This will be the first Thanksgiving without my Dad. Not Bio-Dad mind you, but Brit-Dad. (For a full differentiation, see www.gamecockmama.blogspot.com, but Brit-Dad was my stepfather).
Among others, one of my best friends, Maria, and her brother and aunt will be joining us for Thanksgiving this year. Maria is Argentinian, and of course does not make the long trek to South America for an American holiday. Last year she joined us, and it is quickly becoming tradition for her to do so every year. Aside this from being an assurance that we actually see each other once a year, she has (as a few of my friends have) quickly become a part of the family. Maria was with us for Dad's last Thanksgiving, and was fortunate enough to get to know him a little before he died. Like everyone who met him, she was enamored by his quick wit, jovial disposition, and general ability to see the humorous side of any given situation, and poke fun at those who couldn't.
With everything that's happened in the past year (the death of my Dad, my divorce), I've really come to a new understanding of what family really is. Of course I will be saying nothing new here, and as cliche'd a time to discuss the meaning of family this may be, the cliche' makes the statement no less true.
My closest friends - Sam, Maria, Yarnell, have seen the absolute worst of me. They've seen me through the brightest and darkest times of my life over the past few years, and are still there. They have exhibited unconditional love, and that is the purest definition of family.
Those who know both my mother and me well will probably tell you that aside from looks (that are decidedly Shealy), I inherited everything from my mother. And with that side of the family, I have much in common. But here's the thing - I'm not blood-related to any of them (aside form of course my Mom and Bio-Sis). My mother was adopted, as were my two first cousins. My English family is technically related through marriage, and yet I could tell you a trait I share with each of them. From this family to the relationship I have with my closest friends, I can tell you that family has absolutely nothing to do with DNA.
My Dad was not my biological father (though I am in the process of building some of the relationship with Bio-Dad that I lacked growing up), but he was very much my father. He shaped who I am today in so many ways. I see him in me all the time, even sometimes when I glance in the mirror. He taught me to question everything, to challenge even the seemingly obvious. He taught me to scratch the surface of any situation, disregarding any assumed facts. He helped teach me by example to get over my shyness by not taking myself so seriously.
Don't get me wrong - I have plenty in common with the Shealys, aside from looks. I notice it whenever I'm around my aunts, or when my sister and I have our rare-but-wonderful times away from everybody else. But so much of my character comes from the Silk side, so much of my early molding comes from the Davis side, so many of my values come from the Johnson-Eastman-Blanc side, that I could never claim one particular family as my own.
But I am extraordinarily grateful for them to have claimed me.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Everyday Animosity
Most of us consider ourselves nice people. Most of us - there are a few out there who take pride in their outward bitterness toward the world at large, but I believe they're in the minority. But they are there - they know who they are. I've planned their meetings.
But most of us really do believe we are nice people. By "most of us" I include the woman who, on the morning commute, pretends to not see me, or my signal as she continues up the road in the adjacent lane, about three miles per hour faster than me. "Most of us" includes the jerk who gets in my lane, right ahead of me, in the ever-persistent quest to just - be - one - more - car ahead. Really dude, you saved like a second in travel time.
"Most of us" includes the guy who cuts me off to steal the last empty pump at the gas station. It includes the man clearly yelling, veins-in-forehead visible, at the traffic light. Anger at an electric light. Really.
Unfortunately, this list also includes I - who swears at these people as I drive to work every morning. And yet the moment I step into work, I forget about all of it. None of these instances occur to me throughout the remainder of the day - not one. We all do this, on some level or another. Had we met any of these people in casual face-to-face conversation, there would be no rudeness, no glares, no finger gestures, as it's entirely unacceptable to do this when there are not two car windows separating you. It becomes socially awkward to vent your feelings honestly, however brash they may be, when out of the car.
But once out of the car, the animosity doesn't end. Workplace gossip, (telling someone something about someone else, just for the entertainment factor, completely disregarding the outcome), workplace politics, and the general smearing of the names of the people many of us see more than out own families - I don't get it. But I think it's a manifestation of the same road rage.
A guest who walks through the lobby - they may have a mullet, or their jeans may be exposing a quarter-moon, or they may simply look out of place, are relegated to a piece of walking entertainment value. I've been guilty of the quiet laughter as well - but lack of compassion is still a form of animosity.
Getting off the phone with a client and rolling eyes; sticking a middle finger at the wall when an annoying co-worker leaves the room; sending an email dripping in sarcasm from your perspective, syrupy sweet from that of the reader's. I've been guilty of some (okay, maybe all) of these things, but I know I'm not alone in this. I also know that when I see these people, I am genuinely happy to see them. I want to help them. I want to figure out how I can make their day, in some cases their life, a little easier.
And yet we return to the evening commute. We've forgotten all about the angers of the morning commute. And we find new ones. And we go home, and begin our evening rituals - cooking dinner, watching movies, working an hour longer, whatever they may be. And not once do we consider the levels of animosity we've exhibited. We don't consider the casual disdain of our fellow human beings as anything other than general annoyance.
We might have a glass of wine, then go to bed, and wake up - beginning the cycle anew.
Casual anger doesn't feel harmful. Not to ourselves, not to others. I would argue the contrary on both ends. These little episodes add up, make light work of eroding our basic human compassion.
We're so caught up in our little worlds being inconvenienced by the likes of others, we forget that they may be experiencing the same. My client rolls her eyes when she hangs up the phone with me. As I'm extending my middle finger to the empty doorway, my annoying co-worker is rolling their eyes, wishing they hadn't had to come talk to me. The aspiring gossip-columnist in the office secretly wonders what everyone has to say about him/her. The woman who didn't let me pass was so worried about a meeting she had that day, or the potential to be laid off, or the fight she had with her husband that morning, she was not remotely aware of a turn signal.
I'm not saying we should all stop, think, and find a way to play nice, both internally and externally. We're human, so it's just not going to happen - not all of the time.
But if just once a day, when you're tempted to act out in aggression, however inconsequential and meaningless it might seem to you, try - just for a moment - to understand your target's perspective.
We might actually get somewhere, and the morning commute could be just a little easier.
But most of us really do believe we are nice people. By "most of us" I include the woman who, on the morning commute, pretends to not see me, or my signal as she continues up the road in the adjacent lane, about three miles per hour faster than me. "Most of us" includes the jerk who gets in my lane, right ahead of me, in the ever-persistent quest to just - be - one - more - car ahead. Really dude, you saved like a second in travel time.
"Most of us" includes the guy who cuts me off to steal the last empty pump at the gas station. It includes the man clearly yelling, veins-in-forehead visible, at the traffic light. Anger at an electric light. Really.
Unfortunately, this list also includes I - who swears at these people as I drive to work every morning. And yet the moment I step into work, I forget about all of it. None of these instances occur to me throughout the remainder of the day - not one. We all do this, on some level or another. Had we met any of these people in casual face-to-face conversation, there would be no rudeness, no glares, no finger gestures, as it's entirely unacceptable to do this when there are not two car windows separating you. It becomes socially awkward to vent your feelings honestly, however brash they may be, when out of the car.
But once out of the car, the animosity doesn't end. Workplace gossip, (telling someone something about someone else, just for the entertainment factor, completely disregarding the outcome), workplace politics, and the general smearing of the names of the people many of us see more than out own families - I don't get it. But I think it's a manifestation of the same road rage.
A guest who walks through the lobby - they may have a mullet, or their jeans may be exposing a quarter-moon, or they may simply look out of place, are relegated to a piece of walking entertainment value. I've been guilty of the quiet laughter as well - but lack of compassion is still a form of animosity.
Getting off the phone with a client and rolling eyes; sticking a middle finger at the wall when an annoying co-worker leaves the room; sending an email dripping in sarcasm from your perspective, syrupy sweet from that of the reader's. I've been guilty of some (okay, maybe all) of these things, but I know I'm not alone in this. I also know that when I see these people, I am genuinely happy to see them. I want to help them. I want to figure out how I can make their day, in some cases their life, a little easier.
And yet we return to the evening commute. We've forgotten all about the angers of the morning commute. And we find new ones. And we go home, and begin our evening rituals - cooking dinner, watching movies, working an hour longer, whatever they may be. And not once do we consider the levels of animosity we've exhibited. We don't consider the casual disdain of our fellow human beings as anything other than general annoyance.
We might have a glass of wine, then go to bed, and wake up - beginning the cycle anew.
Casual anger doesn't feel harmful. Not to ourselves, not to others. I would argue the contrary on both ends. These little episodes add up, make light work of eroding our basic human compassion.
We're so caught up in our little worlds being inconvenienced by the likes of others, we forget that they may be experiencing the same. My client rolls her eyes when she hangs up the phone with me. As I'm extending my middle finger to the empty doorway, my annoying co-worker is rolling their eyes, wishing they hadn't had to come talk to me. The aspiring gossip-columnist in the office secretly wonders what everyone has to say about him/her. The woman who didn't let me pass was so worried about a meeting she had that day, or the potential to be laid off, or the fight she had with her husband that morning, she was not remotely aware of a turn signal.
I'm not saying we should all stop, think, and find a way to play nice, both internally and externally. We're human, so it's just not going to happen - not all of the time.
But if just once a day, when you're tempted to act out in aggression, however inconsequential and meaningless it might seem to you, try - just for a moment - to understand your target's perspective.
We might actually get somewhere, and the morning commute could be just a little easier.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
In Defense of Buffy
"Tact is just not saying true stuff. I'll pass." – Buffy the Vampire Slayer
“Camp: The Lie That Tells The Truth” – Phillip Core
If somebody mentions “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” what images immediately pop into your mind? If you’re flipping channels, and the info box at the bottom of the screen reads: “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” do you even bother to watch it for five seconds? I couldn’t previously blame anyone for the likely answers to these two questions, (I couldn’t even get past the name of the show), but about five or six years ago, while having a beer after work, decided to leave the show on for a few minutes. I’ve never looked back.
Here is a well-written, thoughtful show that dealt candidly with alienation, addiction, self-destruction, suicide, loss, grief, homosexuality, and self-mutilation - wrapped in a package of a silly teen drama. It used allegory to deal with everything from homelessness and heroin addiction to puppy love and puberty.
It dealt with the most serious questions and sober answers of life, with flooring frankness and humor. Mostly though, I think its defining characteristic was its unwavering unpredictability. I doubt I’ll change anyone’s mind with this blog entry, but I intend to make a case for Buffy. Call me a nerd, but there was something more to this show than teen angst, fantasy storytelling or cliffhangers.
It was simply a show about people in high school and college, falling in love, becoming addicted to drugs, (allegorically magic), and living otherwise normal lives, in the normal Southern California town of Sunnydale – that was built on the mouth of Hell.
I’ll make my case first by listing the characters, and who they were throughout the seven years of the show. These are the reasons why it’s incredibly silly, completely absurd, and why I’m totally in love with it.
Buffy Summers: Wanted normalcy more than anything in the world; wanted to be a cheerleader, to go watch Disney on Ice with her father every year, go on shopping sprees , and sit on prom committees. But she was trapped by who she was. I know, you have your formula for any comic book hero. But then she killed her first love, later fell in love with someone without a soul, watched her mother die of a brain tumor, raised a sister who doubted her own existence (as did Buffy), then finally died and went to heaven. Only then, when she had her happy ending,her friends – who were trying help – ripped her out of paradise to come back and help them through their own personal hells.
Willow Rosenberg: Perfect student, perfect friend, devoted to everyone around her; secretly waited to come out of the closet as a lesbian, suffered from an addiction that ended up killing one character and nearly another. Eventually she tried to blow up the world.
Xander Harris: Referred to himself once as “The Zeppo” – the one who never contributed, never did anything, and lived in the shadows of great people around him. Eventually he got his eye gouged out, but still tried to stay behind and help. He was made Dracula’s slave, was raped by a praying mantis, and ultimately was engaged to a demon (in human form) who later tried to murder him after he left her at the altar.
Joyce Summers: Buffy's mother, when at the end of the second year of the show found out her daughter was the slayer, asked: “Have you ever tried not being a slayer?” It was a coming-out story far too many people have experienced. (Not the slayer part, I mean). Ultimately she was completely supportive of anything her monster-killing, vampire-loving, super-human daughter did. After five years on the show, she was killed – not by supernatural means, but by a brain tumor. There was absolutely nothing Buffy could do about it. The episode – titled “The Body” had no background music, just scene by scene of how Buffy was reacting to her mother’s sudden death (she had been treated for cancer, was out of the hospital, and was expected to be okay). In one scene it appeared Buffy, after discovering Joyce’s body, had managed to get her to breathe again, get paramedics to come help, get her mother to the hospital in an ambulance, and later embrace her in a hospital bed – only for the scene to cut abruptly back to Buffy staring at her mother’s body.
Dawn Summers: Buffy’s little sister appeared during the first episode of the fifth year. For three episodes, no explanation was given. Buffy had always been an only child. Only later does the viewer discover that Dawn had been created – along with everyone’s memories of her - just weeks prior. This was not a situation brought to us by Plot Convenience Playhouse. It was the introduction of a bratty teenage girl who, when discovering that she was not human, slashed herself with a knife in an attempt to discover if she felt any pain, if she would bleed like anyone else. It was Buffy’s job to protect her little sister, keep her from being killed. Buffy later killed herself to save her sister – hence the being dragged back from heaven bit I mentioned earlier. It was an extreme statement on the meaning of family, sacrifice, and who you are in spite of where you came from. It might be a simple lesson, but it was well-executed, if someone dramatically. Well, we are talking about Buffy.
Anya Jenkins: Former “vengeance demon,” spent a thousand years bringing justice to wronged women, only to have her powers stripped away and live like any other human. She was a child in some ways, re-learning what it’s like to be human, while retaining the wisdom (and sarcasm) of a thousand-year-old. She lived through (and partially caused) the Russian Revolution, and yet could not understand people on a basic human level. She eventually sacrificed herself saving one of the most seemingly irredeemable characters of the show – a character who had only really served as a running punchline.
Spike: A vampire without a soul, (as opposed to Angel, who had one), who eventually fell in love with Buffy. For five seasons he obsessed over her, which vampires I guess don’t do. They just maim kill people on this show. He tried to rape Buffy, and in self-hate went on a mission halfway around the world to restore his soul . The lesson here was that the act of doing it was enough. Again, simple, but a fun way to tell it. Spike eventually dies to save everyone.
Okay, I could go on, there are several more recurring characters, but these were the most important to the storyline.
Another thing Buffy had going for it was the dialogue. Here are some of my favorite quotes from the show:
"Buffy - love the hair. It just screams street urchin."
"Once again, the Hell mouth puts the special in special occasion."
"Sure, alternate realities. You could uh, could have like a world without shrimp. Or with, you know, nothing but shrimp. Just don't ask me to live there."
"I think it's the secret to getting you out of my mind. Putting you behind me. Behind me figuratively. I'm thinking face-to-face for the event itself"
"I Anya, promise to love you, to cherish you, to honor you, uh, but not to obey you, of course, because that's anachronistic and misogynistic and who do you think you are, like a sea captain or something?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Martha Stewart isn't a demon. She's a witch. Nobody could do that much decoupage without calling on the powers of darkness."
"People who think their problems are so huge craze me, like this time I sort of ran over this girl on her bike. It was the most traumatizing event of my life, and she's trying to make it about her leg. Like my pain meant nothing"
"Buffy, I'm here to kill you, not to judge you"
"Oh please. I don't mean to interrupt your downward mobility, but I just wanted to tell you that you won't be meeting Coach Foster, the woman with the chest hair, because gym was canceled due to the extreme dead guy in the locker."
"Where did you get that dress? This is a one-of-a-kind Todd Oldham. Do you know how much this dress cost? Is this a knock-off? This is a knock-off, isn't it? Some cheesy knock-off. This is exactly what happens when you sign these free trade agreements."
The list goes on –there are entire websites devoted to Buffy the Vampire Slayer quotes. No, really – Google it.So naturally, sometime well into the series, Buffy was getting some mixed reviews – many of them stating that its success was at least partially riding on its dialogue.The wr iters responded with “Hush.”
“Hush” was an episode about fairy-tale monsters robbing everyone in town of the ability to speak. Nearly the entire show was done without words. The episode was nominated for an Emmy (and in my opinion should have received it).
Without words, we are introduced to Tara, Willow’s long-time girlfriend – simultaneously discovering that Willow may be a lesbian. Anya and Xander fall more in love. Buffy’s non-vampire boyfriend discovers what she can do – and at the end of the episode, when everyone’s voice returns, nobody can think of a thing to say.
Two years later, the writers went in the opposite direction, and produced the musical episode, “Once More With Feeling.” The episode was complete with extras, elaborate singing and dancing numbers, and some actually pretty-okay music. Through the musical episode we find out that Buffy was not raised from the dead, but rather dragged out of heaven, and that her friends have destroyed her while trying to save her.
One of the lyrics from the songs of “Once More With Feeling:”
There was no pain, no fear no doubt,
'Til they pulled me out of Heaven.
So that's my refrain.
I live in Hell, 'cause I've been expelled from Heaven.
I think I was in Heaven.
So give me something to sing about!
Please, give me something!
I know I’m a dork. You probably figured that out by now. But I’m not an enormous fan of fantasy, and less of one when it comes to teen dramas. But this show was so much more than a teen drama.
I likely won’t convince anybody to give this show a second glance. In fact, you might have decided this is a silly blog entry on which to spend my time. Maybe it is.
In so many ways Buffy the Vampire Slayer was sophomoric and downright silly. But it never claimed to be anything else. In fact, it embraced it. It was honest with what it was, and in so doing, became far more than what could be expected.
I wish more television was that unpredictable.
“Camp: The Lie That Tells The Truth” – Phillip Core
If somebody mentions “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” what images immediately pop into your mind? If you’re flipping channels, and the info box at the bottom of the screen reads: “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” do you even bother to watch it for five seconds? I couldn’t previously blame anyone for the likely answers to these two questions, (I couldn’t even get past the name of the show), but about five or six years ago, while having a beer after work, decided to leave the show on for a few minutes. I’ve never looked back.
Here is a well-written, thoughtful show that dealt candidly with alienation, addiction, self-destruction, suicide, loss, grief, homosexuality, and self-mutilation - wrapped in a package of a silly teen drama. It used allegory to deal with everything from homelessness and heroin addiction to puppy love and puberty.
