Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Friday, May 24, 2013
Okay look, I'm sick of the Detroit bashing. We have a great hockey and baseball legacy. The Tigers and Red Wings mean a lot to Detroiters and Michiganders. Yes, they're our teams, but we also see them as ambassadors. They represent us. If it's possible for Detroit to produce high caliber sports teams, maybe, just maybe, Detroiters aren't as awful as the press we get.
I suspect that's part of the hatred for Detroit sports teams: Fans of other cities' teams can't wrap their heads around getting beat by a team from lowly Detroit. Accepting and admitting a Detroit sports team is, gulp, good, means admitting there's something positive about Detroit. Apparently that's just not something a lot of people are willing to admit. Detroit has been America's scapegoat and butt of jokes for so long that it's become impossible to accept or admit that anything good can come from there. (Every Motown artist of merit, Iggy Pop, MC5, Marshall Crenshaw, Eminem, Jack White, Detroit Cobras (to name but a few), Jerry Bruckheimer, Sam Raimi (and Bruce Campbell), and hundreds of actors past and present, myriad Pulitzer prize winners, and, oh yeah, Thomas Edison and Henry Ford (okay, Edison was from up the road in Port Huron, but close enough to count) But, yeah, nothing and no one of merit has ever come out of Detroit.
Yes, there are financial and political issues, serious financial and political issues. (Do not get me started on the recent rumor about selling art from the Detroit Institute of Arts. Seriously. Do not get me started on this unless you want to hear me swear and cry and finally get into a fetal position rocking in a dark corner.) And there is the crime that stems from financial and political issues. But like the urban blight, crime is limited to specific areas of Detroit. The rest of the metropolitan area is home to decent, neighborly, interesting, and yes, often very down-to-earth people. Sure, some are a little quirky, and some are not the savviest, but that's the cool thing about Michigan in general. We're comfortable in our skin and accept our neighbors, whatever their particular skin is. We help each other, we genuinely care, we give second chances. We defy general categories. We are proudly not the East or West coast, and we're not even really Midwestern. We're a couple of peninsulas. And each peninsula just one small border shy of being an island. It is my long held believe that is a key factor in the unique social and cultural composition of Michigan.
What really makes me angry, frustrates me, is that very often the people who bash Detroit have never been within 300 miles of Michigan, much less Detroit. You think the octopus on the ice at Red Wings games is barbaric and emblematic of the violent mentality in Detroit? You're entitled to your opinion, but there's more to it than what most people realize.
I'm an animal rights person AND a lifelong Red Wings fan. I do not condone the practice of throwing any animal, dead or alive anywhere, especially in a nationally televised arena.
No. Octopi are not native to the Great Lakes.
But. In fairness to Detroit, there is a long standing large Greek population in Detroit. Detroit's Greektown is incredible, the food is 100% authentic and Greek Detroiters are warm, friendly, full of zest and are part of the very unique (and I mean that in a positive way) tapestry of Detroit. Detroit would not be Detroit without its Greeks.
But because of the large Greek population and the large number of authentic Greek restaurants in and around Detroit, authentic Greek ingredients are abundant and easy to find in and around Detroit. Octopi are a staple of Greek cuisine and feature prominently in many dishes. (Braised octopus is a favorite of some of my Detroit friends of Greek heritage, others like it grilled, and of course calamari is very popular. I don't eat it, but I'm often told calamari at any Detroit Greektown restaurant is the best you'll get in the US. Calamari has been served at every Red Wings party I've ever attended in Southeast Michigan,
and most bars feature calamari specials during the playoffs. ) So, yes, it is very easy to find octopi of many types, sizes and origins in Detroit. They are plentiful. Even my itty bitty home town's grocery carries them or will special order them if you want a specific type.
Further, the Eastern Market, which is a huge, fabulous, storied, historic farmer's market in Detroit and the origin of the original Red Wings octopus tradition, has vendors who sell all manner of animals, dead and alive. You can even choose a live animal and have it slaughtered on site so you can have the freshest meat possible. This is normal and important to cultures other than American, and
Eastern Market is one of the few authentic, real deal farmer's markets
in the US featuring honest field to fork foods. While I suggest vegetarians and vegans avoid the meat and fish stalls, the rest of Eastern Market is a great experience that is truly rich in culture and hospitality. (An unfortunate scene involving sheep at a childhood visit to the Eastern Market helped make me the vegetarian I am today, but I don't hold that against anyone.)
The reality is that if those octopi weren't thrown on the ice, they'd be dinner at a restaurant or home. Like I said, I don't condone the practice, and I don't eat animals, but there are local cultural factors to consider before condemning the entire state of Michigan as violent neanderthals.
Here's the equation:
A hockey team has to win 8 games in two 7-game playoff series to get the Cup. Octopi have 8 tentacles. Detroit has access to a lot of octopi thanks to the Greek population. Yadda yadda yadda, a tradition in the playoffs was born. (And no, that doesn't explain the tossing of octopi for a hat trick.)
