Thursday, July 28, 2005

Dooced

I just read the blog of the nanny Tessy at subvic.blogspot.com --Very interesting. It seems the New York Times writer Olen is quite spiteful and off in her critique and analysis. I think the whole issue of firing employees over the content of their blogs is quite provocative. Of course, it hits close to home as an "ass-monkey" at my former job tried to get me in trouble for blogging. I steadfastly refused to concede any wrongdoing, invited my supervisor to read my blog and continued on about my merry may. It seems quite an erosion of our First Amendment protection to demand, even coerce a person to squelch their free expression. In the case of Tessy, the imbalance of power is even more striking. Ms. Olen-- an established writer-- used her position at the NYTimes to write a distorted piece that arguably damages the reputation and character of Tessy--and she has a right to do so as a journalist. She fired Tessy for blogging--a task she arguably knew she was engaged in, not because it affected her work, but because she didn't like what it said. How high-handed and unjust is that. A writer firing another writer for her expression. I'm going to think more about this. I really don't understand why a blogger can't on their own time write what they will about themselves and their lives, why this isn't protected expression...

Friday, July 22, 2005

Blogger fired

So another blogger bites the dust...this time some beauty editor in New York got the shaft from a new employer when an old employer got wind of her blog. I just read her stuff, pretty harmless. I don't understand this whole employer paranoia. Most of the stuff people write on their blogs is just harmless fluff and going to the extreme of firing people just seems, well, extreme andto validate that they have some bombshell to conceal. This chick didn't complain about her boss, reveal secrets about her employers, or reveal anything more than an arrogant disdain for the PR people she had to interact with daily. I guess that her demeanor could be sited as a relevant issue, but the posts were anonymous they didn't identify any publication in particular. But now, everyone knows the deal, the women at Ladies Home Journal aren't always very pleasant to deal with....so what. It's not like the identity of a CIA operative was revealed. That guy gets to keep his job until after he's convicted of a crime...

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Great lengths

Sometimes you travel a great distance to discover what is right in front of you. This week's excuse for not posting sooner is that I went to New York. My number one reason, Uncle Sam, was to have an informational interview for job leads and guidance. That went well. But I also got to see some friends. That went well too.
I am left with the observation that there are any number of places I could be and any number of things I could be doing. At the informational interview I got the heartening report that my relative lack of experience was not an insurmountable barrier to getting into producing. My concerns about laboring in relative poverty were only vaugely addressed. And it appears I may or may not be able to focus my efforts to a specific geographical area.
So since zip code is important and I am no longer willing to live a lifestyle that is held captive to the whims of my employer/vocation, I began contemplating--even in the midst of my informational interview--shifting some of my energies to other paths.
What does it mean to stand at the juncture of many roads without a clear preference for one or another? Last week I wrote that life was a series of days. Today I realize it is also a collection of experiences, all potentially enlightening and fulfilling. Why privilege one path over another a priori?
So I am low on reserves again. I am resting and thinking......

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Life is

...just a series of days sometimes. My mother was offering me some unsolicited advice and the observation that she thinks I often too idealistic. Rather than be defensive, I remained quiet. I can't say honestly that I was truly listening, only that I indeed heard what she was saying. I think it will take some time for me to really understand and process what she was conveying. Today she came in and good naturedly shared some of the angst she's experiencing...

In so many ways my life is not turning out the way I expected it would. I mean that in the existential sense. Try as I might, I could not even muster the energy for my usual pity party. Maybe I'm further gone than I realize, but I'm not depressed. Mom and I rather darkly exchanged an inventory of people who were worse off than both of us. In the scheme of things, I know that things for me aren't that bad. I am--to be euphemistic-- unencumbered. And in many ways that means I am open for any possibility, there is nothing I cannot pursue. But there is nothing that I passionately want to pursue. By that I mean, I could apply myself and do well at any number of things, commit to any number of worthy causes or endeavors. But at the end, I am afraid that all we are left with is ourselves and it seems a rather long walk to take to arrive at exactly the same spot.

Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I continue to search for gainful and hopefully meaningful employment. There are certain material obligations to which I must attend. But I am motivated by neither money nor ambition. I have developed a healthy respect for the reality that there will always be more things that I do not know than I can master. That there is always someone more than I-- smarter, hungrier, clever--and I am not envious or more determined for it. And I think that hard work at any station is as noble as another.

I am mostly happy with my own company. In the midst of one of my occasional, tongue-in-cheek tirades that I would become a cat-loving spinster, I realized I already was one. That gave me great amusement. Paradoxically, I am instantly repelled by men who are not taken with me. So rejection wears off quickly, especially when I realize that I will not have to suffer the quirks of another. Having spent all this time on my own, the idea that I'd continue as such seems reasonable and not at all unpleasant, if not occasionally predictable.

My health continues to float. My mother is annoyed that I have in her words 'claimed lupus.' In fact, I have not. I do not have a definitive diagnosis. But my aches persist and sleeping remains a pleasure unparalleled. My top priority is monitoring my physical, mental and spiritual well-being. It has also had the unforeseen benefit of tempering my anxiety about other matters. When, like today, my armpits ache--who knew they could hurt-- and my hip throbs, I could care less about the minor dust-up or major misunderstanding I may have had with whoever. I must sheepishly confess that I do not relish going on in this manner or worse into an unforeseen future. But Idon't know or care to explore what that means, so I figure I'll just take it as it comes. And as much as I can, without falling into self-indulgence I'll honor whatever emotions surface--even self-pity and then promptly move on to the next thing when I start inevitably annoying myself with self-awareness.

When my body hurts or my life falls short, I retreat to my mind. Not necessarily my thoughts. I have almost adamantly been avoiding any of the deep introspection or close analysis that usually wracks my brain. Instead I have been going on flights of fancy, distracting tangents, and so on. Not productive, but hardly a waste of time. While rummaging in my brain, I thought idly, I had the rather jarring observation that my life has hardly turned out as I expected. By now I thought I would have attained some, if not all of the trappings of so called success or progress. I have not. In fact, I question whether I actually want them or ever did. Maybe I was just pursuing them in lieu of admitting that I would rather meander.

So life has become, for now, a series of days. Perhaps a new passion will emerge, perhaps not. But either way life continues inevitably, so perhaps it doesn't matter either way.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Lil Kim

So Lil Kim got a year and one day. I hardly see the justice in that. Martha "M Diddy" Stewart served five months in jail and five months probation for insider trading--which I still do not understand to be a crime, but I digress. I harldy see how Lil Kim's trangression was more serious. I do not condone lying. Lying is bad. It usually comes to no good end. But let the punishment fit the crime. On another note, if she's telling the truth about her age, Lil Kim's prosecution adds fuel to my theory that being 30 sucks. My 30th year was as Queen Elizabeth quipped 'annus horribilis.' I know other women who report having equally crappy thirtieth years. So Ms. Jones, you're in good company. Keep your nose clean, I'll buy your album when you get out!

Cindy...

was a beast. We lost power last night and didn't regain it until about eleven this morning. Just in time to find out we're probably in line for Dennis, which may be a hurricane by then. Ah, love those tropical summers!
There were branches and leaves all over the yard and little Robi got sick all over the kitchen floor. My mother is vowing to find a hotel room for next time, which I've never heard before. Usually I have to beg them just to get batteries. Even a tropical storm is nothing to sneeze at--though I did sleep through most of it, by design-- you can never tell how things will go. In some neighborhoods power cables and poles blew over. Luckily, my grandmother has power.
Meanwhile, I am back on my imaginary diet. I imagine I am losing weight. I thought about going for a walk and surveying the damage but then blew it off.
During the Essence Festival, I got a cute free do at a Carol's Daughter promotion. Now I'm thinking I need to wash and style my hair more often, not look like such a scruff. In fact, i think I'll go lather up now...