Month: August 2015

Bicycle Bumper Cars (October 5, 2010)

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Bicyle

Today’s post is brought to you by revered lifestyle columnist Miss Manners, or rather Becky Boop, assuming the authoritative social grace haughtiness of Mme. Manners, nee Judith Martin. My simple piece of etiquette opinion goes something like this:

“If one makes an illegal left turn and slams into an unwitting bicyclist, one should have the decency to slow to a complete stop and ask the mangled individual if they require any assistance before driving off to one’s final destination.”

Around 7:40 PM last night, I was enjoying my routine, thrice weekly neighborhood bicycle ride. Though I am avowed Looky Loo and tend to get lost in my own thoughts quite often, I pay very close attention at traffic stops, the more so as the Fall evenings tend to darken at an earlier hour.

I was sitting at a red light at a busy intersection just north of Wrigley Field in Chicago, awaiting the “green” go ahead to continue on my merry way. I briefly noticed, as I tried to stay attuned to my surroundings, a Red Car (as it shall henceforth be referred) prepared to head south on the same street once the light changed. It must be noted that this car was NOT in the turn lane, NOR was there an indicator flashing. So naturally, when I saw green, I began to pedal furiously.

I think we all know what happened next: the driver decided to turn left from the wrong lane after all. In the next ensuing hour (or so it felt, but in reality, about 30 seconds), I was very pleased with myself for the following:

1. Remembering that I have been told numerous times that if your car is on a crash course with a deer, the last thing you should do is hit the brakes, I spared myself the bodily tension of clamping onto my handles so I could devote my energies to bracing for impact. There is a scientific foundation for this advice that I have since forgotten. The point is that this advice is repeated so oft with good reason. Rather than whipping my head back and feeling the crash, in effect twice, I landed against Red Car with a dull and rather quiet thud.

2. I had a split-second to notice that the impact of my vintage blue Schwinn plus all 135 pounds of my brute bodily force, left a sizeable dent in the passenger side door. The guilt-ridden, worrying default of my personality feared insurance claims and trouble from my husband, before my person and bicycle skittered off the chassis and onto the pavement. I am pleased with this because it shows that even in a time of crisis, I retain the essence of my selfhood.

3. After #2 I completed my accident in what I thought was a petty sweet way if you must know. It involved a classic Magnum P.I. tuck and roll move.

I don’t know who was behind the wheel of Red Car: their age, sex or ethnicity. I did not have the chance to ascertain Red Car’s make and model. All I know is that he or she was driving about 15 MPH, and with my bicycle traveling about 10 MPH at the same time, the crash could and probably should have been more serious. Miraculously, except for a slightly scraped left elbow (thank you old corduroy jacket!), a bumped knee and a few scraped fingers, I am absolutely fine. Even my trusty old blue Schwinn was none the worse for wear. However Red Car did not know that and it never will, because after taking two seconds to be certain no one had witnessed the crime, Red Car sped off into the night. Bastard.

A couple of lovely passerby immediately ran to my side and apologized for not getting the plate number. They asked repeatedly if I were alright, needed medical attention or wanted them to call somebody. After discovering that my tote bag and Blackberry were in fine working order as well, I assured them I would be OK and thanked them genuinely for their concern. Miss Manners would have approved of this part of the exchange.

But oh Red Car! Karma have no mercy on you!

What? I survived being hit and run by an automobile and was studly enough to dust myself off and continue the rest of the way home with no (minimal) whining. Do I have to take the high road (so to speak) too? I think Miss Manners would have my back on this one.

“Goldilocks” Offers Hope of Escape? (September 30, 2010)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment

Goldilocks

For those of us tired of the environmental destruction of our planet, the toxic partisanship and “do nothing” attitude that has ground U.S. development of, well anything to a screeching halt, for those who envision the steady globalization of the world economy as a progressively mercenary force that will forever divide the exploding populace into two classes, rather than three…there may be hope.