It dealt with the most serious questions and sober answers of life, with flooring frankness and humor. Mostly though, I think its defining characteristic was its unwavering unpredictability. I doubt I’ll change anyone’s mind with this blog entry, but I intend to make a case for Buffy. Call me a nerd, but there was something more to this show than teen angst, fantasy storytelling or cliffhangers.
It was simply a show about people in high school and college, falling in love, becoming addicted to drugs, (allegorically magic), and living otherwise normal lives, in the normal Southern California town of Sunnydale – that was built on the mouth of Hell.
I’ll make my case first by listing the characters, and who they were throughout the seven years of the show. These are the reasons why it’s incredibly silly, completely absurd, and why I’m totally in love with it.
Buffy Summers: Wanted normalcy more than anything in the world; wanted to be a cheerleader, to go watch Disney on Ice with her father every year, go on shopping sprees , and sit on prom committees. But she was trapped by who she was. I know, you have your formula for any comic book hero. But then she killed her first love, later fell in love with someone without a soul, watched her mother die of a brain tumor, raised a sister who doubted her own existence (as did Buffy), then finally died and went to heaven. Only then, when she had her happy ending,her friends – who were trying help – ripped her out of paradise to come back and help them through their own personal hells.
Willow Rosenberg: Perfect student, perfect friend, devoted to everyone around her; secretly waited to come out of the closet as a lesbian, suffered from an addiction that ended up killing one character and nearly another. Eventually she tried to blow up the world.
Xander Harris: Referred to himself once as “The Zeppo” – the one who never contributed, never did anything, and lived in the shadows of great people around him. Eventually he got his eye gouged out, but still tried to stay behind and help. He was made Dracula’s slave, was raped by a praying mantis, and ultimately was engaged to a demon (in human form) who later tried to murder him after he left her at the altar.
Joyce Summers: Buffy's mother, when at the end of the second year of the show found out her daughter was the slayer, asked: “Have you ever tried not being a slayer?” It was a coming-out story far too many people have experienced. (Not the slayer part, I mean). Ultimately she was completely supportive of anything her monster-killing, vampire-loving, super-human daughter did. After five years on the show, she was killed – not by supernatural means, but by a brain tumor. There was absolutely nothing Buffy could do about it. The episode – titled “The Body” had no background music, just scene by scene of how Buffy was reacting to her mother’s sudden death (she had been treated for cancer, was out of the hospital, and was expected to be okay). In one scene it appeared Buffy, after discovering Joyce’s body, had managed to get her to breathe again, get paramedics to come help, get her mother to the hospital in an ambulance, and later embrace her in a hospital bed – only for the scene to cut abruptly back to Buffy staring at her mother’s body.
Dawn Summers: Buffy’s little sister appeared during the first episode of the fifth year. For three episodes, no explanation was given. Buffy had always been an only child. Only later does the viewer discover that Dawn had been created – along with everyone’s memories of her - just weeks prior. This was not a situation brought to us by Plot Convenience Playhouse. It was the introduction of a bratty teenage girl who, when discovering that she was not human, slashed herself with a knife in an attempt to discover if she felt any pain, if she would bleed like anyone else. It was Buffy’s job to protect her little sister, keep her from being killed. Buffy later killed herself to save her sister – hence the being dragged back from heaven bit I mentioned earlier. It was an extreme statement on the meaning of family, sacrifice, and who you are in spite of where you came from. It might be a simple lesson, but it was well-executed, if someone dramatically. Well, we are talking about Buffy.
Anya Jenkins: Former “vengeance demon,” spent a thousand years bringing justice to wronged women, only to have her powers stripped away and live like any other human. She was a child in some ways, re-learning what it’s like to be human, while retaining the wisdom (and sarcasm) of a thousand-year-old. She lived through (and partially caused) the Russian Revolution, and yet could not understand people on a basic human level. She eventually sacrificed herself saving one of the most seemingly irredeemable characters of the show – a character who had only really served as a running punchline.
Spike: A vampire without a soul, (as opposed to Angel, who had one), who eventually fell in love with Buffy. For five seasons he obsessed over her, which vampires I guess don’t do. They just maim kill people on this show. He tried to rape Buffy, and in self-hate went on a mission halfway around the world to restore his soul . The lesson here was that the act of doing it was enough. Again, simple, but a fun way to tell it. Spike eventually dies to save everyone.
Okay, I could go on, there are several more recurring characters, but these were the most important to the storyline.
Another thing Buffy had going for it was the dialogue. Here are some of my favorite quotes from the show:
"Buffy - love the hair. It just screams street urchin."
"Once again, the Hell mouth puts the special in special occasion."
"Sure, alternate realities. You could uh, could have like a world without shrimp. Or with, you know, nothing but shrimp. Just don't ask me to live there."
"I think it's the secret to getting you out of my mind. Putting you behind me. Behind me figuratively. I'm thinking face-to-face for the event itself"
"I Anya, promise to love you, to cherish you, to honor you, uh, but not to obey you, of course, because that's anachronistic and misogynistic and who do you think you are, like a sea captain or something?"
"Don't be ridiculous. Martha Stewart isn't a demon. She's a witch. Nobody could do that much decoupage without calling on the powers of darkness."
"People who think their problems are so huge craze me, like this time I sort of ran over this girl on her bike. It was the most traumatizing event of my life, and she's trying to make it about her leg. Like my pain meant nothing"
"Buffy, I'm here to kill you, not to judge you"
"Oh please. I don't mean to interrupt your downward mobility, but I just wanted to tell you that you won't be meeting Coach Foster, the woman with the chest hair, because gym was canceled due to the extreme dead guy in the locker."
"Where did you get that dress? This is a one-of-a-kind Todd Oldham. Do you know how much this dress cost? Is this a knock-off? This is a knock-off, isn't it? Some cheesy knock-off. This is exactly what happens when you sign these free trade agreements."
The list goes on –there are entire websites devoted to Buffy the Vampire Slayer quotes. No, really – Google it.So naturally, sometime well into the series, Buffy was getting some mixed reviews – many of them stating that its success was at least partially riding on its dialogue.The wr iters responded with “Hush.”
“Hush” was an episode about fairy-tale monsters robbing everyone in town of the ability to speak. Nearly the entire show was done without words. The episode was nominated for an Emmy (and in my opinion should have received it).
Without words, we are introduced to Tara, Willow’s long-time girlfriend – simultaneously discovering that Willow may be a lesbian. Anya and Xander fall more in love. Buffy’s non-vampire boyfriend discovers what she can do – and at the end of the episode, when everyone’s voice returns, nobody can think of a thing to say.
Two years later, the writers went in the opposite direction, and produced the musical episode, “Once More With Feeling.” The episode was complete with extras, elaborate singing and dancing numbers, and some actually pretty-okay music. Through the musical episode we find out that Buffy was not raised from the dead, but rather dragged out of heaven, and that her friends have destroyed her while trying to save her.
One of the lyrics from the songs of “Once More With Feeling:”
There was no pain, no fear no doubt,
'Til they pulled me out of Heaven.
So that's my refrain.
I live in Hell, 'cause I've been expelled from Heaven.
I think I was in Heaven.
So give me something to sing about!
Please, give me something!
I know I’m a dork. You probably figured that out by now. But I’m not an enormous fan of fantasy, and less of one when it comes to teen dramas. But this show was so much more than a teen drama.
I likely won’t convince anybody to give this show a second glance. In fact, you might have decided this is a silly blog entry on which to spend my time. Maybe it is.
In so many ways Buffy the Vampire Slayer was sophomoric and downright silly. But it never claimed to be anything else. In fact, it embraced it. It was honest with what it was, and in so doing, became far more than what could be expected.
I wish more television was that unpredictable.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Something Wicked This Way Comes
The paranormal, the mysteries of life and the things that go "bump" have been known to keep me up at night. I know I'm not the only one, and while during the daylight hours I always think I was being silly the night before, the wee hours of the morning, when I've had little sleep, have a way of amplifying my fear while suspending my logic.
I knew I would want to tackle this subject eventually, and I thought that with Halloween looming, this would be as good a time as any.
I was married in Salem, Massachusetts. And though the historic witch trials only took up fifteen months of the city's nearly 384-year history, you would think it was all that had ever happened there. (Actually, the trials took place in neighboring town of Danvers). Don't get me wrong, there are a few museums and landmarks in Salem not devoted to the trials, (The House of the Seven Gables, Maritime Center, Pirate Museum, Peabody-Essex Museum), the town seems to be dedicated to the dark spot on its resume.
We were married in Salem mostly because it's a beautiful, surprisingly friendly (given its proximity to Boston) and liberal town. A gay marriage ceremony in the town square did not bring protests, or even a batted eyelid. But the place is dotted with magic shops, witch museums, haunted houses, ghost walks, and a statue of Elizabeth Montgomery in the town square. There's even a museum dedicated to Lizzie Bordon, which is odd, since the infamous ax murders took place in Fall River, 70 miles to the South. But these are things that bring in the money. These tourist traps are what make Salem a Halloween Mecca and a trip to Salem a veritable Hajj for Wiccans and their ilk.
Why does this otherwise beautiful town need to focus on a piece of history that could be considered shameful and embarrassing? Again - money talks. And why does the the lure of the supernatural draw so many visitors?
