Life decisions
The big life decisions suck. I'm one of those people who, no matter what decision I make, I always seem to regret. After being concerned about money for such a long time, I finally landed a job. Now it's day 3 of the new job and I hate it. So what do I do? Quit and look like an idiot, but save me headache and save them time in finding someone new? Stick it out for a reasonable period of time (say 6 months) and then see how I feel? I have no clue. I do know, however, that right now I am terribly unhappy....more so than can be blamed on the expected stress of starting a new job. The place has definately NOT lived up to my expectations. Everyone seems to be in a perpetual bad mood (not the case when I interviewed), no one seems to be friendly...let alone friends, and I feel extremely unwelcome there. Plus the work turns out to be far more dull and far less creative than I was led to believe. So...what would you do?

The Blues
I love the Blues. I think the Blues are like poetry: either you love it or you hate it. And, like poetry, the Blues are universal.

We all know what it feels like to have love go wrong, to feel like life is out to get us, and to know, deep down in your soul, that you are the only person in the entire world awake and alone at 4:17 am.

Because Blues is the sound of someone saying, "how could you do this to me?" It's the slam of a door with you on one side and your lover on the other. It's the soundtrack to the realization that in your necessity to earn a living you've given up on your dream to climb Everest or write the great American novel. Blues sets loneliness and regret, fear and desperation to music, and invites you to pour a shot and wallow in it.

But the great thing about the Blues is that it also has the power to remind you, when you wonder if the night will ever end, that there will be another day.. It makes you feel less alone, in a "misery loves company" sort of way. And it lets you know that everyone, with the possible exception of Keanu Reeves, knows what it's like to feel that the universe has a grudge against you.

So heres to Muddy Waters and Lightning Hopkins, Howlin' Wolf and Big Mama Thornton, and everyone who had the courage to share their pain with us in the hope that it might help get us through the night.

2004: The good, the bad, and the really bad
I don't know if I'm sad to see the end of 2004 of if I'm relieved to have made it out alive. Certainly it was an eventful year, possibly with more downs than ups, and with the usual crop of things to celebrate and mourn.

On the upside, for one brief, shining moment it seemed possibly to actually get George Bush out of office. On the downside, we were wrong. But there was a lot of hope and positive energy going on that felt wonderful. It was a refreshing reminder of the power of good to see so many people from so many different backgrounds uniting to work for a common cause. And then, everything went wrong.

On the severe downside the year ended with a disaster of an almost incomprehensible scale. On the upside, once again people are opening their hearts and wallets to make a difference. Nothing can truly help these people recover from all they've lost, except perhaps time, but it is nice to know that generosity and kindness are not dead. In spite of the Bush administration's attempt to throw pennies at the problem.

On the downside we lost too many good people, including Ray Charles, Captain Kangaroo, Christopher Reeve, and Artie Shaw. On the upside my world was added to by the birth of new friends....welcome little ones, I hope you enjoy the ride.

I quit my job in 2004, and now revel in the freedom to say "I hate IBM!" and I found a new one in the final week of the year that promises to be in an atmosphere of far more creativity and far less bureaucracy.

There were amazing days that I will always remember: most notably the weddings of Bridget & Dustin and Andy & Jess, because they honored me by asking me to perform there ceremonies. I will also remember watching the sun set over the Grand Canyon with my beloved, and views of Yosemite, Manzanar, and Death Valley that I recall clearly -- even without the aid of photographs.

2004 was the year of endless Scott Peterson stories, the election that consumed the world, hurricanes, a hockey strike, and Janet Jackson's breast (who cares?) It was far too much reality TV and far too little quality fiction in the world of books.

So what will 2005 bring? The usual crop of disasters, no doubt. But hopefully with a few delicious surprises along the way. I don't make New Year's resolutions, aside from an overwhelming desire to clean during the first week of the year, but I do hope to keep an open mind and be more optimistic about what the future will bring.

Happy New Year's everyone, may it be a year of peace, joy, laughter, and positive change for us all.

In Praise of History
I admit it, I'm a history fanatic. Give me a well-researched, well-written account of even the most obscure event in world history and I'm happy. Because of this, I'm a huge fan of the History Channel. While their programming is certainly not perfect (too many programs on the history of the Howitzer and such), it's still nevertheless television that never fails to teach me something I didn't know.

