Now for something shallow

I know, I know, shut up, shuuut uuup, already!

I bought these (yes, I know, jobless, but...)


I know they're not quite as hot as past shoe choices(full post here) but man, they are so comfortable and kind of cute, if I say so myself.

Meeting

I actually had something on the schedule today (and I managed to fit it in between my blog posting-I am prolific today). It was an appointment for my job placement service. My company paid for 3 months of this service, which is really pretty generous, considering I was only with them for 6 months. The HR director wanted me to go and let her know how it went, "especially the resume class." The office isn't too far from my house, so it works out pretty well.

Today's meeting was an orientation. There was only one other person besides the instructor (facilitator? leader?). We had to fill out forms about ourselves, to include salary amount (which was noted to remain confidential). But then we're all sitting out in the open, so how in the heck is that "confidential?" (Yes, I peeked at the other person's amount, even though it has zero relevancy since she had a different job, in a different industry, in a different job market, and so on. What can I say? I'm nosy, petty, and *ahem* competitive).

We went through the slide briefing. We paused for questions. It was almost like a real business meeting, except a whole lot shorter. I got laid off and then it felt like I needed some time to decompress and process everything. Then I felt like I needed to jump into getting a job, so I worked on that. Now that I am getting interviews and possibly an offer, I might not get to use the three months I'm allotted because my time is short (so I spend it blogging, go figure).

We discussed other classes available. We discussed negotiation techniques. The other person got on my nerves a little, but i guess I just feel like I'm the type who says as little as necessary. Sometimes that's good and sometimes you come off cold, but I try to keep personal things personal. This woman was an open book. I knew she had an iPad, her husband was an apple geek, she was with two different companies for 8 years, they had moved from Pennsylvania, she's been jobhunting for 2 months and so on. I mean it went on and on, and some things were mentioned several times, as if we had missed the first pass, but it wasn't just that. Some of it seemed like bragging. As in, the instructor (Facilitator? leader?) saying, "We have a website which we'll log in to later on..." and her throwing in, "Oh, I should have brought my iPad™! I could be logging in right now!" (insert eyeroll from me)

Or, when we did log in, and she had problems, she piped in with, "Oh! Well, it's a Dell. I'm used to Apples." The instructor-facilitator-leader replied, "Really? Is that what you used at work, then?"

"Well, no, but..."

(insert eyeroll with a side of Schadenfreude from me)

"...my husband's an Apple geek and we have an iPad, iPhones, a MacBook..."

(insert twirling index finger from me)

I didn't say, "Oh yeah? Huh. So do we, but somehow I don't feel compelled to mention it every five minutes. Or at all, really. Huh." I did, however, brag that my last company provided me with a MacBook. Ha! I win. Well, not really because (as evidenced by my presence at the job placement assistance meeting) I don't work there anymore. It's not like they let me keep it as a parting gift.

I know, I know, I'm being mean. Maybe she felt comfortable. I just didn't feel like I was there to share and commiserate. I was asked about my class ring. I know it is kind of ostentatious (and the men's version is even more so). So I had to admit it was a West Point ring (and I even threw in the bit that we were the first school to start the ring tradition). The instructor-facilitator-leader just gushed on and on. "What a great school! Where did you serve?" "Korea," I said, "Oh, thank you." He replied, in a completely solemn tone. But wait, I wanted to say, the Korea where I served is a whole lot different than the one that was in place fifty years ago. We had our own rooms and cable TV. It wasn't like we were camped out on some mountain in the cold. It's embarrassing when people thank you for your service when you have only served in peacetime. It was a minor hardship in some areas but overall it was a great deal. When there is a war you're not in, you appreciate that even more. What I did then doesn't even compare to what my serving classmates and other servicemembers are dealing with now.

The service was helpful. I wish I had a little more time or I had started the process sooner, but I will try to make the most out of it.

The thing about books

I love reading. I usually like a book better than the movie version because there is so much more depth and you're not limited to a two hour run time to develop characters and play out the entire plot. You can picture things the way your mind wants to, instead of having someone else's vision unfold on the screen. This being said, there are certain things about movies that I prefer. If it's a bad movie, it means I've only lost 90 minutes to three hours of my life, tops. It's still time, but not nearly as much that gets wasted when I read a book. I've started giving up on books, but I try to give them a chance. If it's marginally good, I might hold on till the end, in hopes that it will get better. I'm a tough critic, I know. Sometimes the plot picks up and it's enjoyable. Sometimes, I'm wrong and the book sucks.

I picked up Sistah Souljah's "The Coldest Winter Ever" from the library. Well there's a start--it is free so at least there's no money invested. The cover is kind of icky looking but don't judge a book, right? The first page threw me. Specifically, the line "I came busting out of my momma's big coochie on..."

