A Violation of Unspoken Rules

In certain cultures, games, sports, and situations, there exist unspoken rules. Though unspoken, most folks tend to be aware of these rules and follow them. Granted, it does take newcomers a period of adjustment and assimilation during which they learn the unspoken rules, but after a while, they too tend to fit right in. At least, most of them do...

Take, for example, personal space bubbles (NOT a euphemism for farts). For Americans and other western cultures, the personal space bubble is loosely defined as an average of 24.5 inches (60 centimeters) on either side, 27.5 inches (70 centimeters) in front and 15.75 inches (40 centimeters) behind (internationalstudents.org). This is the space westerners like to keep between them and an every day conversation partner. It means we feel weird and slightly violated when the person we're talking with is inside that bubble.

Other cultures, however, have smaller personal space bubbles and feel dissed if they're not closer than that. So the close talker in Seinfeld could have been from a close talking culture, or they could have just been violating the unspoken rule for westerner's personal space bubbles. If I remember correctly, it was pretty clear the close talker was just a local oddball, but I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.

Now for a more personal, real life example of unspoken rules.

I play lead trumpet in the Brookline Community Band (a.k.a the First Corps of Cadets Band...long story). BCB rehearsals have unspoken rules that are common to every band I have personally been a member of in my lifetime. These rules generally address when it's ok to talk between playing, how to enter when you're late, and even music-related rules (but I won't drop the music nerd bomb on you because I still want you to like me). There is one member of the band, however, who hasn't picked up on one of our more subtle rules: 1. Don't turn around to stare at someone while they're playing a solo. This person seems like a nice enough guy and a good player, so I don't want to get down on him, but man, is it distracting!

The first time it happened, I was playing a solo and our then new band member turns around, I thought simply to identify who was playing, make some sort of mental note (perhaps "trumpet soloist has large eyeballs"), and turn back around to listen. Because after all, that is what music is all about: how it sounds, not how the person playing it looks. I mean, I'm not performing interpretive dance back here while I play my solo, just breathing and buzzing my lips. It's actually a little unattractive. So I took it in stride the first time, thinking, "oh he's just new," but it kept happening. And not just to me, to other soloists also. It wasn't stealth either, as each time he blatantly swiveled around in his seat, craned his neck, and adjusted his glasses as necessary to stare at the soloist for the solo in its entirety.

Because I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, however, for the next couple of months I reasoned away the weight of his eyeballs on me at solo time. Maybe he was just studying my embouchure or wanted to see how I breathed to prepare for a phrase. Maybe he's a visual person and looking at the soloist really enhances the experience. Maybe he thinks I'm pretty. (I later ruled out "maybe he thinks I'm pretty" based on the fact that playing the trumpet makes you visibly less attractive.) Maybe he used to sit in a place where you could see the soloists at all times in a previous band (and was therefore stealthier and less noticeable in his soloist staring) and, as a result, is used to being able to see the soloist easily. Now, at a bad angle, he has to swivel around in order to see and doesn't know there's an unspoken rule against that.

I stopped on the last part of that sentence and thought back to the close talker. The close talker didn't know they were a close talker. Maybe my band mate doesn't know they're a soloist starer and that gives people the "no" feeling?

In truth, I can only speak for myself when I say it gives ME the "no" feeling, but even so, how can I let him know? With a close talker, it's a little easier. Moving back a step, averting eye contact to show discomfort, turning to the side to avoid facing them, and other nonverbal signals and body language corrections might just send that desired signal, "please, you're in my bubble." But what can I do to gently signal my discomfort while reading music and playing a solo? I can't meet his gaze and make him feel awkward by holding it as long as possible because I have to read my music. I can't say anything (like, "I'm sorry, did you say something?" or "can I help you?" or "did you need something?") because I'm playing a wind instrument.

So, now four months into this, I find myself in an ongoing, not-quite fixable predicament. I mean, sure, I could address him directly after rehearsal, but I’m not quite sure what to lead with. "Please stop staring at me" seems too direct, and “would you mind facing front while others are playing?” sounds like a teacher’s reprimand. I suppose I should let it lie and get used to it. Maybe it’s character-building or something, despite the “no” feeling and the violation of unspoken rules.

