it's over. move to somnia.

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Disturbing Commercials*

(#1)

Woman A: Oh, crap. [looking at B] Do you have a pad?
Woman B: Here, try O.B.
Woman A: I don't do tampons.
Woman B: But O.B. is different! It's like all [blah blah blah] and stuff. Once you switch over, you never go back. It's like riding a bicycle!

Ewwww!

= = = =

(#2)

Office Guy A: Hey man, you look different today. Did you get a haircut?
Office Guy B: Nope. [smiles]
Office Guy A: New suit?
Office Guy B: Nuh-uh.
Office Guy A: You shaved?
Office Guy B: Nope.
Office Guy A: You're sure you didn't get a haircut?
Office Guy B: Not a haircut. [still smiling]
Office Guy A: Something's different about you.
Voice-Over: [Office Guy B] asked his doctor...about Viagra.

Ewwww! And also, Ewwww!

*Freely adapted. (But the punch lines are real.)
peachy as always, Mike at 12:39 PM

 
They're Balloons! For a Party!
(Note: Party stories are never, ever interesting. You have been warned.)

My new roommates and I had a housewarming party this past Saturday night to show off The House to our friends. Two of them, however, had just moved into town and (between the two of them) brought a mother (!) and a girlfriend (who was feeling ill and retired quickly). The third new roommate is a pal of mine from college and a number of our friends overlap...which means I found myself throwing what was more or less an anniversary party for my first housewarming (which, you are astutely guessing, had been scheduled just before and took place just after 11 September 2001), featuring many familiar faces.

I was a little nervous, since my last party (nearly six months ago; birthday-oriented) had been kind of awkward and strained. (I was really tired. Hadn't planned it well.)

This time around, though, everything fell into place. As I found myself telling people afterward, it's hard to go wrong when you've got two caterers and a DJ in-house. Plus my roommate's sister brought her dog to the festivities (awww, Addie!) and we broke out the piñata that came with the house (full of stale Chiclets and a joy to behold). I'm personally fascinated by watching personalities clicking, too.

At about 1 a.m., as things were starting to wind down, I was sitting in the kitchen talking with two friends. I did a quick mental count and was shocked to realize that there were 14 people still in the house, yet there was no indication that there was anyone around but for the three of us. I'd always been vaguely aware of how much room there was in The House, but damn! No wonder parties feel small in there and people like to stick together: it's an imposing space!

Anyhow, yeah. Good party. All right.
peachy as always, Mike at 11:28 PM

 
Cher and Cher Alike

I picked up a free CD of recent dance hits at the East Bay Pride festivities about...oh, three weeks ago, but I hadn't really gotten to listen to it until today at work. It contains the usual mix of good and bad, as can be expected on a giveaway. One of the the good ones is the first single off Cher's latest album (Living Proof. I have no idea if it's any good. Sorry.), and I have to admit I like it. I'm not normally into such cheesy stuff, but it just fit the mood.

Then a med-student friend called me to gripe and I discovered--to my joy--that the song's title adds a little spice to casual conversation, when sprinkled in liberally. Let's observe:

Caller: I'm so glad I'll be working among men. Women in medicine are just so mean to each other.
Me: That's a different kind of love song!

Caller: God, what am I saying? I must have multiple-personality disorder!
Me: That's a different kind of love song!

Caller: I just can't be a general surgeon. I just can't deal with ass.
Me: That's a different kind of love song!

Caller: At least you've dated for more than a couple of months, right?
Me: Well, what do you mean by a couple?
Caller: Two.
Me: Oh, then yes--
Caller: ...A couple. Of months. Not like dating a couple, like a menage a trois, or anything!
Me: That's a different kind of love song!

Caller: Oh, and we had to use a foley on this one guy.
Me: A what?
Caller: A foley--oh, you know, a catheter.
Me: That's a different kind of love song!
Caller: Yeah, and I realized I'm so glad I'm not a man or a lesbian, 'cause on a woman it's just so hard to find anything down there!
Me: It's a different kind of love song!
Caller: It totally is!

Oh, fun!
peachy as always, Mike at 8:48 PM

 
Meet the Parens, or Appositively Ridiculous: an Explanation, of Sorts*

I know, I know. I use a lot of parentheses in my writing. In moderation, they can add zest to a text. When overemployed, they are recast as the mark of a writer who can't follow a linear train of thought. I'm guilty of the latter more often than I care to admit. But the truth is that there must be someone else to blame! I'm not going to shoulder the responsibility of ordering my ideas in a way intuitive to the reader! You're here because you want to see what I have to say, not what you expect from me. (Of course, if you expect discursive ramblings lacking in thoughtful conclusions, maybe you should...y'know...give me a sign that I've become predictable.) OK, and that--that was an appropriate interjection, was it not? Yeah, I thought so.

