No, it wasn't a pony.
Chris was right when he said he got me the only thing in the world I really wanted for my birthday. I really want him to live for a pretty long time. Sure, we'll all get tired of the mortal coil, but I like his, um, coil. Anyway, I worry a little because he's been smoking since he was 12 years old and that's just not a good start, y'know? So he resolved that, starting on my birthday, he would pare down his smoking until he was down to less than 8 a day. Why 8? Because that's apparently the magic number as far as life insurance providers are concerned. And they should know. They're the ones losing out if all their clients die at age 45.
3.31.2005
3.30.2005
But upon returning home...
Some of you may be wondering why I didn't mention the foil.
Because it deserves its own post.
This post is picture-heavy, and the pictures are pretty much all blurry and strangely lit. I tried using a flash for these, but when you have a cheap camera and every surface in the picture is reflective, it just doesn't work. The Weekly has much better ones.
I told you Chris and I came home from our trip yesterday. What we came home to was this:
That's aluminum foil covering our front door. You can't tell from the picture, but it has "Welcome Home, Chris & Liz" written on it in a rainbow assortment of marker colors. This was obviously unexpected, but I recovered quickly. It's not the first time my friends have altered reality in my absence. Nice try, guys, but you only slowed me down for a moment.
Then we opened the door.
Above, you see our refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, cabinet doors, step ladder, and random boxes we left by the door done over in beautiful chrome finish.
Ah, the spice rack. Chris is a chef trainee. He has lots of spices. Now, he has lots of individually wrapped, sparkly spices.
And there are his lovely knife and cookware sets, hanging out above the stove, pretending like this is all perfectly normal.
The pictures really can't show you how overwhelming the sight was. After laughing maniacally for a few minutes, I found myself in silent awe of the scene. It was really beautiful. I'd never seen our kitchen looking quite so clean and orderly and shiny. I stood there for a moment contemplating just how long this must have taken. It was about that time that Chris started opening cabinet doors and discovering that even some of the contents of the cabinets had been foiled. It occured to me that I hadn't checked inside the fridge.
Every. Single. Thing. Except one can of Milwaukee's Best. I guess they had their reasons for that. I'd like to think that they knew it didn't really belong.
The devil's in the details. Witness how each of these limes was wrapped with care and placed lovingly back into their meshy nest.
Doesn't it look even more refreshing when it's silver?
They really outdid themselves. The kitchen was by far the most exhaustively covered room of the house, but our phones, toilet seat, TV remotes, coasters, and a few other random objects with no apparent commonality were also mummified. We've taken down about a quarter of it and rolled it into a ball. Right now it's about the size of a volleyball, but I predict it will have a hard time fitting into a 9" wok by the time we're done.
Because it deserves its own post.
This post is picture-heavy, and the pictures are pretty much all blurry and strangely lit. I tried using a flash for these, but when you have a cheap camera and every surface in the picture is reflective, it just doesn't work. The Weekly has much better ones.
I told you Chris and I came home from our trip yesterday. What we came home to was this:
That's aluminum foil covering our front door. You can't tell from the picture, but it has "Welcome Home, Chris & Liz" written on it in a rainbow assortment of marker colors. This was obviously unexpected, but I recovered quickly. It's not the first time my friends have altered reality in my absence. Nice try, guys, but you only slowed me down for a moment.
Then we opened the door.
Above, you see our refrigerator, dishwasher, microwave, cabinet doors, step ladder, and random boxes we left by the door done over in beautiful chrome finish.
Ah, the spice rack. Chris is a chef trainee. He has lots of spices. Now, he has lots of individually wrapped, sparkly spices.
And there are his lovely knife and cookware sets, hanging out above the stove, pretending like this is all perfectly normal.
The pictures really can't show you how overwhelming the sight was. After laughing maniacally for a few minutes, I found myself in silent awe of the scene. It was really beautiful. I'd never seen our kitchen looking quite so clean and orderly and shiny. I stood there for a moment contemplating just how long this must have taken. It was about that time that Chris started opening cabinet doors and discovering that even some of the contents of the cabinets had been foiled. It occured to me that I hadn't checked inside the fridge.
