Sometime in the early nineties, my parents left for England for three weeks. My sister was in Atlanta I think, or somewhere, and I was still in high school. I had the house to myself - just me, a big house, cable, and - LOTS of plants.
Mom had left me some instructions, but let's just say I wasn't the poster child for responsible teen. After about a week, all these plants started looking a little wilty and dry, so I decided I should act soon. Rather than reading the instructions, I just watered the hell out of them. My rule of thumb was to hold the hose in the pot until water ran out of the bottom. After half an hour of finding all the plants and watering them, I felt that I had accomplished something and likely returned to reading a book or playing video games.
A week later they were looking wilty again. So I repeated. And repeated just about every day until about five days before my parents returned to England. During that five days, about half the plants died.
After my parents somewhat recovered from the deaths of so many of their green pets, I decided I would learn to take care of a few. I really have no idea why I wanted to, I just did. So Mom got me a cactus and a few jade plants. I killed them. Then I decided I would try to take care of just one, and got a Venus Flytrap - I managed to kill it in less than three weeks. Then I tried spider plants. And I tried more Jade plants. And I got a Money Tree. Dead, dead, and dead. At this point I pretty much resigned to the fact that I am Grim Reaper of all Flora. I tried, really tried to take care of them, but it never ended well. With each one it was either too much water, too little water, not the right light...maybe it was moved too much, or it got some kind of fungus, or maybe it just caught a glimpse of me and lost the will to go on - I don't know. I just know that I kill plants, whether I want to or not.
Fast forward to 2000, and I'm working at Middleton Inn, a small hotel adjacent to Middleton Plantation. Among my other duties as a "concierge" (there is no other word - this was kind of the catch-all guest services position) was the responsibility of the plants in the lodge and lake house, and 55 Philodendrons - one in each guest room.
Fortunately the housekeeper took over plant duties, since she was probably concerned that they were losing their color and slooping in their pots. Apparently I was giving them too much water, though a measurement was given to me. I followed directions to the letter. I'm telling you, I am Death Of Plants.
Fast forward to last weekend. I'm house sitting for my Mom while she's in Australia and I look for a permanent place in Charleston. It had been two days since she left. I had just closed the door to the washer and stepped on something crispy and flaky. It was a leaf. I looked up and saw a dry, decaying greenish-brown thing that used to be a thriving plant hanging from the bay window in the kitchen. Then I noticed another plant on the breakfast table. And a cluster of them by the back door. As I scanned the room around me, I kept finding more plants. And you know, I think they saw me too. I could hear the theme to Psycho and the room seemed to turn red around me.
I was determined not to commit mass murder this time, so I began watering them. A few were already getting wrinkly at the edges of their leaves. The one in the window couldn't be rescued, but I think one of them is now beginning to bloom. Don't ask me what they are, if I learn their names it just hurts worse when they die. They're green. Sometimes they get bigger of you get them wet - that's my horticultural knowledge base in a nutshell.
Anyway, a few days later I was leaving for work. There's some clutter in the garage, and I generally don't pay much attention to what I'm walking around. I also have the habit of "zoning out" when I'm doing mundane things, especially if there are other things weighing on me - so I didn't notice I was walking past two hulky plants in the garage the whole time. These guys are huge. And they were dying. So I ran back into the house and filled up a pitcher of water. I've been watering them and watering them, but the soil feels dry as a bone even now. They're like two "Audrey-2's" (from Little Shop of Horrors) and they're not going to get better until I give them a sacrifice. I can almost hear them growling in the garage now as I type. Is it possible they want one of the other plants? Maybe that's why Mom has so many. Hmmm...
So the other plants are looking a little greener, and as I said, one is blooming. Maybe I've broken the curse of my black thumb. Or maybe it's just Stockholm Syndrome. Either way, wish me (and them) luck.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Sweetgrass Baskets and Ancient Piazzas
I have a tattoo on my right arm. It's the Chinese character representing "change" placed in the center of a chaos rose. It has always stood for everything I believe, to my core - change for the sake of change, a reminder that nothing grows without changing.
So I moved from place to place, met new people, held new positions, and each time the last place I lived kind of faded into the backdrop. It was like when a baby, who has yet to master object permanence finds something new to distract her, and she forgets about the last object in question. It never occurs to her that the thing still continues somewhere without her attention. I can't tell you how appropriate this is in my situation. Charleston is still here. It moved on while I was moving on, in its own way. It's changed, it's changed dramatically in many ways, but its soul is static.
I've never moved to another city to get there. I've always moved to get away from something else, whatever it may be - more often than not, I realize in retrospect, that thing was usually me. It was always this change I was seeking, real change, always at the tips of my fingers. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was a merciless, trickster-shapeshifter. I've never found what I was looking for, because I've never known what it was. So I settled for change, pure and refreshing, and purely escapist, as I spoke of in another entry.
So after coming South from New England, why did I want to stay? Why come back permanently? I didn't grow up in Charleston, I grew up in West Columbia. I only came here after I returned from England, and spent the first six months trying to find a way back to the River Thames and my Brit friends. Fast forward to the past nine months, and I was in Greenville waiting for a means to come back to Charleston. The means materialized, and here I am. I'm in the only place that has ever felt like home, but asking myself why. Why do I love it so much here? Why, of all the places I've seen and in which I've lived, all the places to which I've had the opportunity to move, did I want to come back here, almost desperately?
I'm not sure it's any one thing. It's so many thousands of little things. It's the strobing of the sun through Spanish Moss that hangs from the live oak tunnel as I drive down highway 61 past the plantations. It's the smell of low tide on the wind, and the hazy silhouette of the Cooper River Bridge as seen over the marshes of West Ashley. It's the cheap-production cheese of Lowcountry Live in the morning. It's the black water threatening to retake the roads down dark highways. It's the scars of earthquakes, fires and plagues, the very old fighting the very new with its last breath, and the refusal of a city twice-burned, leveled by hurricanes and twice under siege to simply fade away. It's a solid place, fortified by time and war, a city that refuses to change, but somehow embraces it at the same time.
I love walking along the battery with sweat stinging my eyes, the pavement hot enough to warm my feet through rubber soles threatening to melt. I live the shade of trees used to hang pirates in White Point Gardens. I love the market, that while never a slave market (that was located blocks away), serves as a gentle reminder, dotted by African-American women weaving Sweetgrass baskets, that Charleston is not and never will be Disney perfection. But it is perfection.
I love that the shrink-wrapping of tourism is a barely discernible taint on the character of a city molded by war and Malaria-ridden summers. I love lazy wide ceiling fans that beat blase' against the oppressive humidity on ancient piazzas. Yes, I even love August here.
There is something about this city that grabs you and doesn't let go, an undercurrent of spiritual bliss and harshness of reality, woven together like those Sweetgrass baskets in the market.
So maybe this is why I'm here. It never let me go. And maybe this is what I was looking for all those years of my *Detour. I think it doesn't matter why. What matters is that I'm home, and for the first time in my life I know that.
So I moved from place to place, met new people, held new positions, and each time the last place I lived kind of faded into the backdrop. It was like when a baby, who has yet to master object permanence finds something new to distract her, and she forgets about the last object in question. It never occurs to her that the thing still continues somewhere without her attention. I can't tell you how appropriate this is in my situation. Charleston is still here. It moved on while I was moving on, in its own way. It's changed, it's changed dramatically in many ways, but its soul is static.
I've never moved to another city to get there. I've always moved to get away from something else, whatever it may be - more often than not, I realize in retrospect, that thing was usually me. It was always this change I was seeking, real change, always at the tips of my fingers. The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was a merciless, trickster-shapeshifter. I've never found what I was looking for, because I've never known what it was. So I settled for change, pure and refreshing, and purely escapist, as I spoke of in another entry.
So after coming South from New England, why did I want to stay? Why come back permanently? I didn't grow up in Charleston, I grew up in West Columbia. I only came here after I returned from England, and spent the first six months trying to find a way back to the River Thames and my Brit friends. Fast forward to the past nine months, and I was in Greenville waiting for a means to come back to Charleston. The means materialized, and here I am. I'm in the only place that has ever felt like home, but asking myself why. Why do I love it so much here? Why, of all the places I've seen and in which I've lived, all the places to which I've had the opportunity to move, did I want to come back here, almost desperately?
I'm not sure it's any one thing. It's so many thousands of little things. It's the strobing of the sun through Spanish Moss that hangs from the live oak tunnel as I drive down highway 61 past the plantations. It's the smell of low tide on the wind, and the hazy silhouette of the Cooper River Bridge as seen over the marshes of West Ashley. It's the cheap-production cheese of Lowcountry Live in the morning. It's the black water threatening to retake the roads down dark highways. It's the scars of earthquakes, fires and plagues, the very old fighting the very new with its last breath, and the refusal of a city twice-burned, leveled by hurricanes and twice under siege to simply fade away. It's a solid place, fortified by time and war, a city that refuses to change, but somehow embraces it at the same time.
