If Patternworks was the cocaine equivalent of yarn in the 90’s, then Knit Picks is the crack of our current era. DAMN THEM for creating even MORE new lines of yarns, and making them beautiful, and making them affordable! DAMN DAMN DAMN! Our needles are healthier than heroin, but all the same, there’s something to be said for a knitting addiction and deluding oneself into buying more yarn than can be knit in a lifetime. No, JWo, I didn’t buy any (I’ll wait and just get some sock yarn when our knitting group places an order…lol) because I am still reveling in my acquisition of a Habu linen-paper-silk purse kit that is going to cycle in to the WIP’s. (Works In Progress) And I’m making good progress on my pale blue “Pasta” ribbon lace jacket, the yarn is stretchy & pretty and soft, and I think it will be a fun summer topper. I also want to wind up my Noro I bought last year & make another Flyaway Free Jacket. Sigh. The list just goes on and on.

I leave you with K’s Choice. It’s the song I hear playing in my head as I look at new sock yarn.

Not An Addict
Breathe it in and breathe it out
And pass it on, it’s almost out
We’re so creative, so much more
We’re high above but on the floor

It’s not a habit, it’s cool, I feel alive
If you don’t have it you’re on the other side……

When I filled out my personality profile for college, one of the questions was, “Are you a morning or night person?”
I decided to ask my parents, and they both erupted in laughter. My mother said, while gasping, “Morning? Night? You’re neither!”

Well, piss off, that doesn’t help me guarantee I’ll get a roommate who will be my best friend forever and make my first year at college the greatest ever! Maybe I sleep all the time to escape you nutjobs who don’t understand me. I think I checked “morning”, even though I desperately wanted to be a night person. Night people seemed much cooler from my home in the middle of nowhere without television. Night people surely partied, while morning people were dairy farmers and never left Iowa, ever.

Now, at the ripe age of 36, I still don’t have it figured out. I’ve been both in my life – in college I hardly slept the first year, what with all the new experiences and PARTIES, but I still got up early every day, even if I was hungover. I probably lean towards being a night person because, hey, once you’re up, it’s easier to stay up than GET up. If you just push through that first round of sleepy, you can catch the second wind and stay up til, oh, 1 a.m. – but heaven help you on the flip side the next day. I have a greater appreciation of sleep with everything JWo went through with his sleep apnea. I also have had several bouts of insomnia, which left me feeling quite manic, jittery, and not really a safe driver. I keep thinking I’ll pull it off, become something of a morning person again, get up & work out, have breakfast, read the whole paper, and still slide in to work on time. Hope springs eternal and self-delusion is a wonderful thing. :grins:

Oh, my roommate in college? Heh. We were pretty good friends but haven’t kept up with each other. She started things off by locking me out of our room the first night because she brought a boy back to our room, and after she promised to be out in ten minutes, I went & sat on the steps of our dorm, looking out into the night, thinking, “Boy, I sure hope this doesn’t happen every night,” and ten minutes lasted into twenty and then I marched back to our door and demanded she finish the hell up and let me in. Damned if I would spend my first night at college in the lounge on the couch! Man, she’s at least one or three blog entries….

I leave you with my ode to sleeping in on Saturday morning: There is nothing greater than being able to sleep, uninterrupted by an alarm, or internal alarms ringing wildly about all the stuff you have to do. To wake up at 7 a.m., yawn, stretch, and then snuggle back into the warmth of bed and sleep until you are fully rested? Bliss. Pure as snow.

I’d never heard that phrase before, but it is astonishingly succinct & captures what is wrong with oh, a gajillion people in management out there. In her regular column in the Sunday KC Star, Dianne Stafford wrote all about John Bolton, here. (Apologies in advance, you have to register to read it.) Apparently this dude was a nightmare boss to everyone under him, but was exceptional at kissing ass and so has risen up through the political world, and thus the phrase, “kiss up & kick down”. And to explain my reading habits, I make it a point to read the employment section, even since getting my new job, because I always think it’s interesting to see what activity is happening in the market, and the articles on the front section are worthwhile.

So, I was struck by the phrase, “kiss up & kick down” – universally, we’ve all known a manager/boss who does just that – treats the people below them with disrespect & disdain, while solidly sucking up to the political stratosphere floating above their level. I’ve known a lot of people like this, some have been my bosses, and I’ll admit I’ve been political myself, and done some level of sucking-up, because I guess I’ve concluded that it’s part of business. But I have never kicked down. I take it back. I did it once, in St. Louis, because I had an assistant (pre-dovetail boy) who was insolent and demanding, and she pissed me off. In her review, we had a come-to-jesus of sorts, and I learned just as much as she did – for she said to me, “You never thank me and you never appreciate the work I do.” And I said, before thinking, “Well, I don’t get thanks or appreciation from anyone, so….” and then I heard what I said. Huh. I guess the buck CAN stop with me, and I interrupted myself by continuing, “And I guess what that means is just because I’m not getting it, doesn’t mean I can’t give it, and so I will try to do that more for you.” Our working relationship improved over time, and while we still never saw eye-to-eye on things (she was the one who believed Richards Simmons was NOT GAY), I still look at that supervisory experience as the one that taught me the most, because she was so difficult, and she was so direct.