Every. Single. Thing. Except one can of Milwaukee's Best. I guess they had their reasons for that. I'd like to think that they knew it didn't really belong.
The devil's in the details. Witness how each of these limes was wrapped with care and placed lovingly back into their meshy nest.
Doesn't it look even more refreshing when it's silver?
They really outdid themselves. The kitchen was by far the most exhaustively covered room of the house, but our phones, toilet seat, TV remotes, coasters, and a few other random objects with no apparent commonality were also mummified. We've taken down about a quarter of it and rolled it into a ball. Right now it's about the size of a volleyball, but I predict it will have a hard time fitting into a 9" wok by the time we're done.
3.29.2005
R&R
Chris and I got home a few hours ago from our vacation. We went to my parents' camper on Weiss Lake, which was a compromise between my desire to go camping and Chris's desire to have a roof over his head. My litmus test for whether or not a camping trip can be categorized as "roughing it" consists of only one criterium: is there or is there not a restroom? There was one onsite, but it was about a half-mile away from our camper. Still, I would have to say that no, that's not roughing it, because it ended up making me feel even more city-fied in the long run. Every time I had to pee, I weighed my options, and pretty much every time I opted to hop in the car and drive to the bathroom rather than bare myself to the inadequate cover of pine trees.
The day we got there, the place was deserted. There was a tornado watch in the county and everyone had cleared out that morning. Chris and I, having no Plan B of course, decided to stick it out and count the seclusion as a bright side. It was kind of creepy, though. It's a private campsite with a locked gate. All the members have keys and just come and go as they please. But somehow, in the six months or so since the last time our camper has been used, my parents' gate key got misplaced. So we had to park outside the gate, one of us staying with the car while the other walked around to look for the caretaker and get a key from him. Chris did the staying and I did the walking (I'm a little more familiar with the territory). The caretaker, Benny, is always on the move in his cute little golf cart, doing odd jobs and keeping an eye on tenants. So I'm looking for a moving target, which basically means I'm wandering aimlessly through woods and dirt paths and run-down, scary-looking campers in an overcast pre-storm ick.
I'm thinking to myself, "This is how horror movies start. Some dumbass girl and her dude go camping and there's some convenient reason to get separated, like, 'You stay with the car so you can move it if anyone else wants in'. And she's looking for the caretaker who she eventually finds decapitated, with his head sitting in his golf cart next to him. Then she starts screaming like a banshee, attracting the attention of whatever stalker-killer is still undoubtedly nearby, and runs back to the car. 'Thank God', she thinks, 'I've made it'. Then she walks up to the still-idling, strangely silent car where she, not being close enough to see clearly inside, starts babbling and blubbering to her dude that they have to get out of here and call the police. When she finally makes it to the door and peers inside, Chris's head is sitting in the passenger seat."
Then I tried to decide if I would survive in that scenario, or if I would be the Drew Barrymore character and bite it early on. I ultimately decided that Chris and I were definitely main characters and that this beginning sequence was merely a tension builder. The dying wouldn't start until that night at the earliest. But I did need to go ahead and accept the fact that poor Benny wouldn't stand a chance.
After I found Benny and got the key, I told Chris my theory. We spent the rest of the trip running scenarios. "Let's put the gun in this drawer. The killer will probably get hold of it, but it's right next to the utility box with all the knives in it, and he'll never expect that because it just looks like a toolbox." Et cetera.
We had fun times, even though the serial killer missed all his cues and we made it out unscathed.
The day we got there, the place was deserted. There was a tornado watch in the county and everyone had cleared out that morning. Chris and I, having no Plan B of course, decided to stick it out and count the seclusion as a bright side. It was kind of creepy, though. It's a private campsite with a locked gate. All the members have keys and just come and go as they please. But somehow, in the six months or so since the last time our camper has been used, my parents' gate key got misplaced. So we had to park outside the gate, one of us staying with the car while the other walked around to look for the caretaker and get a key from him. Chris did the staying and I did the walking (I'm a little more familiar with the territory). The caretaker, Benny, is always on the move in his cute little golf cart, doing odd jobs and keeping an eye on tenants. So I'm looking for a moving target, which basically means I'm wandering aimlessly through woods and dirt paths and run-down, scary-looking campers in an overcast pre-storm ick.