I mean do I need to continue? Give up or press on? Does any real human being actually talk like that when describing her own birthday? Between this and my commentary on certain movies, maybe I'm not as open minded as I'd like to think I am.

Out of over a thousand reviews, there are none in the one and two star categories on Amazon. I have friends that liked the book. I want to give it a chance, but I don't know if I can stick it out for the three hundred plus pages I have left to read.

Duty...Honor...Country

Today is the anniversary of Gen. Douglas MacArthur's farewell speech at West Point. We had to memorize parts of this speech and during Beast, we were all herded into Ike Hall to listen to it. I am embarrassed to admit that I was so exhausted from heat, stress and P.T. that as soon as the lights dimmed and I heard the words, "Duty, Honor, Country," I fell asleep.

Anyway, here's the speech.

The Truth Shall Set You Free

I'm a younger sister. In fact, since there are only two of us, I am the youngest sister. Anyone with siblings will tell you there are advantages and disadvantages to being the oldest or youngest. As the youngest, I always felt like I was the lowest ranking family member--I was the one listed last on the Christmas cards, I was the youngest household member if you didn't count the pets. I was the one who had been around for the shortest amount of time. This usually means you don't make any of the rules and you're at the mercy of everyone else. This can also mean that your older sibling is the boss of you. This is a story of how I figured out how to turn that around.

We were visiting my mother's cousin in Italy. I was 9 years old and I had to pee. As luck would have it, so did my sister. We both took a trip to the bathroom. My sister pulled rank and took the toilet. My consolation prize was the bidet, which she kindly filled with water. I wasn't too keen on new things and no one really explained that it was sort of like a sink for other body parts. It was just so foreign, and I wanted nothing to do with it at all. I thought I could hold on until my sister was done, but I couldn't. Looking back, I should have just gone there, pulled the drain, rinsed the thing and been done. I don't know why I didn't. Who can explain the workings of a nine year old brain? Anyway, I peed myself.

As it was happening, I could still remember the look of "Oh, shit, she really did have to go!" on my sister's face. I know she had to have felt guilty. She very wisely wet the rest of my shorts and helped me clean up so it wouldn't be obvious to the adults what happened. I remembered going outside and resting on a chaise in the sun so my shorts could dry quickly. We were in the clear. You'd think we could then put the entire episode behind us when no one caught on, right?

Wrong. This is where things got a little twisted. Every moment after this incident, when she asked me to do something for her, and I refused, I was reminded of it and then threatened with "I'll tell!" This meant she had a servant for weeks and weeks. I was old enough to fear the mortification of my parents learning that I peed my pants at nine years old. At that age there's really no excuse. I didn't think it through far enough to realize they might actually understand if they got the whole story or that pants peeing wasn't really punishable. I just wanted to spare myself from the embarrassment.

This went on for months. "I'll tell, I'll tell" loomed over my head anytime I stepped out of line. It was awful. If only I could have that kind of problem now. I didn't know how easy I had it, but back then it seemed like a colossal dilemma. Serve the older sibling or face certain shame. It was a miserable time.

I can't tell you how long it went on, but at one point I decided to call her bluff. It wasn't because I didn't think she would tell them, it was because I got tired of the burden I carried. I got tired of the threats. "I'll tell!" I heard and I responded with, "Okay. Tell them." And you know what? That was it. There was no more bartering, no more currency to the story because it just didn't matter to me anymore. It was better for my parents to know then to have to drag this secret around in fear. And in the end, she never told.

Road Bird

The year was 1985. The show was "Street Hawk." The viewers were me and my sister. This is probably why it lasted one season.

Let me explain--the star was Rex Smith. The only reason we knew about this guy was because of my mom's repeated viewings of a VHS copy of the Pirates of Penzance. I might have been a kid, but even then, I appreciated Rexy-poo's fineness.

So imagine how I felt when I saw that this was on DVD. Of all the obscure, short lived series to air in the '80s, this one gets burned to DVD for the ages?

Don't get me wrong, we were thrilled about it in 1985. It meant watching Rex in a new role that didn't involve singing, dancing, prop swords and other broadway musical-converted-to-film hokeyness. We did watch a few episodes and in my sister summarized it to be "Knight Rider. Except with a bike."

This makes Rex Smith like the Hoff, except a little less well known (but judging from his website, he's pretty derned cringeworthy).

Here's where I draw the line.

There are some movies I just won't see--Transformers 2 was one of those (I didn't like the first one so why bother?) Then there are movies that are far, far into the No Zone. Movies like "The Human Centipede"--um, who greenlighted this? I am all for art and expressing yourself, but who actually paid money and said "Yeah, let's do this!" It's a horror movie, so you know that can get gory but for those who don't know, the following image gives you a pretty good idea of the plot: