Surviving the Workday

After a work experience that made me feel exceptionally dirty (and I mean that in a bad way), I met with Jordan Rosenfeld. Now I know Jordan in a number of ways over five (?) years: from Zoetrope where we workshopped short stories on-line, by editing an excellent essay of hers in a literary journal, and from reading each other’s novels. But I had never met her in person because we live in different parts of the state.

We had a lovely lunch of mediterranean salads, talked about The Artist’s Way, writing in general, our works in progress, our families, and then went to her independent bookstore where I bought:

Power, Faith, and Fantasy: America in the Middle East: 1776 to Present
The Liar’s Diary
A Poetry Handbook
and some moleskines

Meeting Jordan was a great antidote to a difficult week. This is my last day of abstaining from reading for Week Four of the Artist’s Way. Abstaining from reading and constant work left me with the urge for a gin and tonic at 8:20 in the morning. And I don’t like gin. But nourishing human contact made me more centered and aligned with what I believe in. So keep that in mind the next time work leaves you dirty (in a bad way).

And Jordan’s blogged about me here.

That was my reaction to seeing natural light at lunch after spending 48 hours inside a hotel. The sun! It burns! It burns!!!

The Business Trip continues in the anonymous business park in Anywhere, United States. Last night, as I watched the Weather Channel, I could not remember where I was. I couldn’t even tell you what state. I had to run down the possibilities in my mind before I remembered.

I went to the mall for lunch, and lost my car in the parking lot. At least I got some exercise.

I’m finishing up my work day on a business trip, and settling in for the night in the hotel. I’ve decided that I really only have one item that I need with me on a business trip. And that’s….(drum roll, please, and look to the photo) a hot pot.

I need to have tea regularly or I become anxious. And the tea needs to be brewed with boiling water. This isn’t negotiable. It doesn’t need to be caffeinated tea, but it does need to be hot. And those hot plates in hotel rooms don’t really do hot. They do warm.

If I have tea, I don’t even care that my second suit doesn’t match (How can I own a tan blazer and tan pants that don’t match? I thought they did. I thought they were a matched set. But no.)

What items are essential for you to feel good when you travel?

Did you hear that noise? It’s me patting myself on the back. Rigorously.

I’m at a week-long training at a hotel in a strange isolated business park. And during the first hour of the training, I found out I was seated alphabetically next to the people who hired me into the industry ten years ago, and then, rather unceremoniously, laid me off four years ago.

They weren’t in their seats next to me. Were they avoiding me? I saw them later, but they looked around me, above me, underneath me, but not at me. Intentional? Oblivious? Forgetful? Just awkward! So I spent the night sort of in a self-imposed exile so as not to run into them again in the lobby, elevator, restaurant, or God help me, the swimming pool.

But this morning I sought them out and shook their hands. I’m not sure why I’m proud of this, except that I didn’t want to spend a week sequestered in a hotel dodging people. It’s a small industry, and if I didn’t run into them here, I’d run into them elsewhere. I realized that they were probably far more uncomfortable around me, since they laid me off, than I was around them, since I’m happily employed elsewhere (or actually by myself).

So I’m not sure what this means, but it’s some sort of reconciliation with my work past and with being laid off, and that’s good.

I’m on Week Four of The Artist’s Way and I’ve been assigned not to read. The idea struck me as absurd. I read all the time. It’s my job. That’s what editors and writers do. They read. Everything.

Cameron’s rationale is that for some of us words are like tranquilizers and we are slowly sedating ourselves and reading while we could be doing our own art.

So, I’m not reading books, newspapers, or blogs.* I didn’t read the blurbs at LACMA about the artists and their work, I didn’t read the program at Sunday’s Live on my “artist’s date” (a weekly date for my artist (me)). I just watched and listened.

I’m on a business trip this week, and I didn’t bring any books with me, so I could listen and write. Not reading is doing the opposite of what I normally do, so perhaps it will open up some possibilities to me.

*I am reading emails, and traffic signs.

Telecommuting is a flexible options that employers can offer their employees in order to balance their lives.

