Friday, December 31, 2004
What some Vice Presidents do in their spare time.... Happy New Year!
Sister-in-law and I struggled to get her over-stuffed suitcase into the back seat of the Audi, compliments of awesome after-Christmas sales and a Euro/Dollar exchange rate much to sister-in-law's advantage. We waved again to her brother standing on the porch a.k.a. my husband. "You know Anna you really do have things backwards," she comments. "He's supposed to put the suitcases in the car. He's supposed to take out the trash. He's supposed to do the outdoor grilling." "Really? Gee now you tell me...Is he supposed to be taking his sister to the airport too?"
Western-Centricity. The death toll from the Tsunami disaster has nearly reached the population of the little Austrian city sister-in-law is returning to tonight. Put in this perspective does 125,000 seem a lot or little? How strange that the significance of a given number changes when juxtaposed against different backdrops. For instance, had the number of people killed on 9/11 been killed in Indonesia since Sunday's earthquake, it probably wouldn't have even made the front page. We are moved by the photo of a cherubic two-year-old Swedish boy reunited with his sobbing father but hardly a mention is made of the countless Indonesians lucky enough to be reunited with their loved ones. 100,000 plus people have just died in a natural disaster yet there are only media whispers of the same number of Iraqis having been killed by a government who decided to wage a war against a country that had nothing to do with the 3,000 or so killed on 9/11.
Western-Centricity. The death toll from the Tsunami disaster has nearly reached the population of the little Austrian city sister-in-law is returning to tonight. Put in this perspective does 125,000 seem a lot or little? How strange that the significance of a given number changes when juxtaposed against different backdrops. For instance, had the number of people killed on 9/11 been killed in Indonesia since Sunday's earthquake, it probably wouldn't have even made the front page. We are moved by the photo of a cherubic two-year-old Swedish boy reunited with his sobbing father but hardly a mention is made of the countless Indonesians lucky enough to be reunited with their loved ones. 100,000 plus people have just died in a natural disaster yet there are only media whispers of the same number of Iraqis having been killed by a government who decided to wage a war against a country that had nothing to do with the 3,000 or so killed on 9/11.
Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Bloviatin' Bloggers Need Breaks too... Hence the week-long silence. Sometimes it's good just to be quiet. And soak things in. This way you pick up the little things you miss when you're banging your own drums all of the time. Plus it has taken a while to shovel out the driveway from its eighteen inches of snow. And slipping down the stairs and falling on my tail bone didn't help either...
The sister-in-law is here visiting thirty pounds lighter than the last time I saw her -- a combination of diet and a brother in Salzburg who is ever the drama-queen of dangerous games e.g. this time last year it was a dangerous game of alcohol and sleeping pills. She wisely did not bring her cell phone with her to the States. Just a carton of cigarettes she's been smoking out in the eighteen inches of snow in our garden. I've secretely checked the Salzburger Nachrichten online and there are no reports of brother-in-laws doing stupid things so that's good...
Indoor icicles. On a particularly cold day, I took the sister-in-law to my no-filter-Camel-smoking friend so that she could enjoy a smoke by my friend's kitchen fireplace rather than outside with the icicles. But alas I think my outdoor winter garden is warmer than inside the friend's 17th century house that goes on the market January 1st -- a victim of its owners' unraveling lives -- a dizzying spiral of bad luck and denial as it were. First the friend's husband lost his travel business after 9/11. Then there was the third floor fire. There was a short reprieve where it looked like things were getting better i.e. the insurance covered $400,000 of repair work to their historic home. But taxes and insurance costs on their third floor Bed & Breakfast rose so high that they couldn't afford to maintain their business. The friend lost her job as a receptionist. Their four grown children still live at home. None holds a job by which he or she could feed him- or herself let alone pay rent. My friend is in her fifties without two nickels of savings to rub together. Try that one on for a reality: being a trapeeze artist ever performing without a safety net to catch you i.e. Welcome to America.
Our Jonathan Franzen Christmas. The son was an absolute jerk Christmas morning. Every maddening trait he possesses came out in full glory and every button of mine he could think of pushing he did. Instead of playing our well-worn Ella Fitzgerald Christmas CD, we played 'Who Can Get on Each Other's Nerves?' So.... what better place to lash back but the Christmas dinner table (the advantage to being a non-sentimental secularist is that holiday decorum does not dissuade a brewing knock-down fight between mother and son). Hubby gave me stern looks at the table but to no avail given he had no recriminations to make following his recent stellar Thanksgiving dinner performance. The sister-in-law looked non-plused. She is heir to a long lineage of Franzen-esque Christmas dinners and would surely have been surprised if this one had gone off without a glitch.
The sparks diffused the tension for the time being and we were soon playing a game of Hearts. But the tension is always there, isn't it? In every family that unique conflux of love and hate.... All of the unspoken and spoken things between people bonded together by strands of DNA: The disappointments. The treachery. The demons. The recognition of your own weaknesses in your son, your daughter, sister or brother, your mother and/or father. It's analagous to trying on a bathing suit in an overly-lit dressing room in the middle of February: all of your bulges, wrinkles, warts, pastiness staring back at you all at once...
Christmas could have been worse. I wonder what the family who was stiffed eight pounds of standing rib roast did? Our dyslexic butcher gave the daughter order #313 instead of #331, so instead of seven pounds, the Bloviation's family ended up with fifteen (eight pounds now relegated to the freezer). It obviously did not strike daughter odd to be spending $120 on meat for five people.... Who cares when you're just swiping mom's ATM debit card. Oh well. Another day, another standing rib roast...
The sister-in-law is here visiting thirty pounds lighter than the last time I saw her -- a combination of diet and a brother in Salzburg who is ever the drama-queen of dangerous games e.g. this time last year it was a dangerous game of alcohol and sleeping pills. She wisely did not bring her cell phone with her to the States. Just a carton of cigarettes she's been smoking out in the eighteen inches of snow in our garden. I've secretely checked the Salzburger Nachrichten online and there are no reports of brother-in-laws doing stupid things so that's good...
Indoor icicles. On a particularly cold day, I took the sister-in-law to my no-filter-Camel-smoking friend so that she could enjoy a smoke by my friend's kitchen fireplace rather than outside with the icicles. But alas I think my outdoor winter garden is warmer than inside the friend's 17th century house that goes on the market January 1st -- a victim of its owners' unraveling lives -- a dizzying spiral of bad luck and denial as it were. First the friend's husband lost his travel business after 9/11. Then there was the third floor fire. There was a short reprieve where it looked like things were getting better i.e. the insurance covered $400,000 of repair work to their historic home. But taxes and insurance costs on their third floor Bed & Breakfast rose so high that they couldn't afford to maintain their business. The friend lost her job as a receptionist. Their four grown children still live at home. None holds a job by which he or she could feed him- or herself let alone pay rent. My friend is in her fifties without two nickels of savings to rub together. Try that one on for a reality: being a trapeeze artist ever performing without a safety net to catch you i.e. Welcome to America.
Our Jonathan Franzen Christmas. The son was an absolute jerk Christmas morning. Every maddening trait he possesses came out in full glory and every button of mine he could think of pushing he did. Instead of playing our well-worn Ella Fitzgerald Christmas CD, we played 'Who Can Get on Each Other's Nerves?' So.... what better place to lash back but the Christmas dinner table (the advantage to being a non-sentimental secularist is that holiday decorum does not dissuade a brewing knock-down fight between mother and son). Hubby gave me stern looks at the table but to no avail given he had no recriminations to make following his recent stellar Thanksgiving dinner performance. The sister-in-law looked non-plused. She is heir to a long lineage of Franzen-esque Christmas dinners and would surely have been surprised if this one had gone off without a glitch.
The sparks diffused the tension for the time being and we were soon playing a game of Hearts. But the tension is always there, isn't it? In every family that unique conflux of love and hate.... All of the unspoken and spoken things between people bonded together by strands of DNA: The disappointments. The treachery. The demons. The recognition of your own weaknesses in your son, your daughter, sister or brother, your mother and/or father. It's analagous to trying on a bathing suit in an overly-lit dressing room in the middle of February: all of your bulges, wrinkles, warts, pastiness staring back at you all at once...
Christmas could have been worse. I wonder what the family who was stiffed eight pounds of standing rib roast did? Our dyslexic butcher gave the daughter order #313 instead of #331, so instead of seven pounds, the Bloviation's family ended up with fifteen (eight pounds now relegated to the freezer). It obviously did not strike daughter odd to be spending $120 on meat for five people.... Who cares when you're just swiping mom's ATM debit card. Oh well. Another day, another standing rib roast...
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
This 'God Bless America' everywhere is really starting to get to me.. Isn't it enough to have to listen to Bush drawl, "God Bless America" every time he gives a syntax-bumbling speech? Guess not. Now it's big business i.e. I get to stare at God Bless America -- Support Our Troops on the back of about one in three cars that don this tagline via magnetic ribbons. And this morning I found an ad in my Junkmail box -- God Bless America -- Support Our Troops Christmas ornaments! Just the notion of juxtaposing the birth of baby Jesus and all that he stood for next to a Made-in-China ornament exhorting God to bless a war in a country we have no business being in is just too grotesque to contemplate. Are these ornaments supposed to make the 56% of Americans now opposed to the war feel better by knowing that God blesses them? Or sleep better at night knowing we support our young troops? What?
Friday, December 17, 2004
Who eats a bowl of cold cooked red cabbage for breakfast!? Why an Austrian husband of course. He's never actually done that before mind you. Maybe he misses home. Well the favorite sister-in-law arrives next week. Maybe that will get the kraut out of his system.
