Caterwauling

At the risk of being entirely too inspired by A Small Victory tonight, in chatting about songs that have changed our lives, this song literally solved an identity crisis for me. I can’t thank MV, wherever she is, enough for playing this CD for me when she did.

UPDATE

So I put on the “Fumbling Toward Ecstasy” CD and cleaned the bathroom. Feels just like old times! 😉 Good thing I’m getting a manicure/pedicure tomorrow — damn products did a number on my nails.

Oh, and let’s add why I hate my apartment, other than the fact that I ran out of hot water just as I finished cleaning one friggin’ room — I have been trying to dry a load of whites for three days. Yes, three. Everytime I run an hour-long, full-blast cycle, one more sock gets dry. Shit, by this time next year, maybe the whole frickin’ load will be done!

No, you lil pervs, this isn’t sexual. 🙂

Michele had a great post about multiculturalism and the proliferation of many languages into mainstream America, and it got me to thinking.

There is a media committee that oversees Veggie Patch publications. They really do stay out of my way, but once in awhile, they have an idea that serves to put ants in my pants, and not in a good way. One of their latest ideas is to translate all of our columns/stories into Spanish.

After I bashed my head repeatedly on a blunt object, the quandries came spilling out. Right now, I am forced to have one ridiculously small and insignificant column run in both English and Spanish. It’s like pulling teeth to get these, and when I do get them, it’s like someone’s 4-year-old wrote them (this is just the English version). As I am only fluent in English and can swear pretty well in Italian and French, I cannot verify that the Spanish version of the column even says anything other than, “Fuck you for the two column inches you allow to diversity!”

At any rate, running my articles in two languages would double the size of the newspaper (which they are asking me to contain, as I keep expanding the size of it and blowing my production budget) — who’s gonna pay for that? And who is going to translate said columns, hmm? Wouldn’t you have to pay somebody pretty well to do this?

Not to mention, but my argument from the get-go with this so-called push for diversity has been the fact that Spanish isn’t the only other language spoken in this country. I can’t drive 10 feet without seeing a Middle Easterner in D.C. — god knows I can’t go into a 7-11 and get a pack of cigarettes in less than a half hour because “Camel Lights, in the box” is enough to confound all five people behind the counter. Today it took an additional 15 minutes just to order a hot dog to go with my cigarettes, and they gave me the wrong dog anyway.

I commented on Michele’s blog about two girls I knew growing up. One was Italian and the other was from India, and to please their parents, they spoke their native tongues all the time at home. In the Italian family, English was unacceptable at home, and speaking it there was cause for discipline. The families, we understand now, just wanted their children to love and appreciate their culture so that they could pass it along to their own children. But in school, those girls spoke better English than 75 percent of the kids who had been born to native English-speaking families.

Instead of forcing us to learn additional languages so that we can communicate with people who emigrate to this country, perhaps we should be enforcing better English skills for all. It’s amazing how many adults cannot form a complex sentence without bungling the verb tenses and the dependent clauses. I appreciate diversity — and I’m sad because although I am Irish, Italian, French and English myself, I really don’t have or do anything (other than getting reeaaalllly drunk and swearing loudly) to celebrate where I came from. But that’s OK — it was my ancestors’ choice to not retain anything particularly cultural. They probably wanted us to fit into society as best we could.

Yes, America is a “melting pot.” To me, that means that eventually, everyone blends into the culture, which may shift over time of course, but the whole point is to adapt. I can’t imagine going somewhere overseas to live for awhile and not make a full-blown effort to pick up the language.

I’ve been saying it for 10 years, and I’ll say it here. Instead of forcing kids to pick a foreign or second language to fulfill their high school requirement, schools should offer American Sign Language classes. I took one when I was 25, and I loved it. Granted, all I remember is two ways to say “bullshit,” but I didn’t practice anything other than fingerspelling and some other random gestures that I have long since forgotten. And ASL is much more useful when you’re in a bar and you can’t really hear the person next to you anyway. 🙂

But as with English, ASL would also be railed against by those who can barely comprehend, “Can I have a pack of matches?” I just don’t see why I have to deal with Spanish-speaking ATMs and voice recordings when I had thought American English was the official language of my country.

ADDENDUM

I grew up in Pittsburgh, which has its own dialect that is composed of two parts laziness, one part nonsensical words and one part redneck. When I got into school, I had no idea that “redd up” (to clean) wasn’t a real phrase. Nor did I first understand why teachers put “ing” at the end of words, when we said it, “in’.” And so on. But I loved learning English (and it was my best subject), so I got over the hick language really quickly and truly enjoyed speaking our language properly. It’s a choice to embrace our language, unfortunately, and even more unfortunately is that so many people resist it.