I love walking along the battery with sweat stinging my eyes, the pavement hot enough to warm my feet through rubber soles threatening to melt. I live the shade of trees used to hang pirates in White Point Gardens. I love the market, that while never a slave market (that was located blocks away), serves as a gentle reminder, dotted by African-American women weaving Sweetgrass baskets, that Charleston is not and never will be Disney perfection. But it is perfection.
I love that the shrink-wrapping of tourism is a barely discernible taint on the character of a city molded by war and Malaria-ridden summers. I love lazy wide ceiling fans that beat blase' against the oppressive humidity on ancient piazzas. Yes, I even love August here.
There is something about this city that grabs you and doesn't let go, an undercurrent of spiritual bliss and harshness of reality, woven together like those Sweetgrass baskets in the market.
So maybe this is why I'm here. It never let me go. And maybe this is what I was looking for all those years of my *Detour. I think it doesn't matter why. What matters is that I'm home, and for the first time in my life I know that.
Monday, February 1, 2010
*Soup Recipe For The Stranded
Okay, so I was lame this weekend. As compulsory as blogging may be for me some days, there are the occasional days when I'm not able to dedicate time to the blog. I do have a few somewhat legitimate excuses.
On Saturday I was at my sister's house for most of the afternoon celebrating my niece's third birthday. Having gotten into Summerville somewhat late on Friday and not being able to sleep, I was very tired, and had a nap after I left my sister's.
After my nap I went out to meet an old friend for drinks, and of course didn't sleep well, and got up on Sunday to run some errands - which took far longer than expected. Shortly after I was finished with those, it was almost time to go out to play some trivia. Lame or not, those are my excuses.
So, I missed out on Saturday's recipe and Sunday's * - and am going to attempt to combine them today.
I'll begin with the *story of the week.
Passengers were left stranded at a Greyhound bus station this week in Memphis, TN during the Winter storm. While some buses were running on schedule, a few others were delayed for as much as two days. Few to no updates were given to the stranded, and one woman was quoted by WMC-TV Memphis as saying: "They won't even talk to you in here. You ask them something and they're real snappy with you."
The icing on the cake however, was when Greyhound Security forced a woman to sit out in the cold to wait for her bus, as punishment for speaking negatively to reporters about the incident. The guard is quoted as saying that Greyhound "has that right."
So much for workforce Darwinism.
I cannot fathom the idea of requiring someone to wait out in the cold for an issue to be resolved - an issue that is the responsibility of the company's to resolve - for informing media about the situation. This baffles me. It speaks against every ounce of customer service I've ever learned.
While I understand that this individual is going to be disciplined, and that one might think it unfair to judge an entire operation based on the poor judgment of an individual - it was the company who placed the name tag on that individual. In a sluggish economy such as this one, you would think that the drawers of Greyhound's HR offices would be jammed with resumes. There is likely a waiting list full of patient, understanding, competent, customer-driven candidates. (Ironically, many of these candidates are likely taking the Greyhound instead of flying if they're between jobs). In this case, I believe it may not be unfair at all for blaming the operation. If someone is demonstrating this behavior now, as extreme as it is, I doubt it's a fluke, a bad day for the security guard affecting his or her behavior. It may be the homeless individual sleeping in the snow behind the station would have turned the negative situation into an opportunity rather than make it worse. I mean come on - she was speaking to a reporter. Hopefully there's a security position open in Memphis right now. It may be harsh, but I believe it's the security guard in question who should be out in the cold.
So, to the poor woman who had to wait for untold hours for a bus or a ride, out in the Winter storm, I dedicate this week's recipe.
Leek and Potato Soup
You'll need:
2 Paula Deans (one Paula Deen = 1/2 cup butter)
2 leeks, sliced
1 Teaspoon Salt
1/2 Tablespoon Black Pepper
1.2 Teaspoon Paprika
1 quart chicken stock
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon cold water
4 cups russet potatoes, peeled and diced
2 cups whole milk
Melt the butter in a large pot and saute the leeks until they're tender, usually about ten minutes or so. Pour in the stock. While it's coming to a boil, dissolve the corn starch into the water and then stir it into the stock.
Add the potatoes and boil until they're tender. Stir in the milk, salt, pepper and paprika, and let it simmer for about 45 minutes. You want the potatoes to be pretty much falling apart.
Enjoy with Vengeance (aka Vendange) Chardonnay and hot blueberry cobbler for dessert. (Blueberry cobbler recipe coming next week!)
There is little in the world better than a stodgy soup and a hot dessert during an ice storm! You can work it off tomorrow shoveling the driveway.
Or pacing back and forth in a Greyhound station.
On Saturday I was at my sister's house for most of the afternoon celebrating my niece's third birthday. Having gotten into Summerville somewhat late on Friday and not being able to sleep, I was very tired, and had a nap after I left my sister's.
After my nap I went out to meet an old friend for drinks, and of course didn't sleep well, and got up on Sunday to run some errands - which took far longer than expected. Shortly after I was finished with those, it was almost time to go out to play some trivia. Lame or not, those are my excuses.
So, I missed out on Saturday's recipe and Sunday's * - and am going to attempt to combine them today.
I'll begin with the *story of the week.
Passengers were left stranded at a Greyhound bus station this week in Memphis, TN during the Winter storm. While some buses were running on schedule, a few others were delayed for as much as two days. Few to no updates were given to the stranded, and one woman was quoted by WMC-TV Memphis as saying: "They won't even talk to you in here. You ask them something and they're real snappy with you."
The icing on the cake however, was when Greyhound Security forced a woman to sit out in the cold to wait for her bus, as punishment for speaking negatively to reporters about the incident. The guard is quoted as saying that Greyhound "has that right."
So much for workforce Darwinism.
I cannot fathom the idea of requiring someone to wait out in the cold for an issue to be resolved - an issue that is the responsibility of the company's to resolve - for informing media about the situation. This baffles me. It speaks against every ounce of customer service I've ever learned.
While I understand that this individual is going to be disciplined, and that one might think it unfair to judge an entire operation based on the poor judgment of an individual - it was the company who placed the name tag on that individual. In a sluggish economy such as this one, you would think that the drawers of Greyhound's HR offices would be jammed with resumes. There is likely a waiting list full of patient, understanding, competent, customer-driven candidates. (Ironically, many of these candidates are likely taking the Greyhound instead of flying if they're between jobs). In this case, I believe it may not be unfair at all for blaming the operation. If someone is demonstrating this behavior now, as extreme as it is, I doubt it's a fluke, a bad day for the security guard affecting his or her behavior. It may be the homeless individual sleeping in the snow behind the station would have turned the negative situation into an opportunity rather than make it worse. I mean come on - she was speaking to a reporter. Hopefully there's a security position open in Memphis right now. It may be harsh, but I believe it's the security guard in question who should be out in the cold.
So, to the poor woman who had to wait for untold hours for a bus or a ride, out in the Winter storm, I dedicate this week's recipe.
Leek and Potato Soup
You'll need:
2 Paula Deans (one Paula Deen = 1/2 cup butter)
2 leeks, sliced
1 Teaspoon Salt
1/2 Tablespoon Black Pepper
1.2 Teaspoon Paprika
1 quart chicken stock
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 tablespoon cold water
4 cups russet potatoes, peeled and diced
2 cups whole milk
Melt the butter in a large pot and saute the leeks until they're tender, usually about ten minutes or so. Pour in the stock. While it's coming to a boil, dissolve the corn starch into the water and then stir it into the stock.
Add the potatoes and boil until they're tender. Stir in the milk, salt, pepper and paprika, and let it simmer for about 45 minutes. You want the potatoes to be pretty much falling apart.
Enjoy with Vengeance (aka Vendange) Chardonnay and hot blueberry cobbler for dessert. (Blueberry cobbler recipe coming next week!)
There is little in the world better than a stodgy soup and a hot dessert during an ice storm! You can work it off tomorrow shoveling the driveway.
Or pacing back and forth in a Greyhound station.
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Thank You
To appreciate the good, you have to experience the bad.
The Charleston Marriott will be my fifth Marriott property. Prior to that (where hotels are concerned), I worked for Millennium-Copthorne and an independent. The best job (as far as enjoyment and camaraderie) was on the River Thames in England – it didn’t pay squat, but I had more fun there than anywhere else. I’ll come back to that on another entry.
