Creativity often springs from time spent with no particular task at hand (when you're unemployed, for example). It also stems from unusual situations and the ability to look at things in different ways. I, for example, wrote a book and started a blog. I did some fun stuff with business cards. You, on the other hand, might have decided to create some sort of sexy butter sculpture, or perform an interpretive dance on protein synthesis. To each his own. The point is that the possibilities are endless.
These fine gentlemen have illustrated my point completely and have taken creativity to a place not many of us have visited before: shepherding.
http://www.milkandcookies.com/link/152506/detail/
I admire their work and am confident I would fit in with these guys. I'm moderately good at training dogs, after all, so maybe I could get a job as the Border Collie trainer! It's settled, then: I will move to wherever these fellas are located and join them as a Baa Stud-ette.
I just hope they're not under a hiring freeze.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Unemployed = No Swimming
Today I am feeling the opposite of yesterday's jubilation: Total despair. Why? Because I just realized that this year I cannot participate in an office March Madness pool.
Since none of my local friends follow college basketball, that leads me to a few important, life changing questions. Among them:
Instead making my annual March Madness culinary delights for the office, I will have to eat them all myself. They're supposed to look like this, but they never do-->
Instead of getting into heated arguments with coworkers about how Siena is somehow a 9 seed and how UCONN will not fall to Memphis in the Elite Eight (as President Obama seems to think), I will bask in the confident glow of my own predictions.
Instead of having one tiny speck of wall in my office dedicated to small print outs of my Tournament Challenge Brackets, I will have every wall in my apartment wallpapered with huge copies of Tournament Challenge Brackets, March Madness-related articles, and photos. Just like a crazy person.
Instead of having to give most of my attention to the men's tournament because few of the places I have worked have had a women's office pool, I can devote equal amounts of energy to tracking both races to the final four.
Instead of sneakily tuning in to games and commentary while at my desk, I will have to watch them all from my couch, live and on television...
Wait a minute! This is freakin great!
Since none of my local friends follow college basketball, that leads me to a few important, life changing questions. Among them:- Who will comment on my brackets?
- Who will lose to my superior prediction skills?
- Who will I track my predictions for, other than myself?
Instead making my annual March Madness culinary delights for the office, I will have to eat them all myself. They're supposed to look like this, but they never do-->
Instead of getting into heated arguments with coworkers about how Siena is somehow a 9 seed and how UCONN will not fall to Memphis in the Elite Eight (as President Obama seems to think), I will bask in the confident glow of my own predictions.
Instead of having one tiny speck of wall in my office dedicated to small print outs of my Tournament Challenge Brackets, I will have every wall in my apartment wallpapered with huge copies of Tournament Challenge Brackets, March Madness-related articles, and photos. Just like a crazy person.
Instead of having to give most of my attention to the men's tournament because few of the places I have worked have had a women's office pool, I can devote equal amounts of energy to tracking both races to the final four.
Instead of sneakily tuning in to games and commentary while at my desk, I will have to watch them all from my couch, live and on television...
Wait a minute! This is freakin great!
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
St. Patty's Day and Filing Day
Happy St. Patrick's day! And oh, it is happy for me because I'm NOT suffering through an awkward St. Patty's day office party and the likely shenanigans my former boss is probably performing as we write/read!
For example, he is probably wearing something ridiculous and/or creepy like this parade costume at right.
In addition, he and his HR wife have five children, all of whom are all likely to make
an appearance in the office later in the day. They are equally likely to wear something ridiculous and/or creepy.
So, PHEW! I am glad I dodged that bullet!
I'm also not Irish, so other than a little night cap, I don't have anything planned for St. Patty's day. But if I did have something planned, AND I was Irish and African or African American, I would wear the Irish Afro wig:
No, it's not just a green clown wig, it's actually labeled an Irish Afro wig. (Don't believe me? Click on the picture.) Look at how excited that guy looks to wear it, too! It is really nice to see that there's something out there for Irish/African Americans to show their heritage on St. Patty's day.
