secondhand gods

not exactly wishful thinking, but...

There's no way I would be left alone at work long enough for this to happen.

I have mastered the art of continuing to type without actually having to look at the screen. This allows me to make eye contact and pretend to nod along with whichever coworker of the moment is hanging over my cube wall yammering at me. Topics from separate colleagues have recently included: the recent State of the Company address ("for a minute there I thought they were going to start passing out the Kool-Aid"), their miraculous child (whom thanks to the horror of Take Your Child to Work Day is commonly known by all to be an absolute demon incapable of sitting through a staff meeting), why their drug dealer isn't calling them back (true story), what's going on in the second-floor bathrooms which have inadequate water pressure for a decent flush (the suspicion is it's the beginning of a campaign to reduce head count by driving employees to quit due to substandard hygienic conditions, the air conditioning is already spotty, food is regularly stolen out of the refrigerators, and safe drinking water is probably the next to go), why they don't have a television or microwave at home (radioactive waves), the latest addition to the secret "Do Not Shake" database hidden on one of our network drives (which details all of the non-hand-washers in the building, oddly enough most of them want to greet you with a hearty handshake or at the very least a fist-bump), or why Chef Ralf refuses to post the nutritional content of his cafeteria food ("all he has to do is take the labels off the cans and hang them up.")

...from an actual Widget Central memorandum...

"Just want to remind everyone that if you have any packaging peanuts take
them back to shipping don't put them in the Styrofoam recycle container
because they need to be kept separate.

The recycle container labeled toner is also for ink
cartridges, I have ordered more labels to apply to the containers.

We are working on reducing the electrical usage but still there
is a lot of waste going on, so please if you leave a meeting room
shut the lights off. If it's the middle of the day do you really need your
desk light on. Do you use everything that is plugged in to your power strip
all the time? If you are the first one in early in the morning do you
really need to turn every light on?

Also Chef Ralf wants me to let everyone know he switched to Dill pickles."

I'm not sure if everyone in the company found this funny, or if it was just me, but quite frankly it was the best email I got all day.

holiday

I am pleased to report that I am off work until Monday. I plan on doing some baking -- likely muffins -- and knitting a lot, with a fair bit of sitting around in pajamas thrown in for good measure. Ah, bliss.

I am a confessed "to-do" list fiend. At work, I make a list every Friday afternoon before I leave for the weekend, so first thing Monday morning I can come in and start blearily working on the simple, mindless tasks. If I don't, then I sort of putter around accomplishing nothing and feeling frustrated and impotent as a result. But if I can start out slow on some prearranged things that don't require a lot of concentration, then by noon I'm revved up and ready to tackle the more complex, less palatable items. The to-do list at work has catapulted me to an entirely new level of efficiency.

Because I have realized lately that I'm not very good at sitting around -- all of that unstructured time makes me feel unfocused, and as a result a bit anxious and depressed -- I actually made myself a "to-do" list for weekend fun. Somehow, if I put "sleep in at least one day" on a to-do list, and get to cross it off, I feel accomplished rather than slovenly.

                                                                      *

I share a cube wall with a Japanese colleague named Jake. Obviously, Jake is not his real name. Every one of our Japanese expat colleagues takes on an American name when they relocate here. While this seems a bit presumptuous, I can assure you that we don't force it on them -- lots of times, they email us and ask us for a list of suggestions in advance.

Jake was different, though. He came over at about the same time as I was leaving for Australia, and we made him a list of names at the urging of one of our other Japanese associates. (I lobbied for 'Mustafa' which while it caused the other Japanese associates an enormous amount of hilarity, was not included for consideration.) When we eagerly presented the list for his consideration, he looked at us like we were evil tyrannical dictators and said that he would prefer to keep his own name. We must have shown how crushed and taken aback we were, because one of the other Japanese colleagues pulled him aside and roundly abused him. A day later, Jake came and told us humbly that he would be pleased if we would call him "Jake." We do. Sometimes "Jake the Snake." But I don't think we've made any other name suggestions since then.

Anyway, the other day Jake stood up and got my attention. He is a tiny little fellow and he can barely peer over the cube wall. He cleared his throat and said, in a conspiratorial tone as though he were asking me some deeply private question,

"Do you have some expectation of baby?"

