Friday, July 25, 2003
I loves Me Some Meetings
“People love meetings.” That’s what a girl said to me last night after I asked her opinion on my high school reunion committee. Since about a year before the reunion, there have been 36,000 meetings.
It’s really overcomplicated. I was SO excited to look forward to seeing people again and catching up, but all this nonsense has really made my nostalgia dry up. I was debating about even going at this point.
Fortunately, the girls I was chatting with were enthusiastic and kind. I’m 90% sure I still want to go. The trouble is the meetings are held at unannounced times, not scheduled by any consensus. I’ve been out of town FOR REAL for most of them. Now that I’ve sold my car, I can’t get to say, Burke, VA without spending a lot of time and money.
Won’t go into the details. But unless they have a meeting somewhere in DC that I can get to, I’m not going. I fail to see what the meetings are about now, everything has been taken care of, with the exception of some pet projects that 2 people want, which is making things more expensive. Not enough people have bought tickets yet, so the whole thing might have to be canceled.
Sounds kind of like work, too much like work.
I am in meetings way too much. And the work generated by meetings is distracting from the ‘real’ work that needs to be done. I can be kept busy for days planning, writing things up, researching, and in the end it feels ephemeral.
I’m on committees. I’m a chairperson of a committee. It can be very interesting, even fun. In the critical view I’ve taken of time management and people time, 12 people meeting in a distant location to discuss the purchase of hotdog buns is plain dumb. And for this one chic, nothing but self-aggrandizing.
I wonder what she’s going through. Sometimes her emails are very nagging, in a mom or wife kind of way. Other times the tone rises to an electronic scream. She’s gotten very snappy with us as a group, and I’m sure not just me individually.
In my last exchange with her, I made suggestions about how to get these last ‘action items’ done via email or phone calls because it seems to be a problem for 80-90% of the people to get to meetings. She started her reply with “WELL THE PROBLEM WITH THAT IS...” nuf said.
Then in her most recent email, she’s having the meeting, but is plainly taking my suggestion that she shot rudely down when it was made.
“If you are unable to attend but would like to
>help out, please email us yet again and we will compile a special list of
>volunteers and assign you activities that we discuss at the meeting.”
I pity her. She seems like a really unhappy person, even worse than in high school. And she seems to be taking this reunion business really personally and way too far.
Thursday, July 24, 2003
Painfully Excited
I don’t want to play God or make designer super people, or advertise to someone through their pants.
I’m really excited because I’m moving on my Trinity application. I was looking at the ongoing projects of some of the present students. It’s a little intimidating because most are such beautiful artists, and photographers. I am confident that my programming experience together with my imagination for media I could do some great things too. Just to be in that environment again! And moving to Dublin!
They only take 30 people a year!! yow… Deep breath. stupid grin, distraction!!
The program is delving more into wearable tech. I would love to ultimately develop products that would assist vision impaired and hearing impaired. Actually that Taekwon Do accident I had makes me want to design wearable items for physically challenged too, for temporary or long term use. It’s got to be possible.
Many people in my family have a really hard time hearing and rely on devices. My mom almost went completely blind last year due to two types of eye disease she has. I am so grateful that with crazy luck and an amazing doctor, her sight was saved. I’ve never felt so much like there was an earthquake ripping up my entire world. There’s so much more to sight than just getting around, what would her quality of life become?
I was a psyc major for most of my college career, and got turned off the field because it’s when the talk shows really got big and it seemed like everyone was feeling sorry for themselves. But what interested me most was the human brain itself. If I’d not gone over to my life-love of writing (heh, what! you can’t tell?) I would have done whatever field allowed me to explore the physiology of the brain, its electrical currents, how sense, learning and experiencing happens.
I don’t want to play God or make designer super people, or advertise to someone through their pants. I want to try to make life better for those with broken bones, MS, the blind, deaf, mute or those who must navigate the world with much less than is normal.
