In the Dark

I was in the dark this morning at work. Literally. My morning ritual is the following:

1. Arrive at work, greeting the concierge and any tenants in the lobby.
2. Head downstairs to my office, greeting anyone already at work at the copy machine(s).
3. Reach my office, turn on lights, hang up coat, log into my computer, put lunch in fridge while computer is logging in.

This is where my day hit a bump. I didn't realize it right away--in fact, not until I returned from the kitchen, but the light in my office was not working. Needlessly I remind the reader that I work in the basement. In a tiny office with no natural light. Basically, I work in a cave (albeit one nicely decorated with three Kandinsky prints and some bright paper flowers). Not one maintenance person was to be found, and most staff had not yet arrived to work. So I got down to business, most of my light coming from the glow of the computer screen. This was about 8:40am. Not until 11:00am did I finally find someone to fix my office light.

So, there you go: a little office incident for you.

Three Day Weekend!

This past weekend was, of course, Memorial Day, and the first holiday I've taken off since starting my new job. Wahoo! Jon and I spent our day off outside because the rain has finally gone away (note: today it is currently cloudy) and yesterday was beautifully sunny and warm. We drove down to the Blue Hills Reserveation just south of Boston. I was surprised how nice the park was--125 miles of hiking trails--and how easy it was to forget that Boston was only twenty miles away.

We hiked up to the top of the highest hill (not very high, really), scrambling over rocky inclines (and declines), forging rain-fed streams, and other imprssive endeavors.

And, last night, I learned how to run the soundboard for the play, which was oodles of fun. The play really is a scream, especially when Juliet's nurse comes out with a cigar hanging out of his/her mouth. Hysterical!

OK, time to do some work.

An Old Man on the T

Taking the red line back into Boston after an evening in Harvard Square, Cambridge, I was confronted by an old man riding the T. He never spoke a word to me, but the emotions elicited by his appearance was assault enough.

He was an old black man with graying curls--but probably not as old as he seemed. Underneath an ill-fitting blue coat (probably promoting a sports team, but I didn't notice which) he had on a hospital gown, the ties trailing down, gaping open in the back. Pants many sizes too large for him attempted to complete the outfit, but he was in constant danger of losing them, and he knew it. There was a bandage on his hand (I assume an IV was once sticking there), and beside him on the seat was a green plastic bag--the kind hospitals put your stuff in when you're admitted. He was a pathetic picture, and I sat across from him feeling helpless to do anything (feeling extra useless and guilty because I work for an organization that tries to help people just like him--and I couldn't do anything).

The only thing that gave me a glimmer of hope were his shoes. They were nice shoes, with the slightly worn appearance of being used but not abused. The only part of his body that seemed at all comfortable and at ease were his feet. I felt that having those shoes meant that somewhere was someone--be it person or organizational entity--that cared for him.

Maybe I was grasping for optimism. He looked ill, mentally and physically. Maybe he was just an old addict of some kind, I don't know, but he didn't look well enough to be riding the T. He squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, twisting around. Hands clenched and unclenched uncontrollably, and when he got them under his control he tugged at the pants, striving for decency. He was worn out, sick, and tired. Occasionally he would speak aloud, words addressed to no one and everyone, but I couldn't understand him beyond that he was upset.

How could the hospital have released him? Maybe he just left? I figured he would sit and ride the red line back and forth all night, but at Park Street he got up and tottered off, all of his effort going towards leaving the train before the door closed. He almost didn't make it, thrusting his hand in between the doors to get them to bounce back open.

Two young business men on the platform struggled not to laugh in his face, but I just wanted to cry. That poor old man is the poster child for everything wrong with the social safety nets of our society, and he was being laughed at.

I don't know why I was surprised--I guess I wasn't, really. In a society where a person won't even yield to a pedestrian crossing the street in a rain storm, why would anyone do anything but laugh at an old frail man?

