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July 31, 2003
The Secret Life of an Incoherent Robot
This week has been very contradictory: on the one hand, the evenings have been fun (karaoke and karaoke game testing with my karaoke buddies, karaoke karaoke karaoke), mindlessly relaxing (command decision that it's perfectly acceptable to spend all of Monday night playing computer Mah Jong), and/or lucrative (proofreading for dollars). On the other hand, work has been unusually demanding and busy.* We are currently engaged in planning a large project that is unlike anything the company has done before, with the result that each day brings a new surprise, usually involving the revelation that if we want Important Step A to be completed in time, we had best get cracking on Subproject B like, yesterday.
Yesterday (real yesterday, not metaphorical get your ass moving, sister yesterday) was a day when three Very Important Deadlines occurred, and by the time it became clear that none of them would be met, I had pretty much lost it. There was much muttering and running around with bits of paper with things scribbled on them and snapping, "yeah, I'll get to that." To make matters worse, it was necessary for me to go to a meeting and ask my coworkers to perform a simple, but detailed, task. I was so involved in my own world of tasks that this did not go very well. I normally pride myself on my ability to think outside of my own little perspective, to explain things in such a way that they are firmly grounded in context and that a minimum of questions need be asked. But yesterday I did not quite manage this. Although not entirely true to life, if someone were to make a movie of how the scene unfolded as filtered through my fragile and aching psyche, it would go something like this:
THE MEETING
INT. ART STUDIO DAY
A group of people sits at a conglomeration of paint-spattered tables in the middle of a loft space that is designed to keep communication open and foster creativity, but not in that gross way. Though mostly young and artsy, a few of them are old and artsy. They are attending STAFF MEETING.BOSS
...and so I think we should blah blah blah. Next agenda item?COWORKER #1
Next, Hilatron will talk to us about Project A. ...is Hilatron here?HILATRON
(Runs into the space. She is carrying a messy stack of papers and has a pencil clamped between her teeth. Her eyes are crazed, and her hair is unflattering. Holding out a stack of envelopes, she spits the pencil across the room and screams:)BLARG-GRABBLE-GARB-G'BARGLE! HMMF! AARK! GN'BARGLITY BARGLE!(A pause.)COWORKER #2
Um --HILATRON
OOOOOOOGH! ADDRESS! FNACK FNACK RESIDENCE, SPLORTLE FAMILY. BLOOPITY GRONK TOMORROW!!!!(Hilatron begins to chuck bundles of envelopes at her co-workers. A closeup of one of the packets reveals a post-it note that reads, "OTTOMAN FLORP ASAP.")COWORKER #1
Uh, ahem. Hilatron, we're not quite sure that we understand this project, and--HILATRON
I'M SORRY!!
(She pauses, takes a deep breath and seems to see the people around her for the first time. In a quieter voice:)I'm sorry. I'm a bit distracted. What we are trying to do here is--IMPORTANT NON-BOSS LADY
The real question here is whether the hootle shbootle should go out first, or the grack d'dolk.BOSS
That's a very good question. Hilatron?HILATRON
I...shbbbb...ungh...IMPORTANT NON-BOSS LADY
OR, should we just flootle the gootlestank? But wait, what about the slorpity ploo?COWORKERS
(In unison)What the?HILATRON
(Fizzles.)BOSS
No. I think it's best if we blonky-blonk the tupple and take it from there. Hilatron, do you have anything else to add?HILATRON
YES! BRACKLE GEEBLESTOCK! RABLENESTY HOPP! BEEP BEEP RRRRRRRRACK! FLORP! BLOP IMMEDIATELY!(Hilatron resumes throwing envelopes at her coworkers, as they duck for cover.)THE END
* Please note the extremely wussical context from which I am coming, here. Although this job has a few annoyances, you could normally describe it as "laid-back" and still have enough room to lie down in and have a nice nap.** The highest sturm und drang level thus far attained is about on a par with a "quiet" day at my former job at a Certain Sort-of Famous New York Restaurant Mini-Chain. However, a year of gentle decay has dulled my multi-tasking and emergency handling capabilities.
