of that figure.
I suppose I should have known that the government isn't accustomed obtaining a bargain. My affordable pricing may very well have caused their heads to explode. Silly me. But I do believe that art should be affordable. Not that this means that my time and effort isn't worth compensation. But rather art should be accessible to the masses, not merely the wealthy.
And in case you're wondering, here are some scans of some of the pieces I submitted:
Recently I received an email from my good friend Soy. Apparently some individuals affiliated with INSANELY EXPENSIVE PRIVATE ART SCHOOL had their work accepted by the project. As an alumni of said institution he received notice of this news. Check out one of the works of art that was accepted:
ACCEPTED WORK OF ART
Soy also included the following message:
"If a paper airplane photoshopped [sic] onto a satellite image of Washington (how lame!) got into that show, then I'm glad that your work is NOT associated with SPU! Unfortunately for me, my work IS associated with [INSANELY EXPENSIVE PRIVATE ART SCHOOL]!"
I appreciate Soy's sentiments because he is an artist that I respect highly and a good friend. And this is by no means intended to be any disrespect toward the artist in question. Kudos to you for your efforts. However I am curious about one thing. Because in thinking about this further I was reminded of the numbers. Let me explain.
My rejection letter read (in part) as follows:
"The panel viewed more than 1800 submission, with a purchase budget of $50,000 to award, and selected 49 artworks."
For those of you not well versed in mathematics you should seriously consider a refresher course. Just kidding. Okay. I'm not kidding, but this isn't my point. My point is that given the above information Seattle Public Utilities paid an average of $1020.41 for each piece of art. Not too shabby considering my work was priced at 10% of that figure.
I suppose I should have known that the government isn't accustomed obtaining a bargain. My affordable pricing may very well have caused their heads to explode. Silly me. But I do believe that art should be affordable. Not that this means that my time and effort isn't worth compensation. But rather art should be accessible to the masses, not merely the wealthy.
And in case you're wondering, here are some scans of some of the pieces I submitted:
Despite my rejection, I am thankful for the experience. I imagine the more rejection I receive the more accustomed to it I will become and the more apt I will be to submit work in the future. Because it won't matter. And it shouldn't matter. What matters is that we are all wonderfully unique and creative beans and the we should all do our thing and let the world experience it as they will.
And before I forget, does anyone know any rich folks who want to buy a bunch of overpriced art? Lemme know. Thanks.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Super Sleuthing Sickness
Okay. Okayokayokay. I am going to admit something to all of you. Shit. Maybe I won't. No. Yes. I will. I will do it. I will admit it. Because you see I have this...problem. And this problem involves a bit of internet snooping. Snooping. I should not be snooping. But the information is RIGHT THERE and I must say I cannot control myself. Perhaps I am far to curious for my own good. And it isn't as if I am stalking anyone. There are no laws being broken. Any information I may have obtained is entirely public. But I do not know why I feel compelled to review it.
Insecurity. Curiosity. Notice how similar both of these words sound. Coincidence...I think not.
And I can so easily justify this...really just watch me. Because my super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with something very very very very important. Here it comes...I hope you're paying attention. My super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with material. Material. Yes. Material. Material for writing. And it's important to have material for writing. Because...let's face it...there is most certainly not enough material-esque things going on out there in the world for me to write about. Things are pretty mundane these days.
Uh. Yeah. Exactly. That is exactly it. There is nothing at all interesting going on the world at all nothing not one thing nothing interesting.
And as it is quite important that I continue to have good writing material. Otherwise something tragic might happen. So. And what I mean is that it isn't exactly like I am stalking anyone or anything. I haven't researched where any particular person or persons live. And I haven't followed them home. I don't own high powered binoculars. I haven't broken into anyone's home and rifled through their refrigerator. No. None of that. Nothing creepy.
But you see. There are these internet web sites. And people post information about themselves on said sites. It's right there. They are asking, ne begging you to read all about them. And their lives and hopes and dreams and wants and food poisoning and vacationing and midterms and new shoes and friendships and such. Sometimes there are photographs. So what's a girl to do really. I mean really.
How was that. Seriously. I hope you're convinced. Because I think I did a decent job and almost convinced myself of my own sincerity. Which just so happens to have the same ending as insecurity and curiosity -- see above.
So. Yes. I am curious. And insecure. Then I become curious again. So I check to see if a new blog has been posted. And I read and this makes me still more curious. But don't worry. I promise not to name names if I use your life material for my next poem. Because that would be rude. I will protect the innocent. And the guilty.
And hopefully I will stop creeping even myself out in the very near future.
Insecurity. Curiosity. Notice how similar both of these words sound. Coincidence...I think not.
And I can so easily justify this...really just watch me. Because my super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with something very very very very important. Here it comes...I hope you're paying attention. My super sleuthing internet snooping provides me with material. Material. Yes. Material. Material for writing. And it's important to have material for writing. Because...let's face it...there is most certainly not enough material-esque things going on out there in the world for me to write about. Things are pretty mundane these days.
Uh. Yeah. Exactly. That is exactly it. There is nothing at all interesting going on the world at all nothing not one thing nothing interesting.
And as it is quite important that I continue to have good writing material. Otherwise something tragic might happen. So. And what I mean is that it isn't exactly like I am stalking anyone or anything. I haven't researched where any particular person or persons live. And I haven't followed them home. I don't own high powered binoculars. I haven't broken into anyone's home and rifled through their refrigerator. No. None of that. Nothing creepy.
But you see. There are these internet web sites. And people post information about themselves on said sites. It's right there. They are asking, ne begging you to read all about them. And their lives and hopes and dreams and wants and food poisoning and vacationing and midterms and new shoes and friendships and such. Sometimes there are photographs. So what's a girl to do really. I mean really.
How was that. Seriously. I hope you're convinced. Because I think I did a decent job and almost convinced myself of my own sincerity. Which just so happens to have the same ending as insecurity and curiosity -- see above.
So. Yes. I am curious. And insecure. Then I become curious again. So I check to see if a new blog has been posted. And I read and this makes me still more curious. But don't worry. I promise not to name names if I use your life material for my next poem. Because that would be rude. I will protect the innocent. And the guilty.
And hopefully I will stop creeping even myself out in the very near future.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Begin to Delve into Nineteen Twelve
I write this in the fine tradition of the airing of dirty laundry. Exposing myself in a public forum. Showing more than you want to see. My dirty panties are on display.
Ew. Panties. I hate the word panties. I much prefer underpants. Panties sound icky. I imagine something pink. With hearts. Something frilly. I'm not so much down for the pink-hearts-frilly.
But I was talking about exposing myself. And not the kind of exposing that you could go to prison for. Why am I doing this again? Oh yes. I remember now. I am doing this because I want you to understand. Actually that is not true. I am doing this because I know some of you will never read it.
And maybe someone will. Perhaps some human bean will stumble upon these words and find solidarity with a stranger. Maybe someone will read this and believe that they are not quite so weird after all. They will feel better about themselves because they will know that at least they are not as strange as that weird grrl airy her dirty laundry in a public space.
Why don't I just begin.
Several days ago I remembered that today is my father's birthday. Not only did I remember this, but I also realized that in July he will have been dead for twenty years.
I had to pause when I came to this realization. And while I was pausing I happened to be driving. Merging to be more specific. Attempting to merge in this city can sometimes be a catastrophe. For some reason merging seems to be a lost art and I wonder if those of us who have merging skills should start a secret society and take over the world.
Uh...ahem. I mean. Twenty years ago feels impossible. For anything. It is someone else's lifetime. Most certainly not mine. I am far too young to remember twenty years ago. But really, I'm not that young anymore. Even though I sometimes feel as if I am five years old.
The problem with dead people is that it is easy to remember them as someone they were not. I have had my moments of remembering my father as a man who was not the man that he was. I do not mean to be Dr. Seuss about it. But I find this to be an accurate statement.
It is quite similar to the ways in which we might recall a former partner as someone more wonderful than they were when we were dating them. Sometimes we forget they this person was an ass and when they call we block out the reasons that the relationship ended in the first place. And then we remember.
It's exactly like that. Only different. Because in this case the call will never come. And if it ever does I am certainly not accepting it collect. In circumstances such as these we will never be reminded unless we choose to consciously remember.
I cannot recall if I was angry at my father for dying. It seems logical. It's one of those death step thingies. It is more likely that I was angry at him for leaving me with an emotionally crippled parent. And most certainly for not being the father that I needed him to be.
I do not know very many beans who have or had one let alone two parents who were able to give them what they needed. I doubt my experiences are all that unusual in this realm. And after twenty years -- my that is painful to type -- one would think that such things would no longer fill my thoughts. But they do. And sometimes they do not so much fill my thoughts as influence my emotional state and affect my interpersonal relationships.