Crazy--or not so crazy--Ideas

I received an email a couple of days ago from one of my favorite Mass. politicians, Jim McGovern, with a plea to consider becoming a bone marrow donor, his personal story having to do with the wife of a legislative aide. I'm considering it. Provided I'm approved, donating bone marrow isn't a huge deal. It can be as simple as giving blood, and at it's "worst," they do extract bone marrow, which although painful for a few days, would be totally worth it if it saved someone.

OK, that's the altruistic pondering that I've been doing. Moving on...

I think This American Life--or someone--should take a look at all of the blogs being written by Iraqis from Iraq. My favorite is, of course, Baghdad Burning but there are others. I think it could make a really interesting piece. I would love to hear from the author of Baghdad Burning, but I don't know if that would be possible.

Just a couple of thoughts... on the work front, CEEH has officially declared itself to be HEARTH (Helping Elders At Risk Through Home), which while a good thing, will mean a lot of work in the short term (changing letterhead, business cards, the website, bank account info, etc). So I'm in charge of spear-heading that, or at least compiling the "to do" list. I really do love behind the scenes work (although I do miss the spotlight at times.... ::sigh:: Building houses was such tangible good-will work. Editing newsletter stories doesn't quite have the same caché).

TV's Season Finales

Much to my chagrin, I'm greeting season finales with a sense of loss--instead of the indifference I wish I could profess.

I will miss my Desperate Housewives, especially the next day at work, when we all gather around the lunch table to gossip about it (the amount of confusion this show creates confuses me. It's not that hard to follow, and it astonishes me that so many of the really bright women I work with are so easily baffled).

I will really miss House. It's overtly formulaic--but then so are a lot of TV shows--but I love the characters, and I like the slow way it unravels their stories. The show's initial conception--I learned on Fresh Air last week (I think) was to be a medical version of Law and Order. But, as one of the creator said, unlike criminals--which have motives and back stories, etc--germs have no motive other than to survive. So to create more interest and drama, you have to develop the doctors and staff. Anyway, I love it. And since I haven't missed an episode all season, repeats will not be "new to me" (as the old NBC slogan went).

And next fall I may have to reschedule my social life around Wednesday's Lost (ABC is now my favorite channel, how bizarre is that?). Sorry Jon. You're my boyfriend and I can see you whenever. Lost only happens once a week for a few months. Even though I rarely watched a whole episode this season (damn my roommates and the search for the SI swimsuit model!) I'm also a huge fan of this show.

I've become a TV nerd (to the best of my abilities without cable. Oh, Daily Show, how I miss you!). I can't believe it.

Filibustering

Now, you may not see any connection to my earlier post in which I commented on the whiny, childish Anakin Skywalker and this post ostensibly about the Republicans' threat of the "nuclear" option. However I see the the Republicans' acting very whiny and childish themselves.

Like a child playing Candy Land who changes the rules in order to win, the Republicans threatening to change the rules on filibustering judicial nominees in order to win has the same sore-loser tone.

The Democrats, and the few Republicans brave enough to stand up to the party leaders, are completely in the right to protest this. Filibustering is very important, the governmental way of allowing protest, a verbal sit-in to air their views.

The short-sided view the Republican leadership is taking on this subject is frightening in its narrow, short-term focus (and is just another example of the terrifying leadership style of this administration), and incredibly infantile.

The message coming from on high is: "This is what I want, because I say so, so gimmie. And if you don't give it to me I'll throw a kicking and screaming fit--" the political equivalent of a tantrum being the raising of a "moral" and "ethical" "scandal." I believe I actually heard some one say it's only "morally fair" to give each nomination a stand up vote. To which I say, "Uh, no."

Our government is being run by children. Whiny, spoiled, self-righteous children.