I believe in dignity and respect for all living, or once living, creatures, so no, one more time with feeling, I do not condone the practice. Many (many) Red Wings fans, vegetarian and otherwise, do not. But I do understand there are cultural and local reasons behind it. To Detroiters, octopi are as normal as cows and chickens in the butcher case. (And no, that doesn't make it okay to throw a steak or chicken leg into the arena.) Octopi are no "weirder" to us Detroiters than lobsters or shrimp. In fact, in some parts of Detroit, octopi are probably more normal and more prevalent than lobsters and shrimp.
My playoff tradition is to wear my (getting threadbare) Gordie Howe #9 jersey and my Tigers cap when I watch the games and pass on the calamari.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Random woman at bus stop: I hate this [expletive] wind. Me: Yeah, it's windy today, but Random woman at bus stop interrupting me and holding up her hand in a "stop" gesture: Don't you dare say Oklahoma. I'm so over their tornado.
What, if anything, is the proper response to that? (other than the eyebrow raise and jaw drop gape I gave her)
4:44 PM
Friday, May 17, 2013
My friend who had all the plastic surgery is now sending me weekly before/after photos of her friends and relatives who had a "little work done." Her messages all run along the lines of, "See, Trill? It's subtle and it does wonders for confidence and self esteem." My personal distaste for plastic surgery aside, the cost of these procedures my friend and her friends are undergoing brings a lot of stark lifestyle contrasts to the fore. My friend spent thousands (and I do mean tens of thousands) of dollars on what (to be fair) were relatively minimal "adjustments." How she (and other people) spend their money is none of my business, and it's certainly not my place to judge their judgement or their finances.
But since there's so much talk about the widening financial gap between those with money (and lots of money) and those without enough money to cover basic human essentials, me and my friends and family make an interesting case study.
I'm not looking for pity or sympathy. I am not envious of the things my friends and family are buying, even if I had "that kind" of money I wouldn't spend it on the things they do. And I do not want (or expect) my friends or family to give me money. And I do not want anyone to feel guilty about having money to spend however they want to spend it. And I certainly do not wish my situation on anyone, so there's no, "spend a day in my shoes, why dontcha" sour grapes.
I am just using my life to illustrate the chasm between those affected by the recession and those who remain unscathed. The interesting angle (I think) to my story is that my friends and family and I had the exact same background. We come from the same societal place. So, I find the contrasts in our lives interesting. We were all raised in similar economic situations, all similarly educated (college degrees), similar social morality...you get the point, it's not as if I was raised in poverty and crime or that they were raised with excessive wealth and cloistered from reality. I have no idea what, if anything, this might mean, but I'll note that with only a few exceptions we are all first generation Americans whose parents arrived in America as children or young adults who then seized America for all it was worth, attended college and worked hard at professional careers - and that includes many of our mothers. We were all raised in law-abiding, charitable, church-on-Sunday families, we were Scouts, we went to summer camps, played in the school band, got good grades (because college was not optional, our parents didn't give us the choice of not going to college), held bake sales for local causes, and we knew if we did something wrong our parents would find out about it from other parents or neighbors - so we followed rules and stayed out of trouble.
The only difference between my life path and that of my friends and family is that they got married and had children. Only a few of my female friends still work outside the home. Most gave up their careers about 10 years ago to be stay-at-home mothers and they are completely reliant on their husbands' income.
I am now, of course, on the poverty side, while my friends and family are on the, well, blissfully wealthy and unaware side. While my friend (and her friends) are spending thousands of dollars (really, tens of thousands each) on cosmetic plastic surgery...
I don't have health insurance and do not qualify for MedicAid, and so far I've been laughed out of the doctor's offices when I inquire about Obamacare. So I aam struggling to scrape up $20/month to pay off $1,900 in medical bills from my pneumonia and ovarian nightmares last winter. That $20/month is not easy to find. My grocery budget is $20/week, so the $20 medical bill payment means: No groceries for a week. Which means even my poverty diet of potatoes and beans and rice gets cut for a week. The medication I have to take for my ovary issue costs me $22/month (yay for Costco pharmacy). I have sold my plasma to pay for eye exams because I'm pre-glaucoma and I have to have twice-yearly advanced testing to follow the progress and catch it before it advances to the vision loss stage. There is a surgery, now, that "cures" my type of glaucoma, and there is a glaucoma association that offers financial assistance to low income patients, but until my "situation" advances I'm on my own for the screening expenses. The tests cost $650 - twice a year, so I have to budget $1,300/year for glaucoma tests. I'm developing carpal tunnel, but treatment is out of the question. I have not been to a dentist in two years.
Other friends are complaining about the hassle of renovating and expanding their house. My friend feels the already 6,500 square foot house they built four years ago needs updating and a "little more" space. When the renovation is complete their house will be 8,000 square feet and the pool area will be "more current." Oh. And. They (more accurately her husband) just bought their 15 year old child a brand new car - and not just any car - a $38,000 car. The child takes driver's ed this summer so they want her to have her own car to learn and practice with so when she gets her license she'll be familiar and comfortable driving her own car.
