Now, for some good news...

Congratulations to Carlos & Tara on their engagement! The date is set for sometime in June 2006.

When I met Tara for the first time, I knew they were going to get married. It may as well have been tattooed on their foreheads. It's tough to get more obvious than that.

(I'll be back later this week with a story about college. Hopefully it'll make up for the lack of posting.)

Dooced*

* - To be fired from your job because of the contents of your web log. Originated at http://www.dooce.com/archives/dooced/index.html

No, not me. I haven't mentioned where I work, names of any employer/employees or clients. I haven't had any "when keeping it real goes wrong" moments in a LONG time.

And shit, no one reads this anyway.

This goes WAAAAAAAAAAAAAY the hell back to spring 2002. First, there were Heather B. Armstrong's posts about basically being the first person to be fired for complaining about her job on the Internet (see above link).

Very shortly afterwards, a New York Post "Page Six" article, by Richard Johnson -

Forgive me for the terribly juvenile remark, but it needs to be said: Dick Johnson? Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

- with Paula Froelich and Chris Wilson, was published on Thursday, May 23, 2002. I clipped this article out of the paper and held onto it ever since, and I'm going to share it with you all now.

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Media aide bitches too much.

A lowly assistant at Hearst magazines was fired yesterday after telling her high-maintenance bosses in an anonymous memo: "Buy your own candy, stop rifling through my desk, and yeah, guess what - I have to pee, too!"

The blistering harangue - which she posted on mediabistro.com's "Bitch Box" - begins: "Hey editors, get off your fucking high horses and come down and smell your trash. We are your editorial assistants - not your maids, your mothers or your personal assistants.

"1. Your dead plants, pigeons and other 'wildlife' in your office are not my problem. You've been around long enough to know plants need water and if they don't get it, they die…

"2. Duane Reade sells candy to ANYONE. Do not bitch if the candy jar is empty. Do not bitch if what's in there isn't your favorite candy. Haul it ONE BLOCK east and buy the stuff yourself…Plus, we're sick of fronting the cash.

"3. Pub Tech responds to everyone. It's really easy to call them. And odds are, the problem is something you could fix if you would just suck it up and take one training class.

"4. The refrigerator doesn't keep things forever. I'm tired of my one little yogurt being surrounded by your seven containers of three remaining bites of a $50 lunch that has been in there so long, it smells like sweat socks.

"5. Learn how things work around here. I'm half your age, make a third of your salary, and after baby-sitting you for over a year, could do your job and still have time for a manicure. The copier is push-button, occasionally the printer does need paper, and the production department is just down the hall. Chimps could do half this stuff.

"6. I will occasionally not be at my desk. No kidding. I have to pee, too. And I get a lunch hour. Respect it or buy yourself a slave. Kathie Lee's made a second career out of this.

"7. I do not have ESP. If you've told me to do something, it's done, if you didn't, it wasn't. I can't read your fucking mind…and if it's after 5:30, too late. Your forgetfulness and lack of organization is not my emergency. I'm going home to watch 'Survivor.'

"And finally, 8. My desk is not your playground. Quit going through the papers on it; not all of it pertains to you. Don't take things off it - if it was meant for you, I'd give it to you." The memo ends, "That is all - for now. The Assistant."

Hearst, known to partake in "manhunts" where it traces e-mails, phone calls and Web links that employees have made, quickly identified the offending assistant and fired her, sources said. Calls to Hearst were not returned. The memo has been removed from mediabistro.com.

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Run this search in your Google toolbar: blog fired

Friday night I picked up a co-worker's copy of the NY Post and found another article about Nadine Haobsh, http://jolienyc.blogspot.com/ a magazine editor getting fired for office gossip. Her bosses "thought it displayed a lack of respect for the industry and a lack of professionalism."

I find that to be hilarious, considering the total lack of respect and professionalism found in ANY industry, usually displayed by managers & CEOs. They are petty, immature, grudge-holding, office-political players, spoiled, and close-minded. Their egos need constant stroking, and they'll belittle anyone who works below them if they feel the slightest bit vulnerable.

If you look at the business practices of the companies that have fired bloggers, (Microsoft, Google, Starbucks, Delta Air Lines, Friendster) you'll find that the phrase "business ethics" doesn't seem to apply most of the time. I'm WAITING for the day Wal-Mart employees start blogging; although, they probably have a no-blog clause in the contract.

Blogger David Pomeroy, at http://blogs.msdn.com, has this to say about firing employees for having a blog:

If employers are good employers, what do they have to fear? Most likely those who rant and rave are likely to be talking about former employers, or one who got them fired... rather than their current one.

Starbucks employee fired for blog: http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/09/04/141004.php

One anonymous commenter said: "That Starbucks would make anyone sign something stating not to bad mouth the company speaks volumes as to HOW BAD the Company really is."

IS ANYONE LISTENING TO THIS?

Allow me to bestow a few nuggets of wisdom to every single company out there, just to make things crystal clear. If you don't want your employees bitching about their job, there are a few things you can do.

1) Reward your employees properly. Let's say there are three people: the client, the sales representative, and the producer. The sales rep takes the client out for lunch, and gets a substantial commission for all the work the client brings in to the company. The producer does all the hard work of actually making sure the client's product is done efficiently, correctly, and on time. Although I've seen exceptions to the rule, this is generally the case. Why is it that people doing most of the work reaping the least of the benefits? The sales rep is rewarded simply for knowing the right people. There is a REASON why people at the bottom of the totem pole are the most bitter.

2) Make sure the people with responsibility know how to handle it with maturity. If anyone does the kind of shit that assistant at Hearst complained about, they should be fired. Being in charge doesn't mean you get to be a jerk about it. My supervisor is the BEST I've had since I was working upstate. He works to make things right in the office. It's really simple: if you're a good boss, you'll have relatively happy employees. The happier the employees, the less likely they'll need to bitch on the web and cause you great embarrassment.

3) To all the bitching employees out there who use their blogs to complain: Create a new blog, don't give any personal information - not your name, not the city you're in. Keep it simple. "Customer did this, boss did that." Don't say, "I work at Starbucks." Say, "I work for a North American coffee shop company." We are smart readers, and can figure out who you work for, but it leaves you with the deniability.

4) To employees with supervisors who suck: go over their heads. Go to Human Resources or the big(ger) boss and see what can be done. If nothing can be done, try to get another job. Once you leave, then you can complain all you want, as long as everything is HONEST. Don't slander.

What in the Hell is wrong with you people!?!

Scene One: A young woman leads her seven or eight year daughter up the stairs at a subway station. The little girl was proud of the clothes she had on, and was seeking attention as little kids are wont to do. The woman turns to the girl and says, "You look sexy!"

Let that sink in for a minute.

She called her EIGHT YEAR OLD DAUGHTER "SEXY."

Little girls are not sexy! They're princesses! They're angels!

NOT SEXY!

The very last thing any kid needs to worry about is if they're sexy or not. Jeebus H. Cripes, let kids be kids!



Scene Two: An office buildings' restroom. A guy walks in, talking on his cell phone. He finds a stall takes a seat. He conducted business while…conducting his business.

Ew.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!

"Hands free" was not invented for this. It is truly gross, and anyone who talks on their phone IN THE BATHROOM should be really ashamed of themselves. I hope it falls into the toilet and gets busted, and when you bring it to the store to get it replaced, you have to explain the shit stains all over it.

Get some fucking decency, you sick bastards.

Sugar Mommy?

Just after graduating college, I had met one of Bowie’s co-workers from the coffee shop he worked at downtown. She was cute. As Bowie and I left, I told him so. “Yeah, she thought you were cute, too.” “Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.” “She has a boyfriend…”

“Damn. Oh well.”

“She’s got two kids, too.”