End of Star Wars

I saw the last Star Wars movie--Revenge of the Sith, or whatever--on Sunday. I think my biggest problem with the prequels is Anakin. He's such a whiny twerp. "It's not fair. I wanna be a Master." His weaknesses which prevent him from being a great Jedi are just weak. If I were Yoda, I'd have kicked him out a long time ago. You don't see Yoda complaining about being small and green. Anakin feels far too entitled. Apart from being unable to convince me of the epic inner struggle between Jedi and and the Dark side raging inside Anakin/ Darth Vader, I enjoyed the third prequel.

Oh no, one other complaint: seriousness. The prequels took themselves entirely too seriously, with none of the fun of the originals. But my critique is nothing new. Other, far more qualified movie critics have said this already. Actually I'm surprised by the overall positive response. I think some of it is just wishful thinking. (Although, the betrayal of the Jedi--and their slaughter--was pretty moving, actually.) I just don't by Anakin's transformation.

Printer-Surgery and Newsletter Rejuvenation

I'll return to printer-wrestling in a moment. But first let me take a moment to bask in success:

The newsletter is in the mail--it is officially over and officially a hit!

It's done
It's done
The newsletter is done!

May it rest in piece and I never see it again.

Now on to serious matters: Printer-wrestling

Most people are familiar with the scene in Office Space where the guys take the printer out to the field and bash it. Printer-surgery involves far more finesse (although inwardly, I fondly imagined attacking it with a baseball bat). Using a variety of custom-made tools (mostly custom-bent paper clips) and a metal fingernail file left by my predecessor, I teased out one piece of jammed paper from the bowels of the machine. I was hot, thirsty, tired, and my carpal tunnel was flaring up in my hand, but the procedure was a success. Currently LaserJet6p is resting peacefully and will hopefully be up running soon.

Herbs & Spices Dictionary: from Anise to ....

I can't find a spice or herb that begins with Z, so my cute and kitschy title is rather ineffectual.

Oh well.

I've been thinking for awhile that I want--need, really--an herb and spice dictionary, an encyclopedia, or perhaps an Herbs and Spices Table of Elements. Something that helps guide my cooking concoctions: which herbs go together well, which are a huge mistake, and what should never be used on rutabaga, etc. I would certainly appreciate any ideas. I've found one book which seems to be a staple, as it's been around since 1950. It's called Cooking with Herbs and Spices, by Milo Miloradovich. It sounds like a good text, but I wouldn't mind a more up-to-date reference that properly addresses spices found in Indian, Thai, and other Asian cuisine.

Jill Norman has written a couple of books on the subject: Herbs & Spices: The Cook's Reference. This seems like a really good candidate, as does Ian Hemphill's The Spice and Herb Bible: A Cook's Guide.

My interest in spices and herbs come from my attempts to eat more heathfully in order to shed my post-Habitat/Americorps pounds. The transition from house builder/construction worker to office girl-extraordinaire has taken it's tolls on me and my wardrobe. The more I know about the how's and why's of cooking, the easier and more enjoyable my pound-shedding will be.

Bad Hair?

So I got my hair cut this weekend at Fresh Hair in J.P. It's a funky and fun kind of place, powered by solar panals, which they are very proud of.

Anyway, I chopped my hair shorter than I ever had before, and the compliments have been rolling in. Now, I think the hair cut is just fine. But I feel the compliments are perhaps bit excessive. I can draw two conclusions: Either the cut really is absolutely fabulous and worthy of said praise, or my hair looked so bad before, that anything would have been hailed as an improvement.

To my friends I can only say: I hope it really wasn't that bad because if it had been, I would have expected that you would have told me (talk about your complicated verbal tenses).

And with that, I am off to my volunteer stint at the Elizabeth Stone Shelter.

Another lost post

I did write a second post on Friday afternoon, but as sometimes happens in Blogger-land, the post disappeared, like socks in a dryer. It was mostly a list of things I had discovered on www.npr.org, because there's nothing better than reading radio news. Some of those items included:

1. Self-Replicating Robots: fascinatingly creepy

2. Ryan Adams on All Songs Considered: A new album. Hooray!

3. A huge rant all about the bombing of the MOVE house in Philadelphia twenty years ago. I'm not going to repeat all of that rant. I'm sure once you listen to the story and read some of the articles (try Googling "MOVE" and "npr"), you'll think of plenty to rant about on your own.

Holy Pollock Paintings, Batman!

OK, so the title doesn't make much sense. But this morning, while looking for some information on an NPR report I heard while lying in bed (pretending that I didn't have to get up for work) I found an entirely different--and much happier--story.

32 unknown Jackson Pollock paintings were discovered in a storage unit and will soon be going on tour. Can you imagine being the person who found them? Herbert Matter was a friend of Pollock, and his son was cleaning out his father's storage unit when he found the paintings. I'll I can say is "Wow." No, wait, I can also say: "This tour better make a stop in Boston."

Today work will be a marathon of printing invitations and stuffing envelopes. Very exciting stuff. I might also create a mail-merge-able letter to be sent out to major donors (not a direct plea for money but rather an "info update" a.k.a. "Look at the cool stuff we're doing!" with the implicit understanding that a donation would be useful

What I wouldn't do for a color copier right now. Each invitation is printed on an ink jet printer, and each invitation is double-sided. I do them in batches of five (otherwise the printer gets cranky and jams up). Print five invite exteriors, and then reinsert them into the printer and print the invite interiors. Good times. These are the days when a cup of the house blend coffee from Flour Bakery is almost a necessity (along with a lot of willpower to not also purchase a bakery good).

Well, I should get started on that mail merge. I wouldn't be surprised if I post again later today.

It gets better

The continuing story of my soon-to-exist-no-longer-Saturn continued this week as I attempted to retrieve my belongings (read: lots of junk) from it. The car was towed to a lot behind a Dunkin' Donuts and next to a car repair shop. Kitty corner from the tow lot was a gas station. When I called to ask how long the lot was "open" the guy said "'Til 10:00pm" and then hung up on me. The entire phone call went like this:

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring. This ringing went on for a long time before someone finally answered.

"Smsldfsldkfsdf" mumbled the voice on the other end, gruffly.

"Uh, hi ... I had my car towed to your--" I hadn't finished my sentence when he unceremoniously put me on hold.

"OK," I said to myself.

"Nagashack's" said a friendlier-sounding voice.

"Hi, my car was towed to your lot and I need to remove my belongings. How late are you open?" I said in a rush, not wanting to get cut off again.

"Til 10:00pm." And then there was a click.

Wow. Talk about your customer service. They should make a video, on what not to do.

How convienent, though, to be open until 10:00pm. So after work, Jon came to my house, we had dinner, and then drove over to the lot (didn't want to get stuck in traffic--that's why we ate first). It had just gotten dark, and lots filled with crashed cars are scary looking in the dark. The brightly lit Dunkin Donuts was akin to the Holy Grail over Castle Anthrax.

Not knowing what else to do, I called up the towing service. After about one million rings, there was the same mumbled greeting.

"Hi, my car is in your lot--" again I'm interrupted.

"Come to the gas station." Click.

So Jon and I approached the kitty corner gas station which seemed very dark in comparison to Dunkin Donuts. A lone man in a tiny booth was surrounded by gas pumps. The auto shop section of the gas station was dark.

"My car is in your lot," I said again. I felt like I should come up with a new phrase, but what else could I say?

"Tomorrow," said a young black man with a foreign accent.

"Tomorrow?" I repeated, confused.

"He's gone. Come back tomorrow."

"But I just talked to him!" I said unhappily.

"I don't know," he said, obviously wishing he could do something. "He just left."

Disgruntled and irritated, grumbling and whining, I shuffled back to Jon's car, my poor sweet boyfriend at a loss of what to do (with me and the situation).

I decided that I would just have to go during the day. So this morning I called in to work and called a cab to pick me up at 10:30 in the morning (traffic avoidence and thus avoidence of awkward conversation with taxi driver while we sit in traffic).

