There's a woman who works in my building who is exactly - to the day - one month older than I am. We are in our late 30's. Honest to god, this woman has more aches and pains, trouble, and assorted randomness in-general than anyone else I know.
I get to work typically 1 to 1-1/2 hours before her, partially for the better commute, but partially because I know that I can crank out a ton of work before she arrives. That way, when she gets here, I have the time to listen to the verbal diarrhea that will become Issue of the Day.
Her physical pain I COULD understand and sympathize with...if it wasn't for the constance of complaint. After a while...suck it up and deal...or stay home and whine there. The other stuff is, to me, truly odd. I'll call it: empathy by proxy.
Hypothetically, let's just say that one morning there's a plane crash in Bangladesh. News of the crash is all over the radio/TV/internet. This woman will more than likely come in the office telling me how sad she is about it and how sick she feels about it, her stomach is upset, and she can't even function, feeling sorry for those poor people and their families.
I'm sorry, do WHAT, now?? Is she from Bangladesh? Does she have family in Bangladesh? Does she have friends or co-workers traveling in the area? A giant, resounding NO to all of the above. ...and she's serious. She'll chat with her folks or her sister or some friend about it on the phone for a while (oh, and me, in person, for longer than I care to). For real. I pray, on a regular basis, for her to have sick days or vacation time.
Please, please make it stop.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
There Goes the Neighborhood
I'm visiting my hometown, east of San Francisco, and I had an unexpected drive this morning. I planned to meet a friend for breakfast but was surprised to find the car battery dead when trying to leave the house. Called the breakfast place, found my friend, explained the situation, and moved on about my day.
Called AAA, they were here in no time, and got me jumped (and I liked it). The guy recommended that I not pass go, not collect $200, but by all means drive to the nearest place to get a new battery. So, off I go.
My hometown is an island - not Alcatraz, ya jokers - with about, oh, population of 70,000 I'd say, and is probably not more than 10 square miles of land, give or take. We used to have a naval base, but has been shut down for many years and the land is rented out to movie & TV production companies. Very picturesque, lovely views of the Oakland hills, south bay, and San Francisco itself.
I haven't lived here for 15 years, so driving around I thought I had a pretty good idea of where auto row/car parts stores would be. It was crazy to drive around and actually look at what my little city has become.
Tillie's Diner on Webster looks like it closed, that makes me sad. Lincoln's Address, the most hilariously named bar on Lincoln Avenue is now called something else. South Shore Shopping Center now has some fancy glitzed-up name and newer, better stores. Who knew my little hometown would tear down Penney's and the old Woolworth's and end up with a Barnes & Noble, Trader Joe's, and Kohl's? There are beautiful Victorian and Queen Anne homes that are now being lovingly restored, which is great to see. Streets have been re-named...all in all, the same but not the same.
Auto row doesn't exist anymore, but thankfully a Kragen did. Thanks, Kragen, I'm all charged up. Literally.
Called AAA, they were here in no time, and got me jumped (and I liked it). The guy recommended that I not pass go, not collect $200, but by all means drive to the nearest place to get a new battery. So, off I go.
My hometown is an island - not Alcatraz, ya jokers - with about, oh, population of 70,000 I'd say, and is probably not more than 10 square miles of land, give or take. We used to have a naval base, but has been shut down for many years and the land is rented out to movie & TV production companies. Very picturesque, lovely views of the Oakland hills, south bay, and San Francisco itself.
I haven't lived here for 15 years, so driving around I thought I had a pretty good idea of where auto row/car parts stores would be. It was crazy to drive around and actually look at what my little city has become.
Tillie's Diner on Webster looks like it closed, that makes me sad. Lincoln's Address, the most hilariously named bar on Lincoln Avenue is now called something else. South Shore Shopping Center now has some fancy glitzed-up name and newer, better stores. Who knew my little hometown would tear down Penney's and the old Woolworth's and end up with a Barnes & Noble, Trader Joe's, and Kohl's? There are beautiful Victorian and Queen Anne homes that are now being lovingly restored, which is great to see. Streets have been re-named...all in all, the same but not the same.
Auto row doesn't exist anymore, but thankfully a Kragen did. Thanks, Kragen, I'm all charged up. Literally.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Rambo
Once upon a time in Fall 2002, I stage-managed the musical Gypsy. In prep for it, I was in constant summertime contact with our director, who was flying in for rehearsals from New York City. Really nice lady, and I knew working with her would be great - which it was. Her only true request: Mama Rose needs a REAL dog. Getting a trained dog was out of the question for the amount of money we'd have to spend.
Stage managers aren't typically involved in prop purchases, but for this particular theater at this particular time, I figured I could tackle it. ...and is a live dog REALLY a prop??