Meanwhile, I'm in foreclosure on my 970 square foot condo that is worth less than half what I owe on it. I can't even afford the insurance on a used car from the "as-is" no-warranty section of the sleazy used car lots. That's if I miraculously had the money to buy an as-is no-warranty car from a sleazy used car lot. I do not have that money, so I do not have a car.
Two of my close relatives are spending all of May in France because they wanted to be there for Cannes. They "always seem to plan" wrong and miss Cannes by a few weeks, so this year they decided to spend their French month, as they call it, in May instead of April. They were bummed because their first class plane tickets cost $1,500 (each) more this year. They did snag a "great deal" on a hotel in Monaco, though, because they negotiated a four week rate for a suite.
Meanwhile, I'm thankful that I have frequent train miles to cash in for a 200 mile train trip to help my mother after she recovers from surgery - because I don't have a spare $45 for the one way train ticket.
Another friend, well, friends, a couple, was recently featured in a huge prestigious financial national publication that has a monthly feature about financial success stories. The four page spread shows their lovely home, her lavish jewelry (gold is a great investment!), their five, count 'em five luxury cars, and, oh yeah, their financial particulars. To be fair, this friend married a man who was the only living relative of a distant uncle who happened to die exceptionally rich and without any other heirs. They stumbled into their wealth and they are enjoying it and investing it. The kind of investments that require thousands of dollars just to discuss. The "if you have to ask, you can't afford it" type of investments. And I laud them for all they've learned about their new hobby of investing. But they are not "help America recover" investments. They are making so much money that they are going to renounce their American citizenship, move to and become citizens of another, more tax friendly country. Oh, and, ironically, both were laid off from their jobs a year before I was. The inheritance hit a couple months into their unemployment and neither has worked since, and there are no intentions to ever work again.
Meanwhile, my 401K was completely drained in an attempt to pay my mortgage and medical bills.
One of my friends had to go through a long IVF saga to conceive a child. She felt sorry for couples who can't afford IVF treatments so she became very involved with a charity that raises money for couples who can't afford IVF. She recently chaired a fundraising event. The cost of the event? $400/person, $700/couple. She invited me. I declined the invite, she pressed me, then pressured me to attend. "It's a great networking opportunity for you! You have to attend. You'll meet people who can get you a job. Everyone attending has a C level title." There was a silent auction where the least expensive item bid started at $200. Someone "won" a condo - an actual home - in Aspen for $65,000. I'm sure it was a good deal, but who the heck goes to an IVF fundraiser and bids $65,000 on an Aspen condo in a silent auction...for IVF?! I'll tell you who: My friend's friends.
Meanwhile, I had to borrow the $12 commuter train fare to get to the suburb where the event was held. I met a lot of people and I worked the networking angle hard. But no job offers have yet to come of those introductions and I regret the $12 I spent on train fare.
I was recently out with a friend, we were running a few errands before I spent the evening babysitting her children. One of her casual Friday errands? Purchasing three 50" televisions, three DVRs and three sound bars, one for each of their children. Their under-the-age-of-10 children. It wasn't anyone's birthday. There wasn't a recent lottery win or inheritance. She was just sick of the kids fighting about who got to watch their favorite show on the good television, so she bought them all their own good televisions. She had the televisions, DVRs and sound bars delivered and set up that afternoon (a premium charge). That evening all three children had their own home theaters in their bedrooms.
Meanwhile, I have the same enormous clunker of a television I've had for 10 years. It has white lines across the top of the screen but I'm used to it, now. I have a DVD player that averages a 36% function rate.
Speaking of technology, most of my friends and especially my relatives all routinely upgrade to the most current smartphones. This often costs them a lot of extra money because their plans only allow for one or two phones in a two year period of time. They don't care about the upcharge, they want the latest phones the day they hit the market. I know people, I am related to people, who pay other people to stand in lines to buy new phones for them the day they're available. I am related to someone who paid a kid $300 and a new iPhone to stand in line at an Apple store to purchase two iPhones - one for him and one as payment (along with the $300) for standing in line on debut day.
Meanwhile, I'm still using the dumbphone that was a cheap temporary phone I bought a year before I was laid off. If someone sends me a text more than 160 characters I don't receive the full text. I frequently drop calls and I'm told I sound like I'm trapped in a tin can.
The same friend who bought the televisions lamented that her salon just raised their rates. She has a standing six week appointment wherein she will now spend $215 plus tip for a hair cut and color. She uses $63/9 oz. bottle shampoo and conditioner.
Meanwhile, I've let my hair grow and I trim it myself. A friend was cutting it for me but she stopped offering to cut it last year and avoids the topic of hair altogether, I'm taking the hint that she is no longer willing to cut my hair. I buy the enormous keg-o-shampoo from Costco. $5.99/40 oz. bottle, with a coupon, and I water it down to extend get more shampoos out of a bottle.