See, the truth is that my mind is a playground buzzing with activity, and all these different topics and points and connections are competing for my attention. If ignored for even a few seconds, they are likely to give up and go away, and then I'm left with the empty, troubling feeling that there once was a thought there, which for reasons of its own, dematerialized. If I try to order these thoughts and points and such, it's just like...well, to use my favorite simile, it's like herding cats.

I think this might tie in to why I'm so into maps: it's so non-linear. Bits of information are sprinkled around, and further ideas are communicated through the overall impression of the image. I've always imagined communication media being hierarchical in how much information can be sent and processed at a time. (I'm limiting this to language only, since music and image--and touch, for that matter--are harder to quantify in terms of data.) When someone is speaking to you (or when you're listening to a recording), all that is available at a time is the word you are hearing. When reading printed matter, the entire page is there to be scanned (and re-read, if necessary)** at once. I imagine the next level of cognition is taking in all the words and ideas of a book simultaneously, and frankly it blows my mind and makes me think there's a religious element of this line of thinking that I'm not considering. (If you have any suggested readings, please comment!)

Yet when I'm reading, I prefer to be taken somewhat linearly down the plot's path. I know what foreshadowing is, and I know that most people involuntarily guess at outcomes, but I like being surprised. (Spoilers suck, kiddies.) I'm always on the lookout for new information, new ideas, new ways of thinking. Of course, I suppose if I actually stopped for a bit and tried to process what I take in, and formed opinions and questions about it, then maybe I'd be a little more comprehensible in turn. Maybe I'd have more direction and ambition. Maybe I'd contribute more.

But who wants that?


*In case you're curious, a Google search on "positively" reveals that there are a lot of people out there who don't have any idea how to use an adverb. In other news: fall is coming, tempers flare in the Middle East, and the sun is a mass of incandescent gas.

**Although I suppose one could consider electronic text or sign language, which can be presented one word at a time (like audio)--but printed text is much more commonly what we consider "reading"...and (to cheat a bit) this discussion is about parentheticals, not footnotes, right?
peachy as always, Mike at 2:55 PM

 
(Yep, Still Working.)

For about a week now (40 hours billed time!), I've been working on a PowerPoint® presentation summarizing a report on the natural resources and hazards in [Local Government We're Contracted with (hint: rhymes with "bumbled flounty")]. I'm pretty sure I could have had most of it (excluding the figures I have yet to receive from the graphics department*) done in two days, but I keep getting distracted and not-working. (It's the whole Impending Freedom thing, I'm sure.)

The thing is, I could just turn it in as-is and not have to have it hanging over me any more. Knowing my boss, one of two things will happen: regardless of how it looks, he'll accept it graciously and I'll never see it again (because he loves it as-is or because he will shuffle it off to someone else to finish; makes no difference to me)...or regardless of how it looks, he'll scribble comments (change this, add that, delete this, etc.) all over it--per his whim--and I'll just do what I'm told. The key is that it doesn't matter how well I put it together...he'll just do whatever he does, regardless.

Yet I can't pass it on to him until I'm absolutely satisfied with it--even though my name will never be linked to it, and after two weeks or so, it will never again be looked at. Blah blah blah, whose priorities are misplaced...who cares? I'm leaving.


*which absolves me of anything resembling a deadline, of course
peachy as always, Mike at 9:08 PM

 
Arrr! Ye Be Celebratin', Matey?

Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day!*


*Maybe that's what's been missing from my life: Dave Barry's column.
peachy as always, Mike at 5:45 PM

 
It's the "Mastery" Bit That Amuses Me...

By default I've been telling people that I will most likely be applying soon for a master's program in geography. For those of you who have already guessed that I am incapable of making a firm decision about anything that doesn't involve a menu, I am also considering religion, linguistics, journalism, Latin American studies, and public policy. I'm sure there are others I can't think of right now. Maybe I'll just burn my way through a degree program every few years. Professional student, mmmm.
peachy as always, Mike at 5:16 PM

 
But What About Meee?

I recently realized that manymany of my friends are becoming teachers or lawyers. It was nice when I graduated college and a big chunk of them headed off to med school, because I could say to myself, "That's nice for them. I prefer sleep." Others went into computer careers. Also not for me. I don't know what kind of processor my system has. I don't know how much RAM, ROM, or rum it has (but I'll have a double of the latter, m-hm-ha). I don't know if it has a USB port, and I don't care.

But now. I know people teaching kindergarten, fifth grade, eighth grade, ninth grade, and community college, plus a general elementary teacher, two school-based AmeriCorps members, and I'm sure I'm missing some others. This wouldn't be so troubling if I didn't keep hearing the refrain from various directions: "Mike, you'd be a great/awesome/really good teacher!" I take it as flattery. On the surface, it's easy to say no: I've never felt drawn to working with kids, I don't like getting in front of people and lecturing (much less handing out discipline), the pay is insulting, the work takes over your life, you start to think like your charges...ugh. But deeper, there's that What If that anyone who knows me is familiar with. It's eerie, it's scary, and...I don't know.

Four of my friends are starting law school this year. Two have just graduated (one of whom is getting married, and I'm not getting into that), and a few more are somewhere in the mix. (Hi, Grace!) Good. Great. I only briefly flirted with the idea of a law degree a couple of years back, but that was over before it started. I really have no interest in memorizing legal arcana and frankly I don't think all that quickly on my feet. Yet there's something about seeing all these people entering a program that will prepare them (intellectually and perhaps practically) for a professional career they feel passionate about that makes my own attempts at just picking a course of study feel somewhat feeble by comparison.

So I'm...stuck. And while I'm wishing to high heaven that self-absorption could be the answer- -it doesn't seem likely.

Rats.
peachy as always, Mike at 3:30 PM

 
Titles for Bits That I Haven't Written and Will Likely Never Write, but My, Aren't Those Titles Clever and Evocative!

On the Outs
Writerly
Knowing Me, Knowing You
Feh
Despite Everything
Wistful, Willful, Winsome
List:
Again with the Muttering...
Fancypants Anonymous
Hate Hate Hate
PoMo NoGo
Kids: the Next Generation
Something I Meant to Mention Earlier
I
peachy as always, Mike at 6:44 PM

 
Reverse Neutral Drive

I like what my friend Tara (Mrs. W to you) said this weekend, about different economic classes having different concepts* of time: that people in poverty are focused on the present, middle-class people save for the future, and the rich try to continually relive their (storied, of course) past. Fun little thought. Now...me.

Am trying to sort out all sorts of things (work, not-work, direction, desire, creative output) and one thing I've noticed, looking back on the six months of blog (happy semiversary!) that I've amassed, is that when I write at work (which is the majority of the time), it often seems morose or petulant...and I think it's because I'm writing at work, and I'm hurried, and I try to tackle ideas too big for the time I can allot to them. I wonder how it will change once I'm writing at home more. (Once I'm writing more, period. I have delusions about freelancing already and yet I have no portfolio to speak of.) I will start writing more. I will start exercising more. I will start volunteering more. I will not curse myself for going in with my roommates on digital cable, which means I now have a dozen movie channels plus the East- and West-Coast feeds of HBO. Nope.

Oh, and since you're wondering: I feel great about my decision to leave The Job. I just wish I had had the sense to realize that I will not be alone among my friends in Unemploymentland.


*Or conceptions? Maybe that's it.
peachy as always, Mike at 11:56 AM

 
Into the Great Wide Open

I'm capricious.

Not news, I know. But it fascinates me (if no one else) what exactly drives me to make certain decisions. For example: I quit my job this morning. Well, OK, I "tendered my resignation"...since "quit" sounds like I screamed and stormed out, whereas reality was much more prosaic: I arrived at the office early, wrote up a memo, dropped it in my boss's inbox, went to my desk and listened to Radiohead's "Optimistic"* on repeat for an hour while writing up the introduction to a report summarizing citizen feedback to a public workshop in Yuba City. My boss came in, asked me to his office, and we discussed what I want out of a job, which is not what this firm can offer. (I actually found myself saying "I could lie and say I want more money," which of course shot down any possibility of staying on with a raise, as was perfectly possible.)

But what was my reason for leaving? I've blathered to and with my coworkers about a variety of things over the past few months: the management doesn't know what's going on with the projects (true), the management has no social skills (may be true, but I've had fewer bad experiences than my coworkers), there is no mentorship and low morale (documentably true), I want to work closer to home (true), I don't like sitting in an office (true-ish), I don't like sitting in a dark, cramped office (has since been remedied), I don't care about the work (dawned on me recently), I want to work with people instead of sitting in front of a computer all day (a recent epiphany), and so on.

But what finally pushed me over... I was working at home yesterday (yes, it was September 11, and yes, my boss was magnanimous enough to let me work at home), looking over a few hundred comments from an "open house" we had held in Yuba City a few weeks back: my job was to distill them into a coherent opinion (as tangentially mentioned above). The opinion I got: we, as an outside firm, know next to nothing about the City and how dare we come in and try to impose a new Plan on the area without any familiarity of what already stands. (Granted, there were a number of positive comments. That was a relief. Almost makes me feel like changing my mind, not being so thin-skinned, etc. Almost.) Then it struck me: I really hate being a consultant. I have no connection with the communities I work for. I've spent a total of two afternoons in Yuba City, and have talked to only a handful of officials. As a geographer, I want to go and see and do, and as things stand, that's not what I'm doing.

Will I regret this? It's likely. I cast a wide net when it comes to second-guessing. The doubts are already there:
You still get paid even if you goof off for half the day.
You still get paid if you goof off all day.
What about money?
The boss (inexplicably) likes you beyond your professional abilities.
Where else are you going to take time off whenever you want?
Your coworkers are fun, gregarious, and young.
San Francisco is ripe for your exploration.

So maybe I'm a fool for not staying.

But I wouldn't bet on it.


*Something about the refrain: "If you try the best you can/ If you try the best you can.../ The best you can is good enough" felt pretty damn resonant today.
peachy as always, Mike at 7:52 PM

 
Quitting: a Quandary

I don't really care either way about my job. It's not sucking the life out of me, but it's not really fulfilling or interesting and I'm pretty sure it won't lead to anything better. I've been telling people for a few months now that I'm going to quit and look (at my leisure) for something better. Maybe even take a couple of weeks to travel, seeing as I have a bit of savings. I've been making more noise than usual recently.

Last week, I had an interview with the City of Berkeley for a job with better salary and benefits than I have now. And hours. Oh, and duties. Oh, and a better location (I'd be able to bike to work!). From the sound of the interview, I appear to have a very good shot at being offered the position.

And yet, I don't know. While it would be masterfully cool to tender my resignation for my current job and in short order receive this new offer, I can't make the plunge. Maybe I need the security. Maybe it's the way so many people wrinkle their brows and say, "In this economy...." Maybe the Berkeley position will fall through and it'll take a long time to find something else that I deem appropriate. Maybe it's an odd sense of guilt about voluntarily leaving something (a living wage, a comfortable desk job) that is out of the reach of most Americans. Maybe (and worst of all) I just can't shake a sense of loyalty to the company that underpays me, that offers nothing in the way of mentorship, and that I leave (too late) at night, more often than not feeling bored, drained, or confused.

So, for the time being, I'm staying put.

(But when that offer comes, I'm outta here.)
peachy as always, Mike at 1:05 PM

 
La La La

So what did I learn during my weekend in LA?

1. LA is really nice in small doses. (It was my first visit in two years, hey hey.)

2. If some guy at a party overhears you saying you went to Berkeley, and he makes a big stink about how Berkeley students are all weenies (?) because he's a big-shot Stanford grad and doesn't believe that any sane person would turn down Stanford to go to Berkeley: wait a few hours and he'll be on his knees in front of the commode because he drank too entirely fucking much and deserves what comes back to him.

3. Being able to wake up and wander a hundred feet out to the beach from your friend's apartment is really cool.

4. When driving is seen as an occasional treat--not a grinding routine--battling traffic for an hour in order to see a friend in hotter-n-hell Valencia ("The fourth-safest city in California!") is a joy. Especially if she throws in a professional backrub for the effort.

5. "Gourmet ice cream" is not the same thing as gelato. No way, nohow.

6. For Southwest Airlines, LUV is more than just a stock symbol. It's a $29 fare. And how I feel about said fare.

7. It's good to consider timing when choosing flights. Even if you're happy to be taking Friday off, flying out at 8:30am means getting up much too early for a non-workday. Flying back at 3pm on Sunday means the day is a wash (although you will get home in time to go biking and then catch that episode of The Simpsons you missed during the regular season). Changing even one reservation means paying more than the original round-trip cost (see above) and is generally frowned upon.

8. There's nothing quite like taking a Saturday-night tour of the elementary school where your friend teaches eighth grade. Nothing like it.

9. Downtown bites. And the parking! You know it's bad when plugging $2 into a parking meter for one hour is the best option available.

10. The Los Angeles County Museum of Art is damn cool. Of course, being next to the La Brea Tar Pits makes for a power team which cannot be denied.

11. You can't really ever write off that guy that you spent an amazing evening with once three years ago (and who then returned to his home 3000 miles away and left you wondering if anything more could ever possibly happen between you two, and who on the phone comes across as something akin to disinterested--maybe more like amicable-but-nothing-more...) because you could meet up with him again and discover that some mutual interest remains, albeit you are still separated by 400 miles and aaaargh, this is confusing.
peachy as always, Mike at 2:29 PM