Well it turns out that my taxi driver was very nice (another black man with a foreign accent, but no so young) but we still had a couple traffic snarls (thank you N Star--local energy utility) and just as we were approaching the gas station, there was a loud CLUNK. Oh good lord, I thought, please don't tell me my taxi has a flat tire. No, just a hub cap that went spinning away. He pulled over to search for it, but he didn't find it.

We pulled into the gas station, and it turned out it was the wrong gas station. What the hell. They really should have put down which gas station they operate from on their business card. With some creative driving we made it to the right gas station, so that they could send us over to the lot where we waited for a man with Harly Davidson license plates and a black leather belt with Indian Head nickles on it to figure out he has the wrong key. So back he goes to get the right key while I stand at the gate of this morgue of ruined cars.

Then, when we finally get inside the lot, I find my car is sandwiched in between cars that look like their in much better shape than mine. I pull trash bags and empty my car into them. I had a lot of crap in my car. In fact, I don't want to get in to how much stuff I had (Habitat was responsible for a lot of it).

So yeah. That's the story of my car. I said good-bye to it, lugging away two trash bags of stuff (one to be thrown out, one to be sorted through later).

The good news is the insurance company is giving me enough money to pay off the loan on my car, and even a few hundred extra (clothes! How exciting that would be to have some new clothes. I feel like such a scrub at work).

All right, it's after six and I'm still in the office. Time to get out of here.

Good night nurse!

Total Loss

It's funny the way things happen.

For example, I have been thinking--for awhile now--about getting rid of my car. I only use it about once a week, and I could always become a Zipcar member. So, this past Saturday, I took my car out for it's weekly drive to go to Jon's house. While merging onto the highway, I suddenly found myself spinning in circles. Actually, while it was happening, all I could really think was: "I'm on the highway, I shouldn't have to turn my steering wheel so hard." I think I spun around three times, hitting the guardrail each time.

I wasn't hurt, but my car was--damaged badly in the front and back (lost both bumpers, for one thing)--and yesterday the insurance agent called to declare it a "total loss." I wasn't surprised by his proclimation. I'm still waiting to hear how much money I'll be getting--well, really, the bank, since the car wasn't paid off yet.

Anyway, so in the end I have gotten rid of my car, and I probably will become a Zipcar member. Just not quite the way I pictured the transition.

Peeved

(My hackles have been raised after listening to provocative shows on NPR all week dealing with these issues.)

I am so sick of this idea of "culture wars," especially when issues such as same-sex marriages and teaching evolution are lumped under this heading.

Same-sex marriage is not a "culture" issue. It's an equal-rights issue. That would be like putting racial equality under the "culture war" heading. It's ridiculous. And shame on John Kerry for speaking out against Massachusetts Democrats for putting their pro-gay marriage stance on the state platform. I used to stick up for Kerry. Back in the primary days I thought he was a good guy who started his career from pure motives. I still think he began his political career with the best intentions, but now I think he's a mess, and I wish he would just go away.

Teaching evolution... I don't even know where to start. Of course you teach evolution--it's a science class. There is nothing scientific about the Bible. When I was a school this just wasn't even an issue. I think I had one science teacher, Mr. V, who mentioned in passing that there were people who choose a relgious view of the universe's beginnings, but that's not what this science class was about. And that was it. That's all. I mean, if you take a science class, if you're teaching science, that's exactly what you should do. If parents want their children to receive religious education, be exposed to religious viewpoints, send them to a private, faith-based school. Or send them to Sunday School every week--that's what my Mom did. And it never occurred to me as a child that what I learned during the week was in any way conflicting with Sunday school. It just wasn't an issue.

I read an article in which a religious conservative (and I wish I could remember the source of this) equated the "liberal agenda" with the Taliban. That we (as I consider myself liberal--perhaps radically so, in a commonsense kind of way) are like the Taliban is the most ridiculous thing. If anything, we're the opposite. The Christian Conservatives who are trying to push religion to the forefront of law-making and politics, they're like the Taliban, and other Muslim extremists who want a government based on the Koran. How do they not see that?