I've had my fair share of odd experiences, unexplainable events. I'm a jinx around electronics. Recently my password to our reservations system at work was expiring every hour or so, for no good reason. I didn't think much about it at the time, but the same thing has happened to my email accounts at work, my voice mail, and even the desktop to my computer. Coupled with my experiences of what some in the old south call a "hagging" (though I never saw the thing, as it really just consisted of my being awake but unable to move, and have since read up on many reasonable explanations), dreams that seem to come true during the day in one form or another, (though always in hindsight, and anything is open to interpretation) and just general weirdness that seems to surround me, I tend to raise an eyebrow when anything out of the ordinary occurs. My life has always been full of odd coincidences, feelings of not being alone, (again scientifically explainable), and just about a weekly bout of serious deja vu. But I don't obsess over them. Obsessing over these things will not solve their collective mystery. I've never found a reason for any of these things, and I likely never will. I'm not worried about it in the slightest. I kind of like not knowing when it comes to these things, at least not concretely.
But it's still fun to ponder the unexplainable from time to time. Why?
It's widely known that during times of strife and unrest people flock to the movies more often. Television programs like Heroes, Lost and Smallville do very well. More interestingly, programs that more closely resemble our lives, (relatively speaking of course) like Desperate Housewives, House, Brothers & Sisters, etc.. do equally well, if not better. They require less effort to engage, less suspension of reality. They allow escapism to be easy, make light work of taking us to another universe, just one that doesn't happen to be populated by aliens or ghosts, unless they choose to "jump the shark." We can escape into others' lives, and not feel like we're watching fantasy - though we are.
Is this a healthy outlet? It could be that by allowing ourselves to become absorbed in these very-recognizable universes such as Wisteria Lane, we subconsciously find solutions to our own real-life problems, as they're extrapolated into a preposterous situation in our 42" worlds. We crave the catharsis, the reaching of a conclusion to an impossible situation in an hour. We can easily become addicted to that catharsis when in life we haven't reached those solutions ourselves.
Some likely think their lives are too boring, or more seriously may be afraid to examine their own lives more closely. Dangerously, television can fill that gap nicely, if you let it.
What does this have to do with the obsession by some in the paranormal? Absolutely everything.
By focusing on life's mysteries, we suspend our own realities. Sci-fi, horror, fantasy, to some is what drinking is to others - holding the clutches of the real world at arm's length just long enough to get some sweet escapist relief. Eventually though, the movie ends and the lights come back on. You can buy another ticket and go back in for another feature, but the theater will have to eventually close.
This isn't always the case - there are countless aspiring Fox Mulders out in the world who really do wish to find the truth of these seemingly other-worldly events through observation, experimentation and analysis. Their motives may not be escapism, but then again, their motives may be no less than to reel their projected fantasy world into reality by using logic. Just a thought.
So why does all this hold my interest? Into which category to I belong? I think I need to know that there is more going on. This is by no means an uncommon need.
The incidents I mentioned in my life above, and maybe a little more, are enough to tell me that there is in fact much more to life than what we see. Maybe those bumps we hear in the night are knocks on our doors. Maybe if there are unknown intelligences 'out there,' our mere suspicion of their existence keeps some of us going through the darkest times of our lives.
I'm not going to delve into my personal belief system here, but when there are events in life that can't be explained, you can do one of three things: You can ignore and dismiss them, you can obsess over them and lose sleep over research, or you can simply go with your gut. The third option is where I fall. To me this makes the most sense - answer the questions of life's outer mysteries with your own inner ones. Isn't this why human intuition exists, to fill the gaps logic can't?
It's a pretty big world out there, and it's arrogance to believe we've done more than just begin to scratch the surface. Last week a mysterious ribbon of particles were discovered at the edge of our solar system, http://www.universetoday.com/2009/10/15/spacecraft-detects-mysterious-ribbon-at-edge-of-solar-system/heliosphere-2/which by the way, like the rest of the universe, is full of matter that we also can't explain or even identify http://imagine.gsfc.nasa.gov/docs/science/know_l1/dark_matter.html ). We can't even fully explain gravity. We haven't yet begun.
Bumps in the night should not surprise us.
Maybe that bump in the night is a knock at the door. Maybe it's a knock that comes late at night, in the darkest hour before the sun illuminates the real world in the morning. Maybe you answer the knock, and nobody is there.
And maybe the one who knocked just wanted to know if you were paying attention.
Happy Halloween!
I knew I would want to tackle this subject eventually, and I thought that with Halloween looming, this would be as good a time as any.
I was married in Salem, Massachusetts. And though the historic witch trials only took up fifteen months of the city's nearly 384-year history, you would think it was all that had ever happened there. (Actually, the trials took place in neighboring town of Danvers). Don't get me wrong, there are a few museums and landmarks in Salem not devoted to the trials, (The House of the Seven Gables, Maritime Center, Pirate Museum, Peabody-Essex Museum), the town seems to be dedicated to the dark spot on its resume.
We were married in Salem mostly because it's a beautiful, surprisingly friendly (given its proximity to Boston) and liberal town. A gay marriage ceremony in the town square did not bring protests, or even a batted eyelid. But the place is dotted with magic shops, witch museums, haunted houses, ghost walks, and a statue of Elizabeth Montgomery in the town square. There's even a museum dedicated to Lizzie Bordon, which is odd, since the infamous ax murders took place in Fall River, 70 miles to the South. But these are things that bring in the money. These tourist traps are what make Salem a Halloween Mecca and a trip to Salem a veritable Hajj for Wiccans and their ilk.
Why does this otherwise beautiful town need to focus on a piece of history that could be considered shameful and embarrassing? Again - money talks. And why does the the lure of the supernatural draw so many visitors?
I've had my fair share of odd experiences, unexplainable events. I'm a jinx around electronics. Recently my password to our reservations system at work was expiring every hour or so, for no good reason. I didn't think much about it at the time, but the same thing has happened to my email accounts at work, my voice mail, and even the desktop to my computer. Coupled with my experiences of what some in the old south call a "hagging" (though I never saw the thing, as it really just consisted of my being awake but unable to move, and have since read up on many reasonable explanations), dreams that seem to come true during the day in one form or another, (though always in hindsight, and anything is open to interpretation) and just general weirdness that seems to surround me, I tend to raise an eyebrow when anything out of the ordinary occurs. My life has always been full of odd coincidences, feelings of not being alone, (again scientifically explainable), and just about a weekly bout of serious deja vu. But I don't obsess over them. Obsessing over these things will not solve their collective mystery. I've never found a reason for any of these things, and I likely never will. I'm not worried about it in the slightest. I kind of like not knowing when it comes to these things, at least not concretely.
But it's still fun to ponder the unexplainable from time to time. Why?
It's widely known that during times of strife and unrest people flock to the movies more often. Television programs like Heroes, Lost and Smallville do very well. More interestingly, programs that more closely resemble our lives, (relatively speaking of course) like Desperate Housewives, House, Brothers & Sisters, etc.. do equally well, if not better. They require less effort to engage, less suspension of reality. They allow escapism to be easy, make light work of taking us to another universe, just one that doesn't happen to be populated by aliens or ghosts, unless they choose to "jump the shark." We can escape into others' lives, and not feel like we're watching fantasy - though we are.
Is this a healthy outlet? It could be that by allowing ourselves to become absorbed in these very-recognizable universes such as Wisteria Lane, we subconsciously find solutions to our own real-life problems, as they're extrapolated into a preposterous situation in our 42" worlds. We crave the catharsis, the reaching of a conclusion to an impossible situation in an hour. We can easily become addicted to that catharsis when in life we haven't reached those solutions ourselves.
Some likely think their lives are too boring, or more seriously may be afraid to examine their own lives more closely. Dangerously, television can fill that gap nicely, if you let it.
What does this have to do with the obsession by some in the paranormal? Absolutely everything.
By focusing on life's mysteries, we suspend our own realities. Sci-fi, horror, fantasy, to some is what drinking is to others - holding the clutches of the real world at arm's length just long enough to get some sweet escapist relief. Eventually though, the movie ends and the lights come back on. You can buy another ticket and go back in for another feature, but the theater will have to eventually close.
This isn't always the case - there are countless aspiring Fox Mulders out in the world who really do wish to find the truth of these seemingly other-worldly events through observation, experimentation and analysis. Their motives may not be escapism, but then again, their motives may be no less than to reel their projected fantasy world into reality by using logic. Just a thought.
So why does all this hold my interest? Into which category to I belong? I think I need to know that there is more going on. This is by no means an uncommon need.
The incidents I mentioned in my life above, and maybe a little more, are enough to tell me that there is in fact much more to life than what we see. Maybe those bumps we hear in the night are knocks on our doors. Maybe if there are unknown intelligences 'out there,' our mere suspicion of their existence keeps some of us going through the darkest times of our lives.
I'm not going to delve into my personal belief system here, but when there are events in life that can't be explained, you can do one of three things: You can ignore and dismiss them, you can obsess over them and lose sleep over research, or you can simply go with your gut. The third option is where I fall. To me this makes the most sense - answer the questions of life's outer mysteries with your own inner ones. Isn't this why human intuition exists, to fill the gaps logic can't?