Meet Goldilocks:
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100929/ap_on_sc/us_sci_new_earths

Though the article above states the planet, the sixth discovered to revolve around a star named Gliese 581, requires a journey of “several generations” to reach, that should not deter the hale and hearty of us who value the prospect of removing ourselves to the only new frontier left – outer space. There is no longer any corner of old Earth that is free from corporate molestation, government bungling and the relentless energy required to subdue the independent and energetic. So why go down with a sinking ship? After the presidential elections of 2004, I considered abdicating for Canada, but really, there are still humans there and as the very wise Jean Paul Sartre wrote in his famous play No Exit, “hell is other people”.

I am not suggesting that anyone resettle on Goldilocks solo. While it is true that other homo sapiens, especially those in the business of government, can drive us to distraction, it is nonetheless paradoxically true that no man can last long as an island. But as Goldy is roughly “three times the mass of Earth,” it would take a lot of unprotected sex before the first settlers would start bumping into each other (hee hee, I said “bumping”).

While it is being reported that Goldy enjoys a climate that can be “as hot as 160 degrees or as frigid as 25 degrees below zero,” this may be a relocation deterrent for residents of temperate Earth climates. But for citizens of Chicago, why that’s just like home! In fact 25 below zero is often considered a balmy day during the Windy City’s winter months.

In any case, astronomers report that “conditions are ideal for liquid water” and not the kind that contains BP oil either. Best of all, Comcast has not yet discovered a way to install cable and internet service and since “several generations” is too far to request an absentee ballot, via USPS, you may finally be able to achieve the freedom from our insane electoral process.

Unemployment rates and housing prices will hardly matter, because Goldilocks has no buildings, therefore no mortgage lenders or cubicle environments.

So to quote Jerry McGuire: “Who’s coming with me?!”

Obama: Education Key to Economic Success (September 28, 2010)

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http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/us_obama_campaigning

With all due respect to our Commander in Chief, this claim carries the weight of the past – the presence of a tried and true American economic meritocracy. Though this “self made” mythology served us well for several generations, it is the refusal to acknowledge that times have changed that instills such a frustration with the political classes – of all stripes.

It’s 2010 Mr. President and I beg to differ. Can I see a show of hands of those who have an undergraduate degree, even a Master’s or PhD, yet count themselves amongst the unemployed or underemployed?

[Boop also raises hand.]

That’s what I thought.

Bring up your web browser and Google the phrase “young graduates can’t find work.” The very first story I clicked on discussed the increased spate of suicides amongst recent college grads: children raised to believe that if they worked hard enough, and wanted “it” bad enough (whatever form “it” may take), there was nothing they couldn’t accomplish. Flash forward a decade and most of these young people are saddled with $100k in student loans while considering themselves “lucky” to find the randomly open retail or restaurant position. The struggle to make ends meet is no longer the exclusive domain of the uneducated.

My intuition tells me that if I took a poll within my own circle of friends and family (a group that is admittedly, rather learned), I would be hard pressed to find anyone who hasn’t been faced with unenviable choices. Do I go for my annual checkup, which will require me to pay a couple hundred toward my health insurance deductible, or do I pay for my child’s school fees? Do I pay the electric bill in full or should I start putting a little something aside for Christmas (Eid, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, etc.)?

While there is no doubt that our educational system, with its astronomical costs and rampant inefficiencies, is in need of some serious rehab, it is disingenuous to foist this Jedi mind trick argument upon us: all that’s missing from our ability to remain internationally competitive is a few college degrees. Horse puckey.

Case in point: I have a very good friend who took a job as a batboy with the Chicago Cubs when he was an undergrad. In the course of six months, said friend netted himself a cool 80 grand – a veritable fortune for a person not yet of legal drinking age. The problem was that the job was way too demanding on his time and energy. When he found himself in danger of failing most of his classes, he politely declined to return to the team next season. The ball club, largely full of uneducated athletes, showed my buddy mad respect for his wizened decision.

Seven years later, with a cum laude degree from DePaul University, my friend is still chasing that earning power he enjoyed at the age of 19. After enjoying a respectable career at a large non-profit, he is presently up for a groovy promotion that will earn him the right to make 60% of what he did as a batboy.

