Wednesday, March 30, 2011

A Day at the Zoo

Often we think of the zoo as a place where only children go. Usually that is true and in all honesty, I went recently with a group of kids. However, part of the fun of going to the zoo is to see how amazing animals are and how often we forget that.

At an enormous zoo somewhere in the middle of France, surrounded by 4 French children between the ages of 18 months and 3 years, we started out on a journey. We, being the Mexican and myself, along with the kids and their parents began in the birdhouse. It was a tropical birdhouse. It was hot and humid and there were birds flying and walking all around us. One of the little children decided she needed to talk to one of the birds so she chased one. This scared me because animals are unpredictable. The bird could have turned around at any time and pecked the little one for no reason…simply for being chased. And I couldn’t say I would blame the bird. They aren’t used to being chased.

After that I was awestruck by the colors of all the birds and just like a child myself, in unison with one of the real children, I went ‘wow!’ when I saw some of the plumage on the winged creatures. The deepest and inviting blues I had ever seen. I wanted to chase that bird to touch the colors on those feathers. But I remembered that I was an adult. I couldn’t chase animals in wonder like the children.

Later on, we sat for a bird show around a big pool that was also where the seals would perform. As the birds flew overhead, the immense wingspans and flying patterns that the birds made simultaneously frightened and mesmerized me. They were flying so low, I thought I was going to get hit by their wings. The wind that I felt underneath their feathers was so forceful that I was awestruck that such small frames could generate so much speed and power.

The trainers then tossed fish in the air for the birds to eat. This demonstrated how birds can dive and soar to get their food. Some of the fish were tossed into the pool and the birds swooped down so swiftly to steal those treats with their claws. They never missed grabbing the fish. Without looking at their claws, they could sense where the fish were. I can barely grab a coin on the sidewalk without two or three attempts and I’m looking RIGHT AT THE COIN. These birds just amazed me and I sat with my mouth wide open just like the kids in front of me, who tried to touch the birds as they flew by. I just cringed and bit my nails as they flew by. But I was still as astounded by our feathered friends, probably more than those children were. I just feared them while they wanted to unite with them.

My favorite moment of the day wasn't with the animals at all, per se. One of the doors to the gift shop was propped open my a wooden lion whose mouth was wide open. One of the children decided this was a good time to check just how sharp the lion's teeth could be. Once he realized that the lion would bite him back, he took a hold of the lion's mouth in his hands, lifted his feet and swung from the wooden lion's mouth. All I could think about was how this child might be a future lion tamer.

His liberty to enjoy the lion and for the little girl to chase the bird reminded me of how nice it is to be a kid. You don't have to worry if the animal will attack or if it's real. You just have fun. And you take in the wonder of life. It's a good lesson to learn for adults, especially this one.

The Union of the Snake

I absolutely hate snakes! Not sure if I’ve ever addressed this in an entry but they totally freak me out. After a couple of encounters in my youth, I feel confident that avoiding them is the best thing I can do.

However, you’d have to be under a rock (at least in NYC) to not know about the Egyptian cobra that has been missing from the Bronx Zoo since last Friday. Although they say it’s probably hiding somewhere in the Zoo, some clever people opened up a twitter account in the cobra’s name. They’ve been tweeting his exploits around the city. And as long as I don’t have to see the picture of the cobra, it’s been making me howl.

What’s really creative about these tweets is that the perpetrators are using this as a way to let the cobra be a tourist in NYC. He’s going to a lot of the famous tourist sites (Rockefeller Plaza, The Museum of Natural History). He’s seeing some notable New Yorkers (Tina Fey). And the best of it all is that he’s commenting on pop culture and also making fun of himself.

A couple of my favorite tweets have been:

“ I do speak Parseltongue but with a thick Bronx accent” (making fun of Harry Potter and being from the Bronx and being a snake.)

“Leaving Wall Street. These guys make my skin crawl.” (obvious enough but funny that I actually feel the same way as my arch-nemesis)

“In front of the diner used in Seinfeld. Niiiice! They’re real and they’re spectacular.” (Poking fun at one of the episodes of Seinfeld and also a location many tourists who love Seinfeld seek out)

I do hope they find him soon though. Even thought herpetologists say that the snake might be frightened and would not come out into crowds, I would feel much better if the snake would just go back to the enclosure in the Bronx Zoo where it’s behind glass.

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

The 500

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/27/automobiles/autoreviews/27WHEEL.html?hpw=&pagewanted=all

The article referenced above is about one of the best cars to ever have been built. The Fiat 500 (or the Cinquecento as we say in Italy)! What makes this car so special you might ask? Aside from a number of memories it brings to my mind, it’s a great little car!

I admit I have a thing for little cars and I’m not even sure why. Probably because I’m not that big and I tend to think that great things come in small packages. But there’s something special about this car because whenever I went to Italy as a kid, the whole family would pack into a 500 (all my uncles and my dad had one. It was a must). All 7 or 8 of us would somehow get in that car and go to the beach. Or we’d go and accompany someone home at night and then go get gelatos. No matter how small it was on the outside, it was enormous to us on the inside.

My husband (a.k.a. The Mexican) is 6’2” and even he couldn’t keep away from the mesmerizing nature of this vehicle. When we first went to Italy he was dying to get into my dad’s 500. (Yes, my dad still has car…probably bought in the late 50’s/early 60s! and still running.) Granted when he got in the car, his head popped out of the sun roof, but he still thought it was the best car ever!

Last year when we returned to Italy, the Mexican wanted to drive a 500 more than anything. Maybe he just wanted to drive along with the crazy Italian drivers but regardless, we rented a 500. We drove it from Rome to Calabria and back up. It was fantastic! I thoroughly enjoyed the mach imitating noises as the cars doing upwards of 100 mph made as they passed us. We were doing about 85 or 90 ourselves. This was normal. This is something I have always loved about driving in Italy!! Speed!!

When we returned the car to the car rental agency, the Mexican in his limited Italian (although he thinks he speaks perfect Italian, which is another blog entry for sure) said to the agent:

I love the 500!!

To which the agent said, ‘Ah yes, it’s a fantastic car!’

Even though it was a sleek Mercedes or Jaguar, people all over Italy looked admiringly at the 500. It made me feel famous. But most of all it made me feel warm for those good times as a kid when the whole family climbed into the car and squished together. Wherever we arrived, we looked like a clown car, person after person exiting the smallest car imaginable.

Monday, March 28, 2011

The Cat's Away

The title of this blog is one I’ve wanted to use for a while. It first piqued my interest as a title when someone used it to describe the feelings that my coworkers and I must have been feeling when my boss has been away for a few days. But I didn’t appreciate what the saying ‘when the cat’s away, the mice will play’ was suggesting.

Yes, at the time I was elated to be free of my boss. We all felt the tension decrease when my boss was away but we certainly weren’t playing. I was still getting through my deliverables and doing work. So there wasn’t any sense of a vacation for me or a time to take a breather. I don’t think my co-workers slacked off either. As adults the sense of responsibility keeps you in check. If I didn’t get the work I needed to do done while my boss was away, I would never hear the end of it. And with my boss at the time, her expectations were completely irrational so you never knew exactly what she thought you should be doing while she was out of the office. Even if you had a long ‘to do’ list that you reviewed with her and you completed everything on that list; it certainly didn’t mean you were in the clear. There would be some item from 6 months ago that she would remember while she was basking in the sun. Then she would bring it up the moment she got back and hound you for it.

Anyway, it’s for that feeling of freedom when the overseer was nowhere in sight that I wanted to discuss. However, the idea came up again on Friday when a co-worker was telling me about the mass exodus happening on her side of the floor.

A number of the managers had left early, which I’m sure was cause for happiness. Within 20 minutes of their departures, the employees started to file out for a slightly longer weekend. She mentioned to me over our internal instant messenger that ‘since the cat’s away, the mice are leaving too’. This idea of leaving once your manager leaves is the other example that prompted this entry.

The true mice can definitely play when the cat’s away. (Although honestly, I think mice play no matter what the situation is – they are quite fearless.) But with humans there are only certain situations where the employee mice can benefit from the cat boss’ disappearance.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

The Beautiful Mountain

A couple of week’s ago I attended a dinner/dance for an association that is trying to make a connection between immigrants in the States who migrated from a town in the South of Italy. Belmonte is the name of the town and it means beautiful mountain. It is where my dad and his family were born and raised until they came over the Atlantic to build better lives.