Which, quite frankly, sucks. Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic. But I am most certain that I have spent an unconscious lifetime searching for the qualities in others that I desperately needed in parental figures.
Unconditional love and support are words in a language I have never known. And I am always teetering on the edge of wanting something and expecting nothing. And when I wobble in this place it is quite easy to manipulate the data and see exactly what your mind and experiences expect.
Any action or lack of action can be manipulated to fit the mold. Assumptions run wild and rampant. And then I am five years old again. Suppressing my authentic identity that was never ever good enough.
I believe that this has impacted me more strongly as of late because my relationships have changed. My tough exterior has begun to crack or melt or slip off like a snake shedding its skin. And this has caused me to feel emotion differently. Sometimes at the most random nonsensical moments.
Everything I learned as a child is still with me. Insecurities. The belief that I am unworthy. Unlovable. Never good enough. The subliminal messages run deep. They defy logic. I argue with myself about their validity. But they remain.
I have no words of wisdom to end on. There are no silver linings. Brilliant glimmers. I have no epiphanies. Sometimes things simply are what they are and one can only continue traveling down the path arguing with the self and trying not to look like too much of a fool in the process.
Ew. Panties. I hate the word panties. I much prefer underpants. Panties sound icky. I imagine something pink. With hearts. Something frilly. I'm not so much down for the pink-hearts-frilly.
But I was talking about exposing myself. And not the kind of exposing that you could go to prison for. Why am I doing this again? Oh yes. I remember now. I am doing this because I want you to understand. Actually that is not true. I am doing this because I know some of you will never read it.
And maybe someone will. Perhaps some human bean will stumble upon these words and find solidarity with a stranger. Maybe someone will read this and believe that they are not quite so weird after all. They will feel better about themselves because they will know that at least they are not as strange as that weird grrl airy her dirty laundry in a public space.
Why don't I just begin.
Several days ago I remembered that today is my father's birthday. Not only did I remember this, but I also realized that in July he will have been dead for twenty years.
I had to pause when I came to this realization. And while I was pausing I happened to be driving. Merging to be more specific. Attempting to merge in this city can sometimes be a catastrophe. For some reason merging seems to be a lost art and I wonder if those of us who have merging skills should start a secret society and take over the world.
Uh...ahem. I mean. Twenty years ago feels impossible. For anything. It is someone else's lifetime. Most certainly not mine. I am far too young to remember twenty years ago. But really, I'm not that young anymore. Even though I sometimes feel as if I am five years old.
The problem with dead people is that it is easy to remember them as someone they were not. I have had my moments of remembering my father as a man who was not the man that he was. I do not mean to be Dr. Seuss about it. But I find this to be an accurate statement.
It is quite similar to the ways in which we might recall a former partner as someone more wonderful than they were when we were dating them. Sometimes we forget they this person was an ass and when they call we block out the reasons that the relationship ended in the first place. And then we remember.
It's exactly like that. Only different. Because in this case the call will never come. And if it ever does I am certainly not accepting it collect. In circumstances such as these we will never be reminded unless we choose to consciously remember.
I cannot recall if I was angry at my father for dying. It seems logical. It's one of those death step thingies. It is more likely that I was angry at him for leaving me with an emotionally crippled parent. And most certainly for not being the father that I needed him to be.
I do not know very many beans who have or had one let alone two parents who were able to give them what they needed. I doubt my experiences are all that unusual in this realm. And after twenty years -- my that is painful to type -- one would think that such things would no longer fill my thoughts. But they do. And sometimes they do not so much fill my thoughts as influence my emotional state and affect my interpersonal relationships.
Which, quite frankly, sucks. Perhaps my expectations are unrealistic. But I am most certain that I have spent an unconscious lifetime searching for the qualities in others that I desperately needed in parental figures.
Unconditional love and support are words in a language I have never known. And I am always teetering on the edge of wanting something and expecting nothing. And when I wobble in this place it is quite easy to manipulate the data and see exactly what your mind and experiences expect.
Any action or lack of action can be manipulated to fit the mold. Assumptions run wild and rampant. And then I am five years old again. Suppressing my authentic identity that was never ever good enough.
I believe that this has impacted me more strongly as of late because my relationships have changed. My tough exterior has begun to crack or melt or slip off like a snake shedding its skin. And this has caused me to feel emotion differently. Sometimes at the most random nonsensical moments.
