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Journal (The Ember Update)Thursday, December 27Open mouth, insert foot...So there we were on Christmas eve, visiting elementary school friends of my mom's in Pennsylvania. My mom and I had just arrived. (My brother, who is in the Air Force at NSA, had opted to work both Christmas eve and day so that others with families could be at home.) Mom and I were talking with our hostesses about the unusual abundance of Christmas lights and other decorations visible on houses and lawns this year. We mentioned the National Christmas Tree on the White House ellipse my mom, brother and I had passed in the car the Sunday prior. It was decorated with red, white and blue colored lights, stars and stripes, and had little American flags strung along it in multiple vertical columns. "I have a real problem with the mixing of Christmas and patriotism this year," say I. "Christmas is Christmas. It's not red, white and blue, it's red and green. It really bothers me that people are decorating like it's the Fourth of July. Using red, white and blue on a Christmas tree eclipses the spirit of Christmas with the tragedies of 9/11. I wish people wouldn't do that." My mom agrees with me. Later that evening we exchange presents with our hostesses. I open mine. It's a large red tree ornament in the shape of a heart, with an American flag plastered across it. Oops. . . . . . . . . . . I felt somewhat vindicated later when one of our hostesses declared that the way to solve the problem with terrorists would be to send all of the Middle Eastern people in the US back where they came from. She added that they should "send all the blacks back to Africa too." I bit my tongue. I knew nothing I could say would change the mind of a nearly 70 year old racist woman from Tennessee. Blue M&Ms are InferiorThis pseudo-scientific study proves it. So there!
Wednesday, December 19A Happy and Sad DayOverall I've been in an upbeat mood, despite Tim's shenanigans (see previous two entries). Truth be known, I actually feel a little sorry for the guy. He's obviously neither happy nor particularly well adjusted, despite his wealth. Evolt has had some great news over the last month, but it's stuff I can't talk about! It looks like Evolt's getting some serious industry recognition and friendly critical examination resulting in warm fuzzies, with the possiblity of noted publicity. It's really amazing what we've done since Evolt's inception, and so much credit belongs to the community as a whole! December 14th was Evolt's third birthday. I continue to be proud to be a founder. Which reminds me, we admins were talking about possibly submitting Evolt for the Webby's this year, probably under the "community" section. I better send a reminder note, and see if we're gonna do it this year... The sad part of today was knowing that I'm going back East and will be leaving Rash behind for the holidays. Rash, I'll definitely be thinking of you dear! Guts (The Real Ambassador)Been listening to my Dave Brubeck boxed collection, "Time Signatures," which he himself selected. The whole thing is fabulous, and I was lucky enough to see Brubeck, et. al., about 4 years back in relatively small venue. Too bad Paul Desmond died before I got to see him. "The Real Ambassador" is a song Dave—with words by his wife Iola—put together around 1961. While it certainly wouldn't be controversial by todays standards, it's got some interesting lyrics, given the political and social environment of 1961. The first three verses were sung by a small group, but after that it's Louis Armstrong. Rash tells me Louis was really bucking the establishment for a while, which the government naturally took exception to, given Louis stature. Apparently Louis refused to take good-will trips overseas on behalf of the US government, in protest to segregation and other social ills the government was promoting at home. If I recall my absent notes correctly, Dave admits they were pretty gutsy to produce the record at that time. I wish some of todays popular artists would do something similarly gutsy in reaction to the so-called "war on terrorism." Somehow I don't think many contemporary musicians have those kinds of morals or gumption, but maybe I'll someday be pleasantly surprised. BTW, did you hear the FBI has been trying to get manufacturers of virus detection software to put in a loophole which will allow the "FBI to use keystroke-logging-enabled Trojan horses for their terrorist spy-work?" Scary stuff. I wonder who the next McCarthy will turn out to be... Here are lyrics to "The Real Ambassador."
