In Search of Ambience

The blog will now be located here:

http://blog.transparentsociety.com/

See ya there!

From Baton Rouge, my confirmed home for at least a month.

As Airplane Scientist correctly surmised I’ve already begun the search for a corporate apartment or rented room where I can at least feel like I am away from work. The hotel downtown is a nice place but there is nothing downtown to walk to other than the riverboat casinos. (I don’t get the casinos - I just don’t. I walked over and saw a woman sitting on one chair doing the splits with each leg on a chair beside her. she had multiple packs of cigarettes on the slot machine, a stack of plastic beer cups and she was frantically pushing - pushing - pushing the buttons. I don’t get it.)

On the flight from Atlanta to New Orleans (don’t ask, remember I’m travelling with Roger Miller) the guy in the aisle across from me had to be the worst CIA operative ever. He gets on the plane and loudly sighs. He signs again. And again. And finally, his seatmate says, “rough day?” After a few pleasantries, we all learn (because how could you not) that Maxwell Smart was coming home from South America. After a few more pleasantries, we learn more about him but he’s so hestitant that it’s almost hard to believe him.

Nice Guy: “So, where were you?”

Maxwell Smart: “Um, South America?”

NG: “Oh, really? Wow! Where?”

MS: “Um, uh, um.. Rio something. Yeah, Rio De Janera?”

NG:”Rio de Janiero? How cool?”

MS: “Uh, ok.”

Then they move on to professions.

MS: “So, what do you do?”

NG: “I’m a lawyer.”

MS: “Oh, sorry.”

NG: <pauses> “And what do you do?”

MS: “Electronics”

That last response sounds like something from the 50s, back when Dad’s identified not with a profession but with the product. “I’m in plastics.” “Tires boy, I sell tires!” “Electronics?” How is that an answer to “What do you do?”

So, I’m in Baton Rouge, and I do “Stuff”.

The Cat Days of Summer!

A couple of weekends ago, I stayed overnight at the moms (drove from home to Lancaster for a graduation, then the next day drove to Philly, then Baltimore, then the Moms). I walked outside Sunday morning to find the cat munching, and I mean munchingon the head of a field mouse. I ran inside to grab my camera phone and by the time I got back outside the entire mouse was gone. Nana Pat said, “You didn’t let her eat the whole thing, did you? I usually only let her have the head.”

Getting old must be so hard.

The last few weeks have been, I guess, random. I haven’t been exactly in the loop with work, so I feel like I’ve been dodging and weaving a bit. It’s been feast and famine in terms of the work load and definitely in terms with communciation with the rest of my co-workers.

We’ll call the boss Roger Miller (as in “king of the road”); Roger apparently feels that my location and work deliverables are a closely held state secret, and he only divulges them when absolutely necessary. It seemed that no use of the many tactics of working with a difficult communicator were working for me (even calling incessantly didn’t work), so I’ve felt more like the player waiting to be tagged in. I tried to be cool, to wait my turn, but finally I had to resort to a crappy email to get his attention. As I expected, the problem got turned back around on me, but I stayed firm, I didn’t make it all about me, and I focused on the client. My reward? A sort-of promotion in terms of work responsibility and a summer on Baton Rouge, LA. I’m packing now for the first short trip, then I’m off for what looks like every week until September. That is of course, until Roger changes his mind.

At some point, doesn’t randomness get old?

Cowgrrl left a comment reminding me of our old boss, Jamie N no period. That’s what we called him because his middle name had no period. As in John Q Public, not John Q. Public. So Jamie N no period would get very upset when people would edit documents he wrote and add the period. Now, all I can think about is the dollars spent defending his right to no period by having assistants like Cowgrrl redo documents, or call people to tell them it’s Jamie N no period and could you please retype that letter, kthxbye.

I am all about having a good style manual and sticking to it. But recently, I am experiencing much the same with my new job as I learn the nuances of writing to them. (I don’t mean as in “I’m writing them”, I mean as in matching their style.) Frankly, I am so tired of ‘cost-benefit’ or ‘cost benefit’ or ‘life-cycle’ or ‘life cycle’ fights each time I start a new job. I wouldn’t hate the battle so much if I could just get an explanation. “We say cost-no dash-benefit because cost is an adjective to benefit.” Instead, the explanation I always get is “this is how we do it”. That sort of randomness is just wrong. It often sets off that bell in me that someone is abusing their authority, and that’s like a trip wire for me.

Just like Baton Rouge. It’s not the summer in LA that is random (For the record, I love summer and I love the South and to me, when you put them together, you get paradise. Everyone has their paradise and mine is sitting outside on a hot summer night, listening to the tree frogs and crickets and smelling the fringes of heat as it disappears into the evening.) It’s the oh I had you scheduled to go to Baltimore and Olympia, and now, I’m the lead on a project in LA. I don’t have much of an idea of what the work is, since providing me with a contract or anything like that is classified. On Monday, I will show up at a meeting, and be presented to the client in a way that does not reveal that in fact, the only reason I’m here is because when everyone said “everyone who wants to go to LA take a step forward” and everyone else but me stepped back.

So, I find myself truly having to learn to stop, listen, watch, think - before I act, which isn’t something I’m exactly known for. To me, that’s random.

Laissez les bon temps roule!

Robbed, I tell ya! Robbed!

The home team (RBraves) lost 17-3 tonight with those 3 runs being scored in the last inning. In the second inning the visitors (Durham Bulls) had 10 hits and 8 runs. We wuz robbed I tell ya! Yeah, that’s right. I know what’s in that bag the bandit is holding. It’s the good players. Oh well. It was a beautiful night for a ball game and the company was fun. We got kee-razy when those 3 runs scored. KEE-razy. And we ratted out some smokers so we gave the usher something to do. Oh lord. So crazy.

Still at home. At one point I was told “Book travel west, now!” and one hour later I got a text message saying “Don’t do it.” So, I remain in Put. As in Stay Put. Busy with work but Put. The weather right now is making it so hard to concentrate. It’s just lovely outside and with all the rain it’s so green - when it is sunny as it’s been lately, it’s so golden outside, like some aura is around everything. The Supervisor usually wants to go for a walk so she rousts me outside for a stroll around the house and we take in the smells of an impending summer; the cut grass, the honeysuckle bush. Crazy Walking Woman is back out, so it’s definitely summer.

I attended a graduation ceremony this past weekend in PA and it was just a wonderful time. It was a seminary graduation so there were prayers and hymns and homilies and communion; not your usual graduation. I met so many cool people and heard their stories and saw so much beautiful scenery that I was easily distracted from the drama of last week. Then Ted Kennedy has to go and get the same thing and now my ever delusional family is back to thinking that a miraculous recovery is in our midst.

On Monday, I had the last Bingo for the season (we take the summer off, I don’t know why because those lovely people at the home certainly don’t take the summer off) and this time, I got there too early so I wandered down to the pond in front and sat for a while. I always hate the last bingo game. There is something about spring that makes everyone frisky and the last couple of games are always out of control. I’m not sure can properly describe a room of 50 people in wheelchairs getting out of control. You just have to be there. The woman who once she hears your name repeats it over and over the rest of the night targeted me - that was special. Love hearing my name 1 billion times in a row.

And a special treat for long time blog readers - guess who I saw when I went to my old place of emplyment Tuesday (to pick up the president of my new company who was doing some marketing there). No guess. Really. Guess!

Oh yeah. Yap-pay McFlap-pay. Good times.

HowManyOfMe.com

There is 1 person with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

I’m special. So special! I’ve got to have some of your attention, give it to me!

There is that phrase “Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me.” What about being burned over and over and over. Does that make me a sucker or a decent human being?

Is it possible to reach that point where you have to say no, no, no. I cannot help you anymore. Can you do it even if it’s truly a matter of quality of death (because in this case, it is).

Someone in my family is dying, and this time it is not a joke or a scam (although don’t think I haven’t been there already with this). This person has caused my family no end of aggravation and frustration and heartache and pain. You would not believe the stories - no not stories - truths that the lies this person has told and the consequences. People have been arrested because of the lies, (twice, for two different lies), friendships have been irrevocably ended, jobs lost, family members estranged.

And yet, in the moment of reckoning - the end of it all - this person still cannot tell the truth. It hurts me so much inside that this is how this person wants to end their life. How many more times must I venture out in the dark wilderness of thick, twisted kudzu and save this person? Does the person want to be saved? Will any of it make a difference, and finally - who would really care if it did or not? That last statement is so profoundly sad and I can’t believe I’m reduced to even thinking it. It goes against every core of my being to be at this point.

For me, I think that it is about whether one helps to make themselves feel better, or that they are incapable of doing any less, regardless.

I’ll let you know when I figure out which one I am.

Went to a reading last week by Melissa Delbridge, author of the book <Family Bible. It is a sublime book, and for me the kind of treat I have to dole out to myself slowly. I spoke to her after the reading and I told her that no one can describe summer better than a southern writer. She is a delicious.

I also finished Manic: A Memoir by Terri Cheney - took me a while as it felt like her descriptions of being manic were repetitive. My bizarre fascination with books about people with mental illness may end on this one. Currently, I’m half-reading Into Thick Air because I bought the book for the moms and need to get it in the mail so I doubt I’ll finish it, and The End Of the World As We Know It a recommendation from the owner of the bookstore where I saw Ms. Delbridge.

Besides reading, I am engaged in my other pre-summer pastime, the search for the perfect purse.

Patent is the new quilted. - Arty Quilter

Sitting at B&N coffee shop yesterday while I watched Arty Quilter work her way through her Sock Wars entry, I saw 4 ginormous patent leather purses in an hour. Ladies, ladies, ladies. Quilted purses won’t make you look 14 again and patent will definitely not make you Jennifer Lopez. Stop it now!

As for the search, it keeps me occupied, but I don’t expect to ever complete it. Good old Prune seems to be doing fine my me these days, although my lime Bruno makes an occasional appearance. My eye has been tempted with a Fendi Hobo, Cole Haan, or Not Kate Spade (she sold the company - she’s not the designer anymore). But ever since I read Deluxe it sort of reinforced what I  had already picked up from reading Juliet Schor, another writer who speaks of the pursuit of Luxury by the middle class.

Schor says that we have shifted from the old Keeping Up With the Joneses, to Keeping Up With the Kardashians, Anistons, Pitts. Our standards of what we think we should have is no longer set by people in our own income bracket but by those who have wildly more access to cash than we do. We’ve move away from “quality of life and now want quality of stuff.”

In fairness to me - because it is all about ME - I don’t want a Cole Haan purse because I saw it on some show and have some misguided sense that having that item will increase my status in the Material World. I want it because it is well made, sturdy, and it looks nice. I want it because it will increase my internal street cred by having nice stuff, not cheap stuff that I will replace every year. But this is all not to say that yes - somewhere I got the idea that having something of substance would increase that internal cred, and thus make me happy. Whether it makes you happy is the last of my concerns (see the first sentence of this paragraph) - but the battle with my internal cred is silly, pointless, sad, consuming and personal. In the end, guilt always consumes me and the next thing I know I’m back at Target fingering the seams and checking out the cell phone pockets.

To add to all this is the fact that my travel will pick up soon and I’m still trying to find a laptop bag that can suffice as a purse and briefcase of sorts since I don’t want to drag three items on a plane.

And there you now have everything you ever needed to know about my stupid purse obsession.

Has another year gone by already?

Tonight is a big night for me. It’s the annual volunteer dinner at the assisted living home where I help with the B-I N G O game once a month. They decorate the gym with a theme (last year I think it was “magic” or “pirate”, I can’t remember) and put out a huge spread of food. Grandiose speeches are made, awards are presented and then the show starts. The residents put on a play, or show a movie they made and they always sing. Ain’t a dry eye in the house, I guarantee.

Sometimes the briefest moments capture us, force us to take them in, and demand that we live the rest of our lives in reference to them. - Lucy Grealy, Autobiography of a Face

My role at Bingo the last few months has changed from just helping the residents with their cards, to assisting with the Prize Patrol. When a resident gets Bingo, they win but the game keeps going until everyone has won. Things can hit a fever pitch when four or five people get Bingo all at once and everyone wants their prize. I do my best to talk to the residents, to find out what they want, but sometimes it is hard to understand and I end up spending too much time with one before the others start yelling for the prize patrol. The prizes are usually toiletries such as shampoo, body wash, toothpaste but sometimes we get special items like lipstick, purses, hats or scarves. The race for who gets the special prizes can be brutal, as brutal as it can get in a room full of people who can barely talk and definitely can’t walk.