Everything I learned as a child is still with me. Insecurities. The belief that I am unworthy. Unlovable. Never good enough. The subliminal messages run deep. They defy logic. I argue with myself about their validity. But they remain.
I have no words of wisdom to end on. There are no silver linings. Brilliant glimmers. I have no epiphanies. Sometimes things simply are what they are and one can only continue traveling down the path arguing with the self and trying not to look like too much of a fool in the process.
Monday, December 11, 2006
One Hundred and Sixty Two Days
When I turned thirty three I started to make a list of things that I wanted to do in my thirty third year. And I must admit I have been a bit slack ass in getting these things accomplished. Maybe it is because I am afraid. Or maybe it is because I feel paralyzed. Perhaps I'm just plain tired.
I have been examining my life under a microscope as of late. I am in a space where I require a change. I want a life that is full of passion. Adventure. Excitement. Something more. I want to begin a fabulous journey. I do not require anything complex. But I do require something different.
Given that there are now less than six months until the time in which I become thirty four I suppose I had better get my behind in gear and make another list. Since I am so incredibly fond of list making. Sometimes I wonder if I have a tendency to put too much on my list of things to do. I create situations in which I set myself up for failure. And this is not helpful on many levels.
So I am going to create a public list. Yes. An incredibly public list of thirty three things that I will accomplish before I am no longer thirty three.
And I am going to create thirty three things that I believe are attainable. Thirty three things that are completely reasonable and feasible for me to accomplish in a relatively short amount of time. Doing this publically is an incredibly bold step for me as I often keep my projects hidden from sight so that in the event that I fail no one else will be the wiser. I now believe that this attitude has stunted me creatively. It has left me lost and feeling unworthy. And if I want this to change it is up to me to do something different.
So here is my list. Many things on the list are quite small and simple. Some list items are more involved. And some items will be more difficult for me to accomplish than one might imagine. But here I am. Exposing myself for you all. I am naked (there's that word again) and vulnerable in a way that is quite uncomfortable for me. But I have realized that it is now or never. I am going to try to keep this list realistic and simple. So here we go -- in no particular order.
1. Get a passport. Or at least try given the current challenges associated with getting a passport in the current political state. 2. Sing out loud. At least once. In front of other people. 3. Complete a Holga photo shoot. Develop the film. 4. Take a kitschy road trip to a new place and document it. Use more than one form of media. 5. Collect various found objects. Use collected objects to create an art piece composed solely of found objects. 6. Feed peanut butter sandwiches to happy squirrels. 7. Purge all of the unnecessary material items in my possession and donate them to charity. 8. Practice saying no and meaning it. 9. Research various publications in which to submit poetry. Make a list of the viable options. 10. Complete an infrared photo shoot. Develop the film. 11. Go see art created by others on a semi regular basis. Think about it. 12. Revise a handful of older poems to a completed state. 13. Finish sanding and staining the bookcase. 14. Hand write a letter to someone I respect and appreciate. Tell them so. Be specific. 15. Meet with Soy to discuss the motivational collective. 16. Practice saying yes more. Especially when I am afraid to say it. 17. Complete a public art project. Anonymously. 18. Go to the library. Review various art books for the purpose of creating a left arm sleeve. Copy. Scan. Make notes. 19. Compile a series of photographs for a future art show. Print all images. Think about display and framing. 20. Meditate. Again. Seriously. 21. Practice asking for it by name. Often. Even when it seems scary. 22. Drink more water. Right now. 23. Go hiking to a new place. Explore it slowly and thoroughly. 24. Take more naps. Even if they are very short. 25. Watch the sun rise or set in a different state. Or even a different country. 26. Let go. Seriously. 27. Trade passions with someone for a day. Have that person teach me about their passion. Then teach my passion to them in return. 28. Move more. Run. Do yoga. Tai chi. Cartwheels. Dance like a fool. Just move. 29. Submit completed poems to print journals. 30. Learn more about Photoshop. Study the first four chapters of Soy's book. 31. Make bread. 32. Research classes on lighting. 33. Cook dinner with someone. Barefoot. Drink wine while cooking.
So uh...maybe it's still too much. I'll keep you posted.
I have been examining my life under a microscope as of late. I am in a space where I require a change. I want a life that is full of passion. Adventure. Excitement. Something more. I want to begin a fabulous journey. I do not require anything complex. But I do require something different.