I started telecommuting in 1999 while working at a publishing company. I moved to California, but still worked for the office in Massachusetts. It worked out well for me in that it ensured some job stability while we bought a home, and allowed me to avoid the Los Angeles Commute. I was eventually laid-off, so it’s not a perfect solution (out of sight, out of mind), but I was able to telecommute from my next job as well, in a more flexible arrangement where I came into the local office a few times a week during off-hours, still avoiding the Los Angeles Commute. Eventually, I started my own business from home, in order to ensure avoiding the Los Angeles Commute permanently.

There is a bill in Congress that would offer some tax relief to telecommuters and companies that use telecommuters as employees. The specifics include reducing the complexity of the home office deduction. And let’s just say that the complexity of the home office deduction is about 80% of why we hire someone to do our taxes.

Consider writing your congressperson to tell her/him about your support for it. Check out who your representative is here.

Via Web Worker Daily

Photographs courtesy Philip Greenspun

Now, if the word “pleasure” gave you a giggle, you’re not alone. In our culture, we tend to think of pleasure as signifying sex. But it’s important to find pleasure at work, and not just in the ringing of the 5 o’clock bell. No, actual pleasure can be found in work. I swear.

One of the exercises in The Artist’s Way is about naming the pleasure in your life. So, I’ve modified it so that I’m naming the pleasure in my work as an editor and writer

1. Deleting. I really enjoy deleting. And I particularly enjoy deleting if what I am deleting is bad.

2. Analyzing. I enjoy trying to figure out what works in a piece of writing and what doesn’t work.

3. Researching. I enjoy library and Internet research as well as interviewing people.

4. Understanding. I enjoy listening to a client and understanding what he or she needs. I really like that feeling when I get it.

Please post at least one part of your work that gives you pleasure in comments. (I’m traveling, so it may take a while for the comment to appear).

This weekend’s interview is with Suzy Whitmore. Suzy and her husband, Frank, owned two pizza parlors in the lovely Santa Ynez Valley in California. I heard that they sold the pizza parlors in order to travel around in an RV with some parrots. You can see why I had to find out more….

Why did you guys leave the pizza parlor for life on the road? Was there a specific moment in which you looked at one another and realized that you wanted something else? Or was it more gradual?

It was a little of both. We have always loved to travel and we did so as much as possible while we lived in CA, but with a busy restaurant, you can only go so far. So the more we talked about traveling full-time, the more we planned how to go about actually doing it. Frank researched all sorts of things to do to make money while traveling, and we came across the company that we worked for our first year on the road. So one day, after almost 9 years of the pizza business and two restaurants, we realized that there was no time like the present, and much more to life than a 80+ hour work week.

We had sold one of the restaurants about 2 years earlier and we were just coming out of one of the best years with our original pizza place. We decided that this was a great time to sell with a very appealing restaurant, so we put an ad in the paper. We, of course, had our job all lined up. This way we still made enough money to cover all of our expenses on the road so all of our retirement dollars stay untouched along with the restaurant proceeds until we hit the golden years of life. So after renting out our house, we hit the road with birds in tow (and a little Jeep Wrangler) on May 22, 2005 and have honestly never regretted it.

Can you describe how you spend an average day now?

An average day at work is: Meeting and greeting all of the sponsors and guests coming to the races at the hospitality tent. Since there are three racing days at each NHRA (National Hot Rod Association) event, there are a different group of roughly 75 people that attend our hospitality tent for the day. The hospitality tent is set up right next to the area called “the pits” where they work on the car and take it apart and rebuild it after each round. It is amazing to watch these guys tear the car apart and the guests are all usually quite intrigued.

An average day off work: There are 23 races a year which translates to us working about 25 weeks a year due to rain outs, so the other weeks of the year we are off, and due to the fact that the racing schedule circles the country about 4 times a year we are always in a new place and usually have about a week off in between each race. We either play tourist in the closest city, or find a nice quiet out of the way RV Park to relax and spend some time with our 3 parrots that travel with us.

Where do you see yourself in terms of career in 10 years?

Hmmm, well since neither of us dreamed of having our current job when we started out, I will have to say whereever the road takes us. It’s worked out each year that we have been on the road that we have had job offers to do new things each year that have all turned out to be better financially and quite conveniently a little less work, so within 10 years who knows where this will take us. One thing I will say is that we both love it out here and neither of us have any plans on sitting still for too long any time soon. So until we tire of the open road we will stay on it.