Hmmm….athletes and entertainers. I wonder where our kids got the idea that 15 minutes of YouTube limelight is the only path to financial freedom? Maybe because in 2010, that is looking more logical than ridiculous. As they watch their educated, hard working parents come home each night, tired, unhappy and yet still struggling with the mortgage payments, these offspring declare “not I,” and spend more time working on their jump shot than math homework.

And the vicious cycle continues.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I love college. I love life as a student. If I had my druthers, I would just collect degree after degree, insulating myself from reality in the comfortable, navel gazing world of academia as long as humanly possible. The Master’s degree I earned in English Literature has opened up a world of culture, critical thinking and personal enjoyment that would never have been available to me otherwise.

But I am about to be an unemployed administrative assistant. I feel like a failure for losing a job that was always just “good enough.” Most Americans are nothing if not pragmatic. Instead, if I lived in the USA of Obama’s stumping, I’d be big, high rolling pimp of a wordsmith, instead of struggling to pay off student loans on a 35k income – that I am about to do without.

If I am wondering where the return on my educational investment is, I am certain I’m not alone.

Being “Transitioned” 2010 Speak for “Fired” (September 23, 2010)

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It has been a long, twisted week. For the first time in my life, after 11 years as a steady worker, I am being fired. I was laid off once, from my work as a Corporate Communications Coordinator at a large national travel agency, back in 2001. But that was after September 11th, when the industry as a whole took a dive, and I could not interpret being handed my walking papers as a personal slight.

This is different.

I have been an Administrative Assistant at a nonprofit human services coalition for a little over five months now. My title belies the true nature of my work, given that I am one staffer out of a grand total of two. My boss (who shall remain nameless) has the sole authority to recruit and retain, discretion awarded her by the Board. Though I have been told that my work is “exemplary” and The Boss has magnanimously offered to assist me with job placement, let’s be clear: I am being fired.

Though she leaves me in charge to go and avail herself of mani/pedi services, I am being fired. Though she takes off for a two week African safari tomorrow morning, leaving me to man the entire organization – the needs of all 600 of our coalition partners and 18 board members – I am being released.

But there’s an upside: I have eight weeks left on the job, time enough for The Boss to hire my replacement and allow me the honor of training him or her. In return I can take advantage of her “network,” to find something else, and my reward for sitting patiently as I watch my livelihood slip away is that I’ll be able to collect unemployment.

Because I am not being fired for performance. I am being fired due to my own gullibility.

There was a board meeting this past Monday and The Boss asked me to share my frustration with the overwhelming workload we confront each day. I did so, and because I am a passionate person, I do not do so limply. I offered that I felt burnt out and wouldn’t be able to keep a “long career” going without some direction and a setting of priorities. I knew as soon as the words left my mouth and I looked over at The Boss that she was pissed. She hates when people go off script. I was told to discuss the crushing workload, but not the way that it makes me feel.

My mistake.

So the next day The Boss called me into a conference room to start spinning. It turns out that she has “been able to see that [my] heart is more with writing than administrative work and [she feels I] cannot be happy in my current job because [my] passion, and best talents and skills will always be underutilized here.”

It was a long, painful conversation. In the end, The Boss felt it best that we do a mutually beneficial “transition.” I guess that’s what we’re calling termination these days.

Initially, I was very upset, not to mention angry. I am good at what I do and The Boss is nuts to think she’ll find anybody better than me. She actually agreed with that. I am not being fired for performance, instead because I am not “happy enough.”

So off she goes to Africa, leaving me with my jaw on the floor. How does she know I won’t just up and leave during that time? Because I won’t. She is acquainted with my integrity and seems to have no problem taking advantage of that even as she prepares to send me out into a cold job market.

I wish I were leaving out some details that would make all of this more comprehensible, but I am not. It’s very new, and in many ways unsettling, but perhaps in the long run it is for the best. How long could I work for someone so crazy and arbitrary? Still can’t help feeling like a loser though. Fired after 5 months, and at that for being too unhappy.

Ain’t that a bitch?

Love at Second, or Third Sight (September 21, 2010)

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enemies

I am definitely a believer in instant connections, and no I am not talking about those made through the relative safety of computer terminals. I am referring to the phenomenon eloquently described in the novel, The Godfather, as “the thunderbolt.” You lock eyes with an attractive person across the room and blammo! Something indescribable happens. An electric charge passes between the two of you and all of the sudden; you are flooded with want, need, desire. Even more empowering – you feel that same energy returned to you. It’s exciting and not a moment we are rewarded with often enough in life. Most acquaintances we make are rather uninspiring. Can I get an “amen?”