Given that there are now less than six months until the time in which I become thirty four I suppose I had better get my behind in gear and make another list. Since I am so incredibly fond of list making. Sometimes I wonder if I have a tendency to put too much on my list of things to do. I create situations in which I set myself up for failure. And this is not helpful on many levels.
So I am going to create a public list. Yes. An incredibly public list of thirty three things that I will accomplish before I am no longer thirty three.
And I am going to create thirty three things that I believe are attainable. Thirty three things that are completely reasonable and feasible for me to accomplish in a relatively short amount of time. Doing this publically is an incredibly bold step for me as I often keep my projects hidden from sight so that in the event that I fail no one else will be the wiser. I now believe that this attitude has stunted me creatively. It has left me lost and feeling unworthy. And if I want this to change it is up to me to do something different.
So here is my list. Many things on the list are quite small and simple. Some list items are more involved. And some items will be more difficult for me to accomplish than one might imagine. But here I am. Exposing myself for you all. I am naked (there's that word again) and vulnerable in a way that is quite uncomfortable for me. But I have realized that it is now or never. I am going to try to keep this list realistic and simple. So here we go -- in no particular order.
1. Get a passport. Or at least try given the current challenges associated with getting a passport in the current political state. 2. Sing out loud. At least once. In front of other people. 3. Complete a Holga photo shoot. Develop the film. 4. Take a kitschy road trip to a new place and document it. Use more than one form of media. 5. Collect various found objects. Use collected objects to create an art piece composed solely of found objects. 6. Feed peanut butter sandwiches to happy squirrels. 7. Purge all of the unnecessary material items in my possession and donate them to charity. 8. Practice saying no and meaning it. 9. Research various publications in which to submit poetry. Make a list of the viable options. 10. Complete an infrared photo shoot. Develop the film. 11. Go see art created by others on a semi regular basis. Think about it. 12. Revise a handful of older poems to a completed state. 13. Finish sanding and staining the bookcase. 14. Hand write a letter to someone I respect and appreciate. Tell them so. Be specific. 15. Meet with Soy to discuss the motivational collective. 16. Practice saying yes more. Especially when I am afraid to say it. 17. Complete a public art project. Anonymously. 18. Go to the library. Review various art books for the purpose of creating a left arm sleeve. Copy. Scan. Make notes. 19. Compile a series of photographs for a future art show. Print all images. Think about display and framing. 20. Meditate. Again. Seriously. 21. Practice asking for it by name. Often. Even when it seems scary. 22. Drink more water. Right now. 23. Go hiking to a new place. Explore it slowly and thoroughly. 24. Take more naps. Even if they are very short. 25. Watch the sun rise or set in a different state. Or even a different country. 26. Let go. Seriously. 27. Trade passions with someone for a day. Have that person teach me about their passion. Then teach my passion to them in return. 28. Move more. Run. Do yoga. Tai chi. Cartwheels. Dance like a fool. Just move. 29. Submit completed poems to print journals. 30. Learn more about Photoshop. Study the first four chapters of Soy's book. 31. Make bread. 32. Research classes on lighting. 33. Cook dinner with someone. Barefoot. Drink wine while cooking.
So uh...maybe it's still too much. I'll keep you posted.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
May I Please Have One Quarter Pound of Time and a Side of Lime
I am of the belief that life is a beautiful and precious thing. And given this personal truth I am quite careful as to what I do with the time that I have on this planet. This is especially true because I do not know exactly how much time I am working with.
It would have been nice to begin life with the gift of knowing approximately how much sand I have going in the hourglass. But that didn't happen. So I have to guess. And since I am not a very good guesser I figure that anything could happen. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. And that would suck.
So. Given that I could be hit by a bus tomorrow I feel that I should be somewhat particular as to how I spend the little bit of time I have remaining. Unfortunately there are a variety of things that take time away from other more interesting things that at the moment I cannot not choose. As I am not independently wealthy I must work. This is fine most days as I do actually enjoy my job the majority of the time. But this does not mean that there might not be something else on the list of things to do that I would rather be doing.
And given that my housemate expects me to pay my share of the rent and given that I am far too obsessive compulsive and vain to live on the street it is necessary for me to derive income in order to pay said rent.
And work takes up a great deal of the aforementioned precious time. Who decided that a forty hour work week was acceptable? Seriously. I would much prefer a six hour day for four days per week at my current rate of pay. However as I have not yet lost my mind I am fully aware that this will not happen any time in the near or distant future.