**I recommend that you do not think about that sentence too much. It works for me on a purely instinctive level; if it doesn't for you, trying to make it make sense will only give you a headache.
Posted by hilatron at 03:11 PM | Comments (2)
July 30, 2003
Priorities
I just returned from karaoke, where I actually sang a song. Or something resembling a song - it's very hard to hear yourself with all that goshdarn music playing and stuff. I don't know if I came close to the right key, but my informants tell me that I successfully channeled Elvis during my rendition of "Suspicious Minds." Really, how could you not? Anyway, one more phobia faced, if not conquered.
It is very late and past my bedtime. I will end this tiny entry with links.
I am not sure what order to put these in, entirely, but this is what I decided on:
*Read the "About" page for the real grossout factor.
If that has made you all depressed, I highly suggest that you make yourself a superhero to fight the world's evils. Just don't come crying to me if you become obsessed and lose your job, because I'll be right there with you in the unemployment line, baby. What I learned: when suiting up for battle, I will, in fact, choose my weapons based on whether they complement my accessories. "Sure, this electricity bolt is nice, but it obscures my feathery gloves. Begone with it!"
Posted by hilatron at 01:20 AM | Comments (2)
July 27, 2003
Produce Cowboy
If I am not around as much in the coming weeks, if I do not seem to be up to snuff with the complaining and the blithering, it will be because I am tending a saucepan filled with lemon zest, lemon juice, sugar, eggs, and butter until it becomes lemon curd and then lovingly straining the curd into a bowl and mixing in the vanilla and then refrigerating the bowl until it is cold and solid and then shoveling the sweet sweet lemon curd into my gaping maw, maybe on tea cake, maybe with just a spoon, until I am barely conscious and can eat no more and my pants explode from the stress of containing my ever-expanding lemon curd physique. Because like crack to the crackhead, so is lemon curd to me. There is nothing better.
I will start skipping work just to cook up a bowl, then eat it, quick, and take the rinds to the dumpster so Josh doesn't find out. I will go to the farmer's market and say, "These lemons - are they juicy? Those ones you sold me last week, man, I barely got a quarter cup out of those, had to go to the Store 24 at 3am and get that preservative-filled shit in the bottle. Treat me right - you know I'm your best customer. Do you take credit cards?" I will whisper, "Hey - psst - hey you. Want some curd? It's good. Trust me; I've been doing it for months and I never felt better. Come on, have a bite. I'll start you out easy - just spread a little on this graham cracker here. Thaaat's it."
When they come for me, when they pry the big spoon from my sticky fingers and remove the doorframe so the crane can heave my morbidly obese corpse out of the house, they will wonder about the smile on my face. Little will they know that somewhere I am thinking, "It was all worth it. I'd do it again for the lemon curd."
LEMONCRACKCURDIn a medium stainless steel or enamel saucepan, whisk together until light in color:
3 large eggs
1/3 cup sugar
Grated zest of 1 lemonAdd:
1/2 cup strained fresh lemon juice
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small piecesCook, whisking, over medium heat until the butter is melted. Then whisk constantly until the mixture is thickened and simmer gently for a few seconds. Using a spatula, scrape the filling into a medium-mesh sieve set over a bowl and strain the filling into the bowl. Stir in:
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
Let cool, cover, and refrigerate to thicken. This keeps, refrigerated, for about 1 week if you think it'll last that long, sucka! Muahahahahahaha! Makes about 1 1/2 cups.
Posted by hilatron at 12:17 PM | Comments (2)
July 23, 2003
They Call Me 'The Browser.'