Wait a minute. Do you think he might be trying to change the unspoken rules? Wouldn’t that be just crazy?! Picture it: Everyone in the band turns around to stare at you while you’re playing. Brrr, creepy! That’s a lot of eyeball pressure! I hope that doesn’t happen! I'm going to have nightmares now.

Memory Monday (except that it's Saturday): Random Childhood Flashback

I recently watched the Marriage Ref because, let's face it, I was curious. It was one of the earlier episodes, and highlighted in it was a fight over whether the wife should be allowed to keep her deceased first husband's urn and prosthetic leg in the house. Immediately, I was transported back in time to age 6...

As you may know by now, I grew up in CT as a part of a large, close-knit family. Our agreed-upon family policy on birthdays was to celebrate (with parties) the birthdays of my generation through age 16. Whenever we had birthday parties at my house (for me, obviously), all of my cousins would come over and we'd all play together. Usually, we were told to "go down in the basement" because there were so many of us that I'm sure the calm to chaos ratio was far from manageable. Down in the basement, the chaos was allowed to build on itself as we all ran around in the unfinished land of sporting equipment, canned goods, a furnace, antique farming tools, old furniture, and various home and yard products.

One of the games we would play (you know, when running around ceased to satisfy and our innate need for rules in play became apparent) was haunted house. There would be two teams. After the long and drawn out process of choosing sides and then finding the most perfect names for these teams, we were ready to play. Playing entailed one team (let's call them the Avengers, as that was a popular choice) waiting at the top of the stairs as the other (let's call them Wayne Power- inspired by Dwayne Wayne or Wayne Gretsky, I'm not sure, but both are equally likely) set up their haunted house. When team Wayne Power was ready, the Avengers would have to walk through the haunted house. After every member of the Avengers had been through it, the teams would switch. At the end, we'd loosely discuss whose haunted house was scarier.

Team Wayne Power usually won, as their scare tactics included not only the use of antique farm equipment and the old rocking chair with the hole in the seat, but also the use of my grandfather's first prosthetic leg. Avenger after Avenger would walk by the bag where we kept Poppy's leg and scream as it appeared to creep closer and closer. At the time, my grandfather, Poppy, was still alive and partying upstairs with the rest of the adults. Looking back on this event after his passing, however, makes it seem all the more ridiculous. Especially since we kept all of his prosthetics after he updated to newer, better models. I can't imagine the fear we would have felt for three legs creeping our way.

Flashing back to the episode of the Marriage Ref, I can understand why that woman would want to keep her deceased husband's legs; we did, after all, keep Poppy's for quite a while. That being said, it's still inherently creepy. What if her kids are playing haunted house with it?

I'm a Part Timer!

Hello?
Is someone else in here?

Oh hi! I didn't see you there!

It's been a while! I've missed you!

Why haven't I written in a while? Well, mostly because I didn't want to jinx my new part time job. Yeah, I got a part time job! I mean, it is only part time (for now...hah hah hah), I don't get benefits, taxes aren't taken out (I DREAD tax time next year), I don't get my own email, IM, phone, key, or garbage bin, and someone else has to sign me onto a computer. BUT I have a desk, a paycheck, and some pretty fun coworkers, so I'm hoping this goes well and lasts longer than the promised 3 months. Who knows, maybe if I continue to be awesome, they'll give me my own garbage bin. I have big dreams.

As a long time job hunter, I had lowered my standards quite a bit. I was willing to start anywhere and do anything (read: will pick up elephant dung for 5 cents and hour). I had gotten to a place where I was getting pretty excited about jobs that I had long since surpassed skill-wise. This just happens to be that sort of job. Well, at least to some degree. Right now, 25% of my work is learning the ropes of bookkeeping and creating invoices and things. This is something I have only dabbled in in the past, probably because I was thinking "eww accounting!" The more I get into accounting, however, the more I realize how very..."me" it seems to be. It's organized and methodical, but you need to think about everything with case by case specificity. It's not nearly as boring or daunting as I thought it would be, and so I find myself looking forward to my bookkeeper tasks. I know, you just threw up in your mouth a little. Sorry about that. Here's a napkin.