Austrianized House. When an Austrian in-law comes, you Austrianize your house. Well I do. It was just those five years living in the country of cleanliness that did it. I took every Oriental rug in the house out into the garden and beat them with a tennis racquet to get out the dust, sand, dog hair, and dander of life. I wiped down every hill and dale of wood. Polished glass, conditioned leather furniture, and washed the wood floors. After you wash the wood floors, this is when you put on your favorite music i.e. take two rag towels and 'ice-skate- up and down the length of the house with the towels under your feet while listening to Etta James. The floors will be gleaming afterwards I promise. You just have to be careful afterwards because you could f****** kill yourself walking along with socks in the house.
The daughter comes home tomorrow after two morning finals Monday: Economics and Mathematics within twenty minutes of each other. A daughter cut from her father's cloth because if I had to take either of these tests I'd just as soon jump off a bridge. The whole studying thing can't be going too badly because she had enough time to call me and tell me that pyscho roommate 'borrowed' her perfume without asking. And came home drunk. And kept her up all night walking in and out of their room.
The topic of the Peterson trial came up between hubby and me for some reason. The question arose as to whether one could stand life in prison. Hubby would hang himself he said. I could probably do it. I'm very good at adapting to whatever new reality comes my way. But hubby was in a funk all day after our conversation... That anyone would throw their lives away like that... relegate themselves to a situation of incarcerated hell. I reminded him of how many distinguished, very intelligent people in history have thrown it all away for the moment. For that exhilarating high that makes a former President Clinton invite an intern in for a blowjob. He bounced back didn't he? Hubby could not understand that a feeling which makes you feel so alive could supersede the bigger picture. OK...
Embarrassing Moment. Hubby's company Xmas party was the night before last -- an Italian restaurant in the North End of Boston. So I make my glamorous entrance by not being able to get out of my jacket. The zipper is absolutely stuck. Of course it's not bad having three rather nice looking Italian waiters working on unzipping your zipper at chest level... Oh god did I say that? After that I was all feisty and started in on the 'top' sales guy about his Lance Armstrong yellow wristband in support of cancer research. "You know that wearing those cause cancer don't you...?"
Austrianized House. When an Austrian in-law comes, you Austrianize your house. Well I do. It was just those five years living in the country of cleanliness that did it. I took every Oriental rug in the house out into the garden and beat them with a tennis racquet to get out the dust, sand, dog hair, and dander of life. I wiped down every hill and dale of wood. Polished glass, conditioned leather furniture, and washed the wood floors. After you wash the wood floors, this is when you put on your favorite music i.e. take two rag towels and 'ice-skate- up and down the length of the house with the towels under your feet while listening to Etta James. The floors will be gleaming afterwards I promise. You just have to be careful afterwards because you could f****** kill yourself walking along with socks in the house.
The daughter comes home tomorrow after two morning finals Monday: Economics and Mathematics within twenty minutes of each other. A daughter cut from her father's cloth because if I had to take either of these tests I'd just as soon jump off a bridge. The whole studying thing can't be going too badly because she had enough time to call me and tell me that pyscho roommate 'borrowed' her perfume without asking. And came home drunk. And kept her up all night walking in and out of their room.
The topic of the Peterson trial came up between hubby and me for some reason. The question arose as to whether one could stand life in prison. Hubby would hang himself he said. I could probably do it. I'm very good at adapting to whatever new reality comes my way. But hubby was in a funk all day after our conversation... That anyone would throw their lives away like that... relegate themselves to a situation of incarcerated hell. I reminded him of how many distinguished, very intelligent people in history have thrown it all away for the moment. For that exhilarating high that makes a former President Clinton invite an intern in for a blowjob. He bounced back didn't he? Hubby could not understand that a feeling which makes you feel so alive could supersede the bigger picture. OK...
Embarrassing Moment. Hubby's company Xmas party was the night before last -- an Italian restaurant in the North End of Boston. So I make my glamorous entrance by not being able to get out of my jacket. The zipper is absolutely stuck. Of course it's not bad having three rather nice looking Italian waiters working on unzipping your zipper at chest level... Oh god did I say that? After that I was all feisty and started in on the 'top' sales guy about his Lance Armstrong yellow wristband in support of cancer research. "You know that wearing those cause cancer don't you...?"
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Search Engines Aren't Perfect... Do you think the guy who did a search through sl.com sports illustrated meant to get Anna's Bloviations when he typed in 'Anna's bedroom threat?' (he surely meant the just recently married sexy blonde Russian tennis player). Just goes to show that if you bloviate on enough subjects, you're bound to be picked up by just about anybody and everybody doing online searches. Like how about for this picture we call it CROSS-DRESSING EVERGREEN BUSHES? What do you think I'll get on site-hits for that one? Still the #1 hit to bring up Anna's Bloviations is anything to do with geldings and castrations... Right up there with Anna Kornikova. Go figure. [This is not my garden by the way. Pa-leez....].
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
First stop a.m. A live radio broadcast in the district for a Toys for Tots collection drive. I'll say one thing. It's often the people with the least money who are the most generous...