As far as hotels – I’ve worked at a unionized property, where I was not allowed to cross-train or pick up shifts in other departments (the theory being, I was taking work away from others, even though they didn’t show up for their shifts – which they were allowed to do a few times a year per contract). Had there been a strike, I would not be allowed to return to work, and would likely miss rent. Mandatory deductions were taken from my already-Lilliputian paycheck. Yes, I will spew an entire blog on hospitality unions here very soon, but not today.
I worked at an independent property attached to National Historic Landmark, (the Inn was for-profit, and the Landmark was non-profit). So I could pick up banquet shifts and other sundry duties for 40 hours over at the Landmark, and 40 hours at the Inn, and they were not required to pay overtime. In fact, the operations director admitted this advantage to my boss, who – being my friend, later relayed that information to me. It was a stunning place to work, with a rich history and full of the best scenery one could ask for on the drive in. On the drive in mind you, at 5am (Spanish moss and live are only so nice at 5am). It was even nicer to see when one left, at around midnight some days.
Within my Marriott properties, I’ve had a variety of experiences. My first one was a boutique property than enabled me to cross-train in every department except accounting and engineering. We had a very close-knit group there – I lived with several of them. But then came the next Marriott property. I won’t go into too much detail, but it wasn’t always the most positive experience, though I adored our General Manager. Following that were nearly three years of probably my least favorite job of all time. To say communication was lacking and half the team were living in the mid-eighties would be an understatement. Morale was never more than slightly above that line that causes people to walk out and return later with weapons.
Then came Greenville. I won’t go into detail as to how I got there, (as I have in previous entries), but that’s irrelevant here.
When I first arrived in Greenville I immediately liked most of the people I worked with. However, after a few weeks, one of the team members exhibited signs that – well, that perhaps that they were not quite the right fit for that particular position. However, eventually they were – um – (I have to be careful here – but think doves at a wedding). After that happened, something amazing occurred.
[WARNING – STICKY SWEET SYRUPYNESS LACED WITH PLENTY OF CHEESE AHEAD - BE PREPARED FOR FALLING SAP]
The team had solidified. A new event planner was brought in as I was promoted, and she turned out to be not just a perfect fit for the department, but someone who is quickly becoming a good friend. Another sales manager was brought in as another coworker was promoted to our director, and those changes could not have been better. We gelled as a department better than I have experienced since the time on the boats in England – maybe a little more so. We’re a solid team, and it shows.
Outside of our department, we have a stellar front office, a talented banquet team, and a banquet manager who can run circles around any banquet manager I’ve ever known. This guy is truly gifted. Then there’s the kitchen, who has stepped up their game and their menus with a new Executive Chef (that started the week before me) who is the most even-keeled, mild-mannered, pleasant, (if a little sarcastic) culinary talent I’ve seen. I have never once seen that guy yell or lose his cool in front of others. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but I’ve never seen it. And let me tell you, this food is amazing. It will lay to rest any preconceived ideas you may have about hotel food.
The restaurant staff is among the best I’ve worked with. It’s no wonder our scores are through the roof.
In a previous property, I worked under a General Manager who was a walking iron fist. He talked to people as if they were children, He humiliated department heads in front of their subordinates, and talked incessantly about how he studied other leaders, read books on leadership – (who, Machiavelli?) He bordered on completely dehumanizing at times, and voiced his political beliefs whenever he felt like it, in front of whomever he saw fit (Managing People 101 – don’t do that). He would yell at you with veins pumping in his forehead, and praise you in front of others when he found it politically advantageous. It was all very transparent, to pretty much everyone. It wasn’t respect he got from his team, it was fear. I saw two Executive Committee members in tears. I saw the most qualified, creative Event Manager with whom I have ever had the pleasure of working, nearly pull her hair out. It was a bad situation. To top it off, we rarely if ever made profit, and our guest satisfactions scores were consistently abysmal.
Let me compare that to the General Manager in Greenville. His door is literally always open, and when it’s closed, it’s for a meeting – and only for that amount of time. I can literally walk into his office and start talking away (a bad habit of mine) and he stops what he’s doing and listens. He’s respected across the hotel, and when he speaks, people listen. He commands the respect of the team by letting his feelings on a given situation be known without making anyone afraid of him. He gives constant feedback, both negative and positive, and in a way that lets you know that he truly understands the pulse of the hotel and the mood of the team. He is completely in touch, in every way. He’s open to new ideas, and solicits the creativity of the team and utilizes their input whenever possible. And here’s the thing – there’s no iron fist here, no one feels belittled or humiliated, and our satisfaction scores? As I mentioned before, they’re through the roof.
My department head, the Director of Sales, is incredible. She is a bit high-energy, perhaps a tad (see: majorly) ADD. She will text me at bizarre hours of the night – if I don’t respond, she doesn’t get upset, but she does look for a response around the time she thinks I should have woken up. This woman is working 24/7, and never asks anything of anyone that she isn’t prepared to do herself. Best of all, she’s become a friend as well. She is one of the best mentors I’ve had, as she truly understands the various nuances of her department. She has helped me to develop and foreword my career, and has done so as both a teacher and a peer. She is charismatic, has a wonderfully dark sense of humor, and genuinely cares for each member of our team. And if I have feedback on an opinion on which I differ? She listens to it, as she listens to all of us. Although we all understand that ultimately the big decisions are hers, we have never once felt as if we didn’t have a say in a given matter. We can give her our honest and frank opinions, and not feel that she will retaliate, and still have respect for her as our boss. Having managed a team, I can tell you that it is a rare and delicate balance – the difficulty of which those who have never managed people can never truly grasp.
Our controller is another great. This is not your typical bean counter. In fact, I’ve been living with him and his partner pretty much since I got here, and have gained two friends in the process. This is the first controller with whom I’ve worked who actually understands that he works in the hospitality industry. If you need money for something, he will ask the right questions, and then find a way to make it work. This is such a welcome change from the act of congress I used to have to wait for to get, say, pens. To top it off, I’ve never seen his door closed if he’s in the office.
The food and beverage director is as approachable as they come, and very much knows his field. He’s easy to work with (as long as he’s kept in the loop), and clearly has the respect and admiration of his team.
The housekeeping department is the friendliest, most cheerful group of rooms staff I’ve ever worked with. Along with the uniquely talented and colorful personalities of the housekeeping director and chief engineer, the rooms department is not the gloomy and downtrodden place I’ve seen in properties past.
I enjoy driving to work. I enjoy being there. And while I’ll never have a position that I enjoyed quite like the boats, this has been a very close second.
This property bent over backwards to keep me here when I was planning to return to Charleston several months ago. And though 2009 was probably one of the (if not THE) worst years of my life, the people at the Greenville Marriott got me through it, whether they knew that’s what they were doing or not. I lost a parent, I lost a partner. But as I get ready for my last full week before my transfer to Charleston, I realize now more than ever what I’m losing as I leave.
If the Charleston team is half as tightly-knit and talented as those in Greenville, I’ll be a lucky man. Back in the city that I love, but missing the colorful characters at the Greenville Marriott.
Thank you guys. I’ll miss all of you more than you know.
The Charleston Marriott will be my fifth Marriott property. Prior to that (where hotels are concerned), I worked for Millennium-Copthorne and an independent. The best job (as far as enjoyment and camaraderie) was on the River Thames in England – it didn’t pay squat, but I had more fun there than anywhere else. I’ll come back to that on another entry.
As far as hotels – I’ve worked at a unionized property, where I was not allowed to cross-train or pick up shifts in other departments (the theory being, I was taking work away from others, even though they didn’t show up for their shifts – which they were allowed to do a few times a year per contract). Had there been a strike, I would not be allowed to return to work, and would likely miss rent. Mandatory deductions were taken from my already-Lilliputian paycheck. Yes, I will spew an entire blog on hospitality unions here very soon, but not today.
I worked at an independent property attached to National Historic Landmark, (the Inn was for-profit, and the Landmark was non-profit). So I could pick up banquet shifts and other sundry duties for 40 hours over at the Landmark, and 40 hours at the Inn, and they were not required to pay overtime. In fact, the operations director admitted this advantage to my boss, who – being my friend, later relayed that information to me. It was a stunning place to work, with a rich history and full of the best scenery one could ask for on the drive in. On the drive in mind you, at 5am (Spanish moss and live are only so nice at 5am). It was even nicer to see when one left, at around midnight some days.
Within my Marriott properties, I’ve had a variety of experiences. My first one was a boutique property than enabled me to cross-train in every department except accounting and engineering. We had a very close-knit group there – I lived with several of them. But then came the next Marriott property. I won’t go into too much detail, but it wasn’t always the most positive experience, though I adored our General Manager. Following that were nearly three years of probably my least favorite job of all time. To say communication was lacking and half the team were living in the mid-eighties would be an understatement. Morale was never more than slightly above that line that causes people to walk out and return later with weapons.