The town is based on a steep hill that chutes down to a lovely beach area. My father and his siblings spent most of their time on the hill – planting and growing vegetables, farming and yelling at each other because they didn’t have phones to contact one another.

What I associate with this town is the beach. Whenever we returned to Italy during my teenage years, my family and I would spend time on the beaches of Belmonte. During both my father’s time and my visits, I never got the impression that there was a big population in this town. I got this idea because almost everyone I knew from Belmonte was people who were in the US (and they happened to also live within a few blocks of me!). Somehow I got it in my mind that no one really lived there any more except a couple of lizards and goats. (Obviously this isn’t true but distance does something interesting to perception!)

At the event there were a lot of the people I had always known and seen at other functions (most of them were second or third cousins after all!). I was not surprised to see them there drinking and dancing away. But there were a couple of other people I had never seen before. As I told my sister, those people must have been ones from the other side of the hill.

The best part of this event was to see my dad walking around and mingling with people he knew and with those he didn’t – making new friends. The few times he was sitting at the table, people came out from everywhere to say hello to him. He joked with a couple of people and threatened to punch others with is usual fist waving in the air stance.

My dad wanted to take a picture with the mayor of Belmonte. They had met each other before but he wanted something to remember from the event. I gladly conceded to that request. The mayor made a joke about their both having the same first name. He was very gracious.

As we walked back to our table, my dad continued his super social behavior – greeting people here and there, waving at others. I began to wonder who the real mayor of Belmonte was as I walked behind him. My dad, the little man from the beautiful mountain, expatriate mayor of Belmonte.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Liar, Liar

Happily, I’ve recently changed jobs and I couldn’t be happier. The one point of contention is that I still sit in the same group I used to work in. This is bothersome for a couple of reasons:

1) I don’t have closure from my old job because I keep hearing about it every day.
2) I had to listen to certain people talking whose voices have always annoyed me but now annoy me more so because it doesn’t allow me to focus on my new job.
3) I still have to deal with one person’s bothersome traits when I really just want to be so far away from them.

With regard to bothersome reason #3, this person told me a few days ago that I will have to move out of my cubicle seat very soon because people are asking me for it. Just a few days later my new team asked if there was someone with whom they could coordinate office moves. I thought my old group’s executive assistant would be the best person with whom to my new team in contact.

I approached the executive assistant and said ‘My new team is trying to coordinate office moves and they wanted to know if my current spot is waiting for someone’. She said that she didn’t know anything about my spot being in need and that she had just confirmed that with her boss moments earlier.

So when I heard this I began to wonder who the heck is telling the truth. Was I being pushed out as old bothersome person had said or was I in no hurry as the executive assistant led me to believe? I began to wonder what each person had to gain by lying. Perhap the exec admin was lying because she hadn’t really asked her boss. Other than that, I couldn’t see what she would benefit in lying to me about this situation.

What would bothersome person gain by lying? She wouldn’t have to see me or be reminded of my not being on the team any more. She might be charged for my being in that spot so she would save some money by my not being there.

Hence I came to the conclusion that bothersome person had the most to gain by lying. This just supports how much I didn’t like or trust bothersome person in the first place. I do enjoy when my suspicions are confirmed.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

The Wake

Sadly, I had to attend a wake this past Sunday for a family friend. My mom, my sister and I went together. Wakes are not events that I enjoy attending (honestly, I don’t enjoy most events where there will be family members). I never feel like I know what to say or how to act. It’s awkward.

Having to see a person’s body in that way is not how I want to remember anyone. By ‘that way’ I mean, made up and oddly embalmed. The person never ever looks like the way they did when they were alive. I don’t entirely understand why Catholics believe in an open casket wake in the first place.

I remember the first time I had to go to a wake. I was 10 and my paternal grandfather had passed away. We weren’t very close but he was still my grandfather. What I remembered most about him were his glasses, his nose and this wine colored birthmark he had on his neck. When I went up to the casket at the wake, I looked for that birthmark. It wasn’t there. The morticians had covered it. Perhaps they thought it was some bruise from his death. It has since stayed with me.

That moment has always made me uncomfortable regardless of whose wake I go to. I just feel like I keep checking for some kind of ‘tell’ that the morticians messed up. It’s not an appropriate thing to do at a wake…but I don’t know how to not do it either.