It's a pretty big world out there, and it's arrogance to believe we've done more than just begin to scratch the surface. Last week a mysterious ribbon of particles were discovered at the edge of our solar system, http://www.universetoday.com/2009/10/15/spacecraft-detects-mysterious-ribbon-at-edge-of-solar-system/heliosphere-2/which by the way, like the rest of the universe, is full of matter that we also can't explain or even identify http://imagine.gsfc.nasa.gov/docs/science/know_l1/dark_matter.html ). We can't even fully explain gravity. We haven't yet begun.
Bumps in the night should not surprise us.
Maybe that bump in the night is a knock at the door. Maybe it's a knock that comes late at night, in the darkest hour before the sun illuminates the real world in the morning. Maybe you answer the knock, and nobody is there.
And maybe the one who knocked just wanted to know if you were paying attention.
Happy Halloween!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Hospitality and Me: The Beginning of a Messy Divorce
Dear John:
After fifteen years of our relationship and eight years of marriage, I regret to tell you, it’s finally over. For you I’ve been a front desk agent, bartender, night auditor, cook, tour guide, sales assistant, banquet manager, room service server, restaurant manager, concierge, and event planner. On two occasions I have worked twenty-four-hour straight shifts for you. I have sacrificed relationships, time with friends and countless holidays for you.
You have taught me life skills, work ethic and the value of diversity. You’ve tested the limits of my stamina and perseverance. You’ve shown me that when you feel have no more energy left to give, no more time, no more patience, that you’ve only begun to tap your inner resources.
You’ve taught me to deal with stress. You’ve taught me to juggle difficult clients, angry staff and a tight budget. You’ve taught me that your staff, your clients and your employers will grade you equally, and that each scorecard is as important as the other.
Despite all you’ve given me, I no longer love you. You deserve somebody who can give you the love I once did, and who truly wishes to be in this marriage. I no longer have the need for it, and feel it’s truly time for me to move on.
Warmest Regards,
William E. Shealy
Various Hotels, Usually Marriott International
DIRECT: 843-867-5309
Okay, so it’s been years coming. I’ve tried so many aspects of this business, and have found some grade of fulfillment or another in each of them – until now. I’ve decided that it’s finally time to move on. It wasn’t that it was an easy decision to make, either.
I’ve devoted so much time and energy, sacrificed more than I care to admit, to the pursuit of one day becoming a general manager and perhaps moving on to a corporate position. It was all simply because I knew this was an attainable goal, and with ach position I learned more – and yet always felt like I could be learning even more some place else, in another field. Walking out of various hotels at 2am, wondering what it would be like to actually go to work and leave while the sun was up, I thought I could finally find a life balance by changing fields within the field and become an event planner.
Now that I’m there, I’ve run into the same situation – a sort of boredom. Not the kind of boredom that equals not having enough to do, the kind that comes from wishing you were someplace else a little too much throughout the day. There’s a certain appeal to maintaining relationships the hotel has with its clients, to planning events, a certain creativity to working with banquets to pull off a wonderful event within the confines of a tight budget. But again – I feel like it’s wrong for me. I feel like I’m cheating myself, and my employer.
There’s also a certain dishonesty that revolves around being different people for different clients, to painting any picture in the light required to convince the clients that we are always exactly what they need. It’s fun – but I’ve been doing the same thing in one sense or another for way too long.
It’s time to move on.
But I still struggle with it. I love this business enough to have engaged in a serious debate over the past several months. Is it really me?
Several months ago, when I was deciding between a few different jobs, Bio-Dad suggested I write out a list of my likes and dislikes with each opportunity, so I might better see the positives and negatives on paper, and more clearly debate them. (I paraphrase his exact words). So I did that here – here are my results:
The Good:
1) Diversity! There is so much diversity in the workplace. In any hotel you’ll find about half the employees are from other states, other countries. It brings such a wonderful dynamic, to have so much perspective available to you for each decision. You find little racism, next to no xenophobia, so much acceptance of various backgrounds, that it’s very easy to be yourself, if only around your team.
2) It’s Rewarding. Particularly in events, you can see the fruit of your labors right in front of you. Be it with an event you’ve planned or set up, or the success of an associate you’ve trained and helped work through their individual challenges – your success is tangible and visible.
3) People. You cannot work in this industry unless you appreciate people. And if you do, it’s a wonderful place to be. There are countless opportunities to help people, to help show them their potential, to learn from people whose experiences are so much more vast than your own, that you cannot help but to grow. You grow from those you teach even more from those who are teaching you. You grow from getting to know your guests, you grow from learning to anticipate others’ needs. It’s a true, continuous learning environment. You learn and grow, or you get left behind.
4) Life Lessons! You are forced to develop a work ethic, to learn to juggle priorities, to sort said priorities, to succeed or fail with no middle ground. You learn to act creatively, to improvise, to be honest, to stand up for your successes and acknowledge your mistakes. In acknowledging your mistakes you learn to grow from them. If you don’t acknowledge your mistakes, someone else will. And you have to acknowledge them, and fix them fast. There’s no time for floundering when everything you do is on a timetable.
5) Days go by fast! If I’ve learned nothing else from hospitality, it’s this: give somebody one task and all day to do it, and it will likely get it done to your satisfaction. Give them ten things to do, and give them a time limit, and they will amaze you with the results. This goes both ways – I function better with a stopwatch now, and I’ve learned that most people, when presented with a hurdle, jump higher than when presented with a speed hump. Fifteen hours feels like eight. An hour feels like a few minutes. A week feels like a few days, and a year feels like a few months. Yes, the days fly by, and often way too fast.
6) The Food! Working in a hotel, it’s easy to get spoiled by the food. As I eat my grapefruits, pleaches, (yes, pleaches) and raw vegetables, undoing the damage of so many years of hotel food, I know that I ate better than most. I’ve sampled innumerable wedding cakes, delicate pastries, tailored oils, fine rare meats, exotic sauces, fruits from around the world. These, mind you, were mostly leftovers in the staff caff. We have better day-old leftovers than you might find in many excellent restaurants.
7) Creatvity. You have next to no storage space. You have a team making far less than you know they deserve. You have a laughable budget to give your team the tools they need to do their jobs, but your team rates you twice a year on your performance. You’re also rated monthly on your spending. And you have to make sure each guest is smiling when they walk out the door, because they rate you as well. In event planning, you have to work with the chef to create menus that are memorable, and yet inexpensive to produce. You have to decorate with old, oft-broken equipment. In catering you have to work with beat-up hot-boxes that work only with a dozen lit Sternos, out of a catering van that probably can’t be washed due to being held together by the dirt, (there’s an unwritten rule that catering vans must be dented, old, fuel-guzzling beasts. Oh, and they must have a rear door that does not open unless you hit it a certain way, kick the bumper at the right time, and simultaneously push a hidden lever on a door that’s about to rust out if its hinges). The plates must be chipped, and the silverware must need constant polishing. And not only does each event have to appear a shining, flawless, unique vision, but you have to ensure each associate is smiling as brightly as you, as hard as that may be. Yes, you have to be creative, and you have to be creative on a budget.
The Bad:
1) Angry Guests. You are a front desk agent. You come into work, clock in, arrive at the desk, and start to review your day ahead – suddenly a guest is screaming at you. Any onlooker will assume this is either a complete butthole, or that the hotel has royally screwed up. (Usually they assume the latter). You have to make it right, because it is your fault. It’s your fault, if for no other reason than your nametag has the hotel logo printed in the corner. The customer may not always be right, but they damn well better believe they are before the conversation is over. And even if it’s the fault some other associate (who may not even work there anymore), it’s your fault now. Any problem becomes your problem. Any negative situation is your doing in the eyes of the guest. Perception is reality. Some people come in angry. Some know that anger equals rewards points, free rooms, and the occasional meal. Some can never be pleased. But they have to appear to be, and even if you’re not, they have to believe you’re truly sorry. And you have to do something about it. There and then. On a budget.
2) Getting sick all the time! Hotels are breeding grounds for illness. Viruses are born on airplanes and mature in hotels. You shake hands constantly. You take money. You touch used linens. You pick up used glasses. You carry dirty plates. If there’s a new strain of flu, you will get it. If you hear someone talk about a nasty cold going around, you just hope you don’t get it before the next big event. Because you will get it. And you cannot miss work, so you will give it to your team. And later you will cover for them when they can't come in.
3) The Other Side of Diversity. You have to ensure that associates from various nationalities, religions, life experiences, work well together, because they do not do so naturally. You have to do this when they have not slept, have not had time for breaks, (though it’s the law they take them), and they have to work with an equally diverse clientele. Given enough sleep deprivation and stress, anyone’s maturity level becomes that of a three year-old. It’s your job to ensure they interact well before you end up in a meeting in human resources. Once again, if associates fight, it can be construed as your fault. Arguably, any negative situation can be diffused before it escalates. Therefore, if you don’t catch the lit fuse and snuff it before it reaches the gun powder – and you saw its ignition – (and even if you didn’t) it very much is your fault.