Or, if I were Irish and Chinese or Chinese American, I would certainly celebrate with the St. Patrick's Day Wheel of Fortunes:
These are, I daresay, amazing. Look at the detail! And once again, it really is great to see the Irish showing such inclusion of diversity in their celebratory efforts! Now Irish/Chinese Americans can show their shamrock spirit! The leprechauns on these fortune cookies sure are happy about it.
Or finally, if I were Irish and Mexican or Mexican American, I would definitely show my pride with my favorite: The Talking Leprechaun Pinata!
This Irish favorite of Mexican origin is not at all creepy when he says, "I'm a lucky leprechaun!," "Ouch!," and "Awesome hit!" as you pummel the crap out of him to get yourself some Tootsie Rolls. (At least, that's what he's supposed to say. Click on "Hear me talk!" to find out what he actually says).
But, the point is, I am not Irish, nor am I African/African American, Chinese/Chinese American, or Mexican/Mexican American. I am of the Unemployed Clan. Sadly, our clan doesn't have a specific day in which we display our salient points in a parade. We can't even throw a party because none of us have money. And what fun is a party without my talking leprechaun friend? None. None at all.
No, instead, we celebrate Sundays, for they are "Filing Day," observed from 7am to 7pm.
For example, he is probably wearing something ridiculous and/or creepy like this parade costume at right.
MY BOSS
-->
-->
In addition, he and his HR wife have five children, all of whom are all likely to make
an appearance in the office later in the day. They are equally likely to wear something ridiculous and/or creepy.THE CLAN
-->
-->
So, PHEW! I am glad I dodged that bullet!
I'm also not Irish, so other than a little night cap, I don't have anything planned for St. Patty's day. But if I did have something planned, AND I was Irish and African or African American, I would wear the Irish Afro wig:
No, it's not just a green clown wig, it's actually labeled an Irish Afro wig. (Don't believe me? Click on the picture.) Look at how excited that guy looks to wear it, too! It is really nice to see that there's something out there for Irish/African Americans to show their heritage on St. Patty's day.Or, if I were Irish and Chinese or Chinese American, I would certainly celebrate with the St. Patrick's Day Wheel of Fortunes:
These are, I daresay, amazing. Look at the detail! And once again, it really is great to see the Irish showing such inclusion of diversity in their celebratory efforts! Now Irish/Chinese Americans can show their shamrock spirit! The leprechauns on these fortune cookies sure are happy about it.
Or finally, if I were Irish and Mexican or Mexican American, I would definitely show my pride with my favorite: The Talking Leprechaun Pinata!
This Irish favorite of Mexican origin is not at all creepy when he says, "I'm a lucky leprechaun!," "Ouch!," and "Awesome hit!" as you pummel the crap out of him to get yourself some Tootsie Rolls. (At least, that's what he's supposed to say. Click on "Hear me talk!" to find out what he actually says).
But, the point is, I am not Irish, nor am I African/African American, Chinese/Chinese American, or Mexican/Mexican American. I am of the Unemployed Clan. Sadly, our clan doesn't have a specific day in which we display our salient points in a parade. We can't even throw a party because none of us have money. And what fun is a party without my talking leprechaun friend? None. None at all.
No, instead, we celebrate Sundays, for they are "Filing Day," observed from 7am to 7pm.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Memory Monday: The Place Games
Ah, Memory Monday: The day of the week when I reminisce about an old job.
This MM, the thought bubble above my head features a formerly frequent occurrence at my most recent job: The lunchtime "Place Games." These were typified by the game of "Now, what was that place called again?" and the popular variation, "What's the best way to get to that place?"
Around 12 or 1, someone would either send an office-wide email asking "lunch now?" OR enter the common area and say, loudly, "Eating lunch now." This was everyone's cue to drop everything to have lunch in the kitchen/break area.
After the inevitable "ooo what are you having today?" round of questioning and a few bites in, The Place Games would begin.