One of my favorite of their shows is Battlefield Detectives, a fascinating program that takes some battle (tonight, for instance, there were back-to-back episodes examining the Civil War battles of Antietem and Gettysburg) and explores issues such as how geography, soil conditions, and crowd behavior could have affected the outcome.

There's really no point to this, except to say that it's a good show that definitely deserves a bigger audience than American Idol.

Truth in Advertising
Have you seen those IBM commmercials where the guys are in Paris and look around and see things like "wireless internet" and "deals being closed?" Those always make me laugh. Having worked for IBM, I can say that behavior is exactly what IBM would like their ideal employee to do. Even if they weren't in Paris on business, the ideal IBM-er would sit in a sidewalk cafe and see, not history, art, beauty, or romance, but commerce, technology, and non-stop business. At last, truth in advertising. They're not kidding when they use the slogan "on-deman business," because when IBM demands it, you do business, dammit!

Fa la la la la
Here's my new favorite Christmas song!

Protect Us From Dangerous Chess Players

Have you heard about this? Bobby Fischer, former US Chess Champion is in limbo in Japan because he's wanted in the US for violating international sanctions by visiting Yugoslavia in 1992 to play chess. His passport's been cancelled by the US, he's applied for citizenship in Germany (due to his German father) and has just been given asylum in Iceland. Don't we have bigger problems that trying to jail some guy who played chess over 10 years ago?

The Plot Thickens...
Recently my beloved husband was, justifiably so, incredibly pleased with himself to have discovered the murderer early in the course of a murder mysery he was reading. Similarly, I was taken aback when watching a mystery movie to discover my prime suspect had, in fact, become victim number two.

What is it about mysteries that are so compelling? Is it as simple as the comfort derived from knowing that the bad guy will get caught and there will be justice? Certainly that's part of it. In today's world when everything seems overly complicated and justice often dictated by public opinion, there is a level of satisfaction in knowing that Hercule Poirot or Lord Peter Whimsey or whoever will solve the crime and the perpetrator will be punished.

And speaking of punishment, I am truly glad the Scott Peterson trial is over. I am, however, apalled at the people who aplauded when the death penalty was announced. Even more so when I saw a woman being interviewed by the local news about how glad she was he was going to die, and then driving off in her SUV with a pro-life sticker. Does anyone else see this as contradictory? If life is sacred to you, then all life should be sacred -- even the life of a conviced killer. And nobody's death, even someone who may have done evil things, should ever be a cause of rejoicing.

Man, Philadelphia is one tough town

Recently police in Philadelphia arrested and handcuffed a 10-year old girl for bringing a pair of scissors to school in her backpack. They have since apologized. Personally, I think they were right. How proud I am to live in a country where I am protected from children armed with arts-and-crafts supplies. Do you have any idea how dangerous glitter can be in the hands of someone determined to do harm?

Somewhere along the line, America has lost all common sense. OK, scary as it is, I understand that a few troubled kids may try to bring guns and knives to school with them. But a little girl with scissors? Please. What lack of judgement decides that this is an offense deserving of handcuffing and arrest? Take the scissors away, fine. Send her to the principal's office, not jail. Good lord, people, where are your brains? Laws against bringing weapons to school were meant to cover automatic rifles, not some poor kid innocently bringing in scissors with no intent to harm.

Perhaps it's just Philadelphia, a town so tough that they once infamously booed Santa Claus at a sporting event. A town where the previous football stadium had its own holding cell and courtroom. But I know it's not limited to the "city of brotherly love." All across the US people are overreacting. Grandmothers who can't bring knitting needles onto airplanes because they may decide to purl a flight attendant. (Personally, if you're so terrified of knitting needles that you'd rather give up control of the plane rather than be poked by one should pretty much prevent you from being a flight attendant in my book.)

It would all be hilarious if it weren't so terrifying. That hated class of people known as "spokespersons" are notorious for comments like "well, those are the rule and we can't make exceptions." To which I can only ask "why not?" Why not use a little common sense. Why not understand that there's a huge difference between trying to bring a stick of dynamite onto an airplane and someone trying to come on with a manicure set that includes cuticle scissors? And, above all, why not realize that we're more in danger by continuing to foster this climate of fear in which individual rights are trampled on than we ever can be by a 10-year old with office supplies?