Then came Greenville. I won’t go into detail as to how I got there, (as I have in previous entries), but that’s irrelevant here.
When I first arrived in Greenville I immediately liked most of the people I worked with. However, after a few weeks, one of the team members exhibited signs that – well, that perhaps that they were not quite the right fit for that particular position. However, eventually they were – um – (I have to be careful here – but think doves at a wedding). After that happened, something amazing occurred.
[WARNING – STICKY SWEET SYRUPYNESS LACED WITH PLENTY OF CHEESE AHEAD - BE PREPARED FOR FALLING SAP]
The team had solidified. A new event planner was brought in as I was promoted, and she turned out to be not just a perfect fit for the department, but someone who is quickly becoming a good friend. Another sales manager was brought in as another coworker was promoted to our director, and those changes could not have been better. We gelled as a department better than I have experienced since the time on the boats in England – maybe a little more so. We’re a solid team, and it shows.
Outside of our department, we have a stellar front office, a talented banquet team, and a banquet manager who can run circles around any banquet manager I’ve ever known. This guy is truly gifted. Then there’s the kitchen, who has stepped up their game and their menus with a new Executive Chef (that started the week before me) who is the most even-keeled, mild-mannered, pleasant, (if a little sarcastic) culinary talent I’ve seen. I have never once seen that guy yell or lose his cool in front of others. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but I’ve never seen it. And let me tell you, this food is amazing. It will lay to rest any preconceived ideas you may have about hotel food.
The restaurant staff is among the best I’ve worked with. It’s no wonder our scores are through the roof.
In a previous property, I worked under a General Manager who was a walking iron fist. He talked to people as if they were children, He humiliated department heads in front of their subordinates, and talked incessantly about how he studied other leaders, read books on leadership – (who, Machiavelli?) He bordered on completely dehumanizing at times, and voiced his political beliefs whenever he felt like it, in front of whomever he saw fit (Managing People 101 – don’t do that). He would yell at you with veins pumping in his forehead, and praise you in front of others when he found it politically advantageous. It was all very transparent, to pretty much everyone. It wasn’t respect he got from his team, it was fear. I saw two Executive Committee members in tears. I saw the most qualified, creative Event Manager with whom I have ever had the pleasure of working, nearly pull her hair out. It was a bad situation. To top it off, we rarely if ever made profit, and our guest satisfactions scores were consistently abysmal.
Let me compare that to the General Manager in Greenville. His door is literally always open, and when it’s closed, it’s for a meeting – and only for that amount of time. I can literally walk into his office and start talking away (a bad habit of mine) and he stops what he’s doing and listens. He’s respected across the hotel, and when he speaks, people listen. He commands the respect of the team by letting his feelings on a given situation be known without making anyone afraid of him. He gives constant feedback, both negative and positive, and in a way that lets you know that he truly understands the pulse of the hotel and the mood of the team. He is completely in touch, in every way. He’s open to new ideas, and solicits the creativity of the team and utilizes their input whenever possible. And here’s the thing – there’s no iron fist here, no one feels belittled or humiliated, and our satisfaction scores? As I mentioned before, they’re through the roof.
My department head, the Director of Sales, is incredible. She is a bit high-energy, perhaps a tad (see: majorly) ADD. She will text me at bizarre hours of the night – if I don’t respond, she doesn’t get upset, but she does look for a response around the time she thinks I should have woken up. This woman is working 24/7, and never asks anything of anyone that she isn’t prepared to do herself. Best of all, she’s become a friend as well. She is one of the best mentors I’ve had, as she truly understands the various nuances of her department. She has helped me to develop and foreword my career, and has done so as both a teacher and a peer. She is charismatic, has a wonderfully dark sense of humor, and genuinely cares for each member of our team. And if I have feedback on an opinion on which I differ? She listens to it, as she listens to all of us. Although we all understand that ultimately the big decisions are hers, we have never once felt as if we didn’t have a say in a given matter. We can give her our honest and frank opinions, and not feel that she will retaliate, and still have respect for her as our boss. Having managed a team, I can tell you that it is a rare and delicate balance – the difficulty of which those who have never managed people can never truly grasp.
Our controller is another great. This is not your typical bean counter. In fact, I’ve been living with him and his partner pretty much since I got here, and have gained two friends in the process. This is the first controller with whom I’ve worked who actually understands that he works in the hospitality industry. If you need money for something, he will ask the right questions, and then find a way to make it work. This is such a welcome change from the act of congress I used to have to wait for to get, say, pens. To top it off, I’ve never seen his door closed if he’s in the office.
The food and beverage director is as approachable as they come, and very much knows his field. He’s easy to work with (as long as he’s kept in the loop), and clearly has the respect and admiration of his team.
The housekeeping department is the friendliest, most cheerful group of rooms staff I’ve ever worked with. Along with the uniquely talented and colorful personalities of the housekeeping director and chief engineer, the rooms department is not the gloomy and downtrodden place I’ve seen in properties past.
I enjoy driving to work. I enjoy being there. And while I’ll never have a position that I enjoyed quite like the boats, this has been a very close second.
This property bent over backwards to keep me here when I was planning to return to Charleston several months ago. And though 2009 was probably one of the (if not THE) worst years of my life, the people at the Greenville Marriott got me through it, whether they knew that’s what they were doing or not. I lost a parent, I lost a partner. But as I get ready for my last full week before my transfer to Charleston, I realize now more than ever what I’m losing as I leave.
If the Charleston team is half as tightly-knit and talented as those in Greenville, I’ll be a lucky man. Back in the city that I love, but missing the colorful characters at the Greenville Marriott.
Thank you guys. I’ll miss all of you more than you know.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Seven People You Meet At Work
I know, I know - if I really wanted to allude to the book, it would be "the five people you meet at work." But having worked in various industries and in various capacities therein, I've narrowed down the list of common archetypes to no fewer than seven.
Now I want to make it clear, I absolutely adore pretty much everybody I work with (a first for me). In fact, my current team may be the most talented group of individuals I've ever had the pleasure to work with. They are so much more than the personality types I'm about to lay out. In fact, another first is that none of the below characteristics fit any of them very well. And to be fair, most of these traits are not even present in my current hotel. But my current property is the exception to the rule.
So to follow are the seven people you have, currently, or one day will work with. They exist in nearly every setting I've ever experienced, and I'm sure you know each and every one of them very well. Sometimes one person may fit more than one archetype, and sometimes two or more will fit the same one. But here they are, in no particular order:
1) The Soap Star
There is always at least one. Perhaps they were late to work because their neighbor was going into labor, about to give birth to their clandestine love child by way of emergency C-section in the back of their car. It may be that they "accidentally" hit reply-all to an email and revealed someone said something negative about someone else. Perhaps they are in tears over the fact that a client called, angry because what was promised was not delivered - through complete fluke, and absolutely no one's fault (unless of course fault lay in another department).
There is never a dull moment with the soap star. Not only do they have an completely fantastic, beyond-belief story for every mundane story you have, but they also know every interesting or curious facet of everyone else's lives. It may be that a story, when first relayed to them was in fact quite boring - but once it gets processed through the spin-cycle of the soap star's brain, every glitch becomes a catastrophe, every insignificant event becomes a juicy milestone.
The soap star can be a good friend to have, and usually means very well. But it's best to give them something to chew on, or they'll seek it out themselves. Give them something about you to harp on, and usually they don't look any further. It's best to stay on their "good side" though - or you will be shot through the spin-cycle yourself, when you least expect it.
2) The Silo
This person knows their job, and knows it well. They've probably been in their position for a long time - long enough to figure out how to avoid relying on others for anything at all, except when absolutely necessary. Although you can rely on them for pretty much anything, they would prefer not to have to trust you enough to actually need you for anything.
They will sit in their office or cubicle, and generally work very hard. They refuse to go on group outings unless they feel it's mandatory, and will participate in as few extra-work activities as possible. Their job is important to them, but so is leaving work on time, and leaving work at work - which is probably very healthy.
The silo will be your friend, but it takes time to cultivate that relationship.
3) The Yoda
The Yoda has done every job in the department, and in some cases nearly every job in the building. They do not take sides, and are proficient at putting out most fires, if they feel so inclined as to get involved in your hurdles that they see as minor speed humps.
The Yoda could in fact run the department, or the entire operation, but I have yet to meet a Yoda who does. They have settled into their role, and when at home, they are at home. If there is a real emergency at work after hours, trust that if they felt the need to come in, would have the entire matter settled in a matter of moments. The Yoda can at any time become the Chuck Norris of any emergency.
You can confide in them with any piece of information, and know that it does not go past their office. You can come to them for help for any problem at all, no matter how tiny or immeasurably complex and if they deem you worthy, will have the answer to you in one sentence or less. It will likely be a pearl of wisdom you will hang onto for years to come. The Yoda knows you will eventually pass that wisdom on. The Yoda probably knows to whom you will pass it.
