How Many Crazies Can Fit on a Couch?

I just changed the channel to watch The Daily Show (Colin Firth is tonight's guest-weeee!), and what am I greeted with? Al Sharpton and Pat Robertson hanging out on the beach, sitting on a couch and AGREEING about the need to address global warming. I admit, I am having a hard time focusing on the message, because Al Sharpton and Pat Robertson are sitting on a couch on the beach, making jokes about their political philosophies and what they have in common (the title 'reverend' and lunatic ramblings?). WHAT?

It seems this ad is part of the We Can Solve It campaign, launched by The Alliance for Climate Protection and Al Gore. I'm sure their message is important, I'm just stuck on the fact that they have selected Al Sharpton, Pat Robertson, Nancy Pelosi and Newt Gingrich to deliver their message. Who are these commercials appealing to? I'm so confused.

On a completely unrelated note, I think I would like Colin Firth to read me something. I'm not picky, he can choose.

Bonne Annee!

How time flies--it's been a year and I feel like I'm just getting started. Thanks for coming along for the ride.

It's Madness I Tell You! MADNESS!

I'm watching whatever the ABC Sunday morning 'political' show is and I am amazed (I don't know why at this point) at the stupidity of the people who are on this show. George Stephanopolis, Sam Donaldson, Cokie Roberts and George Will are not only defending the atrocity of what they are referring to as a 'debate' in Pennsylvania but are repeating the non-sense that people a) understand the Constitution (really?) and b) they vote with their guts (WHY?!?!) . Of course, all of these issues are hugely convenient for them. Not just them specifically, but for all political 'journalists'.

The incredibly sad (pathetic, infuriating...) reality is that Americans do not understand the Constitution. If they did, we would not be tearing down the wall that exists between Church and State; we would not be forking over more and more unchecked powers to the executive branch and relegate the legislative and judicial branches to being cheerleaders of whatever the executive wants to do; they would not be sitting around blithely as their government tortures prisoners and uses propaganda to rename it 'enhanced interrogation techniques'; and they would understand the concept of the Women's Suffrage Movement before they signed petitions to end it.

Secondly, if Americans do vote with their guts, why are you glorifying and encouraging it? Sure, people voted for Bush because they thought he would be fun to have a pint of beer with--but I'm also pretty sure they ignored the fact that he is a recovering alcoholic whose judgment would be impaired if they did spend that kind of quality time together. And while I think the person who represents us collectively on the world stage should be representative of us, I would prefer he spoke the language and had rudimentary understand of world issues before he set foot on that stage. A man who graduated from some of the finest universities in this country and still managed to resist learning anything, is not that person. Nor is he 'regular' folk if his daddy, granddaddy and every generation before him has been part of the power elite of this country for at least 100 years back, if not further. Even if one of us wanted to share a pint of beer with him, he probably wouldn't waste his time with us lowly folk. On a related note, the concept of a democracy is to pick the best person to do the job; someone who has good judgment, wisdom and hopefully some ethics. 'Democracy' isn't a fancy word for popularity contest, and our government is not high school. We should not be voting for the cheerleader and the jock, we should be at least paying attention to the nerds and the debate teams who will be able to get our sorry asses out of a mess if we start drowning in it.

And now, back to the Idiots at the Round Table:

George S., you can't comment on the fairness of the 'debate' when you were the major screw up who took lessons from Sean Hannity. I don't say things like this often, but please, just shut the fuck up.

George W., I can appreciate your distaste for Obama, even if it is solely on party principle. But if not him, are you endorsing the forgetful geriatric who wants to suspend gas taxes that fund our roads, bridges and infrastructures? I'm sure you stay awake at night wondering about bridges collapsing during your commute to work or your city being washed away for lack of federal funding to maintain dams. I don't understand much about economics, but I think I won't vote for the guy who says economics isn't his thing.

Sam, please focus on your hair since you have a hard time understanding anything else. People aren't 'shooting the messenger' because they didn't like the questions that were asked at the 'debate'. They are shooting the messenger because the messenger was on crack and not delivering the message while the city is burning. Pick on Obama, but not on his name, neighbors' independent activities, his estranged father's religion or lapel accessories. And while you're at it, also pick on Clinton's political opportunism, lies and fantasies. And ask McCain a few questions about his favorite pastors who insist on killing my people in the name of their religion, his inability to distinguish Sunni vs Shia (which probably contributes to his inability to grasp the difference between Al-Qaida and the Sadr militia and Iran's government) and his insane idea that we can occupy a country for 100 years without consequences. No hurry, you can ask him your questions after the BBQ.

Cokie, if you're riding around in the President's limo on his way to see the Pope, you will not have anything objective to say about anything related to this President. Keep talking about the blabbering idiot's 'excitement' about seeing the Pope, and not the fact that the Pope actually condemned this country's aggression repeatedly during his visit. The reason your car pool companion was so sanguine is because he is too stupid to understand that his guest is calling him an ass hole.

Newseum Building, I'm sorry to say I'm praying for your spontaneous combustion because you represent all that is absurd, lazy and stupid about what we collectively refer to as 'The Press'. We have no use for you or what you represent, until 'The News' is more than a bunch of obnoxious noise delivered by monitor readers and overpaid pundits who are too lazy to do anything but pat each other on the back and regurgitate what is fed to them. Until then, there is no 'News', just bull shit. And we already have a place for that, thankyouverymuch.

And now that I got that out of my system, I need to flip over to CNN and see what Wolf Blitzer and the self-anointed "Best Political Team on Television" (TM) have to say for themselves this weekend.

Lesson Learned

It seems being the peace-maker (when I'm not the one fighting the war) isn't always a great idea. Sometimes people need to fight it out, tear each other down and sweat it out just so they can prop themselves around a conference table and actually compromise. That is the lesson I learned this week.

We have been in meetings all day, every day this week. Two of those were scheduled and conducted by yours truly. I was an angel of self restraint, focus and professionalism. (Ok, maybe I gave the look of death to Someone repeatedly, but only because Someone was acting twelve shades of crazy by arguing against herself). Anyway, the meetings have been ridiculously exhausting and predictably unproductive for three days. I literally had to jump in yesterday and take control of the situation (note to self: herding cats is only possible for short periods of time). But today, everyone was so tired they all dragged themselves to the table sat down and started working. They made decisions. There were even hugs. Hell, I was waiting for someone to start singing Kumbaya.

Maybe next time I'll instigate a fight just so they can get it over with.

Complimentary

One of my co-workers has this crazy theory (which for the record couldn't be more absurd): my curly hair days are days when I'm 'scary' and people shouldn't mess with me and that the days that I straighten my hair people can get away with pretty much anything because I will be 'nice'. I have already disproven his theory, most recently on Thursday when he kept stalling when we were picking up some items for our office lunch. It was a curly hair day, and he is still alive. The theory is bunk.

But I must say sometimes my niceness is tempted.

On Friday, I stopped by Costco after work to pick up some things and in the shampoo/lotion/razor aisle, I saw a woman inspecting a giant container of shampoo. I couldn't help myself and said, "I use that--it's actually pretty good.", at which point I realized she's staring at my head, with her mouth wide open. It seems seeing my hair in its naturally curly glory couldn't scare a woman more. She slowly put the shampoo down and started backing away from me.

Sadly, I think I will never be a good hair model.