It took me a minute, but I got it and told him yes, I was expecting. He formally told me "congratulations" and then said,

"We heard some rumor one month ago, but --" here he cocked his head to one side and hissed through his teeth, "--maybe I thought I would confirm. Maybe you will have some crazy baby, like mine."

Jake's baby is six months old and famously does not sleep more than two hours at a time. He fondly calls him "crazy baby." I sincerely hope I do not have a crazy baby, but Jake seems assured that many babies have a crazy streak and in the great casino of reproduction, it is a roulette wheel as to whether you will draw one of that kind. "Crazy baby" indeed. I suppose if I had only slept two hours at a time for the past six months, I might be jaded, too.

After we shared a laugh over that, he said hesitantly, "We are afraid that you might not return to your job."

I wasn't quite sure who "we" were, unless he spoke for the entire Japanese expat group, but I assured him that after my maternity leave, I would return to Widget Central. He looked dubious, but after further reassurances, in which I told him how fond I am of the World of Widget, he inclined his head and said with touching dignity,

"Thank you very much,"

as though he himself were the physical embodiment of widget culture and was quietly pleased that I liked it.

Despite his seemingly businesslike demeanor, I am fully expecting to find some small, thoughtful gift placed discreetly on my desk at some point closer to my due date. You see, last year I got "crazy baby" a pair of tiny little mouse socks and a teddy bear onesie, and Jake always repays a kindness.

detroit auto show 08

When we lived in Melbourne, January meant oppressive heat and smothering days in our non-air-conditioned townhouse, praying for a cool change. It meant evenings spent under the fitful breath of the fan, absorbed in watching the Australian Open with all the lights turned off.

But in Detroit, January means snow flurries, head colds, slushy streets, and the Detroit Auto Show.

This year, I attended on an industry pass, which meant I got in a few days before the general public. I wasn't there for the celebrities, or the herd of longhorn cattle that Chrysler ran down a main thoroughfare of downtown Detroit to advertise the new Dodge Ram, but I was there.

The first half of the day was seminars, so I got up at five AM and slalomed down the Lodge into downtown Detroit. I sat in a drafty ballroom listening to economists from the Detroit 3 discuss the global economy and their forecasts for the coming year (sober faces and forced cheer from the lot.) Then, like a bunch of good little executives, we got on the buses bound for Cobo.

It's important to wear sensible shoes, so I traded my high heels for a pair of Mary Janes.

 

Overall, the displays were lacking the buzz and excitement of a usual auto show. The mood was subdued and somewhat forced. That's what happens when you're headed into the worst year for the auto industry in over a decade. But there were still many interesting things to see. I was intrigued, for example, by the models hired to represent each of the car companies. The Detroit 3 avoided them, for the most part, perhaps finding it questionable to celebrate two terrible years and a Michigan recession with scantily-clad women, but the imports were chock full of skinny girls wearing entirely inappropriate clothing.

I felt sorry for the BMW girls, they had the worst outfits of all.

Audi almost fooled me. A whole flock of them were conservatively, smartly dressed...then I saw the evening gowns at the Information Desk. The good, the bad, and the Audi.

The Lamborghini girls were ridiculous. I am a single woman wearing a business suit and as soon as I took out my digital camera, they somehow sensed it, swam towards the flash like salmon to spawn, and struck a pose. Silly spokesmodels.

The foreign press was there. The chap in the green velvet ballet flats was having his picture taken standing on the bumper of a Honda with his arms stretched out like Kate and Leo in "Titanic." I couldn't even take a picture, I was too embarrassed for him. But when I recovered, I got one of his purple shorts and flats.

The Smart Car attracted a strange demographic. Not what I would have expected.

But I liked their overall display.

I'd like to think that people would be attracted to small vehicles like this one. Fuel efficient, you know? But during my morning seminar, we learned some rather grim facts about US car buyers. For example, cup holders and sound systems are more important vehicle attributes than fuel economy. The President & CEO of a major auto retailer told us his closing rate on hybrid vehicles is 2%. Everyone asks about them when they come through the door, but when they crunch the numbers on the premium the technology carries, people buy their Hummers and Escalades without a second thought. Very disappointing. You can't blame it all on the Detroit 3 anymore...the general public has to shoulder their burden of responsibility in making sound environmental choices, too.