Last night was another karaoke-filled evening of fun with Girl-E and Agent Courtney. Mary Mary was back after last week's crushing absence, leading us to new heights of amateur (singing, that is) ecstasy. As an added perk, there was some...dancing last night that had to be seen to be believed. I think it was Agent C who put it best when she theorized that this one woman in gold pants, sequined tank top, and phenomenal shag haircut moved like Tina Turner's "special" sister, hidden from the limelight but shaking her thang the best she could in the dark corners of JP. It was something else, as was Special Tina's boyfriend, specializing in the My Rhythm Comes From Outer Space, Mortals dance, and Frolicking Bearded Man With Glasses, who later treated us to a rousing, enthusiastic, if largely inaudible version of You Oughta Know.
So as I was sitting around thinking up nicknames for people last night, I realized that I, myself, am not entirely safe from receiving a moniker of my own. I refuse to speculate about what sort of dancing name I might receive - that way madness lies - but here's what I do every time I show up at karaoke: I sit with my songbird friends, I clap and cheer, I support them wholeheartedly...but I do not sing. Instead, I look through the karaoke book and theorize karaoke performances. I even go so far as to jot down titles in my notebook, dreaming of how I might reinterpret Billy Idol or Englebert Humperdinck...but I never fill out the little form and put my "prowess" to the test. I smile coyly and I say, "maybe next time." This is my function.
They call me "The Browser." I do not commit. I do not lay it on the line. Possibility, not actuality, is my milieu. The singing will be confined to in front of the bathroom mirror until such time as I get up the nerve to shed my comfortable identity and step up to the mic.
The thing that sucks, though, is the expectation thing. Even the karaoke regulars are starting to ask when I'm going to finally get up there, and the pressure is getting tough to take. The more I bat my eyes and defer, the more I tease, the greater the hopes will be when I finally take the stage. There is a tradition, referenced in movie after movie, sitcom after sitcom, that when those who are shy and retiring finally overcome their fears and do whatever it is that scares them the most, they will exceed even their own wildest dreams and unleash the star within. This is a very bad thing to have to live up to. To be honest, I'd be lucky to have my voice last for one entire song, so unaccustomed is it to belting out anything, let alone staying on key.
I'm just terribly nervous, because if I were to do the karaoke thing, I'd hate to disappoint Centrifugal Ass Girl, White-Man Dancing Man, or The Floor-Humpers. That would be a shame.
Posted by hilatron at 01:37 PM | Comments (6)
July 21, 2003
Much Better Now
Well, the Blogcation was a smashing success. Many extra-mad props are due to Charlie and Jenni, who filled in while I was gone. Thanks for keeping things hopping over here, you guys!
I return with a rejuvenated spirit, a rested mind, and, uh, not much to say. Lessons learned this weekend:
1) Parties: good.
2) What not to do when confronted by a fridge full of 40-ouncers.
3) Graffiti artist: yet another item to be crossed off my "possible career choice" list. (Damn, that list is getting short! I really hope that whole "being the girl with the big headdress who stands on galloping horses and does backflips" thing works out.)
4) My apartment: not nearly cool enough.
5) Loony-birds, and why one should not agree to do freelance work for them.
5a) Failing that, at least knowing when to not answer the phone.
Yep, not much substance to me at all at the moment. I do, however, have a wee announcement. As you are no doubt aware due to the tireless efforts of our marketing department, this Wednesday, July 23, is Funny Face Day at the Leisure Agency. If you are the exhibitionist type, I would be most grateful if you were to send in your best funny-face photos to add to the Agency's pictoral commemoration of the day. Please e-mail me by Friday if you'd like to take part.
Edited to add to the miscellany: Okay, does the reporting in this story strike anyone else as a bit...euphemistic? Note, for example, the title. "Crows help rescue abandoned baby." Uh, yeah. Okay. If that's what you want to believe, more power to you. But I really, really don't think those crows had rescuing in mind.
Posted by hilatron at 10:09 AM | Comments (1)
July 18, 2003
Guest Entry: The Roots of "Flake."
Jenni writes today's guest entry. Flake or not, she is one of the more fabulous people I know, online or off. She is devilishly funny, a good catmom, has the New York apartment you only dream of, and can kick most people's asses. But she doesn't. Because flaunting her superpowers would frankly be beneath her.
Last week, Hilatron put out her antennae for some blogbots, so of course I responded immediately and promised her something spiffy for Monday.
Last Monday.
Yes, I am a flake. Granted, I have simply the best intentions, but intentions are worth jack and shit in the real world. I got to thinking, though, about the word flake. Dandruff is flakey, but I daresay that no one complains about its frivolous and forgetful nature. Cornflakes are a light and somewhat bland way to start the day, and despite what Tori Amos might say about the correlation between breakfast cereals and the terminally preoccupied, I have to respectfully say that most flakes are more interesting than bits of bran. Having exhausted all my ideas, or just gotten bored, I opened a window in my browser and called up Google.com, the lazy person's guide to everything.
How did anyone ever learn about anything before search engines? Oops, there I go digressing again.
The Online Etymology Dictionary lists the following definition:
flake (n.) - c.1330, possibly from O.E. *flacca "flakes of snow," from O.N. flak "loose or torn piece" (related to O.N. fla "to skin," see flay ), from P.Gmc. *flak- (cf. M.Du. vlac "flat, level," M.H.G. vlach, Ger. Flocke "flake"); from the same PIE root as L. plaga "a flat surface, district, region." Flaky "eccentric, crazy" first recorded 1959, said to be Amer.Eng. baseball slang, but probably from earlier druggie slang flake "cocaine" (1920s). Flake "eccentric person" is a 1968 back-formation from flaky.
"The term 'flake' needs explanation. It's an insider's word, used throughout baseball, usually as an adjective; someone is considered 'flaky.' It does not mean anything so crude as 'crazy,' but it's well beyond 'screwball' and far off to the side of 'eccentric.' " [New York Times, April 26, 1964]
Okay, I'll buy that, but let's see what else is out there.
Bartleby's agrees with the cocaine reference. (I am not a cokehead, folks! Just a little forgetful!)
Merriam-Webster's secondary definition of "flaw" seems to indicate a relationship between "flake" and "flaw":
Main Entry: 2flawFunction: noun
Etymology: Middle English, flake, probably of Scandinavian origin; akin to Swedish flaga flake, flaw; akin to Old English flOh flat stone
Date: 1586
1 a : a defect in physical structure or form b: an imperfection or weakness and especially one that detracts from the whole or hinders effectiveness < vanity was the flaw in his character > < a flaw in the book's plot >
Well, I'll agree it's a flaw... so would the doctor whose appointment I missed today.
According to Merriam-Webster's, the term flake out has the following definition:
Function: intransitive verbEtymology: probably from dialect flake to lie, bask
Date: 1939
1. slang : to fall asleep
2. slang : to be overcome especially by exhaustion
Which is almost always true for me. Especially now, because all the references I'm finding say the same thing, but not why. Dammit.
I guess the real question is not what is a flake, but why do people flake? I used to really give a shit. No, hey, stop snickering. I did! I was religious about doing things I'd say I would do... say, in high school. But then I realized that everyone else was a flake too! If they didn't follow through, why should I? Technology has grown to aid this, of course, with the advent of message machines that let you screen your calls, Caller ID (I'm not sure I could live without it), cell phones that can be turned off, away messages, and so much more - every new way to get in touch has several other ways to avoid getting touched at times. Perfect. Avoidance in the new millenium! Technogeek hippies and cybergranola. Oy.
Tori is totally, totally a cornflake grrl. I mean, who else dedicates songs to the faeries? I'm not dissing Tori or faeries, believe me. I'm just sayin'. Everyone does it. Be selfish. Turn off your cell phone and take a hot bath.
Please go visit the uberspew and tell Jenni how great you think she is. If you think otherwise, I don't know you.
Posted by hilatron at 11:43 PM
July 16, 2003
Like When Your Boss Calls from the Cruise Ship "To See How Things Are Going." That Nosy Bastard.
Hey man, just because I'm on blogcation doesn't mean I'm not still surfing at work and having opinions about things. I can't stop being me!
This sentence (discussed here on Metafilter) is paternalistic, condescending and could be misapplied in a number of horrible ways. And I love it! Now I just need a license to act as judge and jury for people who act like idiots, and an Amazon.com credit account...
I steadfastly stand by my belief in lake monsters. You can drain Loch Ness, you can do your ultrasound and talk about your floating logs and your what are the lake monsters eating all you want, I will still believe in them, because the world would be a sadder place without them. I just hope this doesn't turn into a big disappointment like that whale skin deal.
Lastly, because I like to do things in threes, robots!
Back to blogcation now. More later.
Posted by hilatron at 11:40 AM | Comments (2)
July 14, 2003
Guest Entry: A BLOG IN NEED IS A BLOG, INDEED
Today is the beginning of Blogcation! Thanks to all who entered. The "winners" will be announced as I post their entries throughout the week. Procrastinators take note: there's the teeniest, just the slightest, remotest chance, that you can still send me something and I'll post it. If I'm feeling really really nice. Even though I got SO MANY THOUSANDS of contributions. You never know.
Today's guest entry comes from Charlie, of Where the Hell Was I? fame. In addition to being my savior and first up in the great Blogcation experiment, the fairly new-to-blogging Charlie is master of the parenthetical clause, scornful towards idiocy, and, I'm told, looks great without pants. At any rate, please go visit his blog and make this valuable contribution worth his while.*
*It's possible that you are a girl, Charlie, but I had to guess and I'm going with guy. I can't be entirely certain about gender via the internet, but I am pretty damned sure that either way, you won't be offended. I do hope that this second assumption, at least, is correct.
Posted by hilatron at 10:10 AM
July 12, 2003
The Countdown Continues
Slightly less than 48 hours remain until Blogcation deadline. Two early birds have contacted me already - thanks, guys! If you'd like to submit something yourself, please do so anytime between now and Monday at 9am for a chance to get links, cookies and other good things in exchange for saving my non-blogging butt.
One more note: not only did I not come up with the idea myself, I'm not even the first one to think of the word "Blogcation." Sigh. Can't I do anything original without the past messing it up?
Posted by hilatron at 11:45 AM | Comments (3)
July 10, 2003
Blogcation, Trying to Get Away
It can no longer be avoided: I am undeniably, irreverisbly, incontrovertibly out-of-sorts. I am not quite all there. I am addlepated, flimflammed, knickknackered and flapdoodled. I am anything that can be adequately depicted by a film of me walking in circles, listing slightly to the left, limping heavily, with steam coming out of the top of my head, emitting tiny mewls of distress. My friends, I have had it.
The symptoms are pessimism, self-loathing, the inability to concentrate and a sense that I, not just something I'm working on but I, personally, have jumped the shark, outlived my usefulness, reached my tiny little pathetic peak, it's all downhill from here, etc.
I have decided to go on blogcation, starting Monday. I do this in the combined hope that I can avoid spewing my angst all over the place, and that if I cut off the creative flow in one direction I can redirect it toward some work that might actually result in getting paid, an avenue in which I have found myself completely stalled, unable to even get started really (and a major reason for my sense of flailing despair).
This is where I ask you, dear readers, to become involved. I hate to neglect this place. It makes me all twitchy when I look at the calendar to the right and see more than two days without an entry. I'm a wee bit compulsive. (Not to mention the terrible fear of dwindling site stats.)