It reminds me very much of the time I drove by a certain restaurant sign in the 'burbs and shuddered with discomfort. The restaurant I'm referring to is a chain located in a few outside-the-city areas surrounding Boston. It was started in the early 1900's by real Italians, so I'm sure it's authentic and delicious. That's not the issue. The issue and source of my discomfort is that it is called "The Chateau Italian Family Dining." There are three things that just don't sit well with me in that name:
Ultimately, what did I learn from The Place Games? You shouldn't have to work in a place so far from that with which you understand and are comfortable. Especially if it's so far from said place that you have no idea what your coworkers are discussing at lunch.
Thinking about it more, the Place Games were only an example of my lack of assimilation into office culture. There were also bigger issues, like:
Well, no more! I'm back in Boston! I'm unemployed and I feel like I'm back in my element. Is that a bad sign?
This MM, the thought bubble above my head features a formerly frequent occurrence at my most recent job: The lunchtime "Place Games." These were typified by the game of "Now, what was that place called again?" and the popular variation, "What's the best way to get to that place?"
Around 12 or 1, someone would either send an office-wide email asking "lunch now?" OR enter the common area and say, loudly, "Eating lunch now." This was everyone's cue to drop everything to have lunch in the kitchen/break area.
After the inevitable "ooo what are you having today?" round of questioning and a few bites in, The Place Games would begin.
Coworker 1: My husband and I just went to a great little diner the other day.At that point in the Place Games, I had become invisible to my coworkers and boss. I had no idea what diner, old mall, roads, or town they were talking about. It was all a distant suburban mishmash. I also had nothing to add to the conversation, because of which I was the only one done with my lunch.
Coworker 2: Oh, is it that new place down on Route 2? I love that place!
C1: No, but I love that place too!
<insert tangent about the new place down on Route 2 here>
C1 continues: Anyway, no it's a place called <insert wacky suburban name here>. We were going to just go to Applebee's...
C2: I love Applebee's...
C1: ...but this place looked really good.
C2: How did you get there?
Boss, totally interrupting: I know which place you're talking about and they have great grilled cheese sandwiches. The best way to go is to take <some road> all the way to the end down near <some town>. Then you take a left and then that exit at the next light that goes all the way around and after about a quarter mile, it's there on your right.
C1: Ohhh you're right! We went the way you go to <that town> but then we didn't take that first exit, we took the next one that takes you by the old mall...
It reminds me very much of the time I drove by a certain restaurant sign in the 'burbs and shuddered with discomfort. The restaurant I'm referring to is a chain located in a few outside-the-city areas surrounding Boston. It was started in the early 1900's by real Italians, so I'm sure it's authentic and delicious. That's not the issue. The issue and source of my discomfort is that it is called "The Chateau Italian Family Dining." There are three things that just don't sit well with me in that name:
- "The," a word from the English language, is followed by
- "Chateau," which is French for "castle." French, so shouldn't it be preceded by "le" or something equally French?
- Not to mention these two words are followed by "Italian Family Dining." Italian? How do you figure? It feels like a slap in the face.
Ultimately, what did I learn from The Place Games? You shouldn't have to work in a place so far from that with which you understand and are comfortable. Especially if it's so far from said place that you have no idea what your coworkers are discussing at lunch.
Thinking about it more, the Place Games were only an example of my lack of assimilation into office culture. There were also bigger issues, like:
- I didn't eat frozen or pre-made aisle lunches, at least not every day. They often looked upon my leftovers with envy and disdain, making me both boastful and uncomfortable.
- I wasn't married. Even if I was, which I soon will be, I don't know that I could match the stories that spawned from their marriages.
- I didn't have a yard or own a house, so I didn't have problems like this.
- I didn't have a weakness for bad local access television or a need to discuss it at length
- I didn't drink two mountain dews a day.
- I didn't have a 5 minute commute to work.
Well, no more! I'm back in Boston! I'm unemployed and I feel like I'm back in my element. Is that a bad sign?
