Back Down

Way back in the olden days, the general public never knew anything about actors except which films they had starred in. For the most part, there were never films about an actor's private life until after they had died.

There was a president in a wheelchair and nobody even knew he was handicapped. Now we know the intricate details of a former first lady's medical condition. There are gay people who've lived with their partners for decades and may not be able to find out the status of a partner in a hospital, but we know about Hillary Clinton's brain clot?

The fact that we have a tv show that tells us the details of Khloe Kardashian's uterus? Granted, she is an adult who made the decision to make her infertility struggles public. But I think she has made a mistake. I don't believe someone should be able to be famous for ... nothing.

Dance Moms could be a great show, if it featured what the moms do for their daughters in relation to dance. Instead, it's the teacher manipulating the students and mothers into frenzies, pitting them against each other, and the moms constantly sniping at each other, exchanging petty insults I could have come up with in seventh grade. My mother spent tons of time driving me to and from dance class, sometimes sitting in the reception area through the classes, and I assure you she was NEVER decked out in a dress, with full hair and makeup.

I just want everyone to back up a bit. Take a little pride in their talents, and showcase them, and ONLY them. Here's the press release I would like to see regarding Hillary Clinton's health: Former first lady and current U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton was hospitalized on Wednesday for a non-life threatening medical condition. During her hospitalization, Jane Schmane, Head of Blah, will be covering for Ms. Clinton. We wish Ms. Clinton a speedy and full recovery. That's it. We don't need the details. It's none of our business. Why the hell do we need to know the medical intricacies of a non-family member? Does Hillary Clinton expect a get-well card from us? Should we tweet Bill?

I don't want to know why Bethenny Frankel is getting divorced. Hell, I don't even need to know that she's headed in that direction. Tell when her next book or product debut. The end.

We need to take things down a notch here. I never thought I would spend time thinking about how to be ignorant, but right now, that's the direction I'm headed in. I want to be ignorant of these things.

Grannies

I just realized today that I assume all old ladies are grannies, but pretty soon I'm going to be one of those old ladies and won't be a granny. Perhaps I should put it on my list of things to change about myself, right below "Say 'you're welcome' instead of 'no problem' and right above "Stop giving dirty looks to idiots who press the button for the wrong floor on the elevator."

Yesterday an old lady showed up at work. One of those super duper oldies who is hunched over at the shoulders and shakes and takes careful steps. She arrived during a very busy moment - four phone lines were ringing and another person was also standing at the counter needing my attention.

Many moons ago I worked at a tennis club that was often swamped and got told, "Always help the person standing in front of you before tending to the phones. That person made the effort to get in their car and come here." I have carried that with me for more than a dozen years. The other person standing there just wanted to serve me (not me personally, but I am allowed to accept service) so it was easy to get rid of him quickly.

The old lady was coming to drop off documents for our subtenant and pick up a letter. I knew this because one of our subtenants had called to ask if she could have me print out a two-page letter for me to give the client. The old lady needed to go through each concept slowly though, and I had all those phone calls holding.

One of the things I learned about old people in Florida is that they are used to be dismissed - they are our throwaways (in America). I didn't want to do that to her. Despite how slow she was, she was kind. I asked if she could give me a second, and I'd be right back to walk her through this. As I blew through calls, it seems she hadn't realized they'd been waiting, so when I got back to her she began to try to rush.

On our reception counter, we have about half a dozen business card stands, all filled with business cards of different attorneys, and she knocked over three of them. I told her not to worry, that I'd get them. You could see how much of an effort it was for her to move, and the idea of her crouching down, balancing to scoop up scattered business cards? No.

Today another old lady showed up, and instantly I smiled at her, "You must be the sister of the lady from yesterday - you look just like her!" She smiled and nodded, and her sister poked her head around to grin at me. They were so cute. They spent a few hours in our office, dropping their canes, slowly and carefully going up and down the stairs to my sunken living room to use the restroom, and when they were leaving they both wished me a happy Thanksgiving in case they didn't see me again. Then the first one I'd met yesterday reached out to me saying, "I'm sorry again about the cards yesterday; I was so embarrassed."

I waved my hand and told her, "I've already forgotten it happened," which of course wasn't true. It was was surprising to hear she was embarrassed. Anyone could have that happen. For some reason I always think of old people as not getting embarrassed anymore. Like they're above it, or something.

Oh Hey

I think about blogging often, but ... yeah, there's no good reason why I don't. I'm not super busy, there's been no dramatic happening, I haven't been too depressed, just ... haven't.

Yesterday I got home after a week of house and dog-sitting at Crazy Girl and Golden Boy's house. Right before they left, there'd been some sort of kerfluffle which caused the internet to die.