So, like any good worker bee taking her vacation, I'm delegating my work while I'm gone. I'm seeking guest entries to be posted in my absence. Please send me your little somethings - essays, lists, rants, whatever you like - and I will select my favorites and post them for the next week, July 14th-July 20th. If your entry goes up here, you'll get: 1) Links to your blog or site if you've got one; 2) Compliments; 3) My undying gratitude; and 4) A little something in the mail (probably cookies or small plastic things).
Please send me your entries by 9am on Monday, July 14th if you'd like to play. Thanks for helping me out, and I hope to return on the 21st with a successful brain realignment.
I must note that I totally jacked the general idea of this from Weetabix, and just came up with the "witty" Blogcation moniker. I hope she does not mind, because I am pretty sure she could kick my sorry ass. Then again, right now I am pretty sure chewing gum could kick my sorry ass, so why worry? I'm sure someone else will get me long before she can.
Posted by hilatron at 10:49 AM | Comments (1)
July 09, 2003
My New Career Plan:
Posted by hilatron at 08:59 PM
July 07, 2003
INTEROFFICE MEMO
(Edited, exaggerated and enhanced for your edification.)
(In other words, entirely not true, except in spirit.)
----
June 15, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
I don't understand.
-Bosslady
----
June 15, 2003
To: Bosslady
From: Hilatron
Re: E-mail I forwarded to you
Dear Bosslady,
The e-mail I forwarded to you is a response from that guy who e-mailed us from Turkey asking for more information about our program. I offered to snail-mail him documents X, Y, and Z, as you requested. He replied that he can't receive regular mail very reliably, so could we please e-mail something. I cannot send documents Y and Z as e-mail attachments for various reasons, so, as I asked in my comment on the e-mail that I forwarded to you, I was wondering if there is an acceptable substitute for documents Y and Z.
Best,
Hilatron
--
June 22, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
Just ask for his address and send them by mail. It's no problem to pay international shipping!
----
June 22, 2003
To: Bosslady
From: Hilatron
Re: E-mail I forwarded to you
Dear Bosslady,
Actually, the cost of international shipping was not the problem. The problem, it seems, is that our Turkish correspondent has difficulty receiving things by mail (please see the second sentence of his four-sentence e-mail). Thus, he wants us to e-mail something instead. Please see the rest of my previous message, circled in yellow for your convenience, for details.
Best,
Hilatron
----
June 30, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
It's okay to e-mail documents X, Y and Z. Could you do this right away please. He got my e-mail address somehow and is very impatient to resolve this!
----
June 30, 2003
To: Bosslady
From: Hilatron
Re: E-mail I forwarded to you
Dear Bosslady,
I would be happy to e-mail documents, but as I stated on June 15 (please see passage circled in orange), two of the documents you picked out cannot be e-mailed. Would you like to substitute other documents?
Best,
Hilatron
----
July 1, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
Why can't we e-mail things, I thought we just upgraded our computer?
----
July 1, 2003
To: Bosslady
From: Hilatron
Re: E-mail I forwarded to you
Dear Bosslady,
The problem is not related, in any way, to the upgradedness of our computer. Nor does the cost of international shipping cause the slightest obstacle whatsoever. Here is the problem: we need to send certain documents which give certain information about the program. They need to be sent via e-mail. You had selected three appropriate documents, but alas, only one of them can be successfully sent via e-mail, no matter what computer system one uses. The reason for this is that two of the documents are actually reports drawn from a large, company-wide database, and without sending him an enormous file which would reveal vast quantities of confidential information (which I am not authorized to do anyway), I cannot e-mail these reports - only print them. Thus, I was wondering if there are other documents, besides these database reports, which might supply the information this gentleman requires.
Best,
Hilatron
----
July 7, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
Can you contact tech support for help with this ASAP?!?
----
July 7, 2003
To: Bosslady
From: Hilatron
Re: E-mail I forwarded to you
Dear Bosslady,
Tech support has informed me that they cannot authorize me to release confidential information or to tamper with the database. Perhaps there is a substitute document you'd like to send?