Another friend enjoys cooking and recently decided to try more vegetarian meals. Her enthusiasm is admirable and she shares her recipes with me. Most of the recipes are the kind of recipes that have a long list of ingredients no one usually has on hand. The type of ingredients that can only be procured at specialty grocery stores. One of the recent recipes looked interesting so I made a shopping list of ingredients I need to procure. I only had two of the ingredients so I had to buy 12 other ingredients. By the third ingredient it was clear my $20 weekly grocery budget would not allow this recipe. Just for kicks I added up the cost of those 12 ingredients: $32.38. For one recipe that will feed two people who, if they eat miserly, might have leftovers for a light lunch the next day. Oh. And. She cooks two sets of meals: One for her and her husband, one for her children. Sure, she enjoys cooking, it's a hobby for her. A very expensive hobby.
Meanwhile, I budget $20/week for food and very often I have to scrimp on that (see above, medical expenses). Which means: Potatoes, beans & rice, mac & cheese, and peanut butter. Fresh produce is a fantasy for me.
My friends like to take shopping trips. I don't mean a day looking for bargains at the mall. I mean week long vacations to New York, Paris or Milan. They are dressed in the latest designers and styles, and so are their children and dogs. I like shoes, but these women take it to a level even I find, well, weird. Possibly psychotic.
Meanwhile, the only clothes I've bought in the last three years are a few basics from Target my mother bought me for Christmases and birthdays. I have two pair of three and five year old shoes I keep as pristine as possible for interviews. I have bras that are functioning only because they're held together with safety pins and some clever sewing and mending. My mother gave me a package of underwear for my birthday last year, but other than that my underpants are all more than 3 years old, as are my socks. My sneakers are five years old. Yes, they were expensive when I bought them (after my foot/ankle surgery) and they've held up well, and from the outside they don't look too awful. But the tread and the inside are embarrassing and probably not doing my foot and ankle any favors.
My friend's IVF fundraiser was black tie only, so I wore the only real black tie worthy dress I own, which is seven years old. My friends were visibly "troubled" that I showed up wearing it. One of my friends said, "You should have told me you didn't have anything to wear, I would have loaned you something." She said this not with sympathy but with dismissive annoyance. Another said, "I told you everyone here has a C level title, you have to look like you fit in if you want them to take you seriously." I was an embarrassment to them. There were lots of group photos taken, "the old gang" kind of shots, the old gang of which I was a key member. I was asked to be included in one shot and my friends said, "Trillian's tall, put her in the back." Which is fair, I am tall and I am often in the back of photos...except I'm the only one in the back of this photo so it looks like I photobombed my friends. I might be overly sensitive about this, and in reality I don't care about the photos, but I do care about embarrassing my friends - I don't mind embarrassing myself, it's the one thing I do well - but I don't want to embarrass other people. Several photos of the evening were posted on a couple social pages and on websites, and the group shots of my friends feature prominently in all the public displays, however the one shot we me in it was not used. Which is fine, I didn't pay to be there and I certainly do not need or want my photo plastered on society pages. But it was clear to me that I was an unsightly embarrassment to my friends. I found the Cinderella without a fairy godmother aspect kind of funny, my friends in their glorious new gowns, dripping in multi-carat jewelry, handbags that cost more than my mortgage payment, hair, nails and makeup all professionally done, breasts all newly augmented back into their perky position, complexions dermabraded and filled, Riviera sun kissed shoulders bared...and then there was me. But I also feel bad that I embarrassed my friends at what was an important event for them. It may sound silly and inconsequential to me, and to you, but it was a big deal for them. As a friend, you support your friends, you do things you might not want to do because it matters to your friends and you are a loyal and supportive friend. That's my take on friendship. So I feel bad that I dropped the ball at the event and brought shame to their otherwise very posh and lovely event.
Apart from that one group photo, they ignored me the entire evening. A few weeks after
the event a box arrived. It contained a couple gently worn expensive handbags,
a few gently worn cashmere sweaters and a gift card at a posh salon and note
from two of my friends saying, “We cleaned out our closets and know you love
these colors, enjoy! AND GO GET A HAIRCUT!!!!”
Of course it was a nice gesture and I was (and am) grateful,
but I don't want to be their new charity project. They never offered me any of their cast off handbags or
clothes in the past…and certainly never bought me a haircut.
I know it sounds
like I’m ungrateful and sullen and resentful and bitter and jealous and need a
stern talking to about graciousness. I was not, and am not, any of those
things. But let’s be realistic: At that point I’d drained gone into debt for train fare to
get to the gala and home again, I was squeezing the last vestiges of my last
tube toothpaste, I hadn’t eaten any kind of produce in weeks and my $20/week
budget was spent. Last year’s Dooney and Burke bag and a Fendi sweater were not
exactly what I needed. Yes, I appreciated the hair cut, but realistically again, it was at a salon I would never frequent, even when I was
employed, because haircuts start at $85 there. The gift card was for $50. Add a
$10 tip (minimum) and that haircut would cost me $45. Not. In. The. Budget. A
train/bus pass, a bag of apples, a giant bottle of shampoo from Costco…those
would have had me squealing with glee. I realize my friends have never been in my
situation so they don’t know how unimportant fashion and luxury items are when
you’re unemployed. They don’t know what it’s like to worry about running out of
toothpaste and deodorant the day before a job interview. One might think they
could figure it out, and one might think they would be embarrassed to give a
cast off designer handbag to an unemployed friend. But in their minds they were
helping. There’s an innocence to their (albeit misguided) attempt to help me.