It’s a hard one this week. 🙂

1. What do you most want to be remembered for?

Being the life of the party.

2. What quotation best fits your outlook on life?

a. “You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars — you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, the universe is unfolding exactly as it should.” — from Desiderata.

b. “Life is too short for you to be the caretaker of the wrong details.” — Alexandra Stoddard.

3. What single achievement are you most proud of in the past year?

Gaining editorship of the Veggie Patch Gazette — the surprise wasn’t that I was qualified for the job, but rather, that my superiors agreed with me that I rock. 🙂

4. What about the past 10 years?

I’m proud of surviving. Seriously, I’ve grown up so much during the past decade — I’m starting to really piece together the puzzle pieces I picked up along the way (i.e., I learned some lessons and tucked them away for future use) and realize that, in fact, my life is unfolding exactly as it was meant to.

5. If you were asked to give a child a single piece of advice to guide them through life, what would you say?

a. “There are so many selves in everybody, and to explore and exploit just one is wrong, dead wrong, for the creative process.” — James Dickey.

b. If you’re going to do something, do it right or don’t do it at all. Giving a half-assed effort or compliment is worse than withholding the effort or praise.

c. Don’t bother with the 9-to-5 world. Find a need and fill the gap — there are people out there who would pay to have the ideas in your head and the skills you possess.

I know, I know — I promised to not rant about work. But this is a generalist statement.

Today is my boss’s birthday, and her secretary decorated her office with banners and streamers. She also sent out an invitation to a select group of us to join them for bagels at 9:30 in said festive office.

I wonder if my boss is thrilled or embarrassed by this. Personally, I don’t really like for a fuss to be made over my birthday (hey, I spent it with Shan and Shawn, two people I love, and I have yet to see some other folks — but let’s face it, every day should be a celebration of me, right? lol). I used to throw my own birthday parties — and maybe I’ll get back to that next year — because even though I love my friends, sometimes it’s hard to get them out of the house unless it’s for an event such as a party where they will see 10 other people they haven’t had the time to catch up with, either.

At any rate, corporate birthdays are awkward. You have to sign the bland but cheerful message in the company card, you have to paste on a grin and go attend the corporate party and you have to refrain from wanting to kick certain people whom you normally go to great lengths to avoid. I opt not to eat at these things — it’s an obstacle to a quick getaway to have food in your hands. But I do bring my coffee — gotta stay awake somehow!

And in my case, I was going to go to Mickey D’s to pick up breakfast for Shan and me at 9:30, but now it’ll just have to wait till the par-tay’s over. *Stop growling, stomach!*

UPDATE

I did have half a bagel. They talked about trees and property lines and prom dresses and weather. I threw in a few lines about our avalanche of Gemini birthdays and how many multiple personalities we have in the building, with so many of us bearing the sign of The Twins. God, it (as well as this entry) was boring — let me go impale myself on a letter opener now and end this saga. 🙂

I have been recording my trials and tribulations about work because I want to write a book about it eventualy. Not this workplace, per se, but in general — after I’ve made a success of myself with my own company, I want to write about why everyone should go off on their own. And when I hit some low points with my business, I want to be able to look back on my experiences, so that I can re-fuel my fire when it wanes and remind myself why I took the risks to go out on my own.

But in this information age of computer literate managers (imagine!), as well as after reading and hearing about dismal terminations after an employee’s weblog was found, I think I need to keep my work posts tucked safely into my draft mode. I suppose that means that I’ll have to blog about news and other wacky goings-on in the world, but so be it. Even though I have never once referred to Club Medicated by its real name, nor have I identified the players by anything other than terms like Town Crier, Mouth Almighty, Solitaire and others, I think it’s time to retire these online characters for the sake of my job. I do like my job, just not the other players in the game. And I want to leave on my own terms, not because they fire me because they don’t like what I have to say about them.

I know that our company webmaster trolls MetroBlogs, of which I am a member. When the webmaster showed me the MetroBlog map, I could have shit a brick, because I’m on it, right at the stop where we work. He saw me blogging at our convention in March, and he asked my blog address, but I wouldn’t give it, nor would I even visit my own site, as he could have checked the history of the computers we used. If he’s found this haven, well, I haven’t heard about it. Nor would I want to. Again, I am definitely leaving that job, but definitely not for awhile and definitely not on their terms.