There are, of course, my favorite friends because how could you not have a favorite after five years? Claudia uses a BBoW and taps responses to me on a screen.  ”Please help me.” “I go to Heavenly Souls Church.” “I’m happy.” Sam spells letters on the table and I read them until I get it. “G… I… R… L… F… R… I… E……” “Hey Sam - I’m not your girlfriend!” I’ll say and he’ll pull his hand back and laugh. Larry is just LOUD. Let’s just say, everyone knows when Larry gets Bingo!

Two weeks ago, I was asking Brian what he wanted for his prize; he is very difficult to understand and I had to lean down very far to hear him.  Brian has horrible breath, so I have to try to be diplomatic or polite  or whatever it’s called when I’m trying not to be obvious, and so I was covering my mouth and nose and holding on to the back of his chair as I leaned in. He wasn’t trying to say his usual “toofpaste” or “mmmpoo” so I was putting my ear up him when he grabbed my arm. He doesn’t usually move like that so I pulled back but he held on. He was trying so hard to tell me something and I just couldn’t get it. I finally just told him that I was very sorry and I pulled myself free.

The moment was fleeting and insidious all at once. Fleeting, because that is the nature of all moments, and insidious because once I had tasted the freedom and transcendance of my epiphany, I wanted to return to it. - Lucy Grealy, Autobiography of a Face

So tonight, We will get honored for our work, but for me always, it’s all about them. Thanks peeps for all the nights I was tired and thought I didn’t want to go but I did and I end up driving home energized and happy. Thanks for laughing at our bad jokes and wearing the Santa hats we bring and singing Christmas carols. Thanks and I can’t wait for another year to start!

Spent the weekend IN MY CAR driving to Nova and back. I had wild intentions of trying to see way more people than I did; thanks to the rain, the trip just took forever - both up and back I wasn’t bored though. My old trusty ipod seems to be giving up the ghost and so I was a totally unsafe driver while I fussed with it.

Normally, I would listen to the 130 chanels of the best radio on radio (doggie), but I was catching up on podcasts this trip. I picked a podcast, and realized I didn’t want Marketplace I wanted Marketplace (my ipod only shows the first part so I wanted Marketplace Morning not Marketplace Weekend, shaaa..) and I couldn’t do it. My ipod would not go up one menu. As I fussed with it (while driving, of course)I tried the bottom button thinking I would just turn it off and on but no. Both the top and bottom buttons didn’t work.

Later that night I fussed with it some more and suddenly the buttons worked. Today I was charging it since it was completely drained, and while charging it just started winding its way through menus.. up… down… pick one, pick another, click click click. It’s a message and I don’t need Mrs. Genius to tell me - this ipod was my old job ipod. It carried me for three and half years on it’s little back and it’s tired. Time for a NEW IPOD. (And it will be an ipod, not itouch. I’ve done that much shopping to make that decision.) 

Eventually, I got to the Momz. It was a beautiful evening, that was temporarily thrown off by a rabid raccoon wandering into the garden and Mom plugging it with her .22 (Good God, I hate country life). I did the tech support call, and we went out to a nice dinner. Spring time out there is so beautiful. There was a wood duck and his mate in the pond Sunday morning, a ton of bluebirds and cardinals, and despite the massive rain that wonderful smell of the country. But the real purpose of the weekend was to celebrate TechGrrl’s (also known as “the Dealer”) birthday at the Sausage Hut. Always lots of laughs, always reminds me of how much I miss everyone, and of course, always product!!!

Once I was home, I pulled out the ginormous bag of loot and drenched myself in about 57 different lotions and perfumes (Sorry Sparky.) while we caught up on In Treatment. Faves so far: Lancome Juicy Lip Gloss that tastes like watermelon Jolly Rancher and Fresh Sugar Lip Gloss. I’m completely loaded up for future travel with Prada Hydrating Creme and Amore Pacific Travel Makeup Remover Wipes. I just know some TSA agent is going to be all, “She is one class-say lay-dee.” when they see my ziploc bag.