I'm thinking to myself, "This is how horror movies start. Some dumbass girl and her dude go camping and there's some convenient reason to get separated, like, 'You stay with the car so you can move it if anyone else wants in'. And she's looking for the caretaker who she eventually finds decapitated, with his head sitting in his golf cart next to him. Then she starts screaming like a banshee, attracting the attention of whatever stalker-killer is still undoubtedly nearby, and runs back to the car. 'Thank God', she thinks, 'I've made it'. Then she walks up to the still-idling, strangely silent car where she, not being close enough to see clearly inside, starts babbling and blubbering to her dude that they have to get out of here and call the police. When she finally makes it to the door and peers inside, Chris's head is sitting in the passenger seat."
Then I tried to decide if I would survive in that scenario, or if I would be the Drew Barrymore character and bite it early on. I ultimately decided that Chris and I were definitely main characters and that this beginning sequence was merely a tension builder. The dying wouldn't start until that night at the earliest. But I did need to go ahead and accept the fact that poor Benny wouldn't stand a chance.
After I found Benny and got the key, I told Chris my theory. We spent the rest of the trip running scenarios. "Let's put the gun in this drawer. The killer will probably get hold of it, but it's right next to the utility box with all the knives in it, and he'll never expect that because it just looks like a toolbox." Et cetera.
We had fun times, even though the serial killer missed all his cues and we made it out unscathed.
3.22.2005
Happy Birthday To Me
I believe I've mentioned before how much better Chris is at special occasions than I am. Tonight, he is cooking me an authentic Thai dinner, complete with multiple courses. Some friends and family are coming to partake. The adventure will be figuring out where everyone will sit.
The particulars of the menu are a surprise, as is Chris's gift. Actually, he's told me what he's getting me. He's getting me the only thing in the world that I really want. Yep, that's what he said. And before I proceed, I would like to instruct Kris and Nathan to get their minds out of the gutter this instant. Laura, you too.
So, what is the only thing in the world I really want? No clue. But I like surprises, so sometimes it pays to lack self-awareness.
The particulars of the menu are a surprise, as is Chris's gift. Actually, he's told me what he's getting me. He's getting me the only thing in the world that I really want. Yep, that's what he said. And before I proceed, I would like to instruct Kris and Nathan to get their minds out of the gutter this instant. Laura, you too.
So, what is the only thing in the world I really want? No clue. But I like surprises, so sometimes it pays to lack self-awareness.
3.21.2005
SPRING BREAK!!!
I really, really needed the break. Work has its stresses and its demands, and I can handle that. I haven't been in the working world all that long, but I've already adopted the perspective of a career person. Going back to school, while not nearly as difficult to balance with work as I feared it may be, does something strange to my internal wiring. It wasn't very long ago that I was a student. I thought like a student. I talked like a student. I totally still look young enough to be a student (In fact, I occasionally catch people doing a double-take when they notice my wedding ring, as if to ask, "Could that be legal?"). I still remember what it felt like: the looming insecurities, the small victories, the occasional panic attacks. But that's not me anymore. My priorities, motivations, aspirations, they've all shifted to adapt to this new way of life that exists beyond Academia.
A lot of people go back to school, but most of them can stay away for more than two years. People who return in their 30s and 40s are firmly entrenched in their adult perspectives. Most of them don't really remember what it was like to be a student, just like I don't remember what it was like to be a toddler. They come at it with a confidence and bearing that usually makes them look like know-it-alls. It annoyed me when I'd have classes with older students (especially when they'd try to be all chummy with the professors), but their behavioral patterns were so across-the-board, I eventually came to the conclusion that it was just how they naturally went about everything. They were confident. They'd been supporting their families for 20 years, by God. They read books for fun now. And so what if they looked at us young folks with disdain. It's not the best attitude to have, but it's a perfectly natural one. They had hardly anything in common with us.