You can follow the adventures of Suzy and Frank in the Parrottrek Journal.

It’s World Shutdown Day on Saturday, March 24, 2007.

Well, god bless me. I’ve come across the Great Elephant Poo Poo Paper Company, and I can think of any number of people who deserve paper made out of poo.

Now, it is odorless, and recycled, of course. A remarkable process of drying and cleaning. I suppose it wouldn’t go over well as a business gift though. “Remember the freelancer who gave us paper made out of poo? Let’s not hire her again.”

But, perhaps my friends would be more open to gifts of this nature. Or possibly it’s a gift you can only buy for yourself.

The journals seem very reasonably priced as does the stationary. Think of the possibilities. I could make all sorts of poo jokes about my own writing, and the writing paper….

Via Boing Boing

Last month at Desert Nights, Rising Stars, the writing conference at ASU, I went to a workshop called The Last Taboo: Writing About Daily Work with Tom Wayman. His premise was that work is central to the human experience, but long neglected by the arts. Every human emotion takes place at work, but something happens at work that makes writing about it taboo.

I’m reminded of the first on-line writing group I participated in. Everyone sent a bio via email. No one mentioned work. I thought perhaps I had stumbled on the first well-paid group of writers in the world. Some folks did have published books…perhaps they actually earned a living writing! But, alas, no. Work just wasn’t mentioned in the bios as if it wasn’t important. As if it was something to be ashamed of. Bullshit.

Spirituality and the workplace faces the same sort of taboo. Few people actually talk about work in their spiritual practices, which is odd because work can be a spiritual practice of making meaning. From much of what is in the literature about spirituality, spirituality seems to be something you do in your copious amount of your downtime. It takes month-long meditation retreats and expensive mats and cushions. Also, bullshit.

So, while these are thoughts in progress, I’ll offer this work poem from Tom Wayman’s anthology of work, Paperwork.

RECIPE FOR A SIDEWALK
KATE BRAID

Pouring concrete is just like baking a cake.
The main difference is
that first you build the pans. Call them forms.
Think grand.
Mix the batter with a few simple ingredients:
one shovel of sand
one shovel of gravel
a pinch of cement.

Add water until it looks right.
Depends how you like it.
Can be mixed by hand or with a beater called
a Readi-Mix truck.
Pour into forms and smooth off.
Adjust the heat so it’s not too cold,
not too hot. Protect from rain.
Let cook until tomorrow.
Remove the forms and walk on it.

There is one big difference from cakes.
This one will never disappear.
For the rest of your life your kids
will run on the same sidewalk, singing
My mom baked this!

Consider ordering Paperwork for more poetry about work.

Speaking of giveaways that are accompanied by junk, I learned in IT freebies could be toxic junk that much of the schwag given out at tech conferences is perceived as useless and is actually toxic.

I’ve been to many teaching-related conferences and have some well-meaning advice. I love free stuff and so do many other teachers. Many teaching-related conferences are a bit of a schwag orgy of workbooks, giant calculators, paperclips, plastic clocks for teaching telling time, and other such stuff. But teachers actually use much of this in their classroom to teach with, modify in some format, or give away to students as prizes.

Tech folks seem to not want the free calculators. Try offering them to a teacher. Just an idea.

Please help!!!!

After two long years of being on a waiting list for an agility dog, we have been notified by the breeder that, at long last, our number has come up and …WE ARE HAVING A PUPPY!!! We must get rid of our children IMMEDIATELY because we just know how time consuming our new little puppy is going to be and it just wouldn’t be fair to the children. Since our little puppy will be arriving on Monday we MUST place the children into rescue this weekend!

They are described as: One male - His name is Tommy, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), light blonde hair, blue eyes. Four years old. Excellent disposition. He doesn’t bite. Temperament tested. Does have problems with peeing directly in the toilet. Has had chicken pox and is current on all shots. Tonsils have already been removed. Tommy eats everything, is very clean, house trained & gets along well with others. Does not run with scissors and with a little training he should be able to read soon.