Travel soon to Baltimore for a week and Olympia, WA for two, but not for two weeks, so I continue to stay home. For those tracking my beautification regime, I did have to cancel the eyebrow wax and move it to later in the day but once the document was delivered (10 minutes before a 2PM meeting; I was actually sweating, as in perspiring to get it done) and the staff meeting over, I was done for the day. I ran to the appointment, and enjoyed the pampering. It was a nice way to end the day.

Tonight is Bingo night at the home, and as always, I’m looking forward to spending time with the residents. My dealer loaded me up, so I pulled out a few special items for my favorites girls (at least the ones that actually know the difference between Trish McEvoy lipstick and Wet N’ Wild.) The Clinique Happy perfume is not my fave, (TAKE NOTE DEALER. NO CLINIQUE HAPPY.) but I know the perfect person who will love it.

Listening :
B-52’s: Funplex
(this is a really really good album, except for the one song that they always have on the album that sucks but who cares I have tickets for Sunday night!)

 One thing I do a lot of in this job lately is wait.

I’ve never been too good at waiting. Just ask my computer monitor which endures a barrage of obscenities daily as I wait for CNN to load. I should take this time to publically thank my computer monitor for its patience and understanding. It has stuck by me through the good times (Funny Cat Pics) and the bad (trying to do ANYTHING) and I appreciate it very much. (The first person to send “get a mac” will be banished from my comments FOREVER. The first person that actually buys me a Mac Book Pro will be my bestest friend for life.)

I’m currently waiting for someone to send me back the document I edited last night so I can send it to the client. In the meantime, I moved my summer clothes back into the closet and the winter clothes out, organized my bookmarks in IE (sorry Firefox, I tried. It’s not you it’s me. Can we just be friends?), and let the Supervisor out for a little snack of some grass. Yes, this working at home could be considered sweet except that I will likely now be working into the evening. The Scorpio in me hates - hates - not being in control. On one hand, I’m feeling quite good about how well my house is organized but on the other hand, I’m cooling my heels wondering if I should cancel that 12PM eyebrow wax appointment or not.

I’m not sure if this is what working at home is all about - you aren’t seen so it is assumed that you are always available? Maybe that’s just me trying to be responsive as I learn how the job works. Yes, it is true that I can throw in a load of laundry during the day, or take a break to sit outside and read The Week, but I’m still nagged by that feeling that if I’m sitting at my desk working, does anyone know?

Cowgrrl made me a purse and she put dark chocolate raspberry M&Ms inside. The evil that lurks in her is deep and dark (chocolate) but I forgive her. Plus, the purse is cute!

I had mussels for dinner last night (Enoteca) and a couple of them were shall we say, dubious? Anyhoo, I am quite sure that caused me to have weird dreams about a dancing monkey in a Mexican restaurant. I have never been able to crack the dream code, unlike Mrs. Genius who can explain every single childhood trauma like she’s rattling off a grocery list. “Oh, the oak tree represents the fact that your mother wouldn’t buy you kool-aid when you were 4. And the ice cream is vanilla because you secretly wish you were Vanna White.”

I can never grasp if dreams are just my mind wandering randomly through the neurons and trying to form a coherent sentence or if it is like faith; completely unexplainable in a language that we can’t understand yet when we know we are acting on it - we are sure. I think the thing with faith is that sometimes we know it and can say, “Yup, I know for sure that I love vanilla ice cream.” Sometimes, we act on faith and say, “I sure do love me some vanilla ice cream so I guess I’ll try that there mochachino banana.” The cool part is that in times like that, when we discover that anything remotely tasting like banana makes us retch,  it won’t stop us from trying again.  Ice cream that is. Not grody banana flavor. Ugh.

Sometimes we can’t trust our faith, like the times when you wake up from a dancing monkey dream (he was soooo cute)  and are all like, “What the HELL was my brain doing last night?” There might be a perfectly normal reason for you to be multitasking through my sleep but it doesn’t feel that way. We could believe that there was a deliberate reason behind a dancing monkey
wearing a little vest and a little bitty sombrero, but we don’t see it.

In those times, at least for me, my faith (the thing which is unexplainable and undefinable) says enjoy the moment. I think I’ll go buy some gelato.