It hurt me...but then I got better

What is it with publishers? Why is it the review quotes that they choose to put on the covers of books always make me want to throw the book across the room rather than part with $15 to buy the damned thing?

Today I went to the library (god bless libraries!) to get this month's book group selection (For Kings and Planets by Ethan Canin) and found this quote on the cover: "Shimmering...luminous...For Kings and Planets leaves you wounded and healed." This comment (from the NY Times) does not fill me with confidence.

I do not wish my books to wound me. I mean if they are going to wound me, it's very considerate of them to heal me as well, but I really don't want to be wounded, thanks all the same. I want my books to entertain me, make me laugh, make the think, take me away from my world and show me another world. But I do not want them to wound me.

I am, however, comforted by the fact that this book is hardly likely to wound me. I seem to be invulnerable to book reviews. I have yet to have my life affirmed by any book described as "life-affirming." Novels practically guaranteed to change me have yet to do more than make me nauseous. And anything that has the word "moving" in any of the chosen review quotes usually means, as far as I'm concerned, pretentious and dull.

For Kings and Planets has another quote that describes it as: "Masterful...a classic parable of the human condition."

Um...what exactly is the human condition? I've never been able to figure that out. Perhaps after reading this book and deciphering the parable I'll be able to understand what the human condition is, but truly I'm mystified. Various other novels have been touted as "touching on," "commenting on," "explaining," "challenging" and otherwise denting the ever-present human condition, and yet here I am, thousands of books later and still none the wiser about what this damned condition is. You'd think, as a human, that I should know this. In fact you'd think, as a human, it would be a requirement for membership in the homo sapien club. And yet here I sit, clueless about the human condition.

I think that's why I like animals so much. Animals rarely, if ever, have enough pretention to refer to an exploration of the "canine condition," or the "avian condition."

Plots, dammit, I want plots, not "a breathtaking commentary" on anything.

Why can't people write anymore?

I do not want to be remodeled

What is with the current trend towards making over your friends? So-called "fashion experts" ambush poor innocent people because, according to their friends, they need help. If my friends tried to do that to me, I'd be pissed. Yes, I know I am not fashionable and guess what? I like it that way. I dress the way I do with malace aforethought -- because I prefer to be me and not some Nordstrom clone.

Houses too, are unsafe. A husband goes away for the weekend and comes home to find that his wife has brought in a team of decorators to turn their bedroom into an Arabian Nights retreat, or their living room into a "gracious entertainment space." I would never do something so drastic without my husband's input. Worse, they spring it on the poor guy on TV where he really cannot say "holy shit, this looks like crap," and must, instead, smile bravely while pretending that he's always wanted to sleep in a canopy bed.

I admit that I'd love to redo my house (well, buy a house and then have the freedom to redo it), but I would be incredibly upset if my husband snuck behind my back and turned our kitchen into a Tuscan bakery. No thanks.

Baby, it's cold outside...

OK, not Maine cold, but cold enough to remind this California native of her thin blood. For days now I've wandered around bundled up in layers and have begun a serious relationship with my hot water bottle. It's nicely atmospheric, though. There's something about the cold night air, fragrent with the scent of woodsmoke. The fugitive puff of air that I exhale. The coziness of soft gloves and a favorite scarf. It's a wonderful excuse for mugs of hot tea, rereading favorite books, and indulging in long, hot baths. With Christmas fast approaching, it also makes a nice accompaniement for the white twinkle lights that dot the neighborhood. But truthfully, I dread next month's heating bill.

I have nothing to say and I'm saying it
How is it possible that there are still books in my "to be read" pile and yet I can't find anything to read? Ever look at a book you bought years ago and still haven't cracked open and asked yourself "why did I buy this?" I have a few books like that for which I have no answer. Perhaps I should read them and find out what appealed to me in the first place.

I know the Republicans won the election, but do they have to be so damned smug about it? They're truly insufferable.

Why are old movies so much better than new ones? In part I believe it's because of character actors. We don't really have them anymore. Or sure, you might recognize the hotel clerk as the guy in the Mazda ad, but it's not the same as the stable of truly great and memorable character actors of the golden age of Hollywood. Thelma Ritter, Eric Blore, "Cuddles" Sakall, Mary Wickes...they made every seen they were in an interesting, frequently hilarious part of the overall film. Today so-called character actors get to be seen taking Tom Cruise's order in a restaurant scene and that's pretty much it. Back then the character actors were given life. Of course back then movies had scripts instead of just special effects and plots.