And then I get very emotional thinking about people I love and what would happen if they ever pass away. I guess it would be better if there was some way to turn a switch so you don’t get overly emotional at wakes or you don’t look for inconsistencies with the people you used to know.

Oh well, it’s not a wonderful topic to discuss in a blog entry but I just felt like writing about it.

Friday, March 18, 2011

A Picture of Grace

As other people were collecting two of every animal last week during a period of heavy rain, I was busy showing the world how graceful I can be.

I was making my way to a work event in midtown. There are a lot of corporate buildings in midtown where the appearance of the building is far more important than the practicality of their usage. A lot of marble or granite sidewalks can be seen in this area. The same kinds of sidewalks that become very slippery when wet. (Don’t think that these companies thought about potential lawsuits when they built these buildings but that’s neither here nor there.)

I was walking at a decent pace and then somehow my heel took up more of the placement on the ground. I began to slide but I couldn’t save myself. The slip turned into a fall. But regardless of the fall, I made an attempt to brace the fall as best as I could. So I ended up landing in a half-split and one of my knees took the brunt of the fall.

What amazed me after I got myself up and shook off all the rain was how graceful my fall was. Yes, I’m still awkward and silly for falling but if you have to fall…my example was one to mimic.

Thursday, March 17, 2011

No Pain, No Gain

This past Monday I took a class at my local gym. It is now Thursday afternoon and I am still in pain. It’s not a problem at all that I’m in pain; I just can’t believe I’m still sore.

What is particularly puzzling is that the places I thought would be throbbing and pulsing are not as sore as the parts that I didn’t think should be hurting. My thighs feel like they are going to burst off the bones. I have been limping since after the class and you can hear me going
‘Ow…ow …ow…ow’ throughout the day as I walk to and from meetings and the bathroom. I do lunges and squats every week in the gym and this is why I’m confused about all the soreness. Could a kettle-bell make all the difference?

I was expecting to feel like my shoulders would implode but they are only slightly tingly. Of course the best part of all of this is that as I was doing my circuits, the instructor came up to me and asked:

‘What was your sport?’
And I said ‘(huff….huff) huh?’
He said ‘what sport did you used to play because it’s obvious you played a sport?’
I answered ‘Soccer’.

I didn’t have the heart or the energy or breath to tell him that I haven’t played a sport since high school basketball. But it made me feel good to see that he thought I was sporty. Super DING for the day even if it’s ow all around my body.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Dressing Up

I am not a girly girl. I have known this for a very long time. It probably occurred to me when I was climbing up the monkey bars as a kid. Yes, I was definitely a tomboy.

A couple of years ago, I probably wouldn’t have minded getting dressed nicely to go out on a Friday or Saturday night. I might have even dressed more femininely at work. Now-a-days, if it’s not easy to wear or comfortable, I can’t even be bothered.

Oddly enough, I will get a manicure and pedicure and I get my hair done to hide my grey. On occasion I will wear makeup. But goodness help me if I have to get dressed up for a wedding or any event outside of work. I’d rather have a bamboo shoot rammed under my nail bed. I can’t even recall when this all changed.

Picture the black out that happened in NYC the summer of 2003. At the time I was working in Brooklyn. I went to work in a cute skirt and a pair of kitten-heeled sandals. I looked adorable. Then the blackout happened. I walked all the way from the office in Brooklyn to my apartment in Manhattan. It took me 5 hours in a cute pair of kitten heeled shoes. When I got home, I had to peel the shoes off my feet, along with layers of skin. I had to bandage up my feet due to bleeding and pus oozing everywhere. Some cute shoes they were at the end of it. Yes, that was the day I decided to dress practically. I didn’t want to get caught in another situation where I would have to be uncomfortable again.

Power outage or not, I would rather be prepared for an emergency than to look pretty and feminine for one. No matter how I dress, if I’m caught on camera, whether I’m wearing loafers or heels, I’m going to look like tired and haggard.

Monday, March 14, 2011

South Paw

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/08/health/views/08klass.html?ref=health

I was intrigued by the article referenced above because it’s about being left-handed. Of course you can’t tell this by my blog, but I am a proud southpaw. I am happy to be in the mix of many greats (I won’t list them all because it could take a while).