4) No Life. Working in hospitality is being married to hospitality. You do not leave until the job is done, period. Anything in your private life takes a back seat to your job. The moment it doesn’t, people notice, and people talk. Once again, perception is reality. You’re excellent at your job or you’re poor at it. If you’re mediocre, you don’t change positions, and if you don’t move up, you’re more likely to be laid off. If you’re still, you’re a sitting target, and if you leave early to catch dinner with family or go home for a holiday – and something goes wrong while you’re away, the question of why you were not there bounces around the hotel like a pinball. You simply have to be there.
5) From the outside, your job is easy. From the outside, people might ask: How hard is it to serve food to a group? How hard can it be to plan a meeting? A monkey can check guests in. I won’t even begin to touch this one, it’s a blog entry in itself.
6) The pay. Hotels are expensive to operate. It’s so prohibitively expensive to operate a full service property that sometimes I’m amazed prospective owners are interested in the business to begin with. I recently heard a couple pass an ATM machine in the lobby. The (presumable) husband said to the (presumable) wife, “they don’t miss a penny.” Well, he was right. Insurance, food cost, labor, maintenance, mortgage, marketing – all these things are more expensive than you can imagine. It’s no wonder salaries are lower than you might think.
7) The superficiality of it all. Front-of-house people need to be pretty. In event planning and sales, you need to be whoever your client thinks you should be. And it’s your job to figure that out pretty quickly. Smiling ear to ear during a crisis, kissing babies, stroking egos at client luncheons – you have to make it all look seamless, happy, and easy. If you don’t, you’re not doing your job. A guest should never see you sweat, or be distressed. If they do, you’re apparently disorganized and in the wrong field.
The bads outweigh the goods for me.
I have met so many wonderfully creative, talented people in this business. And if it’s their life’s goal to become a general manager of a full-service property, or to move up in their specific field, or just continue to master what they do, then that’s wonderful. Anyone who chooses a hospitality career for life should be applauded.
I am not one of those people. I said in a previous blog that I can do more in my life. This is not meant to demean those who are pursuing this career for life. Quite the contrary, I am in awe of them. Hospitality workers are among the most patient, people-loving people you can ever meet. If they’re not, they won’t be in the industry very long.
General managers who have worked their way up through the ranks are some of the most dynamic, intelligent, intuitive people you will ever meet. Servers who have waited banquet tables for decades are people you could teach anyone about patience, stamina, creativity, and discipline.
I will probably miss this business, but not for a while. I maintain a pipe dream that maybe one day Eric and I can open a B&B. I hope I can get plenty of rest between now and then.
Hospitality, I love you. But it’s time for me to move on.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Fifteen Minutes Through Columbia, At The Other Side of the Fence
"And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself - well...how did I get here?"
And you may find yourself in another part of the world
And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile
And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife
And you may ask yourself - well...how did I get here?"
-David Byrne, Talking heads
Once In A Lifetime
I try not to get too wrapped up in nostalgia. Don’t get me wrong, it has its place. If we don’t reflect on our experiences, we can't grow from them. But reflection can be a slippery slope, getting so wrapped up in your past that you forget to experience the present. New experiences give way to the previous. You can get so involved in the past that as the world moves on around you, it leaves you behind in a self-reflective feedback loop. That might be an extreme example, but we've all seen it happen. Maybe we’ve even experienced it once or twice, getting lost in photo albums for maybe a little too long, or dwelling alone over a bottle of wine and dusty yet dangerous should-haves. I know I have more than my fair share of should-haves, longing for a means to correct and reroute what’s already been done. But I’ve learned not to focus on who I was, but rather who I could be. Maybe I’ve learned that a little later in life than I should have, but then if I’d taken the time to reflect on the present at a younger age, I wouldn’t have that problem now.
See how easy it is to get caught up?
Last night I made my weekly ritual commute from Greenville to Summerville. If there’s any stretch of road in this country I know, it’s I-26 in South Carolina. I know it’s a 34 minute stretch from I-385 at I-85 to I-26. I know that in five minutes I’ll pass Joanna, ten more minutes, Jalapa. I know that Newberry is fifteen minutes to Dreher Island, and another ten minutes to the outskirts of Columbia. Then from the Ballantine/White Rock exit, what I consider the boundary, it’s fifteen minutes to the Zeus plant near the Dixiana exit. There are four St. Matthews exits, three Orangeburg exits. One of the St. Matthews exits is also an Orangeburg exit, and it has some colorful rocks displaying a smiley-face to your right.
Thirty-eight minutes later and you’re at I-95. Past I-95, the scenery takes on a decidedly low country appearance. Spanish Moss appears on the live oaks and the wetlands seem to be threatening to take over the interstate the moment they're allowed, if the cars would just stop for five minutes. The road soon flattens out. It’s the home stretch. The smell of low tide and paper mill creeps in over the smell of pine trees. This happens right around Summerville.
Each time I pass through Columbia I know I should stop and see Dad, or Sam, or one of my aunts, but I keep going. I just don’t want to stop. It’s not that I don’t want to see them, it’s just that I want to get home to Summerville. But last night I think I figured out from where some of my hesitation comes.
Before I left work in Greenville I had a glass of wine with my co-workers. Therefore, around the time I hit Irmo (on the outskirts of Columbia, near said Ballantine/White Rock exit) I really needed a bathroom. So I waited the fifteen minutes, and hit the rest stop just past the Zeus building.
I got out of the car, and with a deep breath took in a scent I had forgotten all about. I don’t know if anybody reading this has ever noticed, but each city, each town has a specific smell. The outskirts of West Columbia is no different. It’s a mix of pine, exhaust, grass. I couldn't tell you what it consisted of. I couldn't begin to describe it.
I made my way to the predictably lemony-scummy rest stop bathroom and came out, once again being hit by the cool air carrying that smell (mind you anything is better than urinal cakes). It was not a bad smell. On the contrary, it was really quite nice. It’s said that smell is the scent most closely linked to memory. I wandered down the sidewalk, stretching my arms and legs, and stopped to take in the nighttime Columbia skyline. From a distance it actually looks like a decent-sized city.
Columbia has a distinct culture. It might not seem so from an outsider, but Columbians have a history and even certain terms only they can interpret. For instance, unless you’re from Columbia you have no idea what I’m referring to when I say the Brown Sign with the Sowing Machine in the Corner. Or the Vomit Comet at Naked Iguana. Or Malfunction Junction, General Frontage, Cabin Fever, Mister Knowzit, Captain Telegram, Trustus, Group Therapy, the now-closed hundred year-old Capitol Restaurant, ad infinitum. It will all always be a part of me, as much as I tend to brush it aside.
I took my gaze away from the skyline and meandered over to a chain-link fence that stood blocking access to the Frontage Road (see: General Frontage – pronounced Fronn-taj). A memory hit me that threw me back fifteen years, jarring me. I walked down that road once with a backpack and a few friends, heading toward somewhere or other, likely getting up to no good. I remember approaching the fence from the other side and wondering where that rest top was. It was a sobering shock to me to see that spot again. I couldn't believe I was there again. I remember that night so well.
And here I was, fifteen or so years later, looking back from the other side. It was an odd feeling, as if I was looking back at some stranger so many years prior, with the backdrop of my home city creating a day-glow some distance behind me. I could still picture myself there, off the side of the frontage road - piercings, green hair, likely a beer in my hand. I wondered if I would have been able to picture myself looking ahead a decade and a half - in a suit, coming from Greenville, a corporate event planner. Out to the world, a partner in Rhode Island where I wanted to return. I might have spat in my own face. It would have been against my very core values.
And here I was, fifteen or so years later, looking back from the other side. It was an odd feeling, as if I was looking back at some stranger so many years prior, with the backdrop of my home city creating a day-glow some distance behind me. I could still picture myself there, off the side of the frontage road - piercings, green hair, likely a beer in my hand. I wondered if I would have been able to picture myself looking ahead a decade and a half - in a suit, coming from Greenville, a corporate event planner. Out to the world, a partner in Rhode Island where I wanted to return. I might have spat in my own face. It would have been against my very core values.
Same As It Ever Was
I sometimes miss wild nights in Columbia, wandering (stumbling) home from Five Points, shooting fireworks from the roof of Cornell Arms, climbing on rooftops, finding my way to the tops of office buildings, staring out my apartment window at Adluh…Flour…Adluhflour while waiting for our neighbors to come over so we could find something vaguely interesting to do. That was around the time I started getting bored with it all. The parties, the drinking, the punk shows, the gay bar. It just got old, stale, as the still heat stewing in a city on a hill, with few trees, surrounded by wetlands. (Columbians often say Columbia sits right over Hell).
Back then, I continued this lifestyle simply as a default. It was just what I did. We waxed philosphical in Cafe' Espresso and later continued the debate over beer and who-knows-what until we found ourselves at a show, dancing and drinking until we passed out.
Back then, I continued this lifestyle simply as a default. It was just what I did. We waxed philosphical in Cafe' Espresso and later continued the debate over beer and who-knows-what until we found ourselves at a show, dancing and drinking until we passed out.
Now the party is over, and I look back on it all and wonder what, if anything, I got out of it all. I started my life too late I think sometimes. But then, I think before I leave for Rhode Island, I want just one more wild night in Columbia, and put it all to bed for good. Maybe we'll go to the Art Bar. Maybe we'll feel pretentious enough to sit in Goatfeathers and wax political, and maybe after a few more drinks in the Library we'll head for pizza at the Village Idiot. Maybe we'll shoot fireworks from the roof of Cornell Arms. Then again, I'm not sure if I would get the same enjoyment out of it. But I still need to do it just one more time.