At the library to use their computers, I had to wait in line but that was okay because, you know - there are books to read while waiting! Here's how you should picture it: there is a free-standing counter with five computers. Facing the back of the screens are five chairs. If you sit in Chair #1, you are first to use a computer when one frees up. Computer users get 15 minutes of computer time before the computer automatically kicks you off. If nobody is waiting in the chairs, you can use a second 15-minute block.

When I arrived, all the chairs were occupied. The guy sitting next to me looked how Santa would look if he'd gone to prison, lost some belly, and been forced to cut his hair upon arrival, but now some of it had grown back. Oh, and zero jollyness. He told me that on Sunday afternoons, the computers always have a long wait. I replied with something non-committal, and he continued, telling me about how on Sundays homeless people get kicked out of shelters for four hours while the shelters get cleaned, and the library is a great place to go.

Then he proceeded to tell me he'd been homeless, and a friend had been holding his computer for him, but then the friend gave it away. "Nice friend." The guy was very zen about it. "Well, it was for a long time." This guy was not crazy. When I started working for the Turkey a year and a half ago, I had enough money for one more month of rent. Then I was going to (squat until I got evicted) begin the descent into homelessness.

I used to think homeless people were homeless because insurance companies won't pay for mentally ill people to get all the treatment they need before kicking them out of the mental wards of hospitals. But after this experience and how crazy it made me, I realize facing homelessness, and being homeless can make you crazy. Priorities shift and then change.

My way of dealing with the impending doom was to compartmentalize. The morning I applied for food stamps was a multi-hour project with excellent people-watching. Upon leaving the food stamp place, I raced to meet my parents who were in town, saw a movie with them, and then went to dinner in North Beach. The dichotomy blew my mind and I had a hard time getting through dinner (and it wasn't just because the waiter weirdly decided to ignore everything I said) (I am not playing victim - even my father noticed it).

It strikes me as very impressive to meet someone who has been homeless and to see they're not mentally ill. Of course, the library guy might be. Maybe he was in a cycle of taking his meds, or maybe being in the library was his safe, happy place and nothing was triggering him. But in my older age I seek out good, sparkles and sunshine, and I would like to think he went through something horrific and came out of it intact.

He's not homeless anymore, though (first world problem alert) he doesn't have a computer. Hence, the library. I don't know what we chatted about. The Giants? The weather? I was so focused on not being nosy by asking inappropriate questions about his homelessness (how long? how terrified were you? how did you deal with being terrified?) that I wasn't fully paying attention to whatever we were discussing. 

I love closure. In all forms. When I write the letter "o" the two ends always overlap. There's certainly never an "o" written by me where the two ends don't quite meet. I like to say goodbye, rather than drift apart. If you tell me about a fight with a friend, I want to know how it was resolved. If we met, I will think of you 16 years from that meeting and wonder where you are, what you're doing. It's beyond closure.

The (non) homeless guy finally got a computer, so our conversation ended. A bit later I got one too. When I was walking away, I saw the guy was still using his 15 minutes. One of the things I strongly disliked in my family was that it seemed like our family motto was, "Don't get involved; worry about yourself." It was as if because my bedroom was always a mess and I'd never done my homework, I couldn't possibly help someone who was crying by offering them a tissue, or letting someone know they'd dropped something. It drove me nuts. I didn't, and still don't, understand it. But I don't live under their rules.

Before I could change my mind, I doubled-back and gently touched the formerly homeless guy on the arm. "I'm glad you're not homeless anymore," I told him. He laughed. "Me too." I wanted good closure. "I hope it stays that way; good luck." He turned away from the computer to look at me. "Hey, thanks." I waved and went to the elevators.

Maybe he thinks I'm crazy. It doesn't matter. To know how low I was and how far I've come... and I didn't even wind up homeless. I just wanted to acknowledge his achievement. The impressiveness of it. Because it really, really is. I wanted him to know somebody else saw that. You don't get a bonus for getting a roof over your own head. The bonus is the roof.

One of our neighborhood homeless guys just died a couple of days ago. There are flowers and a little memorial set up for him.

Parking Wars

I love this show. Here's the premise: a camera crew follows a parking enforcement officer (or two) around a city as they give tickets and boot cars. It's always in what I think of as second tier cities - Providence, RI, Detroit, Philly, etc.

I love this show because I am fascinated by people's reactions to getting a ticket. I got a ticket once. Yes, once. I was 20, and illegally parked outside of a restaurant to run in and pick up my order instead of trying to find a parking spot in a mostly full parking lot. Do you know why I did that? Because, like the guy who recently jumped into the tiger den at the Bronx Zoo, I momentarily lost any semblance of common sense. Thank goodness my lack of sense simply resulted in a little embarrassment and a loss of $25 or whatever it was, and didn't result in multiple broken bones, and national public humiliation. I don't know why I thought my desire to save some time was more important than following laws, but it's over 15 years later now and I've never done that again. As someone who spent a good portion of 1995 being carried on back boards in and out of ambulances, I should really have known better.