The article amazed me in a couple of respects. One of which was the statistics of how many left handed people there are. It’s only about 10% of the total population. I could have sworn it was more. I feel like I meet more and more every day that we were getting to about 20%. I guess not. Another interesting tidbit is that I was not the only one who was convinced to stop being left handed growing up. I thought it was just my nutty family. But nope, apparently many stigmas were attached to being left handed that many parents tried to change their kid’s preference to the right hand.

I remember my mom telling me that being left handed was bad. She tried over and over to get me to use my right hand. And I was ambidextrous for a while. But then one of my teachers (God bless her!) told my mom to stop doing that because it would only confuse me. Not sure if that happened but still I’m happy she said something! For a while I was able to do most things equally with both hands but now I’m clearly more comfortable writing with my left. I do throw a ball, use scissors and play most sports right handed though…and let’s not forget guitar playing. I wish I could write better with my right hand. It would have come in handy two years ago when I broke my left elbow and writing made me want to cry! But oh well.

The article also talks about how they still don’t know what makes the human brain choose one hand over the other. Maybe I just wanted to be in the minority and it’s as simple as that.

Friday, March 11, 2011

The Story Teller

My dad is loves a good story. He enjoys movies with good plots and great characters. He’s a big fan of the old West movies especially with John Wayne. I get my enjoyment of movies, stories and plots from him. He’s also a great storyteller too.

I have noticed with the abundance of visitors that we’ve had over the past few months that he enjoys talking to people and telling them stories about his life or stories he’s heard from other people.

The other day my dad was over playing with the dogs and he said to my husband
“Should I kill her and eat her?” - referring to Foxy.
My husband replied “Absolutely not!”
The Mexican explained why that wouldn’t be a good idea (Beside the obvious that she’s our dog, dogs shouldn’t be eaten and that he would miss her most of all if he did kill her).

Suddenly my dad then launched into a story. When he was a boy in Italy, someone told him this story…

A group of people had gone to a restaurant and they ordered some pasta with meat sauce. When they got the sauce, they all found it was the most wonderful sauce they had ever had. But there was something to this sauce and they had to know what made it so delicious. So a couple of the men went to the owner of the restaurant asking if they could talk to the chef because they wanted to pay compliments directly to him. The owner said it was ok. A few minutes later the chef came out and the men praised his wonderful sauce. He thanked them. They finally asked him ‘what do you put in the sauce that makes it taste so beautifully?” The chef didn’t answer for a while but after being asked again and again, he finally admitted ‘It’s ground up frog.”

That’s where my dad finished his story. He didn’t really say why he told us this story or what the moral of it was. I had to put the pieces together myself. I think he was telling us that you never know what you get in a restaurant and that maybe you could end up eating a dog.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

Squirrel Hunter Redux

A friend asked me if I really wanted my dog to catch a squirrel. I have to admit, I really don’t want that to happen for a couple of reasons.

1) If she does catch it, who knows what kinds of diseases the squirrel has and what my dog would then be bringing into the house
2) I have a feeling that if she ever did catch a squirrel, she’d be so happy to have caught a squirrel that she’d become even more insane in her hunting of them.

Even though I think it would be great to have her catch something she’s always desired, it definitely comes with its price.

But at this point I say, keep working at it, Foxy….because it’s cute when you start to dance and get excited when you see those darn squirrels.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

Horsing Around

Last time I checked I work in an office building. But lately, I feel like I’ve been working in a stable or on an equestrian course. Throughout a normal 8 hours I head a thunder of thumping that moves the floor beneath my feet and makes my cubicle glass shake. I’m surprised I haven’t heard any neighing yet.

I can’t understand why so many people walk so heavily. Does it have something to do with weight? Because I know I barely make noise when I walk. Or does it have to do with the speed or pace at which people are walking? I take my time to get to places on the floor. (Unless I need to go the bathroom but even then, I don’t run)

What I’ve also noticed is that a lot of women in heels walk really loudly. They aren’t the only ones because even men in their loafers boom when they walk. It’s one of those quandaries I’ve had lately because it has been so apparent to me. Maybe if I actually go to a stable and hear this noise more often, then what I hear at work won’t even bother me.

The Squirrel Hunter

Foxy is a great dog. She’s very obedient and affectionate. She loves the outdoors and because of that can barely contain her excitement when she goes for her daily walks. She does spectacular pirouettes when she sees us grab her leash. Even if we hide our attempts, she somehow always senses when she is going to go out.