At least that’s what I tell myself. I tell myself this
because I do not want to resent my friends or be angry with them merely because
they’re fortunate enough to remain unaware of what losing your job does to your
life. I wouldn’t wish unemployment on anyone and by extension, I'd like to spare my friends the harsh realities. Once I realized how truly unaware
my friends were, I came to a mindset that I didn’t want anyone to know how bad
it is. I didn’t want sympathy or charity. I wanted to allow my friends remain
innocent. They are, essentially, the girls we were when we were growing up in
the suburbs. Innocent, idealistic, carefree and happy. Enlightening them to
what unemployment did to me and my life would be a buzzkill the likes of which
they’ve never experienced. It would shatter lifelong illusions and potentially
scare the crap out of them.
They are clinging to the quickly antiquating notion that things like this aren't supposed to happen to people like us. It goes against the grain of everything we were taught and shown about life - get good grades, stay out of trouble, go to college, get a good job, make a decent living, lead a happy life. It's a formula that can't fail...except it is failing for millions of us. Yet millions of other people, our peers, no less, don't realize or don't care that millions of their peer group are living in poverty due to a failure in the same formula we all followed. I don't think they're in denial. I think poverty in America, in their peer group, is just such an abstract concept for them that they can't believe it exists. What I hear, almost daily is, "You're intelligent and creative and highly educated and you have fantastic professional work experience, you'll get a job any second!" The people who say this are trying to cheer me up, buoy my confidence, but, more than that, I've discovered they're trying to bolster their own confidence, they feel a need to verbally reassure themselves that their deeply ingrained beliefs that educated/intelligent/creative/professional people do not end up in poverty. They are essentially dismissing me and the notion that anyone like me, and by extension, like them, in America, could end up with nothing but job rejection notices, no health insurance, living on potatoes and beans and rice and facing homelessness.
I could enlighten my friends, present the harsh truths, and I've thought about doing just that. But it wouldn't alter their perspective because I'm the only one they personally know in this situation, and they blame my lack of a husband rather than the economy. It's not worth the exhausting conversation I would have to have with them. And if I managed to get through to them, they'd be petrified at the realities that they didn't realize. They'd be scared. I can’t do that to a friend. And I don’t want to
embarrass them, as I probably did at their gala fundraiser.
And I especially didn’t want anyone to be burdened with
worry about me.
Lest you think my friends and family are a bunch of unaware, small minded snobs, I feel duty bound to defend them. These are not snobbish, selfish dolts. They are all college educated, most have masters degrees. They love a good cause. These are people who run in cancer
fundraising marathons, make cookies to send to troops in Afghanistan, volunteer
to help build playgrounds for inner city kids, whip out the credit card for
whatever Bono tells them to buy for a good cause (ironically, that cause is poverty and debt
in countries other than America), and donate last year’s clothes and
electronics to Goodwill and the Salvation Army. They plant trees, drive hybrid
cars, eat local organic, use reusable grocery bags, don't smoke and don’t litter. They set aside one week of their vacations a year to volunteer in underprivileged or developing nations so their children understand charity firsthand. They put their children in language immersion classes so their children have a global awareness and communication skills to travel in China, Africa, India and South America.
They are good, charitable people. They have the receipts and
itemized tax returns to prove it.
I just happen to be a fluke freak for whom the tried and true formula didn't work. Like I said, my friends blame my inability to "snag a husband." In their minds, that's where it all went wrong. I followed the formula to a point, but didn't complete it and therefore the formula didn't work for me. I missed a crucial factor in the equation: A husband. They feel that everything that's wrong in my life can be blamed on that one crucial missing factor. And maybe they're right. Even though I never saw myself depending on a man financially - I never saw myself not earning a living in some capacity - I did see myself as part of a married team, an equal financial, emotional and life planning contributor. Perhaps being part of a team like that would foster more employment opportunities. At the very least it would potentially provide an income during my unemployment. (Although I know couples who were both laid off in the last three years, so...that kinda shoots holes in that theory.)
Whatever the reason, me and my friends and family who started at the same place and followed the same life path have ended up far, far apart on the social and economic scale. Social Darwinism, I suppose, survival of the fittest, and since I have been deemed unfit to mate, it stands to reason I am unfit to survive in other aspects as well. I think it makes for an interesting social study because it brings both ends of the economic spectrum into sharp focus.
Last year I interviewed for a job and did not get it (obviously). The HR person I interviewed with was one of the worst examples of HR ignorance and arrogance I have ever encountered. The HR person was young and very self-important. It was obvious the "I have a job and you don't, and I am in the position of making or breaking your opportunities for employment" aspect of the HR - candidate dynamic had gone straight to the ego. But I sucked up and played the game and got through to the second and third round of interviews, which went well.
The hiring manager (in an executive level position) was very nice, she even actually phoned me to explain the only reason they didn't select me for the position was because the other top candidate had the exact client experience in the industry of their top client. She wanted me to know that I was perfectly qualified and a great candidate and a nice person, perfect for her team, but the other candidate had very specific client experience so it made more project sense to hire the other candidate. I understood, and I thanked her for personally following up with me. She told me she'd send me any other openings that might open up and encouraged me to keep applying at her company.
Good to her word, about six months ago she sent me a job posting and I applied, and received a standard rejection email from HR. Then, last week she sent me another email with a newly posted job and suggested I apply. I thanked her profusely and spent three hours carving out a thorough application. I mentioned the hiring manager who sent me the job postingUnder the "How did you hear about this position" section.
Today I received this email from the ignorant, arrogant HR person:
We received your application for [ABC job] at [XYZ, Inc.].
After reviewing your candidate file we discovered you were not selected for two previous positions at [XYZ, Inc.]. You will not be considered for the [ABC job]. This is your third strike. We have removed your candidate profile from our database. All future applications you submit to [XYZ, Inc.] will be similarly deleted. [XYZ, Inc.] feels you are not an appropriate fit for our company culture.
True, this wasn't a form rejection email, which is refreshing. When you spend significant time and thought on a job application it's nice to have a personal response. And I always appreciate candor and constructive advice. And I like that he didn't hide behind a generic signature, he took full responsibility for the rejection email by signing his name and three, count 'em three, lines of a job title. (Ever notice the correlation between age and job titles? The younger, more junior level the person, the longer and fluffier the job title.)
It's certainly the most blunt rejection letter I've received, so kudos there, too. Message received, loud and clear. I'm not an [XYZ, Inc.] kind of person. If I were basing my opinion of [XYZ, Inc.] solely on the HR person, I would wholeheartedly agree that I am not an appropriate fit for their company culture.
However.
There is the matter of the woman who suggested I apply to the position. She is the polar opposite of the HR person. So I'm confused as to what [XYZ, Inc.]'s culture is. Is it the snide HR nitwit, or the pleasant, professional executive? Is she a lone wolf, a renegade who doesn't fit in at [XYZ, Inc.], or is the HR person an jerk wielding what little power he has over lowly job candidates who are no threat to him?
The executive is far senior to the HR guy. If I were an angry, spiteful, sore loser I would forward the rejection email to her. But I'm not angry or spiteful. I'm the kind of person who routinely earned good sportsmanship awards and got extra civics points.
I could query her with my actual sentiment: Confusion. "Thank you for suggesting the [ABC position], I applied and was summarily rejected. Perhaps I was not the right fit for the position, and it seems HR feels that I am not the right fit for [XYZ, Inc.], either. I very much appreciate your efforts in suggesting job postings to me, but I am now confused as to whether or not I should proceed with any future openings."
Apart from the HR nitwit, I would very much like to work at this company so I don't want to burn any bridges or come off in any way unprofessional. Going over the head of an HR person with an overinflated sense of importance is never a good idea. I learned that lesson a long time ago. And the rejection email is very clear. There is no gray area nor room for interpretation.
Some will say, "Trill, you have nothing to lose. Forward the email to the nice executive who suggested you apply to the position. If take this HR ninny down in the process, so bet it. You're doing a lot of people at [XYZ, Inc.] a huge favor."
And I would agree with that point of view, but...coming off as a snarky backstabber is not the optimal image to cultivate when one is in desperate need of a job.
There are different schools of thought on the subject of words said
while under the influence of alcohol. One school believes that alcohol
is a truth serum. Another school believes that alcohol is a brain
poison.
I lean toward the poison school of thought. I
tend to dismiss drunken words before the night concludes. "Meh, it was
the alcohol talking, she doesn't really want to be a stripper."
But.
Alcohol does lower inhibitions. So yes, in some cases, people have the
fortitude to say things they would not normally have the nerve to say.
"Wow. I knew she had some resentment about her husband's affection
toward their dog, but I had no idea things were that weird and that
bad..."
My rule of thumb is to factor in the number and
types of drinks imbibed when deciding on the truthfulness of an alcohol induced comment. A breathalyzer of sorts.
Two beers or glasses
of wine or less = true.
Two regular sized mixed drinks (one 1.5 oz. shot)
of vodka, gin, rum, scotch = probably true, depending on the proof of the booze and whether or not it was diluted with ice and/or a mixer.
Anything said after
ingesting more alcohol than that, especially alcohol with a high proof =
probably not true.
...with the exception of really bizarre confessions that are just too weird and out of character to be anything other than true.
So, a friend had two glasses of
Scotch, neat, followed by a third Scotch and soda on the rocks.
Inhibitions: Definitely lowered. To the point nothing but silliness is being spoken? Gray area.
I also have the
same rule of thumb for hearing and accurate memory while imbibing
alcohol. If I've had more than two drinks I don't allow myself to
presume that I heard (and correctly remember) what other people said
during the time I was ingesting alcohol.