Since the cast was set and I had been in contact with all of them anyway for various scheduling, costume fittings and other random reasons, I decided to e-mail them and my crew en masse to ask if anyone might have a small dog already, handy and up for the task. Responses were all similar: "I have a doberman," "I have a St. Bernard." Fantastic. Until: "I don't, my my next-door neighbor is affiliated with a shelter and I'm sure she can help you." ...and so, St. Francis Rescue, Inc., came into my life.
Theater administration decided it would be great to get a stray and have audience members meet the dog after the show, learn it's story, contribute to the rescue league and maybe raffle the dog off at the end to the people who could provide the best home.
St. Francis called me to say they had the perfect stray: Pomeranian, red, male, approximately one year old, blind in one eye from birth. The blindness meant he was "on sale," and I had already told the theater I'd fork out the fee to adopt the dog. He was found wandering the mean streets of Birmingham and we could go pick him up right away. "We," by the way...was me. Perfect! Cut and dried, right? Wrong.
St. Francis representatives had to do a house visit to inspect the home where the dog would live. I had to fill out umpteen pages of information: personal info, personal banking info, credit info, have I ever euthanized a pet, would I ever euthanize a pet, what circumstances would it take for me to euthanize a pet, would I ever abandon a pet, had I ever abandoned a pet, mother's maiden name, future plans if I died unexpectedly as to what would happen to this pet...you get the idea. I wish that human parents were required to fill out as much paperwork to adopt human babies. Truly.
I was given a polaroid photo (old school even then) of "Rambo," sitting happily on a sofa and was told that he was found wandering a laundromat parking lot in the heat of summer, all sad, and was currently living in a home with the laundromat manager, her small children, 17 other dogs and sleeping in a banana crate. How to break my heart into small pieces: tell me a story like that. Thankfully, my home passed muster and off I drove on Labor Day 2002 to get this dog.
I was greeted by a scary, cowboy-killer-smoking, 400-pound woman who informed me that, "Rambo don't take kindly to strangers," as I knelt down to meet him. He bounced up into my lap, licking my hands and face, not indicating in any way that I was someone to not take kindly to. He let me pick him up and he pretty much collapsed in my arms in a very contented way and nuzzled there. Break my heart into little tiny pieces some more, please. "Well, he seems to like you quite a lot! Congratulations, girl, you got you a new dog!!" Thanks, lady. I gave her a check for her vet (adopters pay the vet, who has already neutered and vaccinated them, gratis) and we were on our way. We stopped at the AL/GA border to get to know each other and he seemed like a very sweet, albeit skitterish, dog. Within a few hours: welcome to the stage - rehearsals, tech, previews, and run. What the heck did he sign up for??
He was not a fan of small children in any way, shape, or form. Baby June got nipped, but trust me, she deserved it. No blood drawn, just a warning snap. He was not a fan of the orchestra, bright lights, applause, or much else. He tolerated Mama Rose and the other folks who had to hold him onstage, but some nights didn't make it through the scenes he was supposed to be in. Our director and I thought he had been abused fairly severely, judging by his odd behavior. He had been placed in a bizarre situation, but still. He WAS a fan of the attention when people would meet him after show, and he had fun with the actors backstage. For the most part, he was happy astride my arm whilst carried around and otherwise happy being fed, walked, and left alone to sleep.
He got a photo and write-up in the AJC's Peach Buzz as the only actor in the show with his own dressing room, albeit a cage in the Managing Director's office.
Rambo had a "wrangler," one of the theater interns, who spoiled him rotten, and since he wasn't needed after Scene 4 or so, he spent each intermission and Act 2 with me in the booth. He followed me around everywhere I went, and does to this day. I try not to anthropomorphize, but I think that somehow he knows that he's leading a tremendously better life than he would have, had I not come along. I'm sure you've guessed by now: we didn't raffle him off - the rescue league put the kibosh on that from the get-go.
Nearly 7 years later, he's nearly blind in the other eye, can barely hear, and is generally a grumpy and mean old man. He still "loves" me, and is sweet to humans, as long as those humans don't smell like a vet's office. That said, I spent my lunch hour today taking him to the vet to board while I'm away. He is all teeth there; big red sticker on his file: "Will Bite!" ...and he ain't kiddin'. It was a long and painful check-in, poor fella.
So. Be good, Rambo. I'll be back before you know it.
Stage managers aren't typically involved in prop purchases, but for this particular theater at this particular time, I figured I could tackle it. ...and is a live dog REALLY a prop??
Since the cast was set and I had been in contact with all of them anyway for various scheduling, costume fittings and other random reasons, I decided to e-mail them and my crew en masse to ask if anyone might have a small dog already, handy and up for the task. Responses were all similar: "I have a doberman," "I have a St. Bernard." Fantastic. Until: "I don't, my my next-door neighbor is affiliated with a shelter and I'm sure she can help you." ...and so, St. Francis Rescue, Inc., came into my life.
Theater administration decided it would be great to get a stray and have audience members meet the dog after the show, learn it's story, contribute to the rescue league and maybe raffle the dog off at the end to the people who could provide the best home.