Best,
Hilatron
----
July 7, 2003
To: Hilatron
From: Bosslady
Re: E-mail you forwarded to me
I don't understand.
----
July 8, 2003
To: All Staff
From: Human Resources
Re: Yesterday's Incident
Dear Staff Members,
Just wanted to let you know that Hilatron has been sedated and is resting comfortably. She is expected to be released on her own recognizance in the next few days, and will receive an evaluation at that time to see whether coming back to work is appropriate for her at this time. Flowers and cards can be sent to: Brookline Imaginary Psychiatric Hospital, Room 666, Brookline, MA.
Posted by hilatron at 04:47 PM | Comments (3)
July 05, 2003
Cranky Consumertron
Here is the text of the note I just left on the door to our building:
Please do not remove the tape from the door unless you are here to replace the lock!
When the door is locked, it often closes in such a way that it cannot be opened from the inside until someone unlocks it from the outside.
This door is the only exit from the building for the people in the basement apartments.
This, as you can imagine, is somewhat problematic.
What if there were a fire?
Think of the lawsuits.
A third repair call has been made about this issue, so hopefully we will all have a locking and opening door again very soon.
In the meantime, please leave the tape so that your basement neighbors can exit the building!
Thank you!
The restrained snarkiness and hysteria here doesn't hold a candle to the actual conversations I just had with two hapless answering service employees. Threats to call the fire department were made. I was a wonder of put-upon bitchiness.
But, really. We can't get out of our building. I mean, we can right now, but we can't count on it. And, annoying as I find it to be on my way to catch a train and have to run upstairs and knock on doors until someone is kind enough to let me walk through their place (see: yesterday, and thank you, kind rocker neighbor on the third floor, love the matching leopard-and-dark-red livingroom set, gotta go), what if there really was a fire or a medical emergency?
I know the tradition is that when you live in an apartment building, you must suffer endless waiting for repairs to get made, but this is one of those life- and lawsuit-threatening situations that just ought to get taken care of immediately if the world worked the way it should.
The one solace I can find here is that I get to write angry letters, and I excel at that. I am seriously a holy terror when I have something to complain about and someone to direct my complaint to. I am going to be such a good crazy old lady!
I'm off to look up the address of the Brookline Fire Department now. Tone of deep concern and endless patience, commence!
Posted by hilatron at 01:03 PM | Comments (5)
July 04, 2003
That was a close one.
*Gasp* Back online after almost twelve hours. I was starting to worry that I wouldn't make it, or that Josh would go crazy from all the click-error sound-cursing cycles I was going through. Anyway, things are working now, and you just know I am totally posting this entry so that the little updated asterisk will appear in people's blogrolling lists and people will see the entry below (hint hint), which only got read about five times before things went haywire. I'm a ho, but at least I'm shameless. Happy Fourth!
Posted by hilatron at 12:38 AM | Comments (1)
July 03, 2003
Please Pass the Play-Doh, I Think I'm On a Roll Here
This morning was one of those mornings where you just feel like the mechanics of day-to-day life are a little too much for you: slept late, tried to make impromptu iced tea with Chaplinesque results, somehow managed to put all the gel into one quarter-sized section of hair right on top of my head, frightened the cat, etc. As I hurled myself out the door with my keys dangling out of my mouth, my lunch clutched tenuously in one hand, using the other hand to pull on a sneaker, my hair already afrizz except for the telltale grease spot, I had this strong urge to just give up. Just throw all my crap on the ground, the hell with being considerate to my neighbors, go back inside, lock the door, get out the box of Tofutti Cuties and sit on the floor in front of morning cartoons/sleazy talk shows until every last one was gone. Then take a nap.