4) The Dr. Peter
Dr. Laurence J. Peter proposed in is 1969 book "The Peter Principle," that "in a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence." There is always one who fits this to a tee. They did so very well at their previous positions, that now they are trusted and required to do something very new, a task in which they are totally unqualified.
Unfortunately, the rest of the department will do it for them, until the Dr. Peter is fired or they leave. I've been fortunate enough never to work with one for very long, but not too long ago, (depending on how you define too long), I was subject to one of these people. They made life miserable for everyone.
They rarely admit that they do not know how to do their job. In fact, if they'd genuinely ask for help, or be honest about being unsure of something and willing to learn, they would slowly gain the respect of their peers. But the Dr. Peter is so interested in appearing authoritative in spite of their obvious shortcomings that the team usually works around them rather than with them.
I've also had the joy of inheriting a Dr. Peter as an employee. This individual had been doing the same job for - a long time (to protect the guilty, I am not saying for how long), but evaded dismissal in very creative ways. They maintained a positive personal friendship with the powers that be, and worked their fear of change and love of nostalgia to their advantage. They also did as little as possible that would involve any sort of risk, stayed below the radar at all possible times, and avoided taking responsibility for pretty much anything, or taking ownership of any situation in which they might fail.
Dr. Peter is probably the most aggravating of all the workforce archetypes.
5) The Cheerleader
You know this one. They break a daily sweat to ensure they embody each personality trait corporate culture teaches. Usually they're internal marketers of some kind, but more often than not, they're transparent to not only their peers, but their bosses in their perpetual attempt to be the teacher's pet.
They're at every fundraiser. In fact, they usually volunteer to make the posters and fliers, and are on (of not the sole member of) the planning committee. They raise their voices in agreement so often during staff meetings, that you half expect an "amen" and "hallelujah" after each Power Point slide has been presented.
They make the t-shirts for the bowling teams. They volunteer to take on special projects, (not that this is bad - but they do it every time) and will work long hours to ensure someone is impressed.
I'm not saying everyone who buys into corporate culture and works extra hours on side projects is a "cheerleader." In fact, being a cheerleader can be a good thing - so long it's done for the right reasons, and they recognize those times when the parameters need to be stretched, and the rule book needs to either be closed or re-written. The workplace archetype of which I'm writing here, does not know this.
Think Rain Man with pom-poms and an employee handbook in their back pocket.
6) The Expert
My sister recently blogged about this person, who was partly the inspiration for this post.
The Expert has done your job. The Expert has done your previous job. The Expert has long since mastered the job into which you're moving. They know your neighbors, and have done their jobs too.
They are champion name-droppers.
The Expert will stop to give you unsolicited advice on the most random of topics, for no particular reason. When they close their door, you just know they are Googling the details to some debate or interesting discussion they overheard in the next office. But they will never tell you that when they later casually bring up the topic over lunch. In fact, they will likely tell you the topic in question was the subject of their third Masters dissertation.
The funny thing about The Expert? Every single one I've ever had the dubious thrill of working with has either been fired or their position has been made redundant.
It's always fun to wait for a topic you're very familiar with to come up and let them dig their own hole before you correct them. But then, you know they'll just Google it later and revisit the argument some other time.
7) The Robot
This is the perfect employee. They contain none of the characteristics listed above. In fact, they instantly recognize each one, but will never tell anyone what they've seen in these people. No - they are above that. But they will never tell you that either, because they are humble.
This person is either a robot or an alien - but they are decidedly not human. They excel at their job, and they would likely excel at yours. But they would never admit that.
They do the best of deeds under the radar, offer quiet help to those around them, and never take undue (if any) credit. They appreciate corporate culture but do not preach it. They listen to gossip, (because they listen to everyone), but do not repeat it.
The Yoda quietly watches them, somewhat enviously. This person will be or already is either in charge of the entire operation, or multiple operations. If you do a good job, they tell you. If you do a bad job, they have a way of telling you that you quite possibly are the most incompetent person on the planet, and you will thank them for the advice. You suspect that they are worshiped in remote jungle societies.
I've worked with one of these in every position, and have always looked up to them, as everyone does. But I've always been a little too impatient to be this perfect member of the workforce. Like I said - I don't think they're really human, having come from the same planet as Martha Stewart, Anderson Cooper, and Meryl Streep.
So concludes my list.
There are many, many more common traits among coworkers, but generally, those traits mesh with one of the above. As I said, usually they're mixed and matched - multiple traits for one person, or more than one person with a single trait.
All except of course the robot.
Now I want to make it clear, I absolutely adore pretty much everybody I work with (a first for me). In fact, my current team may be the most talented group of individuals I've ever had the pleasure to work with. They are so much more than the personality types I'm about to lay out. In fact, another first is that none of the below characteristics fit any of them very well. And to be fair, most of these traits are not even present in my current hotel. But my current property is the exception to the rule.
So to follow are the seven people you have, currently, or one day will work with. They exist in nearly every setting I've ever experienced, and I'm sure you know each and every one of them very well. Sometimes one person may fit more than one archetype, and sometimes two or more will fit the same one. But here they are, in no particular order:
1) The Soap Star
There is always at least one. Perhaps they were late to work because their neighbor was going into labor, about to give birth to their clandestine love child by way of emergency C-section in the back of their car. It may be that they "accidentally" hit reply-all to an email and revealed someone said something negative about someone else. Perhaps they are in tears over the fact that a client called, angry because what was promised was not delivered - through complete fluke, and absolutely no one's fault (unless of course fault lay in another department).
There is never a dull moment with the soap star. Not only do they have an completely fantastic, beyond-belief story for every mundane story you have, but they also know every interesting or curious facet of everyone else's lives. It may be that a story, when first relayed to them was in fact quite boring - but once it gets processed through the spin-cycle of the soap star's brain, every glitch becomes a catastrophe, every insignificant event becomes a juicy milestone.
The soap star can be a good friend to have, and usually means very well. But it's best to give them something to chew on, or they'll seek it out themselves. Give them something about you to harp on, and usually they don't look any further. It's best to stay on their "good side" though - or you will be shot through the spin-cycle yourself, when you least expect it.
2) The Silo
This person knows their job, and knows it well. They've probably been in their position for a long time - long enough to figure out how to avoid relying on others for anything at all, except when absolutely necessary. Although you can rely on them for pretty much anything, they would prefer not to have to trust you enough to actually need you for anything.
They will sit in their office or cubicle, and generally work very hard. They refuse to go on group outings unless they feel it's mandatory, and will participate in as few extra-work activities as possible. Their job is important to them, but so is leaving work on time, and leaving work at work - which is probably very healthy.
The silo will be your friend, but it takes time to cultivate that relationship.
3) The Yoda
The Yoda has done every job in the department, and in some cases nearly every job in the building. They do not take sides, and are proficient at putting out most fires, if they feel so inclined as to get involved in your hurdles that they see as minor speed humps.
The Yoda could in fact run the department, or the entire operation, but I have yet to meet a Yoda who does. They have settled into their role, and when at home, they are at home. If there is a real emergency at work after hours, trust that if they felt the need to come in, would have the entire matter settled in a matter of moments. The Yoda can at any time become the Chuck Norris of any emergency.
You can confide in them with any piece of information, and know that it does not go past their office. You can come to them for help for any problem at all, no matter how tiny or immeasurably complex and if they deem you worthy, will have the answer to you in one sentence or less. It will likely be a pearl of wisdom you will hang onto for years to come. The Yoda knows you will eventually pass that wisdom on. The Yoda probably knows to whom you will pass it.
4) The Dr. Peter
Dr. Laurence J. Peter proposed in is 1969 book "The Peter Principle," that "in a hierarchy, every employee tends to rise to his level of incompetence." There is always one who fits this to a tee. They did so very well at their previous positions, that now they are trusted and required to do something very new, a task in which they are totally unqualified.
Unfortunately, the rest of the department will do it for them, until the Dr. Peter is fired or they leave. I've been fortunate enough never to work with one for very long, but not too long ago, (depending on how you define too long), I was subject to one of these people. They made life miserable for everyone.
They rarely admit that they do not know how to do their job. In fact, if they'd genuinely ask for help, or be honest about being unsure of something and willing to learn, they would slowly gain the respect of their peers. But the Dr. Peter is so interested in appearing authoritative in spite of their obvious shortcomings that the team usually works around them rather than with them.