Friday, March 13, 2009
Everybody is somebody's secret
So I decided to get my hair cut in the middle of the day yesterday, just because I can. I arrived earlier than my scheduled appointment and started flipping through a magazine. That was when I noticed this ad for Stoli:
I stopped mid-flip. For some reason, I was captivated by this ad. First, that woman didn't look either secretive or like she was someone's secret. She just looked, well, ridiculous. Second, that "Everybody is somebody's secret" copy was thought-provoking. I repeated it over and over as a Latin song played in the salon waiting area, and soon, the words were embedded into the music. It sounded a little something like this as I sang along:
I stopped mid-flip. For some reason, I was captivated by this ad. First, that woman didn't look either secretive or like she was someone's secret. She just looked, well, ridiculous. Second, that "Everybody is somebody's secret" copy was thought-provoking. I repeated it over and over as a Latin song played in the salon waiting area, and soon, the words were embedded into the music. It sounded a little something like this as I sang along:I would have salsa-ed, but there wasn't enough room.
When the song was over, the ad copy was still on my mind. Was I somebody's secret? Did someone have a crush on me that I wasn't aware of? Or did someone dislike me? Then I thought some more and realized whose secret I was...but I can't tell you: It's a secret.
I continued flipping through the magazine and found an article on the crappy economy (you cannot escape it's wrath!), and then on something called "white-collar rage." Basically, it's the "going postal" we've all heard about, but spread onto other occupational areas. White-collar job-holders are generally worried about their job security and very upset about the state of the economy and their 401Ks. So they go to work with this stress bubbling up inside of them, and when something stupid happens (like a printer jam) to derail their day, swears, obscene gestures, and general temper tantrums are unleashed. One guy in the article was reported to have gone directly to a shooting range after hearing how badly his 401k was doing. Yikes. I'll bet he's somebody's secret.
Moral of the story: I'm glad I'm not working alongside these crazies right now. Maybe I should just hide until this is all over, then get a job...
When the song was over, the ad copy was still on my mind. Was I somebody's secret? Did someone have a crush on me that I wasn't aware of? Or did someone dislike me? Then I thought some more and realized whose secret I was...but I can't tell you: It's a secret.
I continued flipping through the magazine and found an article on the crappy economy (you cannot escape it's wrath!), and then on something called "white-collar rage." Basically, it's the "going postal" we've all heard about, but spread onto other occupational areas. White-collar job-holders are generally worried about their job security and very upset about the state of the economy and their 401Ks. So they go to work with this stress bubbling up inside of them, and when something stupid happens (like a printer jam) to derail their day, swears, obscene gestures, and general temper tantrums are unleashed. One guy in the article was reported to have gone directly to a shooting range after hearing how badly his 401k was doing. Yikes. I'll bet he's somebody's secret.
Moral of the story: I'm glad I'm not working alongside these crazies right now. Maybe I should just hide until this is all over, then get a job...
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Why didn't I think of that?
There have been two notable occasions in my life when I thought I had come up with a revolutionary, unique idea.
The first time was when I named my most favoritest stuffed animal. It was a stuffed beagle with a red sock hanging out of his mouth, and I received him at one of my early single-digit, family birthday parties. I looked into his marble eyes, and they looked so yellow and sparkly that I decided to name him "Sparki" (with an "i" because that was very "in" at the time). I declared this to my aunts, uncles, and cousins, who laughed at me. One even said, "oh that's original!" I couldn't trace down who had said it, and stared into the crowd awaiting an explanation. It was then that I found out approximately 85% of dogs are named "Sparky." Well, damnit.
Second, I discovered that in a very old journal of mine, there was the idea for a pen with multiple colors of ink. There was even a diagram:
Obviously, there is no way that this would work. The inks would run into each other and then onto your fingers as they spilled, unchecked, "down the shoot" of the pen. I, however, really thought that this was a great idea at the time.
I found out shortly after sketching out this idea, though, that some genius at Bic had thought of the "pen with multi-color ink" long before I had. In fact, someone even came up with pens with scented ink. (This one either smells like limes or dong, I'm not sure). Either way, whoever thought of the scented pen is set for life. Why didn't I think of that? Instead of being unemployed right now, I would be retired.