I've concluded that those people have it easier than I do. When I walk into the school, I smell it, and all those memories about being a student that are still waiting in line to be replaced by grown-up stuff come back to front and center. So it leaves me, for the rest of the day (including my work day), feeling like I'm either pretending to be a kid or pretending to be an adult. Mostly, I find it an amusing social experiment on my favorite guinea pig: me. But it has a cumulative effect of weirdness and identity confusion from which I could use a sabbatical.
A lot of people go back to school, but most of them can stay away for more than two years. People who return in their 30s and 40s are firmly entrenched in their adult perspectives. Most of them don't really remember what it was like to be a student, just like I don't remember what it was like to be a toddler. They come at it with a confidence and bearing that usually makes them look like know-it-alls. It annoyed me when I'd have classes with older students (especially when they'd try to be all chummy with the professors), but their behavioral patterns were so across-the-board, I eventually came to the conclusion that it was just how they naturally went about everything. They were confident. They'd been supporting their families for 20 years, by God. They read books for fun now. And so what if they looked at us young folks with disdain. It's not the best attitude to have, but it's a perfectly natural one. They had hardly anything in common with us.
I've concluded that those people have it easier than I do. When I walk into the school, I smell it, and all those memories about being a student that are still waiting in line to be replaced by grown-up stuff come back to front and center. So it leaves me, for the rest of the day (including my work day), feeling like I'm either pretending to be a kid or pretending to be an adult. Mostly, I find it an amusing social experiment on my favorite guinea pig: me. But it has a cumulative effect of weirdness and identity confusion from which I could use a sabbatical.
3.17.2005
Waxing political...sort of
There's an ongoing discussion on derfleeganforum that was started by FA as an open vent-post on any and all topics of annoyance. But the part I found myself fixated on was the socio-political conversation in the thread. It really got me thinking.
First, let me explain a little habit I have. If there's a topic that I don't want to talk about, think about, or linger on in any fashion, I have discovered that (duh) something about that topic deeply disturbs or frustrates me. It usually takes me a lot longer than one might think to identify the occurance of this reaction, but when I do, I try to practice the discipline of forcing myself to ponder it until a) I figure out what it is that bothers me about it, or b) I become more comfortable with the notion and can look at it with greater objectivity.
Politics, for me, is a mine field of such ugly subjects that I would much rather avoid than deal with. For one thing, there are all sorts of moral dilemmas on which, for me personally, the jury is still out and perhaps will ultimately return a hung verdict. But I'm okay with that for the most part, because much as I'd like to know exactly what I believe on every issue, I think that it is probably bad and quite assuredly annoying to be so damned sure about everything. In fact, all of the people I've ever met, without exception that I can think of, who have their minds made up about absolutely everything are mindlessly towing a line, be it a political party or a religious denomination.
But there's this whole idea of politics in general. There's the corruption of the system, the mismanagement, the unfairness, the ineptitude, the self-serving decisions of people we've entrusted with the care of our country. And let me get something on the table right now. I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT A PARTY. It pisses me off when people talk about the selfishness of the Republicans or the lack of moral fiber of the Democrats. You know what? They're all in the same festering, self-congratulating, nepotistic, power-mongering boat. So don't tell me how great your party is. It sucks. There, FA, I said it. They. All. Suck.
Whew. That was a rabbit trail. I was trying to get to the thought I had today. Right, so, I was doing my thing where I confront my distaste for politics, and I think I figured something out. You see, I have great respect for people who are out there trying to change the system. Those people are truly needed. But their passion seems foreign to me. That's not in me. It's not that I don't care, just that it seems so futile. Why do I feel this way?
It occurs to me that my Christian beliefs have re-wired my brain in many ways. I don't see the "system", in and of itself, as being changeable. At least, not to any lasting benefit. The way I see it, our social and political systems are, and always have been, a by-product of the people who compose and influence them. They're nothing more than a symptom, really, indicative of the overall health of the Body. Now don't get me wrong about the Christian thing. I don't think that this viewpoint is exclusively Christian. That's just the route I took in arriving at my conclusion. Like I said, some people have a passion for the system. My heart is for people. That's my passion.
I think I can grasp why God told early Christians to pray for their leaders in government, even though they were being persecuted by them. I mean, who needs more prayer? Good leaders or bad ones? They're there, whether you like it or not. Yeah, W was re-elected. I know a lot of people who are upset about that, and for good reason, but it's done. We need people on the walls, watching our leaders, getting outraged about injustice, and not letting anything slide. But we also need people who can exhibit compassion, who can separate anger from hate and pray that our leaders will learn wisdom, selflessness, and humility. Ideally, we need people who can do both of those at the same time.
First, let me explain a little habit I have. If there's a topic that I don't want to talk about, think about, or linger on in any fashion, I have discovered that (duh) something about that topic deeply disturbs or frustrates me. It usually takes me a lot longer than one might think to identify the occurance of this reaction, but when I do, I try to practice the discipline of forcing myself to ponder it until a) I figure out what it is that bothers me about it, or b) I become more comfortable with the notion and can look at it with greater objectivity.
Politics, for me, is a mine field of such ugly subjects that I would much rather avoid than deal with. For one thing, there are all sorts of moral dilemmas on which, for me personally, the jury is still out and perhaps will ultimately return a hung verdict. But I'm okay with that for the most part, because much as I'd like to know exactly what I believe on every issue, I think that it is probably bad and quite assuredly annoying to be so damned sure about everything. In fact, all of the people I've ever met, without exception that I can think of, who have their minds made up about absolutely everything are mindlessly towing a line, be it a political party or a religious denomination.
But there's this whole idea of politics in general. There's the corruption of the system, the mismanagement, the unfairness, the ineptitude, the self-serving decisions of people we've entrusted with the care of our country. And let me get something on the table right now. I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT A PARTY. It pisses me off when people talk about the selfishness of the Republicans or the lack of moral fiber of the Democrats. You know what? They're all in the same festering, self-congratulating, nepotistic, power-mongering boat. So don't tell me how great your party is. It sucks. There, FA, I said it. They. All. Suck.
Whew. That was a rabbit trail. I was trying to get to the thought I had today. Right, so, I was doing my thing where I confront my distaste for politics, and I think I figured something out. You see, I have great respect for people who are out there trying to change the system. Those people are truly needed. But their passion seems foreign to me. That's not in me. It's not that I don't care, just that it seems so futile. Why do I feel this way?
It occurs to me that my Christian beliefs have re-wired my brain in many ways. I don't see the "system", in and of itself, as being changeable. At least, not to any lasting benefit. The way I see it, our social and political systems are, and always have been, a by-product of the people who compose and influence them. They're nothing more than a symptom, really, indicative of the overall health of the Body. Now don't get me wrong about the Christian thing. I don't think that this viewpoint is exclusively Christian. That's just the route I took in arriving at my conclusion. Like I said, some people have a passion for the system. My heart is for people. That's my passion.
I think I can grasp why God told early Christians to pray for their leaders in government, even though they were being persecuted by them. I mean, who needs more prayer? Good leaders or bad ones? They're there, whether you like it or not. Yeah, W was re-elected. I know a lot of people who are upset about that, and for good reason, but it's done. We need people on the walls, watching our leaders, getting outraged about injustice, and not letting anything slide. But we also need people who can exhibit compassion, who can separate anger from hate and pray that our leaders will learn wisdom, selflessness, and humility. Ideally, we need people who can do both of those at the same time.
3.16.2005
Caesar is dead
Yesterday was the Ides of March. I wish I'd remembered. I would've worn my toga to work. It comes complete with a secret pocket in the lining that you can stow a shiv in.
Tomorrow is St. Patty's Day. I don't think I own a single article of clothing that's shamrock green. Darn.
Last Thursday was Chris's birthday. I took him out to eat at the restaurant of his choice, but we were both so tired when we got back that we just passed out on the couch without ceremony. Sorry, Chris, for the lackluster birthday. Everyone should send him cards and tell him how cool he is now that he's 24.
I'm lagging behind, as always, and won't be 24 for another six days. I never can seem to catch up.
Tomorrow is St. Patty's Day. I don't think I own a single article of clothing that's shamrock green. Darn.
Last Thursday was Chris's birthday. I took him out to eat at the restaurant of his choice, but we were both so tired when we got back that we just passed out on the couch without ceremony. Sorry, Chris, for the lackluster birthday. Everyone should send him cards and tell him how cool he is now that he's 24.