“More info I didn’t need.”

“She, uh, she said that she wants to be locked in a room with you for five hours.”

“Okay, I’m ready to castrate myself. You’re not helping, Bowie.”

The next day, Bowie called me from work, and then put her on the phone. I had no idea how to react. Small talk, followed by awkward silence, and I finally asked her to put Bowie back on. She was disappointed, and so were her co-workers. Everyone else at the store was asking Bowie if I was gay.

Sorry, but I won’t take any part in an affair. It’s simply wrong. My dad cheated on my mom. My sister had trailed him; it’s probably the smartest thing she has ever done in her life, figuring it out. Dad moved out, for a year, and then moved back in. I’ll never understand why Mom took him back. I’ll never cheat. NEVER. If I’m not happy in a relationship, I’ll have the balls to say so, and work to make it better. If that’s not possible, then it’ll have to end. Simple as that. (I know, nothing is ever that simple. But in a world full of greys, I’m a pretty black & white kind of guy.)

After that wonderful experience, my assistant manager tried to hook me up with one of his “sistas.” She seemed very sweet on the phone, but there was something in her voice I didn’t like. She sounded like she was 14 (actually 19 at the time. I was 21). And during our second conversation, I found out that she, too, had kids.

I asked Avery (a 35-y-o gay man), “Did I somehow neglect to mention that I don’t like kids? After all the rants you’ve heard me spout on about what I like and what I don’t, did that little piece of very important info slip through the cracks?”

My next encounter with flirtation that summer was three weeks before I moved back to Bumblefuck. The coffee shop was giving away a trip to San Francisco. An attractive woman in her early 30s had walked in and, after ordering her coffee, asked me if I had ever been to SF. “No, this job really doesn’t give me the opportunity to travel much.” A barrista working for less than six months makes $6.25/hour. At 35 hours a week (considered full time at Timothy’s World Coffee), I could barely pay my bills. I never had much money for comics. Airfare and a hotel were out of the question.

“Well, if you’d like to go there sometime, let me know.”

‘Waitjustagoddamnminute,’ I thought. ‘Did she just offer to be my sugar mommy?’

And before I could think of anything else, she left the building.

A few other thoughts floated in my head. When did I become this sex object? In college, no woman would give me the time of day, and now there are a couple of them, with kids, that want to fuck my brains out. Why is it that the ones you do want don’t want you, and the ones you don’t want do want you? Am I really that hot of a commodity?

Nahhhh, that’s just crazy talk. In a few hours, while you’re sleeping on the floor of Lynne’s living room (their “couch” was a 1 & ½ person love seat, about four feet wide. No way in hell was I gonna sleep on that twice), you’ll forget all about the surge of actual self-esteem, and get on with your usual everyday misery.

There are some people who say, “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” And some of those people who have loved and then lost are so hurt by it; they say that it is better to have never loved in the first place. Speaking as someone who has never been in love, I hope they’re wrong. I’ve seen what happens to people when they are with the person they love. I’ve seen the peace and freedom that it brings. I want to feel that sense of profound intimacy you can only get by completely giving yourself to someone who is doing the same for you, intellectually, emotionally, and physically. I’m tired of feeling numb and broken inside. Twenty-six years of solitude can wear you down.

Male vs. Female Roommates

As some of you know, I have two female roommates. Jack Tripper I ain't. In college, I had three male roommates each year. Believe it or not, there isn't a big difference.

Male roommates are too lazy to help clean the apartment.

Female roommates are never around to help clean the apartment.

Aside from a little more hair in the shower drain, that's really it. Nothing deep or profound.

Trapped

Last Thursday, from 2:30 PM to 8 AM Friday, I worked. That's a 17.5 hour shift. I like working second shift for a few reasons. First, I'm generally nocturnal. I also have a mild case of insomnia, so getting up at 11 AM isn't much of a problem if I pass out around 3 or 4 in the morning. Second, I have the office to myself for half of the day. I get to queue up some mp3s and blast music that normally has to be on the lowest setting possible. I also don't have to play musical chairs with my coworkers. We have more workers than work stations. Once they're gone, I get to concentrate & work on multiple projects. This can be a problem if there are a lot of rush jobs. It means I have to stay even later than I usually do, and it REALLY messes up my sleep schedule.

I got home at 9:30 AM, and I tried to go to sleep. It didn't happen. I was wired. I had no intention of going back to work, because I had some difficulties forming a coherent thought. I finally passed out at 11 PM. I was awake for 36 hours, something I haven't done since high school.

All weekend, my sleep was screwed up. I was going to bed at dawn. And I got very tired when I was awake. I got in to work on Monday, a little tired, but otherwise fine.

We had to get access to a bunch of drawers. Leaning against them were huge 4' x 8' sheets of Sintra (pvc for mounting prints), foam core, & cardboard. I had most of it leaned up against myself so the others could get to the drawers. I underestimated how tired I was, because I lost my balance and everything fell on me.

I was fine...just buried. I waited patiently as everyone ran around trying to pull everything off of me. I got my balance, stood up, and dusted off. Everyone kept asking if I was okay, and I was. It was just a very silly situation, lying there beneath all that plastic & cardboard. I suppose it would be more interesting if that symbolized the way I feel about my life, but it doesn't.

I'm not trapped, smothered, or overwhelmed by anything. That's mildly comforting, I guess, but it would be nice if I had some sort of drama in my life. But my problems are either extremely mundane, or extremely tragic. Maybe it's a good thing that I don't have anything to worry about.

However, it would be nice if I had something...someONE to occupy my thoughts. And my personal space ;)

"I don't want someone with 'issues.'"

I have a profile up on a few internet dating sites. Meeting women in real life is about as easy for me as it is easy for ants to build skyscrapers. I go to work and sit in front of a computer all day. I come home and sit in front of a computer all night. I sit here and chat with friends I hardly ever get to see, and work on art projects that may or may not ever see the light of day.

In case you missed the title of this site, I'm rather shy & quiet. (Yet I seem to be perfectly comfortable humiliating myself here for the world to see.) I never know what to say to someone I've just met; or in the case of online personals, have yet to meet. Because of my family and some former friends, I have trust issues. My biggest obstacle is breaking the ice and being comfortable with someone new.

Before I continue, a few words about bars & clubs. What's the point? Yes, I know, those places are just about quick hookups, and I want something better than that. And it helps if you drink, which I don't, EVER. Still, even if alcohol weren't part of the problem, I can't HEAR anything over the billion-decibel backbeat that threatens to disrupt my heartbeat.

The personals sites have been about as fruitful as the Sahara. If her profile mentions something that I think we'd have in common, I try to connect with that. I figure if we can talk about that for a half-hour or so, it'd be worth the trip to the cafe. Sometimes, we connect very well, through emails and long phone conversations. When we meet face to face, one or the other of us looses interest -usually her, though. Am I that intimidating? I go back and look at more profiles to find something in common, but one phrase keeps popping up over & over again: "I don't want someone with 'issues.'"

Excuse me? I'm sorry, but if you don't have issues, then it appears as though you've never overcome any hardships. You've had everything handed to you, and you don't have an opinion about anything. As fucked up as my life has been, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I want someone who's had to deal with some shit. I want someone who's made heavy decisions in her life, and has shouldered the consequences. I want a woman who thinks about more than just what kind of eye shadow matches the puny little rat-dog she carries around in her purse.

If that sounds mean & condescending, it's not meant to. It's just frustrating when you get coldly rejected by someone you've never met, saying your life is too complicated. It's really dehumanizing, and it makes me feel more invisible & worthless to everyone else.

Doggie!