I've also had the joy of inheriting a Dr. Peter as an employee. This individual had been doing the same job for - a long time (to protect the guilty, I am not saying for how long), but evaded dismissal in very creative ways. They maintained a positive personal friendship with the powers that be, and worked their fear of change and love of nostalgia to their advantage. They also did as little as possible that would involve any sort of risk, stayed below the radar at all possible times, and avoided taking responsibility for pretty much anything, or taking ownership of any situation in which they might fail.
Dr. Peter is probably the most aggravating of all the workforce archetypes.
5) The Cheerleader
You know this one. They break a daily sweat to ensure they embody each personality trait corporate culture teaches. Usually they're internal marketers of some kind, but more often than not, they're transparent to not only their peers, but their bosses in their perpetual attempt to be the teacher's pet.
They're at every fundraiser. In fact, they usually volunteer to make the posters and fliers, and are on (of not the sole member of) the planning committee. They raise their voices in agreement so often during staff meetings, that you half expect an "amen" and "hallelujah" after each Power Point slide has been presented.
They make the t-shirts for the bowling teams. They volunteer to take on special projects, (not that this is bad - but they do it every time) and will work long hours to ensure someone is impressed.
I'm not saying everyone who buys into corporate culture and works extra hours on side projects is a "cheerleader." In fact, being a cheerleader can be a good thing - so long it's done for the right reasons, and they recognize those times when the parameters need to be stretched, and the rule book needs to either be closed or re-written. The workplace archetype of which I'm writing here, does not know this.
Think Rain Man with pom-poms and an employee handbook in their back pocket.
6) The Expert
My sister recently blogged about this person, who was partly the inspiration for this post.
The Expert has done your job. The Expert has done your previous job. The Expert has long since mastered the job into which you're moving. They know your neighbors, and have done their jobs too.
They are champion name-droppers.
The Expert will stop to give you unsolicited advice on the most random of topics, for no particular reason. When they close their door, you just know they are Googling the details to some debate or interesting discussion they overheard in the next office. But they will never tell you that when they later casually bring up the topic over lunch. In fact, they will likely tell you the topic in question was the subject of their third Masters dissertation.
The funny thing about The Expert? Every single one I've ever had the dubious thrill of working with has either been fired or their position has been made redundant.
It's always fun to wait for a topic you're very familiar with to come up and let them dig their own hole before you correct them. But then, you know they'll just Google it later and revisit the argument some other time.
7) The Robot
This is the perfect employee. They contain none of the characteristics listed above. In fact, they instantly recognize each one, but will never tell anyone what they've seen in these people. No - they are above that. But they will never tell you that either, because they are humble.
This person is either a robot or an alien - but they are decidedly not human. They excel at their job, and they would likely excel at yours. But they would never admit that.
They do the best of deeds under the radar, offer quiet help to those around them, and never take undue (if any) credit. They appreciate corporate culture but do not preach it. They listen to gossip, (because they listen to everyone), but do not repeat it.
The Yoda quietly watches them, somewhat enviously. This person will be or already is either in charge of the entire operation, or multiple operations. If you do a good job, they tell you. If you do a bad job, they have a way of telling you that you quite possibly are the most incompetent person on the planet, and you will thank them for the advice. You suspect that they are worshiped in remote jungle societies.
I've worked with one of these in every position, and have always looked up to them, as everyone does. But I've always been a little too impatient to be this perfect member of the workforce. Like I said - I don't think they're really human, having come from the same planet as Martha Stewart, Anderson Cooper, and Meryl Streep.
So concludes my list.
There are many, many more common traits among coworkers, but generally, those traits mesh with one of the above. As I said, usually they're mixed and matched - multiple traits for one person, or more than one person with a single trait.
All except of course the robot.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Writer's Block?
I wasn't going to post tonight. But it's Tuesday. I post every night except Monday and Friday. Last week when I neglected to do so, I had the same feeling each day that you might get if you don't check your work email, forget to brush your teeth at night, or accidentally put on odd socks and realize it after you get to work. (Okay, maybe the last part is just me). But it feels like you forgot to do the one thing that you really should have done, consequence or not.
This blog has become compulsory. I realize that now. So at around 9:30, when I finally gave up my fight to have a night off, I couldn't settle on what to write about. I was going to rant about Andre Bauer, but I think there's enough of that already. Besides, he's been providing Sandlappers with water cooler jokes and eye-rolling quotes for years now - I don't think he's even begin to build his crescendo of absent-minded, asinine, thoughtless quibbles. I'll wait until he spews a really, REALLY good one - because he will.
So then I was going to lash Scott Brown. But then I kind of played those chips in Facebook earlier, and I'm not in the mood to rehash my rant. Besides, I have no desire to turn my laptop and this blog into a political soapbox - at least not every day.
Of course, eventually I'm going to write about being gay - I mean an entire entry, as I have some things I'd like to get off my chest. But then, I'm not keen on this blog being steered in the direction of the Ellen sitcom. I'll save it for another time.
But I couldn't not blog. I just couldn't. A friend of mind once made an analogy (though not referring to blogging) about biting into a golden apple and having your teeth caught in place. It feels like that. It's a nagging sensation that you can't escape.
Is it writer's block? I couldn't settle on a subject tonight, and every time I did, I shot down the idea before the first sentence was typed. Sure, I have plenty to argue about, plenty to rant about, but I'm not in a ranting mood. Besides, nobody wants to hear me gripe yet again.
My Unborn Child, (hereafter referred to as the D.F. - for Devil's Footprints) on the other hand, has begun to kick. It kicks hard. I'm waiting for several hours of alone time with which I can really start cranking it out, (as I need alone time to really write). But I've been squeezing some things in here and there. By here and there, I mean that at the end of each night, I've been pumping out ten to twenty pages. But I want hours - and hours - to really devote to it. The longer I write continuously, the better I'm able to put ideas into words. It's like when you haven't typed in weeks, but after a few hours, you're up to seventy or eighty words per minute.
So I thought about putting some of it on here. No, and huh uh. I started to, but for some reason I feel far more exposed when someone reads my fiction than I do as I write this blog. Somehow, I can put out in the internets what I was feeling when I lost a parent, or how I struggle with my identity - but when it comes to writing what Jamie Riley, David Easterly, and Nora Ramsey (three main characters in the D.F.) are up to, I clam up.
Maybe the D.F. is still incubating. Maybe I'm afraid that if I expose it to the world before it's ready, it will die, drowned in my self-consciousness. So why do I not mind writing about political situations of which I am only half-aware, about feelings that I wouldn't necessarily openly divulge to my closest friends without the application of much Chardonnay, and yet - I don't want to share a made-up story?
I'm not sure if this is writer's block, or my brain telling me that I need to focus on the D.F. and get it out of my head for good. I'm not sure if I get more out of writing fiction than non-fiction. I have no idea why I feel so much more vulnerable having anyone else read the D.F. than a personal blog I put out there for all to see.
I don't imagine I'll answer any of these questions soon, but one thing is certain: For all the catharsis and emotional release I get from writing five blog entries, I get twice as much from writing a single page of fiction. After a few hours of writing I feel immensely better, as if I've just had a marathon workout.
But I'll continue this blog. I'll write it five times per week as often as I can, and hope that eventually, maybe as I get better at it - I'll start to get the same release here.
Thanks for listening. I'm hoping my "block" is cured by tomorrow.
This blog has become compulsory. I realize that now. So at around 9:30, when I finally gave up my fight to have a night off, I couldn't settle on what to write about. I was going to rant about Andre Bauer, but I think there's enough of that already. Besides, he's been providing Sandlappers with water cooler jokes and eye-rolling quotes for years now - I don't think he's even begin to build his crescendo of absent-minded, asinine, thoughtless quibbles. I'll wait until he spews a really, REALLY good one - because he will.
So then I was going to lash Scott Brown. But then I kind of played those chips in Facebook earlier, and I'm not in the mood to rehash my rant. Besides, I have no desire to turn my laptop and this blog into a political soapbox - at least not every day.
Of course, eventually I'm going to write about being gay - I mean an entire entry, as I have some things I'd like to get off my chest. But then, I'm not keen on this blog being steered in the direction of the Ellen sitcom. I'll save it for another time.
But I couldn't not blog. I just couldn't. A friend of mind once made an analogy (though not referring to blogging) about biting into a golden apple and having your teeth caught in place. It feels like that. It's a nagging sensation that you can't escape.
Is it writer's block? I couldn't settle on a subject tonight, and every time I did, I shot down the idea before the first sentence was typed. Sure, I have plenty to argue about, plenty to rant about, but I'm not in a ranting mood. Besides, nobody wants to hear me gripe yet again.