I'm lagging behind, as always, and won't be 24 for another six days. I never can seem to catch up.
3.14.2005
The Farce
This past week has been one of those intervals in life that reminds me there is some sick, twisted, hidden part of me enjoys and thrives on stress. Not a big part, mind you. If I were a stock broker, I'd be the one being talked off the ledge. But it's kind of like experiencing runner's high for the first time and thinking, "So that's why people enjoy this."
The big-to-do was over this business expo. Local businesses get together and set up booths and, theoretically, people come in off the street and look around. It's great for a landscaping company, because we get an 8x10 square to show off how we can beautify a small space...like the one in YOUR BACK YARD! See?
It all started off as this great fun thing. But the people organizing the event, who shall remain nameless, sapped the fun out of it early on. You see, we paid a certain amount of money for our booth space. Of course. But we were going to have a waterfall at our booth operating off an electric pump (it was awesome, by the way), so I thought I'd better call and make sure electricity was available. I talked with the Powers that Be and they said sure, fine, no problem. Would it cost extra? No. Three days later, I get a fax, sent to all participants, saying that if anyone would like electricity, there will be a fee...a fee that amounts to almost as much as we paid for the booth in the first place.
So I talk to the place where the expo is being held. Do they charge extra for use of electricity? No. So why are we being charged for it? We shouldn't be. Right. Time for a one-on-one. I go to the PtB and ask them why we are being charged for electricity, especially since I asked about it specifically earlier that week and was told the exact opposite. PtB told me that, well, they were getting a certified electrician to do the electrical work so that everyone would be safe and sound. So, is this a new development? No. They just weren't aware they would have to pay for it before. Wha? Besides, they say, none of the other participants had any problem with the extra charge, and it's still a very reasonable price for the space.
A very reasonable price that I didn't agree to. Bitch.
Sigh. Anyway, I decided to plow on, because it was such a great concept for the booth and hey, I guess it's a valid fee after all. Yeah, the event organizers are dumbasses. I already knew that. So after Mom and I take turns talking each other out of morphing into Incredible Hulks, we get back to work designing our concept. For me, that meant designing all the promotional material. I had already designed a brochure for my department, but now I needed to do three more brochures and a landscape portfolio. For some people (Laura), this may have taken an afternoon. It took me a frantic, hair-pulling week. I think I obsess too much to work in graphic arts. Or maybe I obsess too slowly. Eenyvay.
Now we arrive at set-up night. This is another issue I made sure to conscientiously ask about beforehand. When do we set up and how long do we have? Answer: Show up any time after 3:00 the day before and take all the time you need.
All the time you need = We're kicking you out at 5:00
See, I just didn't know the lingo. Do you have any idea how long it takes to BUILD A WATERFALL? I'll give you a hint. More than two hours.
No thanks to the PtB, events played themselves out such that we were able to come back and finish setting up our booth. In the process, we discovered that the Amazing Wonder Electrician had come and left us...drum roll please...an extension cord. The most expensive extension cord I've ever rented.
We also discovered that we hadn't gotten the booth space we requested. Did someone get to it first? Not exactly. Actually, it was vacant. So Mom asked politely if she could pretty please have the booth she asked for. Sure. She then, snkkt!, ripped up the Holy Grail Extension Cord which had been so masterfully taped to the floor, and dragged it to the new booth.
All was now right with the world and it was showtime. The doors opened to an angry mob of no one, just dying to get inside. Yeah, the advertising campaign was so awesome that half the participants didn't show.
You pretty much know an event is going to be a flop when the organizers put out a big sign out front that says, "Welcome to the 2005 Buisness Expo!" And yes, I typed that exactly as I intended to.
I'm really not at all certain that anyone came in off the street the whole day, but we did okay anyway. We garnered a lot of contacts among the other booth-tenders. In the end, it's definitely something I'd do again, although probably not with this bunch.
(To the person I left out of the story: I did this out of my blogonoiac desire not to identify any parties or organizations involved in said events. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble for your heroic deeds.)
