Right Moon?

On Religion

In case you're interested, I've posted a letter/diatribe/explanation wherein I attempt to explain my dissatisfaction with The Church, and how that dissatisfaction has made me a more spiritual person.

Translucent

If I’m in the sun for more than a few minutes, my pasty pale skin gets irritated. I don’t burn so much, but immediately turn strawberry pink. And tanning? Forget about it. I grew up in one of those big-hair towns where all the girls go to the “fake bake” tanning beds. I put in my time (and money) over the years, and never turned any color that wasn’t a shade of red. It’s just as well, I suppose. I’ll age well, and hopefully be better protected from melanoma (check your moles!). But this white-as-a-ghost thing doesn’t transfer so well to summer accessorization, and it sure as hell doesn't make my legs look any smaller.

Luckily, my cousin Ali (who successfully underwent melanoma removal from her belly while she was pregnant last year) has offered the following list of self-tanners, with commentary. Now if she'll just tell me how to apply the stuff evenly without getting orange hands, I'll be set.

clarins tanning milk - really good, but expensive
neutrogena self tanning foam - cheap and good!
mary kay self tanner - mary kay rep
st. tropez - good, but stinky after application and rubs off on clothes
mystic tan - some tanning salons have these beds. They are
wonderful, but expensive!! Best for right before a vacation or wedding or special occasion…

Child Prodigy

Last week Zooey was scheduled to get "fixed" (what an awful term!). Unfortunately, when Eric took her to the vet, she was diagnosed with a "strong" heart murmur. When we adopted our sweet baby kitty, we were actually informed that she had an acute murmur which she might outgrow. Apparently she hasn't outgrown it yet, and because the murmur could put her at greater risk when she's under anesthesia, the doctor would not perform the "fixin'", but instead kept her for chest x-rays. The verdict: her heart size is fine. He told us to bring her back in a month, but if she hasn't gained any weight, the vet "strongly encourages" us to approve an echocardiogram. It's a such an unfortunate position to be in: spend money we don't have on further tests, or just "risk it" and pray for the best. Our pets are truly family members, but where is that line of expenditure, especially since this murmur does not affect her in any visible way? And if he refuses to spay her, do we just go somewhere else?

When I was younger, one of our family cats, Cher, came home with a horribly mangled hip and leg. Her vet recommended either leg amputation or putting the cat to sleep. When we didn't accept those options, the doctor placed her in a full hip/leg cast. Eventually, Cher must have become tired of this impediment, because she chewed off the cast and re-taught herself to walk. Within months, she was back to her scavenging ways without so much as a limp.

So what will we do about Zooey? Well, her vet says there's probably no cause for worry if she keeps gaining weight over the next month. So, of course we're filling her bowl high with food & extra treats and hoping our little girl becomes a big fat cat (and doesn't go in heat) in the next 30 days.

my beloved double-wide cubicle

my beloved double-wide cubicle

Sleepy

Lately it hits me like a brick wall. One moment I’m awake, alert, enjoying the dramatic ending of a basketball game, petting the cat, drinking Diet Coke and knitting a sock. The next moment I’m exhausted, can hardly open my eyes, don’t even want to bother with changing into my pajamas. And yet, I know that if I don’t take a shower at night before going to bed, tomorrow will be another day with unwashed hair, blotchy skin and wrinkled clothes.

You see, my mornings are on a tight schedule. The alarm starts making a fuss at 7:05. Hitting the snooze every nine minutes, I finally manage to climb out of bed around 7:50. Teeth brushed, makeup on, hair pulled back or (if the previous night’s shower was followed up with a blow dryer) brushed out, hands washed, I head back to the bedroom to throw on the most unwrinkled work ensemble (laid out the night before) and throw some shoes on. A quick pet of the cat, a kiss for the husband, and I’m out the door at 8:10 to catch the 8:15 bus.

Sometimes I bargain with myself as it gets later at night, promising that the extra sleep time I’ll be getting tonight will allow me to get up early tomorrow and take a shower. But when morning comes, I am physically unable to move. My eyes cannot open until the last possible minute. If there is one more minute to steal, I will lie in bed with eyes closed, counting the seconds.

What does this mean? Something unflattering, I’m sure. In the nearly three weeks that I’ve worked at the new job, I’ve had gross hair days, gross skin days, and wrinkly clothes days, interspersed with a few “hey I look all right” days. But on the bright side, I’ve been on time to work every day so far, and my hygiene failings are not yet noticeable to the casual eye (or nose). My bosses don't know me any other way, so when I show up coiffed, bejewelled and ironed, they are doubly impressed. I don't want to risk spoiling them by making this an everyday occurrence.