First Voice Mail at the State House Office: 'Hi Anna. This is Dawn. Could you tell the Rep he needs to order more ketchup packets for the dina'h?' Second voice mail, 'Anna I just faxed over those confidential documents [your boss] wanted to see. Can you make sure he gets them?' Meaning that the young Czech guy who wants to open a new-concept restaurant near to the Rep's place probably doesn't have a chance in hell now. The Rep and the rest of the white boys' club in that city keep trying to hang on to the status quo but it's only a matter of time...
First Time in a Long Time I've Been Stood Up. My friend Diving Bird was a no show for lunch. Email misunderstanding. Nonetheless, it's a strange feeling sitting in a restaurant waiting for someone whom you finally realize isn't going to show up. Five minute increments of waiting become like little acts in a play: Act 1 (Five Minutes Late) -- God Forbid He Were Here First.... Act 2 (10 Minutes Late) - Geez. Come On I'm Starving. Act 3 (15 Minutes Late) - How Rude Are People Who Show Up So Late... Waitress May I Order a Cup of Soup While I'm Waiting? Act 4 (20 Minutes Late) -- It Was For Today Wasn't It? Wait, What Did His Email Say? Act 5 (25 Minutes Late) -- Well This Was a F***up... Waitress I'd Like to Order Now. Act 6 (Back At the Office) - Type: YOU STOOD ME UP!!! Send.
First Great News of the Day. Hubby is taking son to London for a good chunk of the Christmas break to do a quasi internship there. What a nice Christmas present. For me.... Because having a twenty-year-old male around the house for nearly four weeks during his college break, one who doesn't have a steady girl friend (if you get my drift) is nearly intolerable. Sure I love the kid. Just not in my house sleeping until noon and trashing the place....
First in Rip-Offs. Returning a defective light switch to Home Depot recently, I went to customer service to get an even exchange. But I did not have the receipt anymore. No problem; they'll still exchange the product but they won't refund your sales tax. Sure enough I looked up in the General Laws that after ninety days (or without a sales receipt), the store is not obliged to refund the tax you paid. Now a five dollar light switch is one thing. But say your 48" Plasma-Screen TV goes bust on Day 91...
First Voice Mail at the State House Office: 'Hi Anna. This is Dawn. Could you tell the Rep he needs to order more ketchup packets for the dina'h?' Second voice mail, 'Anna I just faxed over those confidential documents [your boss] wanted to see. Can you make sure he gets them?' Meaning that the young Czech guy who wants to open a new-concept restaurant near to the Rep's place probably doesn't have a chance in hell now. The Rep and the rest of the white boys' club in that city keep trying to hang on to the status quo but it's only a matter of time...
First Time in a Long Time I've Been Stood Up. My friend Diving Bird was a no show for lunch. Email misunderstanding. Nonetheless, it's a strange feeling sitting in a restaurant waiting for someone whom you finally realize isn't going to show up. Five minute increments of waiting become like little acts in a play: Act 1 (Five Minutes Late) -- God Forbid He Were Here First.... Act 2 (10 Minutes Late) - Geez. Come On I'm Starving. Act 3 (15 Minutes Late) - How Rude Are People Who Show Up So Late... Waitress May I Order a Cup of Soup While I'm Waiting? Act 4 (20 Minutes Late) -- It Was For Today Wasn't It? Wait, What Did His Email Say? Act 5 (25 Minutes Late) -- Well This Was a F***up... Waitress I'd Like to Order Now. Act 6 (Back At the Office) - Type: YOU STOOD ME UP!!! Send.
First Great News of the Day. Hubby is taking son to London for a good chunk of the Christmas break to do a quasi internship there. What a nice Christmas present. For me.... Because having a twenty-year-old male around the house for nearly four weeks during his college break, one who doesn't have a steady girl friend (if you get my drift) is nearly intolerable. Sure I love the kid. Just not in my house sleeping until noon and trashing the place....
First in Rip-Offs. Returning a defective light switch to Home Depot recently, I went to customer service to get an even exchange. But I did not have the receipt anymore. No problem; they'll still exchange the product but they won't refund your sales tax. Sure enough I looked up in the General Laws that after ninety days (or without a sales receipt), the store is not obliged to refund the tax you paid. Now a five dollar light switch is one thing. But say your 48" Plasma-Screen TV goes bust on Day 91...
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
With over a year of blogging under the belt I see that it is inevitable that moments don't arise where you don't occasionally repeat yourself. Let's just call it reinforcement of an idea. Or reiteration of a concept. Sounds better.
Like I think it was just about this time last year I found myself complaining about trying to clean up our intern-built database at work. The one I am a year later still cleaning... (it's amazing the havoc an untethered intern can wreak left to his own devices). Yesterday I was combing through for the dead and then deleting them. 'Bye, bye. No more Xmas card for you.' Then changing Mr. and Mrs. to a single derivative thereof -- usually Mrs.
Next I peeled out separate Excel sheets for the seniors living in affordable housing units (the easier to delete them when they die). This is when I start getting depressed. Firstly you have to have visited one of these apartment complexes in city X. They are moldy brick and cracking concrete. They are windows that look out to treeless bleak. They are dark narrow corridors along which are numbered doors: here #17 where sits a woman watching television. Waiting until her number is up at which time someone who has been on a waiting list for two years can take her place. In summary these buildings are top-to-bottom aesthetic nightmares that nobody deserves to live in. But that's the thing. Even if everything points that you are headed to that building in your old age, nobody actually thinks it's going to happen to them. And then it's too late.
I haven't figured out quite yet how you could effectively legislate growing old so that you could do it with dignity but suffice to say the present system in the US isn't it. Not unless you are fortunate enough to have a caring family nearby and lots of money. Personally I would be in favor of some of my tax dollars being spent on scientific research of the sort that would develop the ultimate over-the-counter magic pill. An innocuous little pink something that once taken, offers you up a pleasant little dream before you slumber off into permanent sleep (yes testing would be problematic I admit). Wouldn't this be better than sitting alone wheelchair-bound for hour after endless hour in a dingy apartment somewhere? Better than the humiliation of having your diaper changed in a nursing home? Is the will to live really so strong that people would rather choose a living hell than death? I say all this because I am acutely aware of the fact that were I not a highly subsidized woman, there is no reason to think that apartment number #17 wouldn't be in my cards
Like I think it was just about this time last year I found myself complaining about trying to clean up our intern-built database at work. The one I am a year later still cleaning... (it's amazing the havoc an untethered intern can wreak left to his own devices). Yesterday I was combing through for the dead and then deleting them. 'Bye, bye. No more Xmas card for you.' Then changing Mr. and Mrs. to a single derivative thereof -- usually Mrs.
Next I peeled out separate Excel sheets for the seniors living in affordable housing units (the easier to delete them when they die). This is when I start getting depressed. Firstly you have to have visited one of these apartment complexes in city X. They are moldy brick and cracking concrete. They are windows that look out to treeless bleak. They are dark narrow corridors along which are numbered doors: here #17 where sits a woman watching television. Waiting until her number is up at which time someone who has been on a waiting list for two years can take her place. In summary these buildings are top-to-bottom aesthetic nightmares that nobody deserves to live in. But that's the thing. Even if everything points that you are headed to that building in your old age, nobody actually thinks it's going to happen to them. And then it's too late.
I haven't figured out quite yet how you could effectively legislate growing old so that you could do it with dignity but suffice to say the present system in the US isn't it. Not unless you are fortunate enough to have a caring family nearby and lots of money. Personally I would be in favor of some of my tax dollars being spent on scientific research of the sort that would develop the ultimate over-the-counter magic pill. An innocuous little pink something that once taken, offers you up a pleasant little dream before you slumber off into permanent sleep (yes testing would be problematic I admit). Wouldn't this be better than sitting alone wheelchair-bound for hour after endless hour in a dingy apartment somewhere? Better than the humiliation of having your diaper changed in a nursing home? Is the will to live really so strong that people would rather choose a living hell than death? I say all this because I am acutely aware of the fact that were I not a highly subsidized woman, there is no reason to think that apartment number #17 wouldn't be in my cards
Well on that morbid note...
Saturday, December 11, 2004
Gee what a difference it makes being on the other side of the same town... i.e. compare this house with the houses below, i.e. this guy's property taxes are probably around 20K a year...(not too far off my annual salary as a legislative aide at the State House). While money is obviously no object here, neither does it denote any more taste than tacky Mr. Snowmen/Choir Boy guy below except that it's on a much bigger scale. Oh come on, Anna, you're saying. This looks kind of pretty. Well don't forget that just as bars tend to be darkly lit for a reason, so too does the night do a lot of forgiving of what you would wake up to in the morning here when what is a hardware-store's worth of ugly extension cords criss-cross this property like bulging varicose veins. See the reindeer by the water fountain? His head moves up and down as if he were drinking water. Really cute.... Well the airplanes flying low over the town towards Logan must get a kick out of it anyway.
From the five random photos taken, I think this one gets Anna Bloviation's Best Christmas Decoration Award. A simple wreath with a red bow. Pretty. Simple. Period.
Of course in every town you've got to have Mr. Super Minimilist. We'll call this one the Calvin Klein Christmas look. Very subtle. The guy must be really pround of those French doors. He's still got the yellow Pella stickers on the upper right window panes. Or maybe he is trying to color coordinate with his car...god knows there's not much else around to coordinate.
Here we have just about all the bases covered: snowmen, reindeer, electric icicles, fake Christmas tree, angels, choir boy, candles, two ribbons on the wreath and three yellow ribbons (note the magnetic one on the side of his car). Between the SUV and his Las Vegas light show here, the yellow ribbons strike me as a tad ironic.
I'd think these two blow-up dolls might have strayed from the Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York except that they are as ubiquitous in New England now as the SUV you see about to pass by in front of my camera (plus the one parked in front of the house)...Wonder if Santa and Soldier Boy will survive the next Nor'Easter before they find themselves deflating on a landfill...