When the ticketing officer came over to me with the ticket, I tried to talk my way out of it. He politely but firmly refused my (admittedly very lame) excuse. I mumbled a thank you while taking the ticket, because while I may have been a horrible kid, I was at least a horrible kid who learned good manners.

I am amazed by all the people on Parking Wars who scream, curse and threaten the parking people. I guess that's what makes for good tv. I wonder if they act like assholes because there's a camera crew. Ten years ago, when reality shows were newer, yes maybe. These days, I am guessing having a camera in your face is simply not as big a deal.

Though I have still not been able to wrap my brain around how people can behave so badly, treat others so poorly, and not be horribly ashamed of their behavior. The other thing I don't understand is the sense of entitlement so many of these people have. I want to understand the psychology behind being angry at yourself for a stupid decision and taking it out on the person who forces you to acknowledge those stupid decisions.

Hey all this talk of driving reminds me - can I borrow your car for an hour or so? I like to drive every few months. I'm terrified of forgetting how. Thanks, and I promise not to get any tickets.

Tell Me to Keep My Mouth Shut

Turkey got a new personal assistant a couple of months ago. Now somebody new slices his salami. Let's say the new personal assistant's name is Nicki. I like Nicki as a person. She's fun to talk with, and it'd be fun to hang out with her. For maybe two hours, three hours tops. She's got a frenetic energy to her that, mixed with Red Bull, I find a little exhausting. She's 28, and acts like it. The office manager is 11 years older than I am, and even with that big of an age-gap, we both feel like Nicki's distinctly in a different generation than we are.

Nicki confuses aggressive with assertive. Nicki thinks she is the best thing since organic, whole-wheat, locally sliced bread. She does not know how to pull her own weight. She thinks she is smarter than everyone around her. Now, to be perfectly honest, I think with a little bit of training, I could do a better job than Turkey at what he does. But Nicki has never worked in an office together, and based on how she gets along with all of us, she clearly failed kindergarten.

Nicki works remotely sometimes. She is supposed to be able to access our Outlook system via her iPhone. Yet she is forever calling me from afar and saying, "Hey, can you give me Julie Ducket's phone number?" Here's the wild and crazy thing: she does this when she's in the office too. Forever claiming she can't find someone within the Contacts. I've told her more than once that she needs to have access to Turkey's calendar and contacts, and if she doesn't, to call IT and make them make it happen. I guess it's easier for her to just ask me.

All work emails sent to Nicki are supposed to both go to her work email address, and automatically forward to her gmail. She has a habit of not doing tasks Turkey gives her, and then claiming she didn't receive the email telling her to do said task. Last week she claimed she only gets emails forwarded to gmail if the Outlook program is open on her work computer. I don't believe that, but fine, so the second Turkey relayed Nicki was telling him this, I got out of my seat, went to her computer, and opened Outlook.

Three hours later when she still hadn't done the task, she told Turkey I had only turned on her computer. That I hadn't understood her Outlook program also needed to be open. Bullshit. She just didn't want to do what she'd been told.

The very first task Nicki was given two months ago, was not done. Office Manager and I were supposed to do it last week since Nicki didn't do it, but we were both busy doing our regular work and didn't get around to it. Tomorrow, Nicki leaves for Germany for three weeks (don't ask) and her substitute started today. I decided to punt, and gave him this file cabinet project from hell.

When I told Nicki that, she was happy, and I gently said I'd gotten the impression she simply was never going to do it. She nodded in agreement, and told me, "That ... stuff, isn't my forte." Yeah, no shit. Seems like a lot of things fall into that category. Problem is, when Nicki doesn't do things, someone else has to do them. It is not acceptable (to me) when that person is me!

Get Off Your Cell Phone

Last night after work I went to buy dinner, and found myself at the fish counter of a grocery store. Since they were on sale I got bay scallops, and then decided to buy a bit of shrimp. After I'd asked the fish guy for the shrimp, I kind of mumbled to myself, "I forgot to say please..." but he heard me talking and asked what I'd said. So I repeated it, and then restated my request with the please.

He laughed and told me it happens ALL the time (emphasis his, not mine), especially with people who are on their cell phones. After I had all my seafood and had thanked the fish guy for it, I stood there for a minute trying to figure out what else I needed before going to the cash registers. While thinking, I absentmindedly watched the couple next to me ask for their fish. They were younger than I was, but not on their phones. They didn't say please. The fish guy winked at me.