My Unborn Child, (hereafter referred to as the D.F. - for Devil's Footprints) on the other hand, has begun to kick. It kicks hard. I'm waiting for several hours of alone time with which I can really start cranking it out, (as I need alone time to really write). But I've been squeezing some things in here and there. By here and there, I mean that at the end of each night, I've been pumping out ten to twenty pages. But I want hours - and hours - to really devote to it. The longer I write continuously, the better I'm able to put ideas into words. It's like when you haven't typed in weeks, but after a few hours, you're up to seventy or eighty words per minute.
So I thought about putting some of it on here. No, and huh uh. I started to, but for some reason I feel far more exposed when someone reads my fiction than I do as I write this blog. Somehow, I can put out in the internets what I was feeling when I lost a parent, or how I struggle with my identity - but when it comes to writing what Jamie Riley, David Easterly, and Nora Ramsey (three main characters in the D.F.) are up to, I clam up.
Maybe the D.F. is still incubating. Maybe I'm afraid that if I expose it to the world before it's ready, it will die, drowned in my self-consciousness. So why do I not mind writing about political situations of which I am only half-aware, about feelings that I wouldn't necessarily openly divulge to my closest friends without the application of much Chardonnay, and yet - I don't want to share a made-up story?
I'm not sure if this is writer's block, or my brain telling me that I need to focus on the D.F. and get it out of my head for good. I'm not sure if I get more out of writing fiction than non-fiction. I have no idea why I feel so much more vulnerable having anyone else read the D.F. than a personal blog I put out there for all to see.
I don't imagine I'll answer any of these questions soon, but one thing is certain: For all the catharsis and emotional release I get from writing five blog entries, I get twice as much from writing a single page of fiction. After a few hours of writing I feel immensely better, as if I've just had a marathon workout.
But I'll continue this blog. I'll write it five times per week as often as I can, and hope that eventually, maybe as I get better at it - I'll start to get the same release here.
Thanks for listening. I'm hoping my "block" is cured by tomorrow.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
*Broward County, Florida Bail Bondsmen Thrive on Taxpayer Sacrifice
With less than 5 percent of the world’s population, the United States has nearly a quarter of the world’s prisoners. We jail people for writing bad checks, driving with a suspended license and smoking marijuana. In most countries, offenses such as these would garner slap on the wrist, at most. When did we become so jail-happy? At four times our population, China - coming in second to the US in prison population, still only reaches 18% of American's prison rate.
And how much do we spend locking up everyone who steps just a little out of line? According to the United States Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) $68,747,203,000 was spent on corrections in 2006. That is twice the Gross Domestic Product of Kenya. The BJS reports: "The average annual operating cost per state inmate in 2001 was $22,650, or $62.05 per day; among facilities operated by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, it was $22,632 per inmate, or $62.01 per day."
Just a few years ago, Broward Country, Florida jails were so overpopulated, a judge referred to them as unconstitutional. The county was about to spend $70 million on a new jail, but instead decided to expand its pretrial release program. Broward County consequently saved $20 million a year, and an entire wing of their jail was closed.
Under the system, non-violent offenders would be released after arrest and monitored via call-ins or GPS monitoring device. It costs Broward County taxpayers $115 per day, per inmate, non-violent or not. Conversely, the pretrial release program costs the taxpayers about $6 per day per person. According to records, defendants still showed up for court, and they were able to see their families, maintain their lives and keep their jobs. It was a win-win for everyone - except the bail bondsmen.
So what did the bondsmen do? They lobbied. For a year, the bondsmen of Broward spent about $23,000 on the Broward County Council. $5000 alone was given to then-commissioner (and now Mayor) Ken Keechl, just five days before a vote that cut the program dramatically. Taxpayers in Broward are once again spending millions on incarceration. Non-violent offenders are losing their jobs, watching their lives fall apart over petty offenses. But for the bail bondsmen, I'm sure business is picking up again.
The bail bondsmen lobby is now working in states across the country to squash similar pretrial release programs, and they are having successes. I'm left to wonder if they even pretend to be doing this for anyone's well-being. Here is a business that preys on the downtrodden. A Florida county stepped in and did some good for a time, but that time is ending. The bondsmen are willing to sacrifice the good of the community at large so the desperate will open their wallets. To say this is outrageous is an understatement. But it was all done legally, if barely.
An industry is saving itself, but at what cost?
And how much do we spend locking up everyone who steps just a little out of line? According to the United States Bureau of Justice Statistics (BJS) $68,747,203,000 was spent on corrections in 2006. That is twice the Gross Domestic Product of Kenya. The BJS reports: "The average annual operating cost per state inmate in 2001 was $22,650, or $62.05 per day; among facilities operated by the Federal Bureau of Prisons, it was $22,632 per inmate, or $62.01 per day."
Just a few years ago, Broward Country, Florida jails were so overpopulated, a judge referred to them as unconstitutional. The county was about to spend $70 million on a new jail, but instead decided to expand its pretrial release program. Broward County consequently saved $20 million a year, and an entire wing of their jail was closed.
Under the system, non-violent offenders would be released after arrest and monitored via call-ins or GPS monitoring device. It costs Broward County taxpayers $115 per day, per inmate, non-violent or not. Conversely, the pretrial release program costs the taxpayers about $6 per day per person. According to records, defendants still showed up for court, and they were able to see their families, maintain their lives and keep their jobs. It was a win-win for everyone - except the bail bondsmen.
So what did the bondsmen do? They lobbied. For a year, the bondsmen of Broward spent about $23,000 on the Broward County Council. $5000 alone was given to then-commissioner (and now Mayor) Ken Keechl, just five days before a vote that cut the program dramatically. Taxpayers in Broward are once again spending millions on incarceration. Non-violent offenders are losing their jobs, watching their lives fall apart over petty offenses. But for the bail bondsmen, I'm sure business is picking up again.
The bail bondsmen lobby is now working in states across the country to squash similar pretrial release programs, and they are having successes. I'm left to wonder if they even pretend to be doing this for anyone's well-being. Here is a business that preys on the downtrodden. A Florida county stepped in and did some good for a time, but that time is ending. The bondsmen are willing to sacrifice the good of the community at large so the desperate will open their wallets. To say this is outrageous is an understatement. But it was all done legally, if barely.
An industry is saving itself, but at what cost?
Saturday, January 23, 2010
More Revengist Politics, and the Case Against Pelosi
In response to a lost-cum-aborted argument over a few drinks when I was cornered about why it was I did not like Nancy Pelosi, I've done some research. I still don't like her. I like her even less now. I was aware of a few less flattering facts, and discovered a few more.
When I started my research, all I found at first were lists of reasons people hated Pelosi that included "she has lying eyes" and "she's a snake." These were not facts. And yet, even when I Googled "Nancy Pelosi Facts" these "facts" were little to no more factual. And then of course I stumbled upon op-eds and articles from both the extreme left and extreme right, neither of which are prone to fact, at least not in its pure form.
So I had to keep digging. I checked her voting records, and I have to say that I am in agreement with many of her stances - if I could believe for a minute that they really were her stances. Unfortunately, her vote is purely - and I mean PURELY Democratic. Not even necessarily liberal because she's liberal, but because clearly she fits the description of "rank-and-file."
Since January of 1989, she has sponsored 75 bills. 61 of these haven't made it out of committee. Now I really need to do some further research to make some comparisons, but is this average? I'll have to find out.
My initial reasons for disliking and distrusting her came shortly after she assumed her role. Mind you I really did like her at first. I was excited that a woman had been appointed Speaker of the House, and was happy to see a Democrat in a prominent position. At the time, I was even willing to ignore the fact that she voted for herself - the first Speaker to do so, when typically they either do not vote or simply mark "present."
I was no fan of Dubyah. I even thought he should have been arrested at one point. But when you have a lame duck president, coupled with a Republican minority, why, oh why, must we waste time bickering. There was work to be done. Much mess-cleaning to be attended to. And yet - it wasn't cleaned up.
Early in her new role, Pelosi pledged a "new spirit of cooperation in Congress." This quote appears within a year of stating about Dubyah - "he must be stopped." Sound familiar?
Not too long ago, I blogged about my dislike of revengist politics. So many bills have been blocked by the Republicans out of spite and bitter wound-licking. And yet looking back, it appears Pelosi did the very same thing. This is one of so many reasons why I can no longer associate myself with either major party.
Of course there was also the recent CIA debacle, in which Madame Speaker was cornered (after attacking the previous administration for torturing Gitmo and other detainees) when it was revealed that she was given a briefing in September of 2002 explaining the coercive measures used. She explained that she was told that the CIA and the Department of Justice reviewed the techniques and determined them legal. Okay, I have to point out that at least one of these agencies is not known for its forthright nature, though she claims to have been deceived by the briefing. Okay, let's give her that one - the facts were not all present in the briefing. It turns out that in 2003 she was implicitly informed of a detainee's waterboarding. No evidence exists for her objection.