St. Francis called me to say they had the perfect stray: Pomeranian, red, male, approximately one year old, blind in one eye from birth. The blindness meant he was "on sale," and I had already told the theater I'd fork out the fee to adopt the dog. He was found wandering the mean streets of Birmingham and we could go pick him up right away. "We," by the way...was me. Perfect! Cut and dried, right? Wrong.
St. Francis representatives had to do a house visit to inspect the home where the dog would live. I had to fill out umpteen pages of information: personal info, personal banking info, credit info, have I ever euthanized a pet, would I ever euthanize a pet, what circumstances would it take for me to euthanize a pet, would I ever abandon a pet, had I ever abandoned a pet, mother's maiden name, future plans if I died unexpectedly as to what would happen to this pet...you get the idea. I wish that human parents were required to fill out as much paperwork to adopt human babies. Truly.
I was given a polaroid photo (old school even then) of "Rambo," sitting happily on a sofa and was told that he was found wandering a laundromat parking lot in the heat of summer, all sad, and was currently living in a home with the laundromat manager, her small children, 17 other dogs and sleeping in a banana crate. How to break my heart into small pieces: tell me a story like that. Thankfully, my home passed muster and off I drove on Labor Day 2002 to get this dog.
I was greeted by a scary, cowboy-killer-smoking, 400-pound woman who informed me that, "Rambo don't take kindly to strangers," as I knelt down to meet him. He bounced up into my lap, licking my hands and face, not indicating in any way that I was someone to not take kindly to. He let me pick him up and he pretty much collapsed in my arms in a very contented way and nuzzled there. Break my heart into little tiny pieces some more, please. "Well, he seems to like you quite a lot! Congratulations, girl, you got you a new dog!!" Thanks, lady. I gave her a check for her vet (adopters pay the vet, who has already neutered and vaccinated them, gratis) and we were on our way. We stopped at the AL/GA border to get to know each other and he seemed like a very sweet, albeit skitterish, dog. Within a few hours: welcome to the stage - rehearsals, tech, previews, and run. What the heck did he sign up for??
He was not a fan of small children in any way, shape, or form. Baby June got nipped, but trust me, she deserved it. No blood drawn, just a warning snap. He was not a fan of the orchestra, bright lights, applause, or much else. He tolerated Mama Rose and the other folks who had to hold him onstage, but some nights didn't make it through the scenes he was supposed to be in. Our director and I thought he had been abused fairly severely, judging by his odd behavior. He had been placed in a bizarre situation, but still. He WAS a fan of the attention when people would meet him after show, and he had fun with the actors backstage. For the most part, he was happy astride my arm whilst carried around and otherwise happy being fed, walked, and left alone to sleep.
He got a photo and write-up in the AJC's Peach Buzz as the only actor in the show with his own dressing room, albeit a cage in the Managing Director's office.
Rambo had a "wrangler," one of the theater interns, who spoiled him rotten, and since he wasn't needed after Scene 4 or so, he spent each intermission and Act 2 with me in the booth. He followed me around everywhere I went, and does to this day. I try not to anthropomorphize, but I think that somehow he knows that he's leading a tremendously better life than he would have, had I not come along. I'm sure you've guessed by now: we didn't raffle him off - the rescue league put the kibosh on that from the get-go.
Nearly 7 years later, he's nearly blind in the other eye, can barely hear, and is generally a grumpy and mean old man. He still "loves" me, and is sweet to humans, as long as those humans don't smell like a vet's office. That said, I spent my lunch hour today taking him to the vet to board while I'm away. He is all teeth there; big red sticker on his file: "Will Bite!" ...and he ain't kiddin'. It was a long and painful check-in, poor fella.
So. Be good, Rambo. I'll be back before you know it.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Si Mi Adoras…
…Bobby Cox: you’ll let Matt Diaz play more often
…Matt Diaz: you’ll hit a home run
…Tim Curry: you’ll make a good movie
…Mom: you’ll quit calling me every day
…Mother Nature: you’ll give me another summer of no triple-digit temps
…The Office: you won’t jump the shark now that Jim & Pam are pregnant
…This Blog: you won’t spoil The Office season finale for everyone who didn’t see it yet (Oops!)
…Matt Diaz: you’ll hit a home run
…Tim Curry: you’ll make a good movie
…Mom: you’ll quit calling me every day
…Mother Nature: you’ll give me another summer of no triple-digit temps
…The Office: you won’t jump the shark now that Jim & Pam are pregnant
…This Blog: you won’t spoil The Office season finale for everyone who didn’t see it yet (Oops!)
Saturday, August 8, 2009
A little tip from me to you
...turns out that when one puts one's blog notes in DRAFT, when one posts one's draft, one's draft is back-dated to when one began the draft.
"Business School" (below) was supposed to be dated today. Alas, its suddenly July again. Time doesn't fly after all.
"Business School" (below) was supposed to be dated today. Alas, its suddenly July again. Time doesn't fly after all.
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