Part of why Foxy loves the outdoors so much has to do with sticks. She loves to find them and bring them to me or my husband so we can play fetch. She also adores rolling around in the grass. I don’t blame her! I love the feel of grass under my feet as well. As you might remember she thinks snow is the best thing since chocolate. Honestly though, the main reason Foxy likes to go outside is to locate her nemeses. Squirrels!

Whenever she sees one walking becomes an exercise in terror. She drags you towards her focal point with no regard of your health or ability to follow her. There were times where I could see myself crashing into a tree while trying to stop her. I have hit numerous garbage cans on Foxy’s squirrel hunting parades.

The other day though, Foxy and I were in the dog run. I was sitting on a bench reading when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Foxy had lowered down on the ground as if she were going to take a nap. I don’t allow that on our walks because Foxy should either be walking or socializing with other dogs. Foxy was crouched down for the kill looking at a squirrel just a foot or so in front of her. The squirrel sat there in the wide open range of her prey eating an acorn or whatever it is that city squirrels eat. The thing didn’t even notice.

I looked around and people were watching Foxy looking at the squirrel. Some one even took a picture. I did too because it was pretty funny. I started to coax Foxy into pouncing on the squirrel but she remained motionless. It seemed like an eternity passed as she focus on the furry tailed menace. Then the little vermin moved up the tree and Foxy ran towards it. She missed the squirrel completely, of course. I was disheartened because I really wanted her to finally catch the pesky critter whose family has brought such hell into my life.

The good thing is that spring is coming so Foxy will have plenty of chances to try to catch more squirrels. The bad news is I’m not getting any stronger or better at controlling her on her squirrel hunting romps.

Friday, March 4, 2011

The Disposable Woman??

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/04/opinion/04holmes.html?pagewanted=1&_r=1&hp

This article is so on point that I had to write about it. In the last few months (and even years) I have been utterly appalled by Charlie Sheen’s (and other men’s behavior) behavior in general but more so towards women.

They get tons of publicity for acting like the biggest jerks that they are. That offends me completely. And they are seen as heroes!! While females who act the same way are seen as sad and are mocked. (Something the article makes reference to as well) What’s the darn difference? If you are having a mental breakdown or you have drug issues, you are all sad and should be helped.

With the latest stuff that happened with Mr. Sheen (and Tiger Woods and others), I seriously didn’t care to hear what had happened. I just kept wishing someone would beat him to centimeters of his life (I know that my solution here isn’t solving anything and is only doing the same thing that he does but I just feel as though he will never learn unless his life is threatened. Perhaps beating him isn’t the way but it’s just for lack of another solution). I just can’t understand the privileged thinking that it’s ok if you drink and take drugs and beat women. He’s gotten off on almost every incident. I’m tired of seeing his smug face on tv, in magazines and on newspapers. Just stop talking about him and maybe then, he’ll act differently. (Once again, I know I’m not helping with this entry but I needed to vent!)

Anti-Acronym

I don’t know if it’s because of sheer laziness or technology but acronyms are all over the place. It creates so much confusion. At work there are so many used and the assumption usually is that everyone knows what the acronyms mean. Most of the time people don’t and they are too afraid to ask because they don’t want to seem uninformed. I understand that feeling because usually depending on the context of the discussion, the acronym can change.

Let me give you an example.

The other day I was watching ESPN and they were giving statistics about two teams and their history whenever they met up. On one of the records they talked about how someone had a GW point. I sat there in total confusion because usually when I use GW as an acronym, it refers to the George Washington bridge. But George Washington point?? Huh?? I had to think about what I was watching and I realized it referred to the ‘Game Winning’ point.

Another example of the acronym based on context is when I first started on my old project. I was getting introduced to the project and someone said CPR. I sat there wondering what the heck Cardio Pulmonary Resuscitation had to do with my project. I didn’t say anything because I knew I was missing something. As I read some information about the scope of the project, I realized one of the products we were verifying was Compliance Product Reporting…hence CPR. But you can imagine my facial expression when I heard this. I felt like I didn’t have enough coffee or that I was somehow having some surreal dream.