In 2002, Pelosi attempted to block Dubyah from entering Iraq - most of her reasons were in fact valid. However, one such reason given was that Iraq assuredly had weapons of mass destruction, and that our troops would be put into danger. Why then, state later that "they had to make up that story about weapons of mass destruction because that was the only thing that would sell the American people." That statement may be true, who's to know? But you can't argue opposing facts to support your aim du jour and expect people to buy it.
We are in a mess, as a country. We have a broken two-party system and a stalled government that is more interested in revengist character assassinations than in actually getting anything done. The right has moved too far right and the left has moved too far left.
I am neither right nor left - [pointing my finger diagonally upward toward the southeast] - I'm over there.
When I started my research, all I found at first were lists of reasons people hated Pelosi that included "she has lying eyes" and "she's a snake." These were not facts. And yet, even when I Googled "Nancy Pelosi Facts" these "facts" were little to no more factual. And then of course I stumbled upon op-eds and articles from both the extreme left and extreme right, neither of which are prone to fact, at least not in its pure form.
So I had to keep digging. I checked her voting records, and I have to say that I am in agreement with many of her stances - if I could believe for a minute that they really were her stances. Unfortunately, her vote is purely - and I mean PURELY Democratic. Not even necessarily liberal because she's liberal, but because clearly she fits the description of "rank-and-file."
Since January of 1989, she has sponsored 75 bills. 61 of these haven't made it out of committee. Now I really need to do some further research to make some comparisons, but is this average? I'll have to find out.
My initial reasons for disliking and distrusting her came shortly after she assumed her role. Mind you I really did like her at first. I was excited that a woman had been appointed Speaker of the House, and was happy to see a Democrat in a prominent position. At the time, I was even willing to ignore the fact that she voted for herself - the first Speaker to do so, when typically they either do not vote or simply mark "present."
I was no fan of Dubyah. I even thought he should have been arrested at one point. But when you have a lame duck president, coupled with a Republican minority, why, oh why, must we waste time bickering. There was work to be done. Much mess-cleaning to be attended to. And yet - it wasn't cleaned up.
Early in her new role, Pelosi pledged a "new spirit of cooperation in Congress." This quote appears within a year of stating about Dubyah - "he must be stopped." Sound familiar?
Not too long ago, I blogged about my dislike of revengist politics. So many bills have been blocked by the Republicans out of spite and bitter wound-licking. And yet looking back, it appears Pelosi did the very same thing. This is one of so many reasons why I can no longer associate myself with either major party.
Of course there was also the recent CIA debacle, in which Madame Speaker was cornered (after attacking the previous administration for torturing Gitmo and other detainees) when it was revealed that she was given a briefing in September of 2002 explaining the coercive measures used. She explained that she was told that the CIA and the Department of Justice reviewed the techniques and determined them legal. Okay, I have to point out that at least one of these agencies is not known for its forthright nature, though she claims to have been deceived by the briefing. Okay, let's give her that one - the facts were not all present in the briefing. It turns out that in 2003 she was implicitly informed of a detainee's waterboarding. No evidence exists for her objection.
In 2002, Pelosi attempted to block Dubyah from entering Iraq - most of her reasons were in fact valid. However, one such reason given was that Iraq assuredly had weapons of mass destruction, and that our troops would be put into danger. Why then, state later that "they had to make up that story about weapons of mass destruction because that was the only thing that would sell the American people." That statement may be true, who's to know? But you can't argue opposing facts to support your aim du jour and expect people to buy it.
We are in a mess, as a country. We have a broken two-party system and a stalled government that is more interested in revengist character assassinations than in actually getting anything done. The right has moved too far right and the left has moved too far left.
I am neither right nor left - [pointing my finger diagonally upward toward the southeast] - I'm over there.
Sometimes I Think I Can Cook - Holy Mole! Turkey Chili
The first time I saw Giada use dark chocolate in a savory recipe, I was confounded. But as soon as I started researching and discovered Mole sauce, I was itching to try it out. The first time I tried it, I made a variation of spaghetti marinara, and it was - okay. So then I decided to go back to the basics, and try the Mole in its traditional form. I served it over baked chicken on farfalle- yummy. I realized I should have tried it in its pure form before mixing it into a recipe, and immediately knew when I tasted it that it was perfect to blend into my turkey chili recipe.
I also thought that since it's cold and/or rainy and/or snowy over much of the country, this was a perfect time to put in a warm, hearty recipe.
You'll need:
2 tbl Olive Oil (Don't use Extra Virgin if you use organic, as the olive bits will burn and you'll get bitter black bits)
1 lb. ground turkey
1 chopped red oinion
1 cup chicken stock
1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 16 oz. can kidney beans, drained
5 cloves minced garlic
2 tbl chili powder
1 tbl paprika
t tbl dark chocolate shavings, packed (90% cocoa or above)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp cumin
t tsp black pepper
salt to taste
Sautee the garlic and onion in olive oil in a pot - as soon as the garlic turns just slightly golden, add the turkey and cook through, breaking up the turkey as you go along.
Pour in the stock, tomatoes, and stir until heated through. Let it come to a boil, then reduce to simmer. Add the chili powder, paprika, cumin and chocolate - stir through, then let simmer another five minutes.
Stir in the salt, pepper, and kidney beans, and let it simmer for ten minutes. Add the oregano, and let it simmer another five minutes. You're good to go!
(Hint - the later you add the oregano the better - as it cooks, it can take on a bitter taste - especially if you opt for fresh rather than dried, in which case add at the very end).
Serve with polenta or cornbread, and a Malbec.
I also thought that since it's cold and/or rainy and/or snowy over much of the country, this was a perfect time to put in a warm, hearty recipe.
You'll need:
2 tbl Olive Oil (Don't use Extra Virgin if you use organic, as the olive bits will burn and you'll get bitter black bits)
1 lb. ground turkey
1 chopped red oinion
1 cup chicken stock
1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes
1 14.5 oz. can diced tomatoes
1 16 oz. can kidney beans, drained
5 cloves minced garlic
2 tbl chili powder
1 tbl paprika
t tbl dark chocolate shavings, packed (90% cocoa or above)
1 tsp dried oregano
1 tsp cumin
t tsp black pepper
salt to taste
Sautee the garlic and onion in olive oil in a pot - as soon as the garlic turns just slightly golden, add the turkey and cook through, breaking up the turkey as you go along.
Pour in the stock, tomatoes, and stir until heated through. Let it come to a boil, then reduce to simmer. Add the chili powder, paprika, cumin and chocolate - stir through, then let simmer another five minutes.
Stir in the salt, pepper, and kidney beans, and let it simmer for ten minutes. Add the oregano, and let it simmer another five minutes. You're good to go!
(Hint - the later you add the oregano the better - as it cooks, it can take on a bitter taste - especially if you opt for fresh rather than dried, in which case add at the very end).
Serve with polenta or cornbread, and a Malbec.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Apologies
Good Morning!
Last night I met some friends in Columbia for dinner and drinks, and then drove back up to Greenville. Tonight is our hotel's end-of-year party, and tomorrow I'll be driving to Summerville after work.
So, this week I'm kind of taking off of blogging until Saturday's recipe.
That being said, I was called out last night on why I can't stand Nancy Pelosi. Back when I called myself a Democrat, (no worries, I am most assuredly NOT Republican either) I was regularly embarrassed by Pelosi. But I haven't thought about her for so long that when asked for specifics, I completely blanked - remembering only her intent to ignore all the repairing of Bush's catastrophic presidency and instead pursue him legally. When cornered, I completely failed to support my own argument.
So, over the next few days, I'm going to be doing my research. Normally I'm able to back up my statements - but in this case I wasn't. This is not sitting well with me.
Therefore, my Sunday * this week is going to be replaced with what I find out, rediscover and ponder when it comes to Nancy Pelosi. I'm looking forward to this.
Last night I met some friends in Columbia for dinner and drinks, and then drove back up to Greenville. Tonight is our hotel's end-of-year party, and tomorrow I'll be driving to Summerville after work.
So, this week I'm kind of taking off of blogging until Saturday's recipe.
That being said, I was called out last night on why I can't stand Nancy Pelosi. Back when I called myself a Democrat, (no worries, I am most assuredly NOT Republican either) I was regularly embarrassed by Pelosi. But I haven't thought about her for so long that when asked for specifics, I completely blanked - remembering only her intent to ignore all the repairing of Bush's catastrophic presidency and instead pursue him legally. When cornered, I completely failed to support my own argument.
So, over the next few days, I'm going to be doing my research. Normally I'm able to back up my statements - but in this case I wasn't. This is not sitting well with me.
Therefore, my Sunday * this week is going to be replaced with what I find out, rediscover and ponder when it comes to Nancy Pelosi. I'm looking forward to this.
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