So, to set the stage, I had one Scotch, neat, and another over a lot of rocks that were nearly melted before I drank it.
My
friend, three drinks downed, said, "Face it Trill, no one wants to marry you or even date
you, no one wants to hire you. You're not getting any younger. Your best
years are behind you and your future is looking alarmingly dreadful.
What's the point to your life from here on out?"
Um.
Okay.
It's not as if I don't think this myself at least once an hour every day, so, you know, the words didn't come as a shock. It was just weird to hear them spoken in voice other than the one in my head.
This is one of my nice friends. A friend who isn't living a Stepford paradise life. So I chose to take her question not as rhetorical criticism, but as a genuine friendly inquiry. I chose to presume that she thought I have the point to my life figured out and she was asking me to explain it to her. Worst case scenario: she's concerned about and for me.
Unfortunately, I don't have an answer because I have no clue what the point to my life is, now that every goal and desire I had didn't happen and won't happen. Career-wise, it's looking like I peaked. Man-wise, well, that just never happened and it's too late now. But she was three drinks down and whatever I said next really didn't matter. I could start talking about purple flying horses and listening to the vibrations of fossils and she wouldn't remember or care the next day.
So I shrugged and said, "From here on out the choices for the point of my life are not what I thought they would be at this juncture. So, I dunno. Charity work? French lessons? Cats?"
She gave me a surprisingly quick and on point response: "Sssssereesly, Trill, you have to ssstttp making a sjoke of evreeething and get your shit together."
Me, suddenly very sober, facing my now sloppier drunk friend, "Instead of stating the obvious, how about offering constructive advice?"
Silence.
I stumped the drunk.
We each had another drink and I took her back to her hotel. Somewhere en route she removed her shoes, further cluing me into the level of her intoxication. I tried to warn her, I am a good friend that way. I did say, "We're in a cab. A filthy cab. If you take off your shoes you'll be barefooted in a filthy cab. And when we get out of the cab you'll be barefooted on even filthier city street."
She thought about that for a moment and said, "Whatever germs my feet touch won't hurt me as much as these heels."
Score one for the drunk woman. Maybe she wasn't as drunk as I thought, which called her earlier comments into question: Maybe she wasn't just blathering drunk nonsense after all. In which case, I should be...what? Incensed? Offended? Hurt? Angry? Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.
She couldn't remember her room number, so I asked the front desk and got her to her room. While I used her bathroom she broke into the mini-bar. Again, I tried to warn her, "NO! DO NOT OPEN THAT!!! THAT TWO OUNCE BOTTLE OF VODKA WILL COST YOU $18!!!!" I was too late. A mini bottle of vodka was being poured into a glass of juice. Oh crap. She opened a $10 bottle of juice. The hangover's going to be bad, but the mini-bar bill at checkout is going to be worse. I was the relatively sober one so I felt responsible for the $28 Screwdriver.
She then poured half the drink into another glass and extended it to me. I declined. My experience has shown that there is no glasnost between Scotland and Russia and I was sober enough to recall that and adamantly refuse the vodka.
And then my friend said, "So'kay. You want advice? I'll give you advice." And she belted down one of the glasses of Screwdriver.
Oh. Whoa. Wait a minute.
"Naw, it's okay. I'm good. I know what I need to do. I just need to get a job and get my career back on track. It's all good. I'm working on it. Really."
She blew slobbery raspberries at me. "Career schmeer. This is what you need to do."
*******************The following is rated PG-13 and NSFW***********************
She yanked off her top and revealed:
a) She's going bra-less these days
b) She had a boob job, including
c) areola tattooing ("tittooing")
You may be thinking, "Um, Trillian? How do you know she had a boob job and tittooing? You would have to have seen the 'before' to accurately assess modification."
This friend and I go way back. We've gone to a lot of concerts, including some long weekend festivals. We've slept in some strange places and stood guard for each other while changing clothes and/or peeing in some unconventional places. You get to know a gal under those circumstances.
We're both whiter than white - we'd have to spend a year carefully building up a tan in the South Pacific just to achieve a "fair" complexion. You can do the math...our dermis is pigment challenged everywhere. Just like most women from the regions from whence our DNA originates. But men apparently prefer tawnier, darker nipples. I didn't think her husband would be the kind of guy who would have a preference for that sort of thing, but she exclaimed, "When I decided to get the lift, [her husband] begged me to get the nips reshaped and recolored, too, and we both love it! I never realized how bland and uninteresting they were before, now I can't stop looking at them!"
Et tu, my friend, et tu?
A few years ago she did mention that she was relieved that her daughter inherited her husband's skin and coloring, and she added, "Thank God she doesn't have putrid pale nipples." And it pains me to admit that I kind of understood where she was coming from. If I had a daughter the least of my concerns would be the pigmentation of her areolas, and I certainly would not discuss the subject with anyone. But given the emphasis and apparent importance of these things nowadays, I'm sure it would cross my mind at some point. And yes, okay, yes, I would feel bad if my daughter inherited my almost pigmentless nipples. I know, I know, with all the problems in the world it's ridiculous to even enter into this train of thought. I know. But. I know from embarrassing first hand experience that men, or the men I've met, do not like pale nipples. And apparently my friend's husband has a preference, too.