Tuesday, December 18Trading MemosFor the first time in my life I had a confrontation with the owner of a business that employs me. We were both very angry. Me, because he showed up at 2:05 in the afternoon and announced that he'd "forgotten the paychecks in San Francisco" (after promising me Saturday that he'd have them here Monday). Tim, possibly because I was being hard-nosed about my rights to have my paycheck delivered on time (it was, after all, due on the 15th). While Tim showed up without our paychecks, he did however manage to remember to bring several copies of an 8-page memo that he'd typed up on Saturday, entitled "Procedural Issues." The long and short of his memo is to deliver three "ultimatims" to all gallery and frame shop staff. Only the first one could possibly impact me, and it was:
If you read the rest of the document, you'd see that most of it is just as rediculous. His supposed timesheet penalty wouldn't stand up in a court of law. In response to his memo and the late paycheck, I typed up my own memo and faxed it to him. I also cc'd it to all of our store locations, since it affects my co-workers as well. My memo details California Labor Code and points out where Tim is breaking the law. I spoke with my mom about it, and she supported the action. She said I had nothing to lose, that I am the perfect person to stand up to his bullying and unfair practices, and that if he fired me that would be better than me quitting without another job lined up ... at least I could again collect unemployment. But he can't fire me in retaliation. If you're curious, you can read my memo. To back up my (admittedly) righteous attitude, I've been made aware by other co-workers that Tim's irresponsibility with money doesn't stop at our paycheck delivery. Tim's apparently alienated countless vendors who won't work with us any more, artists who won't let Tim's galleries represent them, and numerous accountants who've quit, all because he doesn't pay them or behave in an even remotely ethical manner. Tim's supposedly earned himself a bad reputation. Further, two years ago—on Christmas Eve no less—he fired the entire staff at one of our sister galleries. This was apparently done because he decided to close the store and do renovations, but no prior notice was given to the staff. Anne, my manger, told me that I have guts to stand up to Tim. Why the heck shouldn't I? He'll simply continue to walk all over us if we let him, and I for one am not letting that happen to me. Reminds me of my first job ever, at Swensen's Ice Cream Parlor, where I was told to arrive at 5 pm, and then the manager repeatedly had me sit in a booth for an hour before she'd let me clock in, allegedly because we weren't busy enough. Her actions too were illegal, and after the third time I quit. I'll take a lot of crap from a job and be a loyal employee, but when it comes to being paid, well, that's where my patience ends.
Sunday, December 16MegwayNot crazy about the new Segway? Try MEGWAY. Megway runs on water! Angry, and I Think Justifiably SoThis is a rant. Please excuse the couple of curses in the course of it. There's a much more pleasant report after this one. I was really pissed at Tim—the owner of the gallery where I work—'cause we were supposed to get our paychecks yesterday (Saturday) the 15th. Even though he came by to drop some things off, he didn't have them. I understand he's a multi-millionaire (apparently family money), with four galleries and two frame shops, real-estate holdings and renters, and gets a monthly trust fund stipend which alone keeps him *very* comfortable. Who knows what else. Anyway, I asked him if he'd brought the paychecks and he said, "Oh, when the pay date comes on the weekend, we don't usually give out paychecks 'til the beginning of the week. That's our standard practice, isn't it Don [towards my coworker]?" Don didn't really say anything. I said, "My credit card bill is due early next week, and I really need my paycheck. Will it be here before banks close, sometime on Monday morning?" Tim, who has a really whiny, nasal voice, said, "Well, I'll try ... I don't know ... we'll see. The guys at the frame shop in San Jose have been complaining about always being the last to get their paychecks, so I'm planning on getting them down here sometime on Monday." He added, "and about your credit card, you can still write a check." {To myself: You fuck. You're telling me to write a hot check. So not only would I have to pay a late fee and finance charge when my hot check bounces, but I'd have to pay a bounce fee as well!} To Tim, "I can't write a check because I have the payment automatically taken out of my bank account. I really need my paycheck Monday morning." He responds, "Well, ohhhhkaaay, I'll try." He sounds like I'm really putting him out. Now perhaps you wonder why I'm putting the screws to the owner about my very first paycheck, but I've heard stories. Like last pay period (I'd started working just after), Anne, my nice manager, was really spitting fire because paychecks were due on the 1st, and he didn't bring them down 'til the 5th. Not only that, but she had to stay 3 hours after her shift ended, so that she could get her check when Tim finally arrived at 8:30 PM. It was a half hour before we closed. He acted like he would have done Anne a big favor by "driving faster" if he'd known she was staying late and waiting. Fucker. That's all I can say. I'm encouraging Anne to go to the Labor Board. I was so pissed off I looked up the payment laws Saturday. I work hard for the guy for significantly less money than I need to live on, with no benefits offered unless I'm there longer than 4 months, and he should have the decency to pay me on time. Anne really wants to report Tim to the Labor Board, though she can't remotely afford to lose her job. She pointed out that the guys are too wimpy to raise a stink (like Don didn't call Tim on his false assertion about weekend pay dates). Only the women are both pissed off and willing to do something. I'm going to either go part-time in January (and hopefully work on a freelance job for a friend of mine), or find some other job entirely. I'm unwilling to waste my talent on this guy. My New Palo Alto Friend, "E"Last weekend an older, retired gentleman—whom I'll call "E"—happened to walk into the gallery, straight back to the counter where I was standing, and said, "I'm tired of walking and I see you have a chair here, so I'm going to sit in it!" I acquiesced, and we commenced to talk—me and this 85 year old guy—for the next hour and a half or so. I stopped the couple of times people came in, but nobody really wanted help so most of the time was spent in conversation. E started by asking if I knew where there was a game shop, because he was looking for a chess-move timer for his grandson. I got out the yellow pages, and things went from there. E has all sorts of interesting stories. Rash and I went over to his place to have dinner last Friday, where he made an amazingly savory and tender sea bass steamed with lemongrass and sesame oil water, topped with garlic. In the course of the conversation we learned how E and his wife (now dead) became nudists ("I'll do it if you do it..."), accidentally started a nudist gathering place at their secluded back-yard pool (attended by as much as 40 people at a time), discovered pot in their 50s when a new friend gave them two joints ("I won't do it if you won't..."), showed us a little of his LP collection (including Eno), his Japanese block-print collection, and generally entertained us. E has leant me three books (two by/about Dorothy Dunnett, and _Snow Falling on Cedars_ by David Guterson), given me a comprehensive local rag on Bay Area sailing, and provided me with a slender chart-book showing Bay Area waterways. He's told me about marinas from the south Bay to north of Sausalito, and with all this encouragement I might actually get out and into a racing crew this season (I missed last year). It's been suggested that captains start looking for crews in about two months. There are also races up and down the coast, and from here to Hawaii (apparently a 14 day jaunt one way, depending on the size of the craft). Interesting stuff to think about.