The big-to-do was over this business expo. Local businesses get together and set up booths and, theoretically, people come in off the street and look around. It's great for a landscaping company, because we get an 8x10 square to show off how we can beautify a small space...like the one in YOUR BACK YARD! See?
It all started off as this great fun thing. But the people organizing the event, who shall remain nameless, sapped the fun out of it early on. You see, we paid a certain amount of money for our booth space. Of course. But we were going to have a waterfall at our booth operating off an electric pump (it was awesome, by the way), so I thought I'd better call and make sure electricity was available. I talked with the Powers that Be and they said sure, fine, no problem. Would it cost extra? No. Three days later, I get a fax, sent to all participants, saying that if anyone would like electricity, there will be a fee...a fee that amounts to almost as much as we paid for the booth in the first place.
So I talk to the place where the expo is being held. Do they charge extra for use of electricity? No. So why are we being charged for it? We shouldn't be. Right. Time for a one-on-one. I go to the PtB and ask them why we are being charged for electricity, especially since I asked about it specifically earlier that week and was told the exact opposite. PtB told me that, well, they were getting a certified electrician to do the electrical work so that everyone would be safe and sound. So, is this a new development? No. They just weren't aware they would have to pay for it before. Wha? Besides, they say, none of the other participants had any problem with the extra charge, and it's still a very reasonable price for the space.
A very reasonable price that I didn't agree to. Bitch.
Sigh. Anyway, I decided to plow on, because it was such a great concept for the booth and hey, I guess it's a valid fee after all. Yeah, the event organizers are dumbasses. I already knew that. So after Mom and I take turns talking each other out of morphing into Incredible Hulks, we get back to work designing our concept. For me, that meant designing all the promotional material. I had already designed a brochure for my department, but now I needed to do three more brochures and a landscape portfolio. For some people (Laura), this may have taken an afternoon. It took me a frantic, hair-pulling week. I think I obsess too much to work in graphic arts. Or maybe I obsess too slowly. Eenyvay.
Now we arrive at set-up night. This is another issue I made sure to conscientiously ask about beforehand. When do we set up and how long do we have? Answer: Show up any time after 3:00 the day before and take all the time you need.
All the time you need = We're kicking you out at 5:00
See, I just didn't know the lingo. Do you have any idea how long it takes to BUILD A WATERFALL? I'll give you a hint. More than two hours.
No thanks to the PtB, events played themselves out such that we were able to come back and finish setting up our booth. In the process, we discovered that the Amazing Wonder Electrician had come and left us...drum roll please...an extension cord. The most expensive extension cord I've ever rented.
We also discovered that we hadn't gotten the booth space we requested. Did someone get to it first? Not exactly. Actually, it was vacant. So Mom asked politely if she could pretty please have the booth she asked for. Sure. She then, snkkt!, ripped up the Holy Grail Extension Cord which had been so masterfully taped to the floor, and dragged it to the new booth.
All was now right with the world and it was showtime. The doors opened to an angry mob of no one, just dying to get inside. Yeah, the advertising campaign was so awesome that half the participants didn't show.
You pretty much know an event is going to be a flop when the organizers put out a big sign out front that says, "Welcome to the 2005 Buisness Expo!" And yes, I typed that exactly as I intended to.
I'm really not at all certain that anyone came in off the street the whole day, but we did okay anyway. We garnered a lot of contacts among the other booth-tenders. In the end, it's definitely something I'd do again, although probably not with this bunch.
(To the person I left out of the story: I did this out of my blogonoiac desire not to identify any parties or organizations involved in said events. I wouldn't want to get you in trouble for your heroic deeds.)
3.11.2005
MIA
Yes, I am aware I haven't posted all week. To all the loyal, faithful readers I have garnered over my weeks of blog ownership, I am sorry. Later today, hopefully, I'll tell you all about what has kept me so damn busy I haven't had time to sh...uh, sit.
3.05.2005
Cat Blog
"It's a basin! I must experience it!"
I have to imagine that is what is going through her head. I can find no other explanation for her fascination with sinks, tubs, and toilets (though I have, so far, managed to keep her out of the last).
Laura tells me Papine has the same fixation. Is it a cat thing, or do they just make porcelain out of cocaine in Alabama?