Thursday, July 17, 2003
Perl is Fine!
http://www.perl.com/pub/a/2003/07/16/soto2003.html
“This is the 7th annual State of the Perl Onion speech, wherein I tell you how Perl is doing. Perl is doing fine, thank you. Now that that’s out of the way, I’d like to spend the rest of the time telling jokes.”
—Larry Wall
I’m not a Perl guru. I can barely read it. But I tell ya what, I really like those I’ve met that can write the hell out of it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Nice Dinner Conversation
Last week I had dinner on my way home at the Wrap Works. When I got my number and sat down I noticed a man sitting at a table sort of talking to himself. All the empty tables were in his area, so I just sat at the most comfortable one and buried my face in my book.
But he wasn’t talking to himself. He was involuntarily talking. Shouting obscenities and mostly incomprehensible garble. Thus the perimeter.
I glanced.
It’s quiet.
“FUCKING ASS PLACE (sumthin sumthin sumthin) DIRT”
I glance up over my pages. My paranoia makes me face doors, people who are scary, etc. So we were facing each other from different tables.
“MUTHA kkrrrrp nnnnnBBuuuu” The man is trying to chew his salad, and something in his brain is making this happen.
Suddenly I feel better. He’s not angry. Is this turret’s syndrome? How do you spell that?
He’s got a briefcase at his side. I imagine people who sit near him at work. Did they give him his own office? Does he have a cube?
My food comes and I make busy with it. I sip my straw and our eyes meet. His eyes look tired and a little bored. But not angry, or completely crazy. By the way, angry worries me much more than any category of brain trouble.
“BUUHHIITT!” a small piece of lettuce flies. That must be really annoying for him — my projected feelings. He looks nonplussed.
An employee comes around and takes some of his trash.
“Thank you,” he says in a perfectly normal voice.
He gets up for a soda refill. Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney’s duo The Girl Is Mine begins to play. He dances, snaps his fingers and does a twirl but doesn’t sing. He’s crazy, I think.
But maybe he’s not at all.
Maybe he’s developed a wonderful and harmless lack of inhibition and self consciousness as a result of the Tourette’s. I have danced in grocery stores, mainly because they are such large and boring places. My brother has laid down on the floor in the subway to learn about the public’s response to the unusual.
I stand and clean up. The squawked and grunted wordthings continue, but quieter. Maybe the short in his brain gets food coma.
In the Waiting Room
I don’t want the news! just kidding.
I think it’s so cool there’s a machine here to use. I think it’s because there are a lot of GW kids here and they all can pay 32,000 to make sure their knees don’t go bad.
I think this is my last hand check up from when it went crunch. yay! he’s running so late but i’m happy for that now.
I still haven’t nailed down what mint jelly’s going to do. aside from giving me a place to be windy. which is dull.
poo. I forget. lots of interesting things have been going on. I just had the best weekend, and a fun bday party monday night. and last week, ate at a table next to a guy who i think had turrets. can’t beat that.
well, I should go for now. should make sure i don’t leave traces of anything on this machine.
chow bella!
Monday, July 07, 2003
The 'Unprepared for a Test' Dream
Last night I had the fabled Unprepared for a Test dream. It was a history exam. I hadn’t done the reading. Essay questions. I can’t bullshit that much! I have to KNOW what I’m saying! I’m going to do badly, maybe a D if I’m lucky. What will this do to my final grade?!
I’m not even in school.
I want to go to graduate school. There is only one program in the whole world that I want to do. It’s M.Sc. in Multimedia Systems at Trinity University in Dublin, Ireland.
A girl can dream. And this girl does. I’ve known about this program for years now. It’s like that one person with the light about them, you keep glancing. They are intriguing, you can’t forget.
I imagine our life together, one year. Life without seems pale and somehow disappointing in a most unfair way.
Circumstances keep you/us apart: I fear change (1999-2002). I am lulled by comfort (2003). I cave to a boyfriend (now ex-husband) who says I’m selfish for wanting to go (1999). I don’t want to quit my job (2000-2003).
I am ready to sacrifice my life as I know it. The scariest part—what kind of happiness will I have if I don’t get accepted?