However, here I am at work. Uh...here I am at work, WRITING THIS ENTRY ON MY LUNCH BREAK. Yeah. Anyway, what I am saying is that I resisted that urge. But it got me thinking: I, and everyone I know, always seem to be operating at a level just barely within our tolerance. We take on work, hobbies, chores and socializing, and periodically there is some conflation of tiredness and bad timing and mishap that makes us think, "That's it. I just can't do this! It's too big for me, this endless stream of details and responsibilities."
When I was a kid, I was intensely jealous of grownups. My envy wasn't caused by the fact that they seemed to be able to do all the things I wanted to do but wasn't allowed to, since staying up late, watching scary movies, and eating junk food was the entire extent of my illicit desires at the time. What got me was their damnable, smug (or so it seemed to me) self-assuredness. They always had an answer; they always knew what the rules were; they always knew the best way to solve problems that seemed insurmountable to me. It was maddening to have some sleek adult, some person who never had dirty knees or threw a tantrum, come along and condescendingly deliver the answer to a dilemma that had reduced me to blubbering tragedy or unthinking rage. I mean they didn't even have to try hard.
What you learn, of course, what makes you resentful as a teenager and horrified at twenty and bewildered at twenty-seven and I just can't wait to find out what happens next, what you learn is that all those adults knew what to do about you and your issues because they had done them all before. They had an unfair advantage; they had seen the test already. But when it comes down their own concerns, the grownups are just as confused, just as likely to get overwhelmed, just as uncertain what to do next as your average kindergartner. That image I had, that milestone I waited for when I would be an unruffleable adult, is never going to happen. What's worse is that if you're supposed to be a grownup, you can no longer get away with just throwing your work on the floor, sitting down, and having a good howl whenever you need one. Doesn't go over so big in the conference room.
I propose that this is unfair. We spend so much of our youth thinking that someday we'll be okay, we'll be right all the time and never feel like the world is composed of a series of regulations that no one wants to tell us about until we break them, only to discover that they change every time you blink.
I say everyone needs a day or two of living that original illusion, of feeling like they've made it at last. So I have this idea. Once in awhile, instead of calling in sick, we should be able to call in five. We should put on our sloppy clothes, and drive to Grownup Kindergarten. When we get there, kind people will give us nametags and tell us we are doing very well. Everyone else will have their own nametags, and no one will be our boss or some coworker with passive-aggressive issues or a lady in front of us in line with a sense of entitlement and all the time in the world. There will be finger paint, and story time, and nap time.
We will know, because it happened already, that it's no big deal to share the blocks; we can always come back later. We will know, because we've done it before, that the best way to fight a bully is to not take them seriously. We will know, because we realized it long after the first time we did it, that there are much more fun ways to spend your time than worrying about what Sally said about our hair. No one will talk about what goes on in Grownup Kindergarten. If you've been itching for a good tantrum, here's the place to do it. The kind people will come and soothe you, and no one will call Human Resources to speak to you in euphemisms and send you to a counselor.
Human life seems to contain this drive, this whispering urge, to always take on just a little more than you can successfully handle. I don't know why this is; maybe they get bored. It's vigorously enforced, though: for the smart kid who decides to work in the video store, for the happy couple who doesn't want kids, for the person who turns down a promotion because it would mean working an extra 20 hours a week, there is always the judgment that they are deficient somehow - they're "underachievers." I don't know who decided that you are not allowed to say, "That's enough, thanks," but there must be a way out. (It's interesting to note that we have "underachievers," and "overachievers," as though you can only be wrong about "achieving.")
Grownup Kindergarten is, of course, not a solution. It's just a temporary escape. But maybe a few days a year spent coloring and memorizing the alphabet and having snack time will remind us of that ideal of the happy, serene grownup. Maybe this will be the seed of the Stop Trying To Do Everything At Once Revolution. Join me, brothers and sisters in well matched to one's abilities and desires achievement! Please put your donations for the crayons and big paper fund in the hat, and pass it on.
Posted by hilatron at 11:52 AM | Comments (8)