If I know a place in this world well, it's Columbia. It's still a part of me. But I don't feel a connection to it. I've never felt it was my home town. And I don't relate to the guy I was fifteen years ago, at the other side of the fence. But he was still me. Somehow, he was part of the road that led to who I am now. Somehow, some way, I hopped the fence. And now I just want one more taste of what it was like over there. But then, if I were there, would it still be the same? Probably not.
I slowly walked back to my car, got in, and drove the rest of the way to Summerville. I didn’t think about that experience again until I sat down to make some format changes on this blog. I know this was not supposed to be a diary, but I had to write about it. I feel a little better now. I still wonder how I got from green-haired, pierced, party boy to corporate event planner. I wonder if I lost something along the way.
If I know a place in this world well, it's Columbia. It's still a part of me. But I don't feel a connection to it. I've never felt it was my home town. And I don't relate to the guy I was fifteen years ago, at the other side of the fence. But he was still me. Somehow, he was part of the road that led to who I am now. Somehow, some way, I hopped the fence. And now I just want one more taste of what it was like over there. But then, if I were there, would it still be the same? Probably not.
I slowly walked back to my car, got in, and drove the rest of the way to Summerville. I didn’t think about that experience again until I sat down to make some format changes on this blog. I know this was not supposed to be a diary, but I had to write about it. I feel a little better now. I still wonder how I got from green-haired, pierced, party boy to corporate event planner. I wonder if I lost something along the way.
I’ll get back to less self-absorption next time I write, but thanks for listening.
"And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?"
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?"
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday, September 24, 2009
The Failure of Workforce Darwinism
Not too long ago I was in a checkout line at Publix, buying cigarettes. Yes, I am an evil smoker, but to my credit I have been trying repeatedly to quit – I’ll get there soon. Anyway, the cashier looked to me and asked “you still smoke these?” I replied yes, which prompted this woman to decide that it was her duty, her mission in life to inform me that cigarettes were terrible for me. Wow, what a revelation. What would ever I have done without such insight? Sarcasm aside, if the cashier is capable of this type of judgment call, what other judgment calls does she make on a normal basis?
Just a few weeks ago a coworker of mine, Dawn, was in a Starbucks drive-through. Starbucks was having a two-for-one promotion that day, so Dawn decided to take advantage. Once at the window, she was asked for a coupon for the promotion. Dawn was not aware she had to bring it with her, but all parties present were aware of the deal. At this point I understand if it’s necessary for an outlet to submit coupons for redemption, but in this case it was apparently acceptable for Dawn to pull up the online information on her phone and show it to the cashier. Okay, so no physical coupon was necessary. Why then was it necessary for Dawn to prove that she had seen this ad, when all parties present were aware of its existence?
Two days ago, at 4:30pm, I called a group contact and asked about a contact arrival time. It was a day before the event. She mentioned to me almost in passing that the number of attendees had jumped from 151 to 175. She also decided to mention that the balloon arch and deejay would be at the hotel between 9 and 10. A Deejay. Mind you, I have board meetings taking place all around the ballroom this group had rented, so needless to say I was concerned about the noise. More to the point, I was just a little perturbed that she may not have told me any of this had I not called her. I won’t even get into the next morning when the on-site contact decided to go from buffet to plated, added coffee in the morning (that I was told previously was not in their budget) and audio-visual equipment (that I was told they owned). I also won’t talk about the contact’s somewhat snippy reaction when I informed her of the billing changes.
These are just three examples. I cannot be alone in observing a continuation (and in some cases decline) of the quality of goods and services since before the recession. The people in the examples cited have seemingly defied employment redundancy, cheated survival of the fittest. With the current unemployment rate, it’s amazing who actually does still have a job. So then, why do they? Employers have a staggering amount of choice right now, so why choose for less than the very best? It would seem that one of the few good things that could come from an economic downturn would be the increase of quality in good and services. One would think that competition would be at its healthiest. Why does this not seem to be the case right now?
Maybe it’s too difficult for some employers to fire people. It could be that they’re afraid to let go of anyone else while likely running on skeleton crews. Once someone has been let go, there isn’t always a guarantee their position will remain in place. When others take up the slack, and stretch themselves past their limits, some employers take that to mean it’s possible to function without that position in place. Maybe this is where some of the quality has declined.
Then I had to wonder if unions had an impact on this. As much of a Democrat as I am, I strongly feel that workforce unions had their place back in the days of Norma Rae, but those days are long over. Nowadays unions primarily force people into joining them, take their wages, lower the quality of many establishments and wield artificially-inflated political power over many Democrats (and a few Republicans). I then wondered if unions were having an impact on the apparent absence of workforce Darwinism. Below is a list of so-called right-to-work states, which for obvious reasons tend to be less unionized:
I decided to check the unemployment rates by state, and cross reference:
Unemployment Rates for States
Monthly Rankings, Seasonally Adjusted
Aug. 2009
Rank State Rate
As of September 18th, 2009 – source: United States Department of Labor, bls.gov
According to the Department of Labor then, the national average unemployment rate is 9%. Right-to-work states average 8.27%. Though it’s interesting that RTW states have a lower unemployment rate, I don’t feel it’s significantly lower to the point of drawing any conclusions. (I am interested in the seeming lack of impact on heavily unionized states, but much more research would be needed to draw any conclusions on this as well).
So if union versus non-union, at first glance anyway, seemingly has little impact on the multitude of shining resumes in line for work, and the apparent lowering of quality of goods and services, what is it?
Could it be that cost-cutting has lead to lower wages, the use of cheaper materials and general corner-cutting? The old saying is that if you pay peanuts you get monkeys, but if peanuts are the only available food, would the strongest most able bodies not reach them first?
Could it be that Darwinism is negated by disgruntled workers who function more efficiently and make better judgment calls when not over-worked and deprived of the tools needed to do their jobs? If this is true, then maybe the cream really is rising to the top, and then spoiling.
I’m not saying there aren’t goo workers out there. I’m just wondering why, in a time when so many skilled, well-qualified, experienced workers are willing to anything to just get their foot in the door, Starbucks associates asking to physically see a coupon before offering their promotional goods.
I think more research would be needed, but it seems like I would be dealing with fewer scattered, disorganized individuals if something weren’t amiss.
Just a few weeks ago a coworker of mine, Dawn, was in a Starbucks drive-through. Starbucks was having a two-for-one promotion that day, so Dawn decided to take advantage. Once at the window, she was asked for a coupon for the promotion. Dawn was not aware she had to bring it with her, but all parties present were aware of the deal. At this point I understand if it’s necessary for an outlet to submit coupons for redemption, but in this case it was apparently acceptable for Dawn to pull up the online information on her phone and show it to the cashier. Okay, so no physical coupon was necessary. Why then was it necessary for Dawn to prove that she had seen this ad, when all parties present were aware of its existence?
Two days ago, at 4:30pm, I called a group contact and asked about a contact arrival time. It was a day before the event. She mentioned to me almost in passing that the number of attendees had jumped from 151 to 175. She also decided to mention that the balloon arch and deejay would be at the hotel between 9 and 10. A Deejay. Mind you, I have board meetings taking place all around the ballroom this group had rented, so needless to say I was concerned about the noise. More to the point, I was just a little perturbed that she may not have told me any of this had I not called her. I won’t even get into the next morning when the on-site contact decided to go from buffet to plated, added coffee in the morning (that I was told previously was not in their budget) and audio-visual equipment (that I was told they owned). I also won’t talk about the contact’s somewhat snippy reaction when I informed her of the billing changes.
These are just three examples. I cannot be alone in observing a continuation (and in some cases decline) of the quality of goods and services since before the recession. The people in the examples cited have seemingly defied employment redundancy, cheated survival of the fittest. With the current unemployment rate, it’s amazing who actually does still have a job. So then, why do they? Employers have a staggering amount of choice right now, so why choose for less than the very best? It would seem that one of the few good things that could come from an economic downturn would be the increase of quality in good and services. One would think that competition would be at its healthiest. Why does this not seem to be the case right now?
Maybe it’s too difficult for some employers to fire people. It could be that they’re afraid to let go of anyone else while likely running on skeleton crews. Once someone has been let go, there isn’t always a guarantee their position will remain in place. When others take up the slack, and stretch themselves past their limits, some employers take that to mean it’s possible to function without that position in place. Maybe this is where some of the quality has declined.