Lately my beloved has been playing lots of old jazz and blues vinyl. This makes me very happy. There's been some great music around our house recently.

You know the hardest thing about being unemployed and having to watch finances? It's not that I can't go crazy in Borders....it's that I can't write large checks to every wonderful cause out there. I got used to that, now I have to not feel anything when I throw solicitation letters unopened into the recycle bag. It makes me very sad.

My husband is the greatest guy in the world. No debate.

Why did the people across the street start painting their house yesterday 20 minutes before the sun went down? Odd. People's behavior always fascinates me.

Today...
...the weather matches my mood. Gray. Cloudy. Overcast. It's that kind of day in my brain. Between 4 more years of Bush and my ongoing and, to date, fruitless search for a job, I must admit I'm not really in my happy place. Torn between my desire to make enough money to buy a house and my desire to save the world, I find I can't do either. Non-profits will only pay for Administrative Assistants (for which I'm overqualified) or Executive Directors (for which I'm underqualified). And in the business world, there's nothing going of any interest. Oh yeah, there are jobs, but one of the reasons why I quit IBM is because I was tired of working for just a paycheck. I need more. I need to feel like I'm doing something, not just taking up space. After having taken that stand, do I really want to go write tech manuals for a hardware company? Um...no. Aside from the fact that the work and the industry (sorry geeks) sound deadly dull....it would be just another paycheck.

I want the impossible. I want to make a living as an artist. I want to be creative. I want to fight the forces of evil. And yes, dammit, I want a house!

So it's gray in my head. And outside.

Anyone want to hire a depressed writer?

Damn, Damn, Damn!!!
Four more years of George Bush. I can't believe it. How stupid can America be? Apparently stupid enough to keep Bush in office for a second term. How in the name of sanity could anyone believe he's done a good enough job as President to be given four more years? An unjust war. Thousands of civilian and military casualties with no end in sight. A debt so large that it'll take generations to pay off. And yet he wins. I'm angry, confused, and just plain stunned. I guess every right-wing, SUV-driving, militaristic, Christian zealot in the US turned out to keep little Georgy in office. I'm furious and so very, very disappointed. I had hoped to wake up this morning in a new world, where humanity was valued, tolerance was preached, and sanity ruled. I was wrong.

Thanks to all the thousands of people who worked for the Kerry campaign. To all the people who made phone calls, staffed tables, went door-to-door, and gave up vacation time to visit swing states. Please know that your efforts are appreciated.

Truly, I could just cry.

Counting down...

Waiting for vacations is truly a painful process. Even for me, currently unemployed and loving every minute of it, the prospect of getting away, seeing new things and having adventures is almost too intoxicating to comprehend. A few days ago, my husband asked if I'd mind if we put our vacation off a week to give him more breathing room at work. "No problem," says I in one of my generous moods. And now it feels as if someone has put Christmas back a month. I can't wait. I find myself glancing at the maps lying innocently in a pile on the table and feeling that desperate sense of wanderlust come over me. I find myself doing laundry and thinking yes or no as each item makes the cut in my mental packing list. I'm spreading pre-trip errands out like some sort of shopping Advent calendar: today I get film, tomorrow I'll pick up batteries, on Thursday I should hit the library.

I feel like a little kid, stamping my foot and screaming "I wanna go now!!!" as I pass by the suitcase on my way to the exercise mat. And while I may be engaged in cleaning the kitchen or reviewing a CD, the truth is my brain is already on the road. It left last week and hasn't sent a postcard yet. I have no idea where it is, but it definately isn't here. I just hope I pass it on the road somewhere.

11 days to go...

Vote, dammit!

I was at a family gathering this weekend when the subject turned, dangerously enough, to politics. One of my brothers said he really doesn’t like Bush, but also doesn’t like Kerry that much…so he’s just not going to vote.

I wanted to scream.

Of all the possible decisions to make in this election, if you want Bush out of office, not voting is the worst thing to do. A non-vote is basically a vote for Bush.

There are only two people who stand a reasonable chance of winning this election (sorry Mr. Nader). So if you feel (as I do), that President Bush is a disastrous leader that has done serious damage to this country, then you must vote for Kerry…that’s the only way that Bush can lose.

The cats come back...