"You need to get those girls lifted and reshaped, you always said you want a reduction! So do it! Trill, I gotta tell ya, the bigger they are, the farther they fall, and it's only a matter of time before yours fall to your hips. You're obviously not having children so the 'waiting until after I have children' excuse is no longer valid. Get it done, and color those nips (she fondled hers for emphasis). It will give you a new lease on life and you'll get your old spark back. A little tummy tuck, a little lypo on the hips and bum...a little filler around the eyes...best thing I ever did."
Oh crap.
Whatever she wants to do to her body is her business. And I knew she had some work done. She told me about it. To her credit, she isn't one of those women who pretends they haven't had anything done. But I didn't know she had that much done and I certainly didn't need to see it.
But I did have a question. Something that I've wondered about since I first heard about tittooing.
She was drunk and standing there topless in front of me, so I took the opportunity to ask her.
"Okay, so, your husband, and other men, prefer darker nipples. And yours were very pale pink."
"So are yours, Trill," she interrupted, acting a little defensive.
"Yes, yes, mine are very pale. As are other private areas of my body. Which leads me to my question..."
"Oh good God no, Trillian, I cannot even imagine how much that would hurt. They had to freeze my boobs just to tattoo the areolas. Plus I don't think it would be safe to inject ink down there."
I don't know about the safety of it, but I'm pretty sure women do get tattooed in and around their vulvae.
But. Here's my confusion. If men prefer tawny, darker nipples, doesn't it stand to reason they prefer similarly colored nether regions? If not, why?
Wouldn't it look weird to have mismatched vulva and nipples?
Let's put it another way: If a guy had tawny or dark nipples but a pale or pink penis, I would notice. And it would distract me. (I wouldn't really care, but I would think, "Ewww, did he have his nipples tittooed?")
Further, what about anal bleaching? Why are darker nipples preferred while paler, whiter anuses are what men desire? I'm sure I'm missing some crucial point because it doesn't make sense that mismatched intimate body part colors would be a turn on.
I didn't want to see my friend's nether region and it was getting more than a little weird to be in a hotel room with my friend half naked and drunk. I asked her to put on her shirt. She obliged.
"I'm just saying, Trill, we're not getting younger. You're in a rut and a serious funk. Your tits have always bugged you, this is the perfect time to just go for it. And get a few other tune ups while you're at it. It's done wonders for me and my attitude."
"Let's just say I had a lapse in judgment and took your advice. Where am I getting the thousands of dollars to cover the expense?"
"Oh, right. You're really that skint?"
Good grief. Does she really think I have that kind of money squirreled away after three years of unemployment? That had to be the booze talking. This friend is not that unaware.
"Ummmm, yeah. I'm really so broke that I can't afford plastic surgery." I jocularly threw a pillow at her and got up to leave. She was drunk, I was tired and didn't want to discuss boobs, hers or mine, anymore.
"You can't leave. We haven't figured out the point to the rest of your life yet!"
"I don't think a better body and tittooing is the point to the rest of my life."
"You need a man."
"No I don't. I need a job. I do not need a man."
"Every woman needs a man."
"Not every woman. Lesbians don't need men."
"Shut up, Trill. You're splitting hairs. Men don't like that, by the way."
"A man is not the answer to any of my problems."
"Yes it is. A man answers the problems of your loneliness, your funk, your rut, your lack of point to the rest of your life."
"How about if I work on charities, take French lessons and get some cats instead?"
"Nope. Boob job. Tittooing. Tummy tuck. Man. In that order."
"Where is 'career' in any of that? I'm not exactly the kept woman type of woman."
"Boob job. Tittooing. Tummy tuck. Man. That's your new mantra. Say it, believe it, and it will be so. And by the way, I wasn't going to tell you this because I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but, I got a promotion, I'm a VP, now, and I'm sure it's because of my new confidence and happiness with my body and my re-energized sex life. So. Boob job. Tittooing. Tummy tuck. Man."
She was drunk so I decided to placate her, "Okay. That's my mantra. Congratulations on your promotion. You've worked really hard for a lot of years, I suspect that's why you got the promotion. I gotta go."
Now, in the aftermath, of course I'm mulling over the bigger picture. My friend does seem, well, imbued with a bit more joie de vie. I thought it was because both her kids are in school, now, and she's not juggling as much work-mom-wife-work stress. Maybe it is the new nipples. Maybe there's something to it. I hope not, I fervently hope a lot of cosmetic surgery isn't the answer to a stalled career...and for that matter, a stalled romantic life. The former is relevant to me, the latter not at all.
Or maybe she was just really drunk and spouting alcohol-included crap.
Either way, she has tittooed new breasts and she loves 'em, and apparently her husband is no longer living under the oppression of pale nipples.
If that's the point to her future, my charities, French lessons and cats don't seem as pathetic as they did before my friend shared her enhancements.