I used to work in a print shop just below Canal Street that has a lot of walk-in clientele. Once in a while they'd bring in their dogs, which is the only benefit of working at this place worth mentioning. I don't know what it is, but dogs love me. I'm not complaining; quite the opposite. There was a golden retriever that sat right in the middle of the aisle, stared at me, and let out a quiet "woof." As if to say, "hey, get over here & pet me!" I dropped whatever I was doing and approached it. He stood up & wagged his tail in anticipation. My theory at the time...and still is, "fuck the customers! I have to make the dogs happy!" There was a regular customer who brought in her old German shepherd, who immediately bonded with me. He looked just like my landlady's dog, the only difference was gender. They were absolutely the sweetest dogs ever. Even sweeter than my parents' dog, a black lab they got shortly after I left for college.


The funniest thing that happened was when a woman brought in three of her beagle puppies. They were SOOOOOO cute and excited, each of them climbing over the other, vying for my affection. I said aloud, "If I got this kind of response from women, I'd be SET!" Naturally, everyone at the front counter laughed their ass off.

Shit List

After I graduated high school, I developed a Zero Tolerance policy for idiots, morons, the willfully ignorant, creeps, psychos, and people who betray my trust. So here's why I don't have anything to do with my little sister & her brood.


During my last semester of college, most of my energy was focused on getting a decent job and an apartment in the city. I really should have focused on the cute girl who would make eye contact & smile at me all the time in my Latin American Fiction class, but that's a story for another time.


Me and my friend Bowie figured it would be easiest if we got an apartment together. He had already got me a job as a coffee bitch, and he's proven to be one of my best friends. So we made the rounds, and had absolutely no luck. We kept trying, even after graduation, after I had left the dorms, had my stuff all boxed up in a friends' basement (thanks, Christian!), and living like a gypsy in Lynne's apartment for two months (Lynne, I'm still sorry about that, even though you keep telling me not to be). Something that bothered me was that I was told many times that I had BAD credit.


Huh? I thought I had NO credit. That's different. I had nothing but student loans in my name, and I just graduated. I couldn't have BAD credit.


So after all avenues were exhausted, I retreated back upstate, feeling beaten and depressed. Then I got a substantial bill in the mail for some shop-at-home catalogue. I made phone calls, and wrote letters to find out what was going on. The shipping address for the items ordered was where my sister was living with her boyfriend (now husband and father of their 2 children).


Coincidence? Yeah, right. My sister was very dumb, lazy & selfish, and the boyfriend was an all that plus an ex-con. Before they moved, they snagged a catalogue that had been shipped to me with the pre-approved notice (that should have been thrown out), got my social security number from my mom's purse, and went on a shopping spree.


Of course, I became highly pissed. It took four months just to clear my name & credit. It took five more months to save up enough to get back to New York City. I had to put my life on hold for a year just so they could put a fucking subwoofer in their car.


Yeah, you know what? Stay out of my life. I don't want you in it. You were always a pain in the ass to me, you practically disowned me when I needed some support, you constantly treated me like shit when I tried to help you. Fine, we're done. Good riddance.


It's been almost five years since that happened. In all this time, not once have they uttered an apology. My parents wish I'd forgive them and be best friends with them and that everything should be great because we're brother & sister and sometimes all you have is family and blah blah blah. Sorry, sharing DNA doesn't give anyone a free pass. In fact, sharing DNA means I have higher standards for you to adhere to. If you can't figure out that identity theft & credit fraud are bad, you probably shouldn't talk to me.


Due to lack of funds, I only visit my parents once a year, for Christmas. Every year, I get the same speech. If I hear it one more time, I'll threaten them with not coming home at all. I don't want to have to say that, but it gets irritating, being told who to give my love & trust when they certainly don't deserve either.

Which one's the 'any' key?

Here's how dumb/ignorant I am. I have all these buttons on my keyboard and I don't know what they do, and I don't particularly care. However, I just learned that F5 is the refresh key for your favorite internet browser. I'm way more interested in the FU key. Hook me up with one of those. My instant messaging experience would be brought to new heights of juvenile discourse.