3.04.2005
Workin' girl
So I don't exactly fall into the executive pay scale. So what. I've got business cards now. That's right. And a Rolodex. BOOYAH!
God has been playing little games with me all week. And I don't mean that in a "messing with my mind" sort of way. I mean in a very jovial, good-natured way that has me thanking him and wondering at the same time, "Are you making fun of me?"
For instance, I was thanking God on my way to work from school on Wednesday, because I had just taken a test that I hadn't had much time to study for and the professor had decided out of the blue that we could use our books. I was commenting to God about how it's little things like that that make a person really feel loved.
As I was saying this, I noticed the needle on my car's temperature gauge creeping up ever so slowly. I'd had car trouble the day before that my dad had diagnosed as a coolant problem, and he had instructed me to buy some on my way home that night. I forgot. So here I was, trying to make it to work, about to be sabotaged by my own flakiness. So I laugh and continue, "...although, I've noticed how you don't tend to save me from my own negligence."
I'd just finished that sentence when I glanced back down at the needle, just in time to see it fall to the normal level. That God, he can be a real softy sometimes.
God has been playing little games with me all week. And I don't mean that in a "messing with my mind" sort of way. I mean in a very jovial, good-natured way that has me thanking him and wondering at the same time, "Are you making fun of me?"
For instance, I was thanking God on my way to work from school on Wednesday, because I had just taken a test that I hadn't had much time to study for and the professor had decided out of the blue that we could use our books. I was commenting to God about how it's little things like that that make a person really feel loved.
As I was saying this, I noticed the needle on my car's temperature gauge creeping up ever so slowly. I'd had car trouble the day before that my dad had diagnosed as a coolant problem, and he had instructed me to buy some on my way home that night. I forgot. So here I was, trying to make it to work, about to be sabotaged by my own flakiness. So I laugh and continue, "...although, I've noticed how you don't tend to save me from my own negligence."
I'd just finished that sentence when I glanced back down at the needle, just in time to see it fall to the normal level. That God, he can be a real softy sometimes.
3.01.2005
Woodlayson's Word of the Week
Word of the Week brought to you by pickle.
sesquipedality: n. use of long words
It always amuses me when the definition of a word is shorter than the word itself. Thanks, Jaimie, for the archetypical Word of the Week. Guys, you should definitely practice this word in sentences, but first I would recommend practicing its pronunciation with the aid of a mirror.
This word is apparently so rare that you actually have to pay Merriam-Webster to disclose its meaning. I had to find the definition by other, less scrupulous means. I can only assume that six ("sesqui") is the magic number of syllables that determines a really long word. So Part Two of your assignment this week is to list all the six-syllable words you know. Divide this by 50 to determine your "sesquipedality index". And yes, 50 is a round yet random number that I determined using no objective criteria whatsoever. My blog. My rules.
sesquipedality: n. use of long words
It always amuses me when the definition of a word is shorter than the word itself. Thanks, Jaimie, for the archetypical Word of the Week. Guys, you should definitely practice this word in sentences, but first I would recommend practicing its pronunciation with the aid of a mirror.
This word is apparently so rare that you actually have to pay Merriam-Webster to disclose its meaning. I had to find the definition by other, less scrupulous means. I can only assume that six ("sesqui") is the magic number of syllables that determines a really long word. So Part Two of your assignment this week is to list all the six-syllable words you know. Divide this by 50 to determine your "sesquipedality index". And yes, 50 is a round yet random number that I determined using no objective criteria whatsoever. My blog. My rules.
The Cat Came Back
Of course.
No time to post. I've designed two brochures and tweaked a business card so far today. I think I could probably get a graphic design gig on the basis of that "equivalent experience" clause.
Wish my vacation would hurry up and get here. And doesn't it figure that my vacation weekend happens to coincide with the opening of the re:birth show? Grr. Argh.
No time to post. I've designed two brochures and tweaked a business card so far today. I think I could probably get a graphic design gig on the basis of that "equivalent experience" clause.
Wish my vacation would hurry up and get here. And doesn't it figure that my vacation weekend happens to coincide with the opening of the re:birth show? Grr. Argh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