The first time was when I named my most favoritest stuffed animal. It was a stuffed beagle with a red sock hanging out of his mouth, and I received him at one of my early single-digit, family birthday parties. I looked into his marble eyes, and they looked so yellow and sparkly that I decided to name him "Sparki" (with an "i" because that was very "in" at the time). I declared this to my aunts, uncles, and cousins, who laughed at me. One even said, "oh that's original!" I couldn't trace down who had said it, and stared into the crowd awaiting an explanation. It was then that I found out approximately 85% of dogs are named "Sparky." Well, damnit.
Second, I discovered that in a very old journal of mine, there was the idea for a pen with multiple colors of ink. There was even a diagram:
Obviously, there is no way that this would work. The inks would run into each other and then onto your fingers as they spilled, unchecked, "down the shoot" of the pen. I, however, really thought that this was a great idea at the time.I found out shortly after sketching out this idea, though, that some genius at Bic had thought of the "pen with multi-color ink" long before I had. In fact, someone even came up with pens with scented ink. (This one either smells like limes or dong, I'm not sure). Either way, whoever thought of the scented pen is set for life. Why didn't I think of that? Instead of being unemployed right now, I would be retired.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Bless my bathrobe forever
Part of the beauty of being unemployed is that you can follow through with any thought that would normally go unfinished, no matter where it might lead.
Here's a good example of this: I play trumpet in the Brookline Community Band (yes, I have band camp stories, no they don't involve any flutes), and we're playing Highlights from Camelot. When our 1/2 deaf (bless his heart and hearing aid, it's actually closer to 3/4 deaf) conductor passed out the piece at rehearsal, I was reminded of how my mother used to love the music from that show/movie. She would play it while we did the dishes or rearranged the curtains in the living room and sing merrily along. I tried to watch the 1967 movie rendition growing up, but at age 5, didn't have the patience for monologues and musical numbers. "I should watch that again," I thought to myself, and lo, because of my scads of time, I decided to do just that.
It's delightful corniness and 60s era jokes make me smile...why can't life be more like that? It would be wonderful if we could all stop and spontaneously combust into song. Think of the musical numbers traffic jams would inspire! I'm picturing the choreography now, Jets vs. Sharks style. Oh and the songs I would have sang and the choreography I could have fight-danced when they laid me off...oh to dream.
My frustration with once again being unemployed, though, is still a ripe topic and can easily be set to the tune of Edelweiss:
I plan on singing it in the style of a German bar song every day until I find a job.
Here's a good example of this: I play trumpet in the Brookline Community Band (yes, I have band camp stories, no they don't involve any flutes), and we're playing Highlights from Camelot. When our 1/2 deaf (bless his heart and hearing aid, it's actually closer to 3/4 deaf) conductor passed out the piece at rehearsal, I was reminded of how my mother used to love the music from that show/movie. She would play it while we did the dishes or rearranged the curtains in the living room and sing merrily along. I tried to watch the 1967 movie rendition growing up, but at age 5, didn't have the patience for monologues and musical numbers. "I should watch that again," I thought to myself, and lo, because of my scads of time, I decided to do just that.
It's delightful corniness and 60s era jokes make me smile...why can't life be more like that? It would be wonderful if we could all stop and spontaneously combust into song. Think of the musical numbers traffic jams would inspire! I'm picturing the choreography now, Jets vs. Sharks style. Oh and the songs I would have sang and the choreography I could have fight-danced when they laid me off...oh to dream.My frustration with once again being unemployed, though, is still a ripe topic and can easily be set to the tune of Edelweiss:
Unemployed, Unemployed
Once again, I meet thee
Surfing Craig's List, I feel dissed
by the failing economy
When will I get a freaking job?
Will I wait forever?
Unemployed, Unemployed
Bless my bathrobe forever
I plan on singing it in the style of a German bar song every day until I find a job.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