I have to apply for one of the 30 slots for Fall 2004 if only to have honestly tried. I love my boyfriend/job/life-as-it-is (2003). I will be 30 when I finish this program. What if I lost the one who might be The One in the process? Where will my life turn? Will I be lonely?
The most critical things I have learned (1999-present) are
1. It is not selfish to have dreams and seek to make them solid. Others usually call you selfish only when you aren’t giving in to their own whims.
2. Regret sucks. Happiness requires attention, action and responsibility.
3. Love usually surprises, for the better.
4. 30 - bah!
I am going to apply. Rather, I am applying. I will do what I must to be able to say, “I have applied.”
Saturday, July 05, 2003
Broke Ass & Bust Ass
Two of three escalators were shut down at the Dupont station when I came back from Dave’s today. Neither one was barricaded. I usually walk them when they’re working. Not working, it’s maybe twice the steps to the top.
It’s hard to work exercise into life so one must seek it out. :P I walk a lot, and I like to move my furniture around, but that alone isn’t enough as the metabolism slows down.
one thing—I never look up more than 2 seconds total during an accent (teehee it sounds like i’m talking about Everest, melodrama! woo). The straight metal fettuccine design of the steps always give me vertigo, and I swear the angle of decent changes from time to time.
Today it’s almost 100 degrees and the air was like exhaust from a vacuum cleaner. I balanced between keeping either my thighs or lungs from feeling prohibitively tight. My alveoli began to close, taking that familiar stance where they cross their tiny arms, lower their heads into a sulk and look at me like I’m crazy (see illustration).
When I got to the top, the path was blocked by an accordian metal barricade. A service person stood at the other set of stairs that were also stopped. People at the top looked at me.
I was already too busy lifting my second leg over the waist high block, keeping backpack, and two bags balanced to notice the maintenance person frowning at me. People smiled. A man on the sole moving escalator stepped off to my right and directed a “nice job!” at me. My shorts snagged on the metal.
I don’t embarrass easily which works out well.
I lifted myself off the metal fence and looked at ServiceMan.
me: “Sorry, it wasn’t blocked off at the bottom.”
him: “Next time you’ll have to go back down.”
me: laughter
He had a nearly French accent. I thought he was joking at first. Now I’m not sure. But he must have been. Why is walking on a stopped escalator TWICE better than walking on it once? seeelee man! hon hon hon! (laughing in accent)
Thursday, July 03, 2003
Waiting and Wanting
to leave! The rest of the entire building is empty. I can feel it. I am among the few left. Our VP said we could go so long as we didn’t have anything pressing. I don’t! I have work, yes. but I much rather just work harder on Monday.
I and another girl sought to lighten the bizarro office atmosphere by playing some tunes (carefull avoiding those that are not office appropriote) and everyone around us loved it. We were smooth DJs, iming each other to keep in step, creating mood, rythm, passing song responsibilities tagteam style! By golly there was life! One girl danced on a chair. We continued to do our work. Chair dancing girl got her 2nd variable to pass! (she’s trying some perl) And it was good!
Then the producers from like SUPER FAR away - sound dampened by about 48 fabric cubes and carpet and ceiling tiles - had to complain. They sent an emmissary - a girl I think is pretty cool most of the time. And it went like
she: “I’m sorry I’ve been sent to ask you to turn it down because it’s REALLY loud over there”
me: “the bass is traveling?”
her: “No, like everything! It’s really loud over there” (turns and gestures as if the music is somehow louder over from whence she came, as opposed to a place 3 cubes farther in the other direction away from where I sit.
Maybe i need to draw a photo to convery how FAR they all are. Even the VP’s in their offices didn’t mind. poo on that! grrr hiss phhffft raerrrr *swats with paw*
Happy Fourth everyone!! I plan on watching turtle races, fireworks, boating and swimming, ALL while eating hot dogs. Barfing should occur around 11am, then again around 4pm. Then perhaps again around 10pm from delayed heat stroke and warm beer. USA! USA! just kidding.