I know it seems silly that I am even bringing this stuff up. Unless you use an explanation before or after you use an acronym, it might be good to not assume people understand. I know I should be doing the work and putting two and two together. But I find that more and more people have the same confusion I do. So am I in the majority or in the minority?

Thursday, March 3, 2011

ABC's and 123's

Not everyone has the gift for mathematics and spelling. I can completely understand that this happens. However, when people exaggerate things that are mathematically impossible, I really wonder why they bother to make references to it at all.


For instance there are two locations that my company has in Lower Manhattan that are perhaps 15 minutes apart if you are walking very slowly. If you are taking the subway, it’s probably 5 minutes. One person that I know consistently says that if she were to commute from the current location to the other location that is only 5 minutes away, that her commute would increase by a half hour.

She would have to be counting waiting time, I think. Because the subway ride from one location to the other is 5 minutes, I’ve timed it. And I’ve walked from both locations and the max is 15 minutes. I know she’s not walking….so…how did this commute get so drawn out?

Now I am pretty sure this person never watched Sesame Street because if she did, it would be easy for her to count and how to read minutes on a clock/watch. And it never really goes above 5 minutes…I’m guessing she is saying this so people will feel sorry for her. But I don’t because we all have to commute! Some of us longer than others, I agree. But none of it is fun and the commute length is due to where you live. If it drives you so crazy to have such a long commute, find a job closer to home. Stop complaining about it. And also learn how to count!

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Nostalgia

Lately all I have been thinking about is my college days. It all started when one of my coworkers and I discussed how much easier it was in school. Of course she said that she doesn’t mind not having the homework anymore. I disagreed with her in the sense that we still have assignments that need to be completed. They are our deliverables. Although it’s true that we may not necessarily take them home with us like homework, they are still deadlines.

Honestly though my brain was far more stimulated in college. All my classes were so interesting to me. Professors were people I respected who could articulate ideas and thoughts for most of the students to understand. I hardly ever feel stimulated at work. I don’t always feel that I am learning which is the opposite of how I felt in school. I feel like everyone has a hidden agenda at work which I didn’t feel in college. Yes, they did outside of the classroom, I’m sure but the common goal was to get the major project/paper done or to pass the test.

In the work world, even when I get the paper done and I pass the test, I don’t move onto the next level. Of course I realize that the measurement of these levels is different between the work and school world. In the school world, it’s a grade for the completion of an assignment or you move onto the next grade. In the work world, you finish one assignment and then you move onto the next assignment. Sometimes you get recognition in the form of:

Good Job!
This was a horrible presentation!
Next time, you can do this instead.

Or, you can get recognition in moving up the chain of command. Truthfully, I enjoyed the reassurance of the grades better. It was more direct and it was far more understandable than the commentary I get at work on a daily basis.

The Cleaning Lady

A couple of weeks ago I called a cleaning company to use a coupon that I had gotten. The coupon stipulated having 4 hours of cleaning in your apartment. Normally, I wouldn’t use a cleaning person because I do a lot of the cleaning myself. My husband helps too. But I didn’t want to lose this coupon so I had to use it.

We had just gone through a number of visits so I wanted to begin anew.
The woman arrived and I told her that I mostly wanted to start from scratch – clean everything in the kitchen and bathroom so it was shiny and new. As she was in the middle of the cleaning in the walkway from the kitchen to the bathroom, who should stop by but my dad. The cleaning lady said very festively ‘Hello!’ I could see the problem already…my dad’s confused face said it all.

I walked up to him and told him that he could find my husband outside. As you can see I was trying to get rid of him because I didn’t want to hear the ensuing complaints that were going to be lodged my way.

The cleaning lady did a pretty respectable job and she left. The next thing I hear is the phone ring and a message being left on my answering machine from my mom.

‘Angie, if you need help cleaning, why don’t you ask me?’

Ugh…it probably only took three minutes for my dad to report the incident to my mom…and a few minutes later the phone call was made.

What I can understand about my parents is why this was a fast breaking update while other stuff is only reported months after the event. For instance, I told my mom month’s ago that my husband and I were going away with the dogs. The day before our departure, my dad informed me that he was upset that he only found out that very day. When I told him that I had told my mom months ago, he replied

“Well, she only told me today!”

One day I might understand what topics travel the fastest with my parents. As far as I can understand right now, womanly/wifely duty is obviously high on the list but vacations…not so much.