But I digress. Because this post isn't about a shorter work week. Not that this would be a bad thing to discuss. But a discussion for another time indeed.
Rather, this post is about time. And more specifically my precious and valuable time. I do not mean this to imply that my time is any more precious or valuable than your time. But simply that time is the greatest commodity. And we should treat it as such.
Which brings me to my point. Recently I had another epiphany. Yes. Go make some cocoa and come back and read my epiphany. Because ephipanies should be read while drinking cocoa.
I realized that I can no longer continue to permit situations in my life that disrespect me such that they devalue my time. Do not devalue my time people. That is not delicious. I do not appreciate it.
This means if you want to see me -- naked or otherwise -- then do so. And be on time. If you cannot be on time for some reason then I am more than willing to be understanding, but it should be a good reason.
It should be because you were getting me a present. That is a good reason for you to be late meeting with me.
There might be a few other good reasons but I cannot think of any at the moment. I'll keep you posted.
What it really boils down to is you should do what you say you are going to do. Have enough respect for others to make an effort not to waste my precious time. Life happens and we should all be understanding of such life related things, but if you are a perpetual flake and cannot seem to get it together than you should know that I will not be making an effort to continue a friendship with you.
My time and my life are valuable. You should think so too.
And if you do not then perhaps you should rethink the friendship as well.
We -- as in the collective we -- seem to spend a great deal of time complaining about the behavior of other people. But we -- collective again -- do not seem to do much about it. It is almost as if many in said aforementioned collective forget that we have a choice.
Who. What. When. Where. How.
Seriously. It's not just for reporters anymore. Take charge and control of your own life. I say this as much for myself as I do for everyone else on the planet. Value you life every day. Value it more than you do in this moment.
It would have been nice to begin life with the gift of knowing approximately how much sand I have going in the hourglass. But that didn't happen. So I have to guess. And since I am not a very good guesser I figure that anything could happen. I could be hit by a bus tomorrow. And that would suck.
So. Given that I could be hit by a bus tomorrow I feel that I should be somewhat particular as to how I spend the little bit of time I have remaining. Unfortunately there are a variety of things that take time away from other more interesting things that at the moment I cannot not choose. As I am not independently wealthy I must work. This is fine most days as I do actually enjoy my job the majority of the time. But this does not mean that there might not be something else on the list of things to do that I would rather be doing.
And given that my housemate expects me to pay my share of the rent and given that I am far too obsessive compulsive and vain to live on the street it is necessary for me to derive income in order to pay said rent.
And work takes up a great deal of the aforementioned precious time. Who decided that a forty hour work week was acceptable? Seriously. I would much prefer a six hour day for four days per week at my current rate of pay. However as I have not yet lost my mind I am fully aware that this will not happen any time in the near or distant future.
But I digress. Because this post isn't about a shorter work week. Not that this would be a bad thing to discuss. But a discussion for another time indeed.
Rather, this post is about time. And more specifically my precious and valuable time. I do not mean this to imply that my time is any more precious or valuable than your time. But simply that time is the greatest commodity. And we should treat it as such.
Which brings me to my point. Recently I had another epiphany. Yes. Go make some cocoa and come back and read my epiphany. Because ephipanies should be read while drinking cocoa.
I realized that I can no longer continue to permit situations in my life that disrespect me such that they devalue my time. Do not devalue my time people. That is not delicious. I do not appreciate it.
This means if you want to see me -- naked or otherwise -- then do so. And be on time. If you cannot be on time for some reason then I am more than willing to be understanding, but it should be a good reason.
It should be because you were getting me a present. That is a good reason for you to be late meeting with me.
There might be a few other good reasons but I cannot think of any at the moment. I'll keep you posted.
What it really boils down to is you should do what you say you are going to do. Have enough respect for others to make an effort not to waste my precious time. Life happens and we should all be understanding of such life related things, but if you are a perpetual flake and cannot seem to get it together than you should know that I will not be making an effort to continue a friendship with you.
My time and my life are valuable. You should think so too.
And if you do not then perhaps you should rethink the friendship as well.
We -- as in the collective we -- seem to spend a great deal of time complaining about the behavior of other people. But we -- collective again -- do not seem to do much about it. It is almost as if many in said aforementioned collective forget that we have a choice.
Who. What. When. Where. How.
Seriously. It's not just for reporters anymore. Take charge and control of your own life. I say this as much for myself as I do for everyone else on the planet. Value you life every day. Value it more than you do in this moment.
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