So as I reflect on the bosses I’ve had, the bosses I have now, and the boss I want to be, I think of some of the conversations I’ve had of late with friends, about the battles they have at their current jobs, along with the giant battle I waged for two years that essentially got me nowhere towards attaining change, except to have learned more about another venue of my business (knowledge that, I admit, is necessary for my current job!) So I can’t say the last two years were a waste of time – but the direction I expended energy, and the anger I held so tightly was a waste.

My problem is twofold: I want work to be about the work. Not about someone’s ego, or somebody’s need to create an award-winning television spot, even if the money to buy the airtime isn’t there, not about doing everything the way it’s always been done, not about being afraid of new ideas. I want work to be about doing the best damned job you can, and even though what we do is harder to define, in the end, it’s just like cleaning the bathroom sink: you scrub it and clean it and you don’t leave toothpaste behind and call it “artistic” or worse, tell me you don’t clean sinks because you’ve been with the company for 25 years and doing any kind of work is beneath you now. My other problem is that I care too much about things being “right”. I want the little people to get their cake. I get angry when they’re denied tap water and a cracker. I run headlong at brick walls, because I believe so strongly in the average worker, I think my force of will has the power to break the wall down and make the world a better place. I have the arrogance to think I’m a better manager than most of the people who’ve ever managed me, and I’m smart enough to know that arrogance is not a good quality. I basically never want to become those bosses I abhored. I’ve never seen the movie “Norma Rae” but sometimes I feel like the main character in that movie, because I wanted to start a revolution at my last job. Hey, my dad tried to start a union in Colorado when I was a baby, and that action got my mom & him fired from their social worker jobs…..so I guess I come by it fair & square. And I almost got myself fired in my crusade, and then I tried to keep my mouth shut as long as I could, because, like, you can’t make a mortgage payment with a passionate desire for justice and a strong sense of ethics. But now that I’m not there? I realize I’ve still got a pile o’ bottled anger to get rid of, and I’m working through it. I don’t want to still be bitter in two years, I want to be able to laugh about it. Right now, I can laugh, but not without feeling that burn in my stomach at the same time.

Here’s to kicking up and kissing down. I still believe you can save the world, one person at a time – starting with yourself.

Extremely late Self Portrait. I took it on Thursday in my office. Feel like spelunking in my nose? 

The mishmash that is me, as illustrated by my desk: trout can holder for the Diet Coke; spiffy new pale lime green business card holder from Target. 

This morning, I deadheaded the deep purple tulips, because they were spent. Then I was about to deadhead the orange-red parrot tulips, but I noticed that they were still in really good shape, so I thought, Self! Let’s have a bouquet! That takes care of future deadheading, and it will look very pretty!

So I made a de-GORgeous bouquet out of those tulips, and decided it was so stunning, I had to take some pictures. I felt like I had in front of me, a flower arrangement worthy of Martha. Except I’m competitive, so instead of wanting her approval, I was all, YEE-HAW, eat this, Marty!

Then the dogs got involved. Milling about. Suzy kept coming up and wanting to investigate the flowers, and I thought, “Awwwww. Wouldn’t that be sweet? A picture of BigSuzy, stopping to smell the tulips.” (These tulips actually smell pretty good.) So I’m snapping my fingers and trying to focus and trying to get her attention, but also get my hand OUT of the picture in time, and Suzy strolls up – and – TAKES A TULIP PETAL IN HER MOUTH AND PULLS.

Oh, man, MOVE bitch, get out the way, the whole arrangement is knocked over, cold water EVERYwhere, I’m yelling, trying to make sure the camera’s not soaked, I’m wearing my crocs, fortunately, but unwittingly, I then tromp water from the living room to the kitchen, and I spend ten minutes sopping up water while intermittently yelling “BAD!” I get the tulips restored, fresh water put in, the tulips are on the kitchen table now, so they won’t be so tempting to bad dogs looking for a new-fangled snack.

And Suzy has the funniest face when she knows she’s in trouble. So, had to take a picture of that, too.

Moments before the overturning of the tulip cart….. 

The Face of Guilt 

Yesterday, I had lunch with an old friend. Not the way Hannibal Lecter did, you know, at the end of “Silence of the Lambs”, of course, but with a guy I hired & worked with back in St. Louis – he now is in sales in Chicago, and in this small, strange, world of advertising, now calls on me. Yet another reminder to be very judicious about which bridges you truly torch, and why behaving nicely always is a better route to choose. (Not that he & I had bridges to burn, but the point is, the world feels like it’s shrinking sometimes, and you never know who might be in a position to influence your life tomorrow.)

It was one of those funny winding conversations as both of us remembered people, the parties, the ones we liked, the ones we didn’t, the jokes we had, and what we’re doing now. I always viewed him a little bit like a brother I didn’t have – he’s also an only child, and I have a similar bond with all my OC friends, who understand the uniqueness that growing-up experience brings. Particularly the SPACE needs of the OC.