Friday, December 10, 2004
Both Encounters Began and Ended in Chocolate... When I finally met her after so many months not having seen her, and when I finally met him after not having seen him for well over a year, I was reminded just why it's been so long since I've seen either of them. The one is just too intense -- her life is constantly spilling over with death-threatening illnesses and drama. Her number is 1-800-Dial-the-Latest-Tragedy. The other is just a pain in the ass and like certain people you meet in life, I for some reason seem to bring out the ass in him even more so.
Having had both on my mind as to how they were doing, I was rather astounded to see an email from each in my Inbox on the very same day. Not only on the same day but with the same subject matter: chocolate. Her message was cryptic. His blunt.
Her's: I haven't talked to you in a while. Actually, I could also use some advice, and the subject is strictly for women...How does lunch or dinner sound? I have Godiva chocolate for you. [Oh geez I thought. This can mean only one thing...]
His: Subject: Come and Get Your Chocolate. I carried the shit all the way from Russia from XXX. The least you can do is come by and pick it up. [Is this guy on crack I wondered?].
Outcome #1: She and I were up until the wee hours talking. She has lost weight. She is giddy one moment and tormented the next. My clear eye about such things eluded me completely this evening. No matter how many marks I put up on the 'pro' and 'con' side of the Chalkboard of Life, nothing came out as even a remotely tenable solution. "Honey, you are so screwed!" I finally said. "Let's have some Godiva chocolate," I suggested. "And some more wine too," I offered. She laughed. "The problem is I haven't even been screwed yet. But when we do I'll really be screwed." That's the hardest part I thought to myself. When it seems to be so completely out of your hands.
Outcome #2: "Be nice or keep the damn chocolate," I responded in an email back to him. If XXX in Russia hadn't gone through all the trouble to get me a box of chocolate and then himself sent me an email telling me he had done so, I am sure I wouldn't have found myself driving over to my old office that I hadn't set foot in in over two years. In fact I must include here XXX's email because his English prose is so delightful:
Dear Anna,
I do hope that such a kind person as you would agree to accept my apologies and regrets for a so long period of complete silence! I also hope this eMail finds you and your family perfectly well. Another point of this eMail is that the Messenger of Friendship well-known on both sides of the Ocean as ZZZ agreed to take and to carry to the US a box of local chocolates as a small Christmas gift of mine to you. Hopefully, you will like it and accept it as a sign of friendship and my appreciation for your kindest hospitality I was able to enjoy while visiting your great country. The box has two "floors" (or layers), so it can be considered family-size. Maybe, you could find a way to get it from ZZZ by this year Christmas, I do not know how long our friend will be able to resist the temptation! Please, share my best regards and greetings with [your husband].
Best Wishes,
XXX
It is a hull of an office really compared to its former self but surprising full of energy when one considers it has dwindled down from 100 to about 7 people. 'Energy' should probably be qualified here but I'll leave that for another day. The mega-expensive conference room sat lonely and dark while the former training room smelled of oil paints. "Are those paintings?" I inquired. I inspected closer. They were paintings from Russia ZZZ explained. Originals he emphasized. God-awful originals I thought. I decided not to probe too deeply as to how this software company had gotten itself into the import business of Russian artwork.
The head honcho sat in his corner office with his obligatory headphone set on -- his new groupie dutifully at his side drinking the Kool-aid. I had never particularly liked or trusted this guy and when our eyes met I caught a brief flicker before he smiled all-Cheshire. The flicker had Damage Control written all over it: Shit. Look busy. Appear important. Why did I wear this stupid short-sleeved t-shirt that makes me look like a Bud-beer couch potato? How does this look to her and what will she say to the others I know this bitch keeps in touch with? Spin, spin, spin. "Heh Anna!!! How are you? Oops sorry. I have to make a call..."
God like I care anymore. Less than twenty minutes of my being there ZZZ declared important email correspondences awaited him. F*** you, I thought. What, is an eBay rep getting back to you about selling off all your office furniture next month? I visited and laughed with all who were there. Then I walked past the box of bad Russian chocolate I had placed on the bistro table, smiled, and left without the box. "Dearest XXX," I flourished to my Russian friend when I got back to my office. "You'll be pleased to hear that as soon as I got your email about the chocolate, I raced over to pick up my gift knowing that it would be far too dangerous to leave the box there for any length of time without it 'mysteriously disappearing.....I am deeply touched by this generous gift, and thank you very much for thinking of me. It also gave me an opportunity to visit with my former colleagues whom I haven't seen in such a long time! It was much fun to see everyone again. Will you be visiting the United States any time soon? If you do come, I do hope that our 'Ambassador of Friendship' will let me know you are here. It's been far too long that we have had the opportunity to 'gossip!' Merry Christmas. Please stay in touch. And please pass on my best regards to all.'
Damn it. So there.... Back to my California house I love. But the phone is ringing and it is the daughter. "Happy Anniversary, mom. You won't believe what my roommate did now..."
Having had both on my mind as to how they were doing, I was rather astounded to see an email from each in my Inbox on the very same day. Not only on the same day but with the same subject matter: chocolate. Her message was cryptic. His blunt.
Her's: I haven't talked to you in a while. Actually, I could also use some advice, and the subject is strictly for women...How does lunch or dinner sound? I have Godiva chocolate for you. [Oh geez I thought. This can mean only one thing...]
His: Subject: Come and Get Your Chocolate. I carried the shit all the way from Russia from XXX. The least you can do is come by and pick it up. [Is this guy on crack I wondered?].
Outcome #1: She and I were up until the wee hours talking. She has lost weight. She is giddy one moment and tormented the next. My clear eye about such things eluded me completely this evening. No matter how many marks I put up on the 'pro' and 'con' side of the Chalkboard of Life, nothing came out as even a remotely tenable solution. "Honey, you are so screwed!" I finally said. "Let's have some Godiva chocolate," I suggested. "And some more wine too," I offered. She laughed. "The problem is I haven't even been screwed yet. But when we do I'll really be screwed." That's the hardest part I thought to myself. When it seems to be so completely out of your hands.
Outcome #2: "Be nice or keep the damn chocolate," I responded in an email back to him. If XXX in Russia hadn't gone through all the trouble to get me a box of chocolate and then himself sent me an email telling me he had done so, I am sure I wouldn't have found myself driving over to my old office that I hadn't set foot in in over two years. In fact I must include here XXX's email because his English prose is so delightful:
Dear Anna,
I do hope that such a kind person as you would agree to accept my apologies and regrets for a so long period of complete silence! I also hope this eMail finds you and your family perfectly well. Another point of this eMail is that the Messenger of Friendship well-known on both sides of the Ocean as ZZZ agreed to take and to carry to the US a box of local chocolates as a small Christmas gift of mine to you. Hopefully, you will like it and accept it as a sign of friendship and my appreciation for your kindest hospitality I was able to enjoy while visiting your great country. The box has two "floors" (or layers), so it can be considered family-size. Maybe, you could find a way to get it from ZZZ by this year Christmas, I do not know how long our friend will be able to resist the temptation! Please, share my best regards and greetings with [your husband].
Best Wishes,
XXX
It is a hull of an office really compared to its former self but surprising full of energy when one considers it has dwindled down from 100 to about 7 people. 'Energy' should probably be qualified here but I'll leave that for another day. The mega-expensive conference room sat lonely and dark while the former training room smelled of oil paints. "Are those paintings?" I inquired. I inspected closer. They were paintings from Russia ZZZ explained. Originals he emphasized. God-awful originals I thought. I decided not to probe too deeply as to how this software company had gotten itself into the import business of Russian artwork.
The head honcho sat in his corner office with his obligatory headphone set on -- his new groupie dutifully at his side drinking the Kool-aid. I had never particularly liked or trusted this guy and when our eyes met I caught a brief flicker before he smiled all-Cheshire. The flicker had Damage Control written all over it: Shit. Look busy. Appear important. Why did I wear this stupid short-sleeved t-shirt that makes me look like a Bud-beer couch potato? How does this look to her and what will she say to the others I know this bitch keeps in touch with? Spin, spin, spin. "Heh Anna!!! How are you? Oops sorry. I have to make a call..."
God like I care anymore. Less than twenty minutes of my being there ZZZ declared important email correspondences awaited him. F*** you, I thought. What, is an eBay rep getting back to you about selling off all your office furniture next month? I visited and laughed with all who were there. Then I walked past the box of bad Russian chocolate I had placed on the bistro table, smiled, and left without the box. "Dearest XXX," I flourished to my Russian friend when I got back to my office. "You'll be pleased to hear that as soon as I got your email about the chocolate, I raced over to pick up my gift knowing that it would be far too dangerous to leave the box there for any length of time without it 'mysteriously disappearing.....I am deeply touched by this generous gift, and thank you very much for thinking of me. It also gave me an opportunity to visit with my former colleagues whom I haven't seen in such a long time! It was much fun to see everyone again. Will you be visiting the United States any time soon? If you do come, I do hope that our 'Ambassador of Friendship' will let me know you are here. It's been far too long that we have had the opportunity to 'gossip!' Merry Christmas. Please stay in touch. And please pass on my best regards to all.'
Damn it. So there.... Back to my California house I love. But the phone is ringing and it is the daughter. "Happy Anniversary, mom. You won't believe what my roommate did now..."
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Life just amazes the holy bejeebes out of me sometimes.... Going on a week now, two friends have dominated my thoughts. One male, one female. Both I have not seen or spoken to in ages. Last night it was worse than the poison ivy I had a few months ago -- an itch of memories and wondering what each was doing. They do not know one another but both were in my dreams together. And in my head the next morning. And on my commute into work. And lo and behold both were in my morning Inbox when I got to work... What is that....
Tuesday, December 07, 2004
The Why Didn't I Think Of It Business Idea. The friend who just had her baby girl directed me to a website called growingfamily.com. You type in some rendition of available info you know e.g. hospital where baby was born, date baby was born, first three letters of mom's last name, etc. and up pops a digital photo of newborn baby. In addition to being able to purchase said digital photo (or packet), the website offers an array of trinkets and gifts to buy for mom or baby (baby magazine subscriptions, gift baskets, 'baby essentials', jewelery, and the like). Gee, what a great job... Walk around the maternity ward of Boston area hospitals, snap digital photos of little sleeping munchkins, and make a bloody fortune! And what better marketing opportunity than to hook moms while they're still in the hospital? They still have some kinks to work out though. For some reason my friend's little baby wasn't posted....
Apparently Successful but Unbelievably Lame Business Idea. Stroller Strides is an upstart national fitness program with franchises in 120 communities. Moms pay $15 for a single class or $175 for a pass that includes three classes a week for three months. Mothers are led around a 1.5 mile loop through their own neighborhoods with 'fitness stations' along the way to do body-toning exercises whilst singing children's songs such as 'London Bridge' and 'Old MacDonald.' Man there's a sucker born every day...
Apparently Successful but Unbelievably Lame Business Idea. Stroller Strides is an upstart national fitness program with franchises in 120 communities. Moms pay $15 for a single class or $175 for a pass that includes three classes a week for three months. Mothers are led around a 1.5 mile loop through their own neighborhoods with 'fitness stations' along the way to do body-toning exercises whilst singing children's songs such as 'London Bridge' and 'Old MacDonald.' Man there's a sucker born every day...
Friday, December 03, 2004
Hormoneionics:
That which makes a hitherto fast-track pregnant career woman melt into mush at the sight of her newborn baby and to look at you like you were crazy to even mention something office related. "What did you say?," she asks dreamily as she gazes into the cherubic face of her new little girl.
That which makes a forty-something year-old-woman have cyclically predictable lustful surges that this morning had Anna Bloviations wondering what the Suffolk University young man standing outside the building smoking a cigarette would do if she had walked up to him and kissed him on the mouth. He and Anna Bloviations never found that out but I wondered if he was reading my mind as our eyes momentarily locked and I grinned sheepishly at my ridiculous fantasy.
That which makes the college daughter an entropic, chaotic mass of emotional mood swing. God help us all with that one...
That which makes a hitherto fast-track pregnant career woman melt into mush at the sight of her newborn baby and to look at you like you were crazy to even mention something office related. "What did you say?," she asks dreamily as she gazes into the cherubic face of her new little girl.
That which makes a forty-something year-old-woman have cyclically predictable lustful surges that this morning had Anna Bloviations wondering what the Suffolk University young man standing outside the building smoking a cigarette would do if she had walked up to him and kissed him on the mouth. He and Anna Bloviations never found that out but I wondered if he was reading my mind as our eyes momentarily locked and I grinned sheepishly at my ridiculous fantasy.
That which makes the college daughter an entropic, chaotic mass of emotional mood swing. God help us all with that one...
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
If you only knew how laws were made... Today was the last day to file or re-file legislation in the state of Massachusetts for the 2004-2005 legislative session. So this is how it works: Legislators start actually coming into the office a week before the December 1st, 5 p.m. filing deadline . This gives them ample opportunity to meet with lobbyist X, Y, and slimeball-Z to hammer out whatever X,Y, or sleazy-Z wants the Rep to file. Invariably these bills all seem to benefit the telecommunications industry, the real estate conglomerates, or some other big business-big hitters. Next comes the scramble to come up with some legislation that has a fuzzy-nice social veneer to it i.e. health care, environment, education, etc. The bottom line is that on average a legislator files upwards to thirty pieces of legislation each year. So we are talking approximately 6,000 bills to be considered by both the House and Senate over the course of the 2004-2005 legislative session. Wow.... Way to keep your day job. Particularly when you look at some of the bills that get filed (lame dud specifics to follow). Unfortunately, the last hours leading up to the filing deadline are literally spent trying to one-up the other legislator by trying to file more bills than the other guy. As opposed to actually filing bills that are sound and make sense... i.e. quantity not quality.
When you think of the hoops a bill has to go through before it actually gets signed into law by the Governor, well then it really makes your head spin. Case in point: the bill our office just got signed into law has prompted numerous calls from law enforcement agencies tearing out their hair as to how to go about enforcing said law. Now it took four years for the bill to get to the Governor's desk. During this time never once was a police officer or agency consulted in order to get his/her/their hands-on, street-wise expertise. Need I say more.
When you think of the hoops a bill has to go through before it actually gets signed into law by the Governor, well then it really makes your head spin. Case in point: the bill our office just got signed into law has prompted numerous calls from law enforcement agencies tearing out their hair as to how to go about enforcing said law. Now it took four years for the bill to get to the Governor's desk. During this time never once was a police officer or agency consulted in order to get his/her/their hands-on, street-wise expertise. Need I say more.