One female - Her name is Lexie, Caucasian (English/Irish mix), strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, quite freckled. Two years old. Can be surly at times. Non-biter, thumb sucker. Has been temperament tested but needs a little attitude adjusting occasionally. She is current on all shots, tonsils out, and is very healthy & can be affectionate. Gets along well with other little girls & little boys but does not like to share her toys and therefore would do best in a
one-child household. She is a very quick learner and is currently working on her house training — shouldn’t take long at all.

We really do LOVE our children so much and want to do what’s right for them; that is why we contacted a rescue group. But we simply can no longer keep them. Also, we are afraid that they may hurt our new puppy. I hope you understand that ours is a UNIQUE situation and we have a real emergency here!!! They MUST be placed into your rescue by Sunday night at the latest or we will be forced to drop them off at the orphanage or along some dark, country road.

– Author Unknown

You knew the “new car” smell wasn’t good for you, right? (And I’m sure the 200K mile smell my car has isn’t good for me either). The new car smell is enough to get you high on the morning commute.

We’re on a little financial diet, so we cut back on some expenses, including the Los Angeles Times. Now, it’s not a bad paper (upon re-reading this entire post, I’m thinking that this is a false statement. It is a bad paper.), but it is a paper that could be easily divided into four categories:

a. International and National News (mostly picked up from AP)
b. Really Depressing News about Shootings, Drugs, and Environmental Pollution within the State of California that make you think the second coming is imminent (this section should never be read before bedtime)
c. Hollywood News (also known as the Calendar or Entertainment section, but that is misleading—it’s all Hollywood with a book review thrown every month for flavor)
d. Miscellaneous (Sports, Business and the Travel, Real Estate, and Opinion sections on Sunday)
So I was not surprised to hear that Brian Grazer was the first “guest editor” for the Opinion section on Sunday. Because that’s the sort of relationship the LAT has with Hollywood. Cozy. But now I see that the editorial pages editor had a “relationship” with the PR firm that represents Grazer. That’s downright naked-cozy (the next stage up from cozy, but before naked-post-coital-cozy),

Just gross. Why let Hollywood report on itself? And why would a Hollywood producer be qualified to guest-edit anything? Because he made some movies? Please. Perhaps I’m remembering hearing his soon-to-be ex-wife’s interview about her palatial estate, which almost prompted me to vomit while driving down the 405.

Which brings up anothe serious flaw of the paper: obsession with wealth. I suppose you could argue that our culture is obsessed with wealth, and you’d be right. But wealth isn’t under a critical examination by the LAT. Instead, wealth is held up and glorified as if it conspicuous consumption was equivalent to some sort of moral rectitude.

Feh. That’s my reaction to the Top Ten Spiritual Office Pick Me Ups on Beliefnet.

One of my primary issues with some of the writing about spirituality is that most advice is a quick fix, because that’s what people seem to want. Tired? Try breathing. Afraid of being fired? Try some aromatherapy to relax. Stressed out? Rein in that stress talk by only complaining for fifteen minutes. And will those techniques help? Yes. Temporarily.

I haven’t found that most people’s issues at work require a quick fix. Often they are challenges that are the result of corporate and consuming cultures, and as much as I would hope that rosewater dabbed near the eyes would help, I think it’s only masking the problem. I think developing a meaningful and comprehensive theology complete with daily spiritual practices is an answer. I’m not sure rosewater is on its own.

It’s true. Dunkin Donuts gives out free iced coffee today, March 21, to “celebrate the arrival of spring.”

“We look forward to treating everyone to a free cup of our delicious,
freshly brewed iced coffee to celebrate the arrival of spring,” said Robert
Rodriguez, Dunkin’ Donuts brand president. “As the category leader, Dunkin’
Donuts has been brewing iced coffee for more than 25 years and we are
thrilled to be kicking off another iced coffee season with this all day,
nationwide event.”

I don’t have any DD near me, but I’m willing to bet someone does. And I have taken advantage of this promotion before. Dunkin Donuts serves my favorite bad foods.

Read the press release. And it’s been verified by snopes.

Now if they’d only get rid of the Styrofoam.