At any rate, bear with me while I change my focus in the coming days. I may post less, but really, would that be a bad thing? 😉

I was chatting with Shawn the other day about blow jobs (as we’ve both given many in our lives!). I declared that I hate giving BJs. Don’t worry men — I don’t hate the act itself (unless you push my head down and force it to stay there — I promise, you will get bitten if you try to pull that shit — put your hands behind your head, and nobody gets hurt!), but I hate it that BJs are always, always expected, yet men don’t equally expect to GIVE as well as receive. At least, not most of the men I’ve been with, although some did, unquestionably, give till it hurt. 😉

So I decided that I will give one and only one blow job to any guy I meet in the future. Shawn said that I should get a special badge for that, like they gave us in Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts — would that fall under the Community Service Projects category? ROFL. That way, once I’ve earned the badge, I am under no obligations to go beyond the call of duty — not unless it’s a badge you have to renew every year or re-earn when you “fly-up,” as they call it, to the next level of scouting. 😉

Unless, of course, I find a Boy Scout who’s interested in re-earning his badge in the returns department — in that event, I have no problem with eating meaty popsicles or perpetually cream-filled eclairs on a regular basis!

Seems I’ve been doing my job a little bit too well. Ad revenue went up considerably since I stepped into my job — which therefore meant that I stepped up the editorial content — and so I’m producing mega-size issues of the Veggie Patch Gazette. But now, folks are a bit concerned because I’ve officially blown my printing budget.

You know, I work for a national company, and our members don’t really think of it as a membership — they think of it as a subscription to my paper. I’ve gotten many compliments from these members on the content and usefulness of my magazine. But now, it’s looking like I’ll need to pull in the reins and stick to 40 pages, come hell or high water, from now till doomsday.

Which is too bad, because there are so many story ideas and ads, and even though the manpower is limited, we’re still kicking ass and not afraid to do so. I told Demure that Cruise Director, then, needs to decide what he wants to do, because I always plan for five stories (usually more) and then, in midstream, he assigns two or more extra stories that are meant to either get someone out of his hair or pat them on the ass so that they will leave him alone for awhile. And what that means I do is to take on all the stories, which then have to be crowded into the paper.

She attempted to throw it back on me, to say that if I’d just give him a yearly calendar of special issues, he wouldn’t do that. I said I wasn’t falling for that — I would write and/or assign five stories on any given month. But now that my freelance budget is reduced, and now that Cruise Director has taken what’s left of my freelance budget so that we can write these pat-influentials-on-the-ass types of stories, I feel like I’m going to go postal. I don’t expect her to actually help me or give me any good advice — I just thought I’d sound the warning bell as to why I’m burned out. *Poof*

I haven’t blogged about The New York Times’ Jayson Blair because I want to hunt him down and kill him. But his horrific poetry, found on TSG’s site, is worth a cackle, especially the third one. He can’t even spell! How the FUCK did the NYT hire this little piece of shit? Wait, I already know — don’t answer me, or you’re going to hear some not-very-nice words about quotas, given that I’m the same age and have comparable, if not better, experience than that worthless piece of shit.

I hate it when my site is down. It’s amazing how a little fire in a little room can literally rip the plug out of half the blogosphere.

I just had a revelation, and what do I do with it? I probably wouldn’t have written it about here anyway, but it feels good to at least acknowledge that an exclamation point randomly appeared over my head. 😉

Had a fucked up dream that my association was hosting its convention at the same time and place as my high school reunion. I was running into (and away from) people I haven’t seen in 10 years, and of course I was avoiding my toxic colleagues at all turns. Finally I did stop and talk to some of the folks from high school. There’s one in particular, JO, whom I miss once in awhile, but I ignored him in the dream and talked to the girl I used to call Tuna — odd because I really, really couldn’t stand her when we were in the same circle of sharks (um, I mean friends).

The “Daredevil” soundtrack arrived in the mail yesterday. Just opened it — it completely rocks my frog socks!

I’m feeling weird. Not terrible, just out of sorts. But in a good way. Yeah, I hate being here at work, but if my instincts are correct, I’m going to have a kickass summer. And I’m finally in a position to accept that it’s about damn time a little bit of happiness came my way. 😉 Maybe 29 is going to be “my year”!

Friendster seems to be the love child of Classmates DOT com and Match DOT com, and I’m the newest inductee. If I haven’t already invited you to join my network of friends, sign up for your free account and type in my e-mail address to invite me to join your network. Seems amusing, if nothing else. 🙂 Join the par-tay! 😉