The other 75% of my work involves copying and pasting as I create Excel databases of various shapes and sizes. This is the part of the job that is less than fun, but very familiar. I'm so familiar with data entry that I can tell you there are 3 main types:

1. The kind where you can just tune out completely and enter data brainlessly. This goes by quickly, mostly because mentally, you're in the Bahamas.
2. The kind where you have to really think about the stuff you're entering. Categorizing qualitative data (ex. deciding how to label someone's answer to an open-ended survey question) comes to mind. This type of data entry is the most pain-in-the ass, is mentally exhausting, and goes by very slowly because you are mentally present for the whole repetitive ride.
3. The kind that's a bit of a mix of the 2 above. Usually you have to make decisions about some things, but a large part of it is comprised of simple, non-thinking tasks. This is the kind of data entry I'm doing, and it goes by pretty fast now that I'm used to it.

I think it's because of my familiarity with data entry that I'm so efficient at/with it. I knew what to expect going in and buckled up for the long haul. My skills and speed have been noticed by folks at my new part time job, and I have to tell you, it's quite the self-esteem boost. I went from job hunter extraordinaire, fielding rejection left and right, to part timer receiving compliments from the CEO. Pretty sweet, even if it is only regarding a simple skill.

This has all led me to believe that lowering my standards in my job search was not a completely terrible idea. So if you're looking for a job and feeling bad that you have lowered YOUR standards, I guess all I'm trying to say is don't because you never know what will come of it. It could be a stepping stone to something greater-- or it could evolve into something great. You never know.

And also, being a part-timer is way better than being this guy:


note: since I know SNL will likely take this off YouTube at some point, just google "closet organizer guy snl" for a video of the above.

The kind of joke you tell your dentist

Last night at my community band rehearsal, a fellow trumpeter told me a joke.

fellow trumpeter: What's the difference between a tavern and an elephant breaking wind?
me: I don't know, what?
fellow trumpeter: One's a bar room, one's a bahROOM!
me (without hesitation): Ha! Now that's the kind of joke you tell your dentist.

Wait, wait. Let me explain.

The dentist I had when I was a kid was a joke junky. Every time I went in for a cleaning or filling or braces tune up (because yes, I was that gangly tall girl with glasses and braces at one point), I had to have a joke to tell him. I at least had to be prepared to make one up, because he never failed to ask me, "ya got any new jokes?" As a result, I had a stock pile of jokes ready for him. And, because he was my dentist and not my fellow gangly, awkward school girl, they were all clean...just like the tavern and elephant fart joke.

So...ya got any jokes? Pretend I'm your dentist.

A downer, then story time

I started to write a post about this CNN.com article "US job satisfaction hits 22 year low," but then I scrapped it. It was a complete downer. Basically, even through good economic times and improvements in the workplace environment over the last 20 years, job satisfaction has continued a downward trend. Now more than half of people lucky enough to have jobs are dissatisfied with their jobs.

Great, so even if and when I do get a job, I'm going to be unhappy with it? I never expected to fall in love with it or anything, but I hoped to at least like it a little bit. I mean, this might be kind of a reach for a metaphor, but employers are no longer proposing marriage to employees. They've taken the romance and the love and the snuggling by the fire right out of it. As a result, loyalty on the employee's part is gone. So what's left? Friendship. And I hope my future job and I can at least be friends.

Alright, so apparently, I didn't entirely scrap that post. And it ended up being a little bit of a downer. Dang.

I know: In an effort to end on a positive note, I'll tell you a story!

I was watching TV recently and saw a teenage girl throwing a tennis ball repeatedly against a garage or wall or something. Suddenly I remembered: I used to do that all the time! I would throw it against the garage for HOURS at a time. One day, though, my parents got worried that I would develop a bionic arm and the ball would explode through the door, the car behind the door, and into the laundry room. I assured them that wouldn't happen, that I would be careful. I guess I wasn't convincing enough, though, and the Rule was made that I was no longer allowed to throw the ball against the door. I was heart broken: throwing that ball was one of the most fun things I could do with my day. What to do!?