All in all, the Auto Show was sober and disappointing this year. We're in for a tough slog during 2008 and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that everyone can keep their chins above water and float into a better economy. If we can't, next year the OEM's might be able to afford even less silk and lace to cover those poor shivering spokesmodels.

"don't trade the stuff of your life, time, for nothing more than dollars. That's a rotten bargain." -Rita Mae Brown

Days Off From Work, Including Weekends & Holidays: 9

Activities Completed: 

• 2 loaves of Cinnamon Swirl bread baked
• 1 pair of socks for MIL off the needles (pictures soon)
• Approx 15 loads laundry done
• Christmas decorations dispatched with extreme prejudice
• House cleaned (more or less)
• 3 episodes of "General Hospital" caught up on

Foods Consumed (please note GB helped):

• 1/2 box of chocolates compliments of work friend Joe Elegant
• 1 entire chicken
• 1 pot of homemade bean soup
• 2 trays of homemade manicotti
• 1 carton of French Onion Dip
• 1 bag of Ruffles
• 2 petite filet mignons
• 1 falafel platter with tabbouleh, hummus, baba ghanoush, and little pickles
• 1 aforementioned Cinnamon Loaf - toasted, with lashings of butter
• Et cetera

Movies Watched:

• "Eastern Promises"
• "Disturbia"
• "Donnie Brasco"
• "Return of the Jedi"
• "Raiders of the Lost Ark"
• "Secret Window"
• "Ratatouille"
• "The TV Set"
• "Junebug"
• "The Astronaut's Wife"
• "Edward Scissorhands"
• Half of "Urban Cowboy" caught on the Country Music Channel in a weak moment

Books Read:

• "Red Rover" by Deidre McNamer (eh)
• "Star Garden" by Nancy E. Turner (also eh)
• "An Absolute Gentleman" by R.M. Kinder (rather good)
• 1/4 of "Alice" by Stacy Cordery, biography of Alice Roosevelt Longworth
• "Anne's House of Dreams" by L.M. Montgomery reread in bath & bed
• "The Long Winter" by Laura Ingalls Wilder reread in bath & bed during snowstorm

Which Reminds Me -- Baths Taken: 9

Number of Times Dancing Around The House to ELO Songs*: 1

Jammies: Almost Constantly

Level of Satisfaction with Life In General: 9+

I get a lot done at work, but oddly enough, it never feels quite as meaningful as the stuff I can get done when I am on vacation.

*"Don't Bring Me Down" & "Evil Woman" are especial favorites.

day three

*one of the numerous entries in the village Scarecrow Contest currently lining Main Street.

I had to go grocery shopping after work tonight, which never fails to piss me off. I have a very limited amount of private, personal time in the evenings. By the time I get home from work, there are about three and a half hours that I can spend any way I want -- knitting, writing, watching "Rock of Love," whatever -- before I have to get in bed in order to be fully functional the next day. While I understand the intrinsic value of grocery shopping, when I am forced by poor planning or GB's travel schedule to do it on a weeknight, it never fails to annoy me.

I don't really desire to be a non-worker. If we won a million dollars tomorrow, I don't really think I would give up working altogether. I just wish I had a flexible schedule and was more my own boss. There might be days when I would choose to work five or six hours, other days maybe only two or three. I wish I could do something along those lines, something that didn't feel like work and didn't require me to conform so rigidly to what someone else judges to be productive hours. Welcome to the machine, I know.

Still, I know I complain about it a lot, but I do (mostly) enjoy my job. I really do get to work with some fabulously interesting and diverse people in the widget mines. Today I got to learn about transfer cases from someone who spent the weekend incarcerated for brawling with a motorcycle gang. And the mercurial, brilliant marketing honcho, who spent several years with his family living overseas as well and carries himself with the booming panache of a Shakespearian stage actor, out of nowhere stopped me in the aisle and rather shyly asked me if by any chance I had read Phillip Pullman's trilogy "His Dark Materials." We spent several enthusiastic moments whispering about it like conspirators, surrounded by a sea of gearheads and number crunchers, and when we parted it was with the significant glance of kindred spirits.