Tuesday, December 11I'm really bumming right now about endlessly sending résumés into the responseless void. There's little comfort in knowing I'm not alone (especially when that's a large part of the problem). But on to more interesting things, since I've been wanting to update for several days... Lucid DreamingOn the morning of December 1st I had my first ever lucid dream. I first heard about lucid dreaming sometime between 1994 and 1996, and was reminded of the concept last month when I saw the visually and intellectually interesting movie "Waking Life." What is lucid dreaming?
In my single experience with this phenomenon (so far), I began to dream that I was walking into the gallery where I now work, and seated at one end behind the counter was my father (who died in August). As was unfailingly typical of my dad, in my dream he greeted me with a big smile, and some genial remarks (now forgotten), and he began to rise to hug me. In the dream I thought to myself, "It's my dad! It's great to see him! But wait, I think I'm dreaming." Since I'd recently learned a key way to tell if you're dreaming is to flick a light switch to see if the lighting changes (it won't in a dream), I looked for and spotted a panel with several switches near my dad. I began to reach towards a switch, but stopped myself short, thinking, "I know this is a dream, my dad is dead. I'm having a lucid dream!" At that point I gave my father a big hug. For a brief moment I entertained the idea of trying to fly, but it seemed much more important to sit down and talk with my dad, so that's just what I did. Sadly, upon waking a while later I made no effort to record what was said. I was too emotionally overwhelmed at having finally had a dream about my father (it was my first since), and I was additionally amazed by my brush with lucid dreaming. I hope more happen. This occasion reminds me of the time I had what I characterize as an out-of-body experience sometime between the ages of three and five years old, long before I'd probably ever heard of or could have understood such a concept. We were living in Virginia, just on the other side of Front Royal, in a little community called Dungadin. My parents were having a party, and my brother and I had been put to bed. I was lying there on my back, when I felt myself rise out of my body and float towards the ceiling. I floated out (or through?) the door, and around the living-room, looking down on the party guests from above. Then I floated back into my room, and into my body. I'm not sure what that was about, but I've obviously never forgotten it. Nothing similar has happened since. Just so I sound like a complete kook, maybe I'll also mention those three times I saw UFOs when I was a teenager. But that's a story for another day... California Bay Area DriversI don't know if my observations can be generalized to all of California, but drivers in the Bay Area are by far the most laid-back of any I've ever experienced. In really sharp contrast to the DC area, drivers here are rarely in a hurry, they hardly seem to do more than 5mph over the speed limit, no matter what the traffic or time of day. They're rarely aggressive...after 6 weeks, I have yet to see any behavior typical of road rage. They rarely honk, even when a light turns green and the person in front takes a long time to notice, and they're rarely likely to cut across multiple lanes in trying to make a turn. On the other hand, it seems that Bay Area drivers are overly cautious when it rains. The only other oddity I've noticed is that I seem to be awakened or jolted by the sound of a car peeling rubber late at night, much more frequently than in the DC area. This last observation seems incongruous, especially given the generally polite nature of the driving population. Overall the difference here is refreshing and welcome. Personal Ads on Craigslist.comOne of the resources I've been using for job hunting is craigslist.com. One day when I was feeling particularly bored I decided to take a look at the personals. This is something I just about never do (last time was years ago in the City Paper, just for a lark). Craigslist's ads proved to be a rather telling little social study. For no particular reason I started with the "Men Seeking Men" category. In brief, the ads were all about fucking, blow jobs, and physical characteristics. Then I moved on to "Men Seeking Women." These guys mostly take the "sensitive, open, caring" approach. They want to appear interesting and non-threatening. Makes one wonder if this is the same species that posts in the "Men Seeking Men" area. Finally to "Women Seeking Women." Women try to appear intelligent or fun; timid or confident; butch or feminine. They even try to chat through the personals. Women are such complex creatures! Get this one from "WSW":
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