Give Me Bullet Points

Since my promotion and subsequent greater interaction with my manager, I have realized there are a few 'work' issues that have bled into my non-work projects:

• My manager (lets call her Sherry) likes to get to the point. She is a no nonsense kind of woman with a wicked sense of humor. Hence, her email rule to all of us, "Give me bullet points". Considering how much I like words and enjoy using them to describe things, it has been a challenge. Rather, it was a challenge. I recently caught myself sending emails to my friends in bullet points.
• While it was quite obvious at the beginning that Sherry wasn't impressed by me (I think she implied said I was 'whiny'). I insisted that she had caught me at a bad time in my career where I had been misled and micromanaged to an inch of my sanity. A year later, I think we get along quite well. She actually complimented my performance in our staff meeting and to her superiors. She has given me confidence to speak my mind and express my opinions, even if the audience isn't exactly receptive. Which is great! I recently spoke up and said something in a non-work environment that caught ME off guard. Woo hoo for Sherry's mentoring skills.
• I am sorry to say, patience is not (and has tragically never been) one of my many virtues. It really makes me sad. Especially when I have to work with people who are not outwardly bothered by things. My last manager was the kind who would speak more calmly and slowly, which ended up sounding condescending and pissing people off more. Not Sherry. While she has a great sense of humor and admirable self-restraint, she also has a temper. She may tell me to calm down after an especially stressful conference call, but I know she understands and isn't holding my impatience against me. Of course, I've never seen her act unprofessionally--and I would like to think I haven't either (except when I have)--but we of short tempers recognize each other fairly easily and it is nice to be in the company of some who can generally handle her impatience well.
• And finally, after a week of dealing with unprofessional people, it is nice to hear your managers speaking well of your coping skills and general abilities.
  

See, bullet points can be fun. Or to the point.

A Friend in Need

My blogging friend whose words, humor and baby pictures I enjoy so much is sick. I will write more, but right now, I'm trying to think of something productive and non-stalkerish to help her.

Please pray for her and her family. And if you have any ideas of ways a fellow blogger can be helpful, please share.

An Ode to Unrequited Love

For B, who gets paid too much to just read my blog...

How I hate you and this pain you cause me.
I was living my life, content enough and you just had to come along.
Tantalizing me with the possibilities of what could be.
And with you, anything could be. You are perfect in every way, untainted by reality.

You will never fight or ignore me, I will always be perfection in your eyes (once you see me).
You will always remember those special days, and I'll always have time for you.
I will bask in your adoration, knowing that I will never falter.
To you I am perfect, and you are all I have ever wanted and never knew.
If only you could see me.
If only you were real.
If only you weren't potential.
If only I could ignore you and this pain you cause me.

But I can't.
And I won't.

I'll embrace every heart wrenching, stomach-churning, head-splitting thought of you,
And what we could be.
I'll close my eyes every night to dream you into reality,
and wake up mourning your departure.
I'll cry that I never had you; bemoan that you're not mine.
Your best is what I hate most, your weaknesses what I crave.
How could you not see what you conjured into being, without thinking of what would come next?

For you, my Unrequited Love, are what I had missed all along.
I will not cure this pain you have given me, for it is all I have
of the potential that will never be.
This, my dear, is perfection.

Senioritis

Remember your senior year in high school or your senior year in college? How you were just aching to be done with school and move on to bigger and better things? Completely oblivious to the fact that those were probably the most carefree days of your life? Or how you were just DONE with the school routine?

Yeah. That's where I am.

I finished college and said, I'd never go back to school again. I started researching graduate programs about four months after I graduated.

I was stuck in the middle of my graduate program that had mutated evolved into a long distance program and decided what I needed was a project management certificate. Why? Because I'm crazy like that and go through education withdrawals. So I started the Certificate program with my manager/company's blessing (also, with the promise that starting the classes would result in a promotion). The promotion took two years, three and a half different managers and a fit of disapproval by moi to accomplish. The classes in turn were occasionally canceled, not approved/paid for by my company and skipped because of other commitments.

As of last night, I have started my very last class. It will last five more weeks, and then I'm done. Until then, I will be slightly cranky every Tuesday night as I sit in class trying to bite my tongue and not tell a particular classmate that he is slightly insane.

And then, I'll be done and will never register for another class. Ever.

(Or until I hear of something else really, really tempting.)