I played with my Legos, a form of middle school age meditation I now realize, and came up with a solution: I would lob it onto the roof above the garage! I tried it and for the first half hour, things were going swimmingly. The ball would bounce up onto the roof and then bounce right back down. It was fantastic, and even more fun than the garage door. About 45 minutes in, however, I got into a bit of a kerfuffle. I tossed the ball up, but it didn't bounce as much and so rolled down the roof....and right into the gutter. Pants! A trip to get my dad and a scolding session involving a ladder and several clumps of leaves later, my ball was down and I promised to be more careful. Thankfully, despite the scolding and the continuing evidence that I was in fact developing a bionic arm, a Rule wasn't made forbidding me to throw tennis balls onto the roof again. Realizing I had dodged a significant childhood bullet, I grew careful. I became skilled in the mechanics and physics of the Tennis Ball Roof Dancing. TBRD. That's what I called it. And there were guidelines for my friends if they ever came over to play TBRD with me. A points system even evolved. Yeah.

I'm sure you have a story just like that. i.e. when you were a kid, you probably became really knowledgeable about and skilled in something that you thought was just the bee's knees at the time and then made it a game with rules and points and such. You know what? Why don't you just go ahead and share those stories with me so I don't feel so weird.

BAM it's the holidays

I'm so sad...my laptop has recently declared itself a Craptop. So in case you're wondering why I seem to be on sabbatical, it's not because I'm trapped under something heavy. In part, it's the craptop (blue screen of death, the whole nine). In, um, other part, it's the holiday season and to my amazement, I've found a way to be as busy as those fortunate enough to have jobs. And I don't even know with what I am busy...watching Dogs101 and SuperFetch? What happened to December? It was my birthday and Thanksgiving, there was a little cranberry sauce and a little turkey (ok, there were WEEKS of turkey), and then BAM! it's the week of Christmas. Somewhere in there were also trips to CT and Florida and NYC. There were birthdays and anniversaries and talks with relatives. I vaguely remember my aunt telling me she once took part in a drum circle.

It's all pretty fuzzy, but I do remember a wedding for which I was a second shooter (photography-like, not mafia-like). Sure, there was dancing and eating and drinking I could not take part in because I was taking pictures. But there were also unforgettable things, like the mother of the groom's veiny cleave, the dollar dance with rabies, the actual good shots I got, the awesome vendor meal, and of course the last song ("Proud To Be An American") and the circle of swaying hand-holders that came along with it. That was the moment I knew I'd be a second shooter again in a heartbeat!

In general, though, I feel like I blacked out somewhere. Or took a wrong turn at Albuquerque. And here we are. It's so good to see you again! I love your new sweater!

In any case, happy holidays to all -- and a new computer for me! Hooray!

Astrology

Sometime, when you have a lot of time on your hands, you should look up your astrology profile on something like cafeastrology.com or the like. Or just google "born on _____" (your birthday) like I did.

What comes up are usually sites that supposedly tell you what you are like. Mine, for example, says I'm optimistic and fun-loving, I love to travel, love adventure, am honest and straightforward, am charismatic, and other such gems.

Reading this, it made me wonder: Are there ever astrology messages that say "you're a terrible person and no one likes you"? I don't think there are, really. I'm not saying that the good messages are wrong - mine certainly wasn't. It just makes you go "hmm." It kind of perpetuates jerkdom, if you think about it, because some jerk, also born on my birthday, will read things like "you're charismatic and people like you" and think, "I'm doing something right by being a jerk!" The fact of the matter is, that's just not true.

It makes me wonder if we're all supposed to, on some level, embody some parts of our astrologically estimated personalities and the people who don't have had some bad stuff happen to them in life, or some moon was out of alignment in the year that they were born, or SOMETHING. Or if maybe astrology is all just purposefully vague so that anyone can apply themselves directly to any statement and say "yes, that sounds like me." Or if it's all just more complicated than that. I'll go with the gray area "it's more complicated than that" for 500.

Also, for what it's worth, every 7 years, my birthday falls on the same day people used to kill turkeys and eat them (now we pre-order, of course, and most of us don't own our own birds or livestock). I don't know what that means astrologically, but I call it my Birthgiving (cross between birthday and Thanksgiving, for those of you having trouble following along). And for the record, no, I have never given birth.