Then I had to wonder if unions had an impact on this. As much of a Democrat as I am, I strongly feel that workforce unions had their place back in the days of Norma Rae, but those days are long over. Nowadays unions primarily force people into joining them, take their wages, lower the quality of many establishments and wield artificially-inflated political power over many Democrats (and a few Republicans). I then wondered if unions were having an impact on the apparent absence of workforce Darwinism. Below is a list of so-called right-to-work states, which for obvious reasons tend to be less unionized:
Alabama
Arizona
Arkansas
Florida
Georgia
Idaho
Iowa
Kansas
Louisiana
Mississippi
Nebraska
Nevada
North Carolina
North Dakota
Oklahoma
South Carolina
South Dakota
Tennessee
Texas
Utah
Virginia
Wyoming
I decided to check the unemployment rates by state, and cross reference:
Unemployment Rates for States
Monthly Rankings, Seasonally Adjusted
Aug. 2009
Rank State Rate
1 NORTH DAKOTA 4.3
2 SOUTH DAKOTA 4.9
3 NEBRASKA 5.0
4 UTAH 6.0
5 VIRGINIA 6.5
6 MONTANA 6.6
6 WYOMING 6.6
8 IOWA 6.8
8 OKLAHOMA 6.8
8 VERMONT 6.8
11 NEW HAMPSHIRE 6.9
12 ARKANSAS 7.1
12 KANSAS 7.1
14 HAWAII 7.2
14 MARYLAND 7.2
16 COLORADO 7.3
17 NEW MEXICO 7.5
18 LOUISIANA 7.8
19 MINNESOTA 8.0
19 TEXAS 8.0
21 CONNECTICUT 8.1
21 DELAWARE 8.1
23 ALASKA 8.3
24 MAINE 8.6
24 PENNSYLVANIA 8.6
26 WISCONSIN 8.8
27 IDAHO 8.9
28 NEW YORK 9.0
28 WEST VIRGINIA 9.0
30 ARIZONA 9.1
30 MASSACHUSETTS 9.1
32 WASHINGTON 9.2
33 MISSISSIPPI 9.5
33 MISSOURI 9.5
35 NEW JERSEY 9.7
36 INDIANA 9.9
37 ILLINOIS 10.0
38 GEORGIA 10.2
39 ALABAMA 10.4
40 FLORIDA 10.7
41 NORTH CAROLINA 10.8
41 OHIO 10.8
41 TENNESSEE 10.8
44 DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA 11.1
44 KENTUCKY 11.1
46 SOUTH CAROLINA 11.5
47 CALIFORNIA 12.2
47 OREGON 12.2
49 RHODE ISLAND 12.8
50 NEVADA 13.2
51 MICHIGAN 15.2
As of September 18th, 2009 – source: United States Department of Labor, bls.gov
According to the Department of Labor then, the national average unemployment rate is 9%. Right-to-work states average 8.27%. Though it’s interesting that RTW states have a lower unemployment rate, I don’t feel it’s significantly lower to the point of drawing any conclusions. (I am interested in the seeming lack of impact on heavily unionized states, but much more research would be needed to draw any conclusions on this as well).
So if union versus non-union, at first glance anyway, seemingly has little impact on the multitude of shining resumes in line for work, and the apparent lowering of quality of goods and services, what is it?
Could it be that cost-cutting has lead to lower wages, the use of cheaper materials and general corner-cutting? The old saying is that if you pay peanuts you get monkeys, but if peanuts are the only available food, would the strongest most able bodies not reach them first?
Could it be that Darwinism is negated by disgruntled workers who function more efficiently and make better judgment calls when not over-worked and deprived of the tools needed to do their jobs? If this is true, then maybe the cream really is rising to the top, and then spoiling.
I’m not saying there aren’t goo workers out there. I’m just wondering why, in a time when so many skilled, well-qualified, experienced workers are willing to anything to just get their foot in the door, Starbucks associates asking to physically see a coupon before offering their promotional goods.
I think more research would be needed, but it seems like I would be dealing with fewer scattered, disorganized individuals if something weren’t amiss.
Me Look Pretty One Day
Good Morning, to all three or four of you who read this. Over the weekend I'm going to try to make this blog a little easier to read - larger font (slightly), relevance archiving, pictures, etc... Until then, thanks for reading! If anybody has any ideas of what they might like to see, let me know!
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
In Comfort Zones, On Paper
I just threw away half a ream of paper and it got me thinking.
Why do we still use paper? Give me an example of an application that absolutely, positively requires wood pulp from trees. Surely publishers make bigger returns on digital work, surely money could have gone digital years ago. Are digital copies and backups for files not more reliable and easier to organize? I can think of a hundred means of identification more reliable than a signature. Who writes checks anymore?
I have a co worker who insists that we distribute event information in multiple places throughout the hotel. When information is revised, we distribute more pieces of paper. We have a meeting twice a week that is formatted such that we have to bring stacks and stacks of paper, roughly a ream, to be thrown away after an hour. For each group I host with rooms I distribute coversheets, group resume's, to every manager. And yet, I know mostly they go unread. All this information can be found in our systems. I admit, you can touch, see, hear, smell paper. But it's no more real than compressed data. It's just comfortable.
I'm not saying paper is only for the wasteful and those who missed the computer revolution, (you know who you are), I'm just pointing out the reason people insist on having paper as a "backup" in these situations. It's comfort. It's what they're used to.
I admit to a certian level of comfort in plucking a volume from a bookshelf and thumbing through the pages that trumps scrolling a mouse. But I think that's only because of experience using books - I'm old enough to remember life before Google. But it's unnecessary. A digital copy with a further backup will long outlast a piece of paper.
This is the same comfort zone that leads so many people into a harmful fear of change. Many people insist prayer should be in schools, but it makes no sense to the non-Christians. Are we so caught up in our own comfort zones that we're willing to sacrifice those of others if their belief system differs from ours? Couldn't one argue that this is quintissentially un-American? But then, so many parents grew up with prayer in schools, so constitution be damned. There are those who believe gay marriage is an assault on traditional marriage, but really it's an assault on their perspective on marriage. The Defense-of-Marriagers would rather sacrifice the comfort and happiness of others to remain in their unchanging world.
Many people spend their whole lives in one city, but eventually anything else escapes their comfort zone and they lose out on the perspective gained from travelling. All these things may seem unrelated to that ream of paper I just threw out, but they aren't at all.
Racism, homophobia, xenophobia, sexism, all stem from a fear of change, a fear of anything that contrasts with one's perspective, however narrow or seemingly wide.
One could argue that religion, when taken out of context can be used as the ultimate comfort zone. Ultimate forgiveness, eternal life, and the warmth of routine ingrained in every aspect of our daily lives can seem soothing to some. There's peace in ritual. But if one injects true spirituality and self-questioning into the religious mix, (regardless of the religion), you are catapulted into the wandering place, a place the Christian Bible describes a desert. No trees grow there.
So here we all are, standing at opposing sides of the wandering place, throwing rocks at each other and refusing to budge if someone from another point of view tries to butt their way in. There has to be a middle ground, but we'd all become very unformfortable before we could get there. But maybe we'd be better people for it. Maybe we'd grow a little.
And maybe we'd stop wasting so much damn paper.
Why do we still use paper? Give me an example of an application that absolutely, positively requires wood pulp from trees. Surely publishers make bigger returns on digital work, surely money could have gone digital years ago. Are digital copies and backups for files not more reliable and easier to organize? I can think of a hundred means of identification more reliable than a signature. Who writes checks anymore?
I have a co worker who insists that we distribute event information in multiple places throughout the hotel. When information is revised, we distribute more pieces of paper. We have a meeting twice a week that is formatted such that we have to bring stacks and stacks of paper, roughly a ream, to be thrown away after an hour. For each group I host with rooms I distribute coversheets, group resume's, to every manager. And yet, I know mostly they go unread. All this information can be found in our systems. I admit, you can touch, see, hear, smell paper. But it's no more real than compressed data. It's just comfortable.
I'm not saying paper is only for the wasteful and those who missed the computer revolution, (you know who you are), I'm just pointing out the reason people insist on having paper as a "backup" in these situations. It's comfort. It's what they're used to.
I admit to a certian level of comfort in plucking a volume from a bookshelf and thumbing through the pages that trumps scrolling a mouse. But I think that's only because of experience using books - I'm old enough to remember life before Google. But it's unnecessary. A digital copy with a further backup will long outlast a piece of paper.
This is the same comfort zone that leads so many people into a harmful fear of change. Many people insist prayer should be in schools, but it makes no sense to the non-Christians. Are we so caught up in our own comfort zones that we're willing to sacrifice those of others if their belief system differs from ours? Couldn't one argue that this is quintissentially un-American? But then, so many parents grew up with prayer in schools, so constitution be damned. There are those who believe gay marriage is an assault on traditional marriage, but really it's an assault on their perspective on marriage. The Defense-of-Marriagers would rather sacrifice the comfort and happiness of others to remain in their unchanging world.
Many people spend their whole lives in one city, but eventually anything else escapes their comfort zone and they lose out on the perspective gained from travelling. All these things may seem unrelated to that ream of paper I just threw out, but they aren't at all.
Racism, homophobia, xenophobia, sexism, all stem from a fear of change, a fear of anything that contrasts with one's perspective, however narrow or seemingly wide.
One could argue that religion, when taken out of context can be used as the ultimate comfort zone. Ultimate forgiveness, eternal life, and the warmth of routine ingrained in every aspect of our daily lives can seem soothing to some. There's peace in ritual. But if one injects true spirituality and self-questioning into the religious mix, (regardless of the religion), you are catapulted into the wandering place, a place the Christian Bible describes a desert. No trees grow there.
So here we all are, standing at opposing sides of the wandering place, throwing rocks at each other and refusing to budge if someone from another point of view tries to butt their way in. There has to be a middle ground, but we'd all become very unformfortable before we could get there. But maybe we'd be better people for it. Maybe we'd grow a little.
And maybe we'd stop wasting so much damn paper.
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