OK, I know I need to stop now. I'm getting all worked up. I just don't understand how they can be so unreasonable and so single-minded. I find such people scary, to tell the truth. On a fundamental level I'm afraid of about half of the U.S. population. So bizarre.

It's Friday. Finally. It's the weekend and I've decided that I'll just not think about this anymore.

Persistent accounting vegetative state

Just as I began to recover from the newsletter (it's being sent to the printer--it's 99% out of my hands!), our delightful Board Member and accountant dumped all of these discrepancies she found between Development's bookkeeping and Finance's bookkeeping. Who is ultimately responsible for these discrepancies?

Me.

Not entirely, as some of these differences have to do with record-keeping changes made in both departments (although not in concert with each other), but as I'm the one in charge of the logging of these gifts--all of those source codes and solicitation codes and all of that record-keeping crap that make accountants get all excited--it's me.

I just spent an hour and a half (that felt like a year and a half) going through each entry and verifying it's solicitation code and any changes that may have occurred due to restructuring. And I'm not sure if it's going to make any difference tomorrow.

AOD (my supervisor) said that I looked as if my eyes were going to fall right out of my head. My headache concurs with her observation. If I suddenly become completely unresponsive to all stimuli, you'll know why. (If this happens, I suggest offering me Ben & Jerry's Half Baked Frozen Yogurt. Mmmm....... drool)

Actually--CONFESSION--I ate two cupcakes brought in by an intern (thank you intern) as a result of this finance fiasco, and I feel ill. So maybe in this case ice cream wouldn't work. In which case, I would be doomed. Doomed! DOOMED!

Nonprofit worker dragged down by newsletter

I can picture the story now--front page of The Globe:

After working for months on The Committee to End Elder Homelessness's
Spring newsletter, development assistant Jennifer was finally overcome by the
tremendous weight of the publication.

"I never thought it would get out of control like this," Jennifer confessed
from her bed in Mass General Hospital. "It's only a six-page newsletter,
but the number of edits and drafts finally became more than I could
bare."

Jennifer was rushed to Mass General on Wednesday, after the entire contents of the newsletter manila folders cascaded off it's perch atop the desk in her tiny office, literally burying her in its contents.

"At first I thought I was having a nightmare," said Jennifer. "There was paper everywhere, all covered in red ink with arrows and proofreading marks. It was truly horrifying. But then," she added, in soft voice, "but then I felt this stinging sensation, and I knew it wasn't a dream: I was covered in paper cuts."

Fellow employees at CEEH rushed to the sound of screams and found Jennifer lying on the floor of her office, barely visible under the mass of paper.

CEEH's senior management is looking at moving the newsletter online in an attempt to minimize the amount of paper.

Other nonprofits in the area are only too aware of the hazards associated with newsletters. One person, who asked to remain anonymous, said that she used to work for a nonprofit but left it for a large corporation for that exact reason. "I couldn't take the pressure. Newsletters just grow and grow and before you know it, they've taken over your life. They're the dark side of nonprofits that no one every talks about."

The Beach in the Rain

Sunday Jon and I went to Crane Beach, despite the less-than-perfect weather. It was grey and cool with the occasional sprinkles of rain, but that meant we had the entire beach almost entirely to ourselves. Well, us and the piping plovers. They're an endangered species that are carefully protected at Crane Beach. There are also some birds that we named "sea ducks," not realizing that there really are a group of birds named sea ducks. However, none of the pictures on the sea duck page look like the ducks Jon and I saw (maybe Jon will disagree, I don't know. I'll keep you posted). Further searching on Google didn't yield any better results. Oh well.

Ooh, we also found an egg sack that Jon said was either from shark or perhaps a skate. How cool is that (and still slightly icky at the same time)? Ah yes, there's nothing like a day at the beach.