All of life’s rich pageant seems to get enacted in our backyard thanks to an ensemble cast of vagrant cats that pad endlessly through the property. At the moment, from the office window, I can see no fewer than three cats…none of which we own.

There’s the long grey stripy one stretched out in a patch of shade. The pale Siamese-ish one sleeping on the rail of the fence. And the brown one with the reddish hindquarters is curled up in an empty planter box.

At the moment, the cast seems to be resting between takes. Earlier this morning however, not a dry eye in the house could be found as the balcony scene from Romero and Juliet took place between a smitten kitten and a big orange Tom with a decidedly dusty air. With elocution worthy of a Victorian preacher, they delivered their lines so piercingly that they drowned out the Latin jazz I had playing on the stereo.


It all takes place out there. Love and death. Alliances and wars. The miracle of birth and the commonplace occurrence of cat poop on the lawn. We’ve had kittens and commandos fighting for supremacy of the most favored spots: under the lounge chair, on top of the fence, in the planter. We’ve had unwelcome midnight serenades that have kept us awake, and indignant mama cats have yelled us at when we’ve dared to water our own yard.

Conversation with our next-door-neighbor has led us to believe these strays are all fed by the neighbor next to them. Neighbors who do not, apparently, believe in spaying or neutering cats. We’ve had at least two and possibly as many as 4 litters of kittens in our yard looking untouchably adorable and causing us much worry. (Two animal lovers who can do nothing to protect little kittens wandering around next to a very busy street…very stressful).

My husband and I would love to have a pet, but we can’t. So until we have our own place, we live with the ironic fact that our yard has the pets we are not allowed to own. And, if nothing else, it keeps things interesting.

Thank you BBC America

Last night after watching the very funny comedy My Family, on BBC America, my husband turned to me and asked “why are the British so much better at television than we are?”

I think it’s because we have too much TV. The British don’t have 147 channels to choose from, so the availability of airtime is limited. I think, therefore, there’s a higher level of quality because in order for a program to fit into one of the few spots on TV, it has to be good.

In America television, like most other things in American culture, quality takes a back seat to quantity. If there are 100 plus networks trying to fill the airwaves 24-hours a day, you’re going to get a lot of crap. After all, the can only show so many reruns of I Dream of Jeannie and Different Strokes. So it seems that any lame idea has its chance at getting on the air, if only to do nothing much than to kill time.

It goes hand-in-hand with that odd assemblage of American society that seems to demand their 15-minutes of fame. Like the instant so-called “celebrities” that are created out of tabloid mini-dramas, bad television arises, captures attention like a fat woman in too-tight neon green Capri pants, and then disappears (one hopes) as quickly as they came.

And so since it’s all about filling time rather than being good, you find that television is crammed with programs featuring celebrities playing poker, talk shows hosted by has beens that you can’t remember, freakishly strong Norwegian men pulling semis with their teeth, and shows that teach you how to redo your bathroom for under $50 and using materials scrounged from garage sale leftovers.

But the English, bless them, still like good acting and intelligent scripts. Oh sure, they have their share of crap too, but even their crap has a brain.

So bravo for BBC America. For My Family, The Office, As Time Goes By, and all those yummy mysteries. And thank you for a job well done.

I hate IBM

I think most people have an unwritten list in their heads of things they know they do no want to do, try, or eat. For instance, my list includes: I never want to spend time in a Cambodian prison, I never want to meet a Klan member, and I never want to have a bikini wax. Also on my list…I never want to work for IBM.

Once again, Kafka is my personal guardian angel and the company for which I worked was acquired by the very corporation I used to hold up as the example of all that is evil and wrong about huge megapocalyptic companies.

The fact that I lasted an entire year still seems amazing. Now that I am out, I cannot believe I survived that long. Of course, it wasn’t without cost. I was miserable every day for that entire year. The toxic environment (and no, I don’t mean asbestos ceilings and acid water…I mean an atmosphere of stress and conformity) was so bad that I (like others) began to exhibit physical symptoms (migraines, back aches, etc.) I hated the lack of creativity, the endless pointless rules, the constant demands to comply with this standard and conform to that.

IBM is no place for a creative, freethinking, rule-breaker like I. And I’m damned glad to be out.

So here’s some career advice. If you want to stay sane, have fun, be different, and try new things…don’t work for IBM.

Hmm…maybe I have spent time in a Cambodian prison…