One of the first things he asked me was, “What the hell did we DO back then?” I can barely remember myself. I know we did a lot of work, and we were in this whacked-out office set-up where an office was cut into two offices, the side by the windows was bigger, it was my side, and he sat on the other side, smaller, no windows. They could have done the 2/3rds:1/3 ratio with both sides getting window, but that would have been too fair. We dubbed it “The Shaft”, because the whole thing sorta blew, and the boss in charge (the one who spent the first year I worked for her drunk, crying, and playing free cell all day) had brought in a former-job-pet to work over us, even though said pet knew absolutely nothing about the specialized industry we worked in. Yee-haw! Goooood times. Nothing like putting TWO only children into a compressed space together, to do all the work. We had music wars, and I still remember him hitting the wall with the “Trainspotting” soundtrack & forbidding me to ever play it again. It’s a long muthah.

Oh, the references, the one-liners. There were commercials that aired around that time, that drove both of us cah-RAY-zeee. One was for an eyeglasses company. In the background, they did this jazzy sing-song, “Sexy Specs!” Sent me over the edge every time it came on and I hated the dude who starred in the spots. Then there was that Red Lobster commercial, with the old dude in front of the restaurant, drawling, “Ah’m a shrimp eater!” We discovered we still say that phrase, and laugh, despite knowing that there’s only one other person we know who would also laugh. We discovered our respective spouses just raise an eyebrow, nod, and move on. They’re used to our peculiar brand of crazy. (You’ll note, on the title of the picture of James eating shrimp, I used that line. It’s like an OCD habit, I can’t help it.) Of course, the ubiquitous “good times” – the words I always hear as said by Phil Hartman, god rest his funny, taken-too-soon soul – on “News Radio” talking nostalgically about the sandwiches his mother would make for school lunch, and how she didn’t want to be bothered every day, so she made a month’s worth at a time and put them in a bucket on the porch…..

It’s those snippets that get woven in over time, the things that hit us as riotously funny, that stay with us over the years, even when we don’t stay in contact with everyone or even remember everyone we knew. I don’t normally like to trip down memory lane a whole lot, unless it’s here on my blog & I’m in complete control – there are a lot of things that’ve happened over the years that I’d rather not revisit, and I think I have a deep fear of regret. I don’t want to feel it, because I think it’s a useless feeling – it’s paralyzing and negative, to me. So the good news is, a two-hour lunch that was exactly that, an 8-track-flashback, was incredibly fun. No regrets, just laughs.

Man, I almost forgot to explain the title. When I first met him, when he interviewed, it was on a Saturday. We sat in The Shaft, he in my guest chair, and I asked all the standard questions. At least three separate times, complete with big gestures, fingers lacing/interlocking, he said that he wanted to “dovetail” his prior sales experience with working at an agency. Shortly after he started, and I had ascertained we could throw a LOT of crap back and forth at each other, I had to give him a hard time about it. When I called him a few weeks ago about a work issue, instead of saying my name and going that route, I said needed some help with a dovetail issue. It’s like instant recognition code. And at lunch yesterday, he threw it in, complete with the hand gesture.

Good times.

My JWo can, on occasion, drive me crazy, to drink, to distraction, but most of the time, he drives me to doubled-over laughing, which can be a hazard when you’re driving.

For instance, last night, we were going to dinner (Thai Place, DUH, is there any other kind of food?) and I was talking to him & telling him how much I have appreciated his willingness to up and move, to even offer to live in glamorous places like Iowa, or South Dakota, if that’s where I wanted to live. Truth be told, the man would be happy anywhere the ducks fly (and hopefully, where I am.) Except maybe Kansas, that whole border war & all – I digress.

So I expected a touched “thank you”, and nothing really beyond that, and I get, “That is the free spirit that is the JWo.” OK, YODA.

And then after dinner, we’re listening to the new “Queens of the Stone Age” album, because somebody in our household doesn’t LISTEN to 96.5 the Buzz anymore, and so the single that I hear every day is still fresh and novel to the free spirit that was formerly known as the JWo. No complaints – it’s an interesting album, again with the driving beats and bass, and there was one song that I noted I liked, because it was “haunting”. So then every song after that had to be labeled “haunting”, like we’re two years old and trying to fit the star-shaped puzzle piece into the round hole of the plastic globe. MAKE IT FIT DAMMIT.

JWo: “This song’s haunting.”

Me: “No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“Just because they’re warbling doesn’t make it haunting. Haunting is different.”

“It has ghost sounds. Right there. WooOOOoooooOOOO. That’s haunting.”

“OK SCOOBY DOO, but it’s NOT HAUNTING.”

“They always did run into ghosts. Hey, let’s split up! Shaggy & Scooby, you guys go down that long dark hallway where the GHOSTS ARE!”

“RUH RO!”

“Oh but the best Shaggy -who was that?”

“Rob Lowe.”

“YEAH! He was awesome.”

(Did you ever see Rob Lowe on Saturday Night Live do his Shaggy voice? Stellar. He’s perfect. His performance? Still :cough: haunts me.)