The next time you see a slick greenwashed advertisement for BP in The New Yorker, please have this thought:

Oh, BP. Yes, I know that you want me to think that you love the bunnies and other fluffy creatures on God’s green earth.

And I know that you want me to think that you care about your employees and that you create a safe environment in which we can guzzle oil.

But, alas, this is not true.

In fact, the US Chemical Safety Board says BP was responsible for the blast that killed 15 people and injured 180 in Texas in 2005. BP has a “lax safety culture,” which killed employees. I’m sure their families don’t blame you at all.

I’ve been following Gawker’s parade of evil bosses gleefully. I’m not exactly sure why all the glee, but it’s perhaps the first time I’ve approved of public shaming of bad behavior. Usually bad behavior is something y’all write to me about. You had something thrown at you. You were called for a meeting on the weekend. You get called at home all the time. Your master’s degree entitles you to pick up dry cleaning or schedule play dates for your boss. You were fired without cause.

But now we’ve come across a bit of a problem. Perhaps yesterday’s evil boss isn’t truly evil. She was originally described as “non-profit mean” to distinguish her from some of the corporate evil we saw earlier in the parade. Perhaps she’s just a boss who made some bad hires.

Hmmm….

Hmmm….

Well, I do need to get a haircut. This might work for the next conference I have to attend.

Via Boing Boing

I can play the piano. Well.

And, no, I won’t play for you. Ever. It’s nothing personal. I can’t even look at a piano without a full body cringe.

My training as an artist was first as a musician, not a writer, and it’s through examining this in the Artist’s Way that I’m uncovering some of my creative challenges. Here’s a summary.

Owing and Paying Back My parents imported my uncle from Canada to help us buy a piano. He’s a real live pianist, the kind that earns a money touring and playing. They bought a piano he recommended, and then I was told that it cost a lot and I better practice and take this seriously. I was six-years old.

(This is one of the reasons it’s not uncommon for adult musicians to destroy their childhood instruments. My parents are lucky that piano still stands.)

Performing Once I started piano lessons, I was required to perform. It began with small recitals in my piano teacher’s home, but quickly escalated to local churches and community centers. After a few years, I was taken by the Big Deal Piano Teacher as a pupil, I was required to compete dozens of times yearly in festivals around the Southland as well as take theory, craft, and perfomance tests. No one asked if I wanted to perform, or be tested regularly. Just knowing that once or twice a month, my Saturday or Sunday would be taken up by these recitals was enough to fill me with dread for the entire month. Month after month. Year after year. That’s a lot of childhood dread.

Audience Nothing was learned unless it was for performance. Everything was intended for an audience. In fact, music was not music unless it was performed, judged, and critiqued. Music wasn’t intended for me. I was intended to make music for others.

But the audience for my playing wasn’t just the judges in festivals and other kids and parents. No, no. The piano spent its time in the living room by the front door. My parents live on a main street across from public tennis courts. Unfortunately, this meant that everyone on the street could hear me practice, and apres-tennis they would lounge around the front of the house. Not to mention everyone lounging in the house. Speaking of which….

Critiquing Because everyone heard me practice, everyone had to share her opinion, including those on the street. And by opinion, I mean constant corrections. My mother, god bless her (she’s out of the country right now in an Internetless land) would shout corrections from around the house if I hit the wrong note. Now musicians know when they hit the wrong note. They don’t need to be told. But apparently it was satisfying to shout, “F-sharp!” from three rooms away or in Italian from right behind me, “Presto! Presto!” if my playing dragged or “Adagio!!!” if I was too animated.

Form I wanted to learn the cello. No. I wanted to learn jazz piano. Nope. I wanted to choose my own piano pieces. Not a chance. I honestly think a trained monkey would have done better in this situation, but I would hardly wish constant judgment, criticism, performance, and limitation on form on another sentient creature.

And that’s how not to raise an artist: remind her of what she owes you, create constant opportunities for performance for an audience, constantly criticize her, and limit her exploration of form and function. At age sixteen, after ten years of this, I stopped practicing, I refused to perform, and I ditched the lessons to the absolute fury of my teacher and parents.

I think it was the first step to taking back my own creativity for myself and not others.