I have seen the thunderbolt effect in play throughout a lifetime of observing others. While it makes one feel invincible, it can also lead those who have never experienced it before to do things that are a bit heedless. Think Howard Marshall II, the Texas billionaire who married former Playmate and Guess? Jeans model Anna Nicole Smith at the ripe old age of 88. Though both parties are now long since deceased, the battle for the Marshall fortune continues to play itself out in the courts due to this ill-advised union – that could only ever have been based on one-sided lust (Marshall) and concerted gold digging (Smith). It can be especially damaging when the thunderbolt doesn’t strike both ways, so to speak.

So yes, love at first sight exists and I respect the awesomeness of its power when it happens. However, my own personal life hasn’t featured this occurrence. When it comes to potential love matches, even platonic friendships, my affection is of the slower growing kind. And by that I mean I often loathe, detest and completely forsake those that ultimately turn out to be my greatest soul mates. In some cases this aversion has been known to stubbornly persist for years, until a breakthrough of some kind exposes the true likeness of my character with another’s.

Let’s start with my husband Eddie. I met Eddie in the early summer of 2005, when we both worked at the same downtown Chicago office. I was a part-time administrative assistant for one of the company’s Executive Vice-Presidents, while Eddie worked as an IT Consultant. Though others in the secretary pool continually remarked that the good looks and sexy smile of my future husband reminded them of “an Indian Cary Grant,” I was decidedly unimpressed. In fact when Eddie labored under the impression that his charm could get him anything he wanted at the company, I rather delighted in shutting him down wheresoever I could. I distinctly remember remarking a time or two, “that young fool needs to get over himself.” At the time I was a very “mature” 28 to Eddie’s 25.

We have been married for almost three years now, so evidently, I changed my mind along the way. But it took a year before I was able to step back from my initial judgment. I realized that Eddie could, and often did laugh at himself. I noticed he was witty, good at pool and oh yeah; he was pretty handsome after all. It must be noted that Eddie was equally disenchanted with yours truly. He often referred to me amongst his colleagues as that nasty word for females that rhymes with “witch,” a woman on a conference room space power trip.

Of course we can both look back and laugh about this now, but it is not the only instance of a great relationship that began with a mutual slowness to warm up. Case in point: Jessica, my dear friend who lives with her husband Nick in jolly old England. If you are a fan of the hit Fox television show, Glee, Jessica was once the Quinn to my Rachel.

At the age of 16, Jessica and I were both members of the Chicago Children’s Choir, a prestigious organization that has performed all over the U.S. and the rest of the globe. When Jessica returned to the group during our junior year of high school, after a leave of absence, I was happily ensconced as the “flavor of the month,” within the choir. I had a ton of friends, a cute and popular boyfriend – all the privileges I didn’t enjoy inside the halls of my own high school. As for the singing, that came second to my social life as far as I was concerned. I was just happy to belong somewhere, and in the summer of 1996, I was terribly grateful for the opportunity to spend five weeks touring South Africa with the group.

Until Jessica made the touring assembly as well. Not only was my current boyfriend her previous one (leading to gossip within the ranks that I was happy to pick up Jessica’s “sloppy seconds”), but even worse! She was slowly making inroads with my thriving group of young gay admirers. This impudence could not be tolerated.

[Insert montage of cat fights from Bring it On, The Craft and Mean Girls here].

Oddly enough it only took a bout of motion sickness (mine) at a South African ostrich farm, and a silently proffered glass of 7 Up (hers), to bridge our differences. Since those formative teenage years, Jessica and I have traveled together, peed in public places together and done more body shots than we can feasibly count.

So do I make an impossibly awful first impression? Am I a judger who finds it hard to let down her guard and reconsider her first reaction? Maybe, and maybe. But what’s so great about love at first sight anyway? Some of the most treasured relationships I enjoy today started off with a healthy dose of conflict.