Action Packed

Lest you think it’s all madcap action around here, I submit the following outline for this rainy holiday weekend, to be performed between gratuitous naps.

Reading: Last Train to Memphis, an Elvis biography
Beading: Bracelet / necklace set to complete commissioned project
On the Needles: Making it through the rest of the color progression on the secret July project (which is looking more and more like a secret November or December project…), finishing the heel of the sock I’m knitting, working at least one more stripe on the H. Potter scarf
Crafting: A couple of good mix-cd’s
Making: Cards cards cards
Moving: from Blogger to Moveable Type
Browsing: not martha's online garage sale
Buying: Lancome foundation (only if they’re offering a free gift with purchase, of course) and a couple of shirts for work so I can stop looking like a ragamuffin. And if I could ever find a decent-fitting bra, my quality of life would rise dramatically.
Drinking: Water (it’s been so long, I’ve forgotten the taste), Rocamojo.
Checking in: Answering the phone at least 50% of the time and getting caught up on email.
Watching: The Matrix Reloaded (if I’ve re-watched The Matrix dvd to jog my poor memory)
Social outing: Game night at Brian’s on Sunday. I wonder if this crowd could handle my Big Boggle prowess? (Secret note to Parker Brothers: why oh why did you discontinue Big Boggle? Going back to the standard 4x4 grid after using Big Boggle's 5x5 is like forsaking my handy uniball pen for one of those fat red pencils we used in first grade.)

Or, more likely, I’ll just sit around watching cable and loitering online. With Law & Order and Trading Spaces marathons (not to mention the Princess Bride dvd we bought in February and have yet to watch), who needs a “to-do” list?

Shake your Groove thing

Dear gentle reader, you may have noticed that I fell off the blog-wagon over the last week. I'm like this with so many things... When I'm in the habit of doing something every day, I get into a groove and get it done, and generally I'm a better person for the effort. But it only takes me about two days to lose a habit completely. Due to the fact that I changed my schedule and didn't find my blogging groove right away, you have been subjected to a weak week of entries.

Sometimes it's not easy finding that delicate balance of witty banter, heart-wrenching sincerity and dead-on snarkiness on a daily basis. But for you, dear reader, I will try...as soon as I get around to it.

Hey you, get off of my cloud

How have I lived 28 years without this portable personal cloud?

From their site: "CLOUD is a portable room for rest, meeting or concentration. A space of its own that can be used within any space, cloud instantly defines an area and a mood apart."

Orange

A person should always be on alert to a certain extent. Alert to your surroundings, alert to others' actions and feelings, alert to your own instincts. As a rule, I am not one to get worried about these terror alerts or the imminence of another attack. But I just have a feeling there's something coming soon. It's not just that we've been elevated to orange (NYC has been on "high alert" since you-know-when)...it's just a feeling that it is on its way. "It can't be NY", I think to myself, "we've been through too much already." But I know that terror has no sense of limitation or fairness. No, I'm not afraid. But I am wary.

[wary: marked by keen caution, cunning, and watchful prudence especially in detecting and escaping danger]

Please be cautious, wherever you are. Wallow in some bliss today, because you just never know.

Good Guidelines

Maggie has a great article in today's Morning News, Fifteen Fights to Have Before You Get Engaged. I'm not sure Eric & I had all of these tender discussions before we got engaged (we still revisit "Must you chew so loudly" on occasion), but I'm pretty sure we've covered most of it now.

It wasn't me

From "Dear Diary" in today's Times:

"It was a sluggish weekday afternoon on the Uptown No. 3 train. Suddenly, a particularly grumpy-looking man turned toward two chatting people (who had been having a private conversation, not particularly loudly, at the end of the car) and yelled, "Shut up!"

They were startled, as were the rest of us. Even by New York City standards, the man seemed rude.

Just then, the chatterers stood up and started singing opera, in defiance of their orders to "shut up."

At first, the grumpy man protested and mocked the singers. But soon enough, he — and the rest of the riders — grew to enjoy the free impromptu performance.

Just before the grumpy guy stood up to leave the train, he walked over to the singers and apologized to them. He then asked where their next performance would be, for the benefit of the passengers who had just boarded the train.

One of the singers replied, 'Carnegie Hall.'"

One ball, One strike

A little over a year ago, a young man that I know got testicular cancer. The treatment (including the removal of one testicle) went well, and he is now happily cancer free.

There is a pen at my desk with green ink that I really like, so I looked to see what brand it is.

Question: Is it bad that I thought of this young man when I learned the pen is a “uniball”? Is it even worse that I started laughing?

visitation

Mom is here for the weekend, and while she's well past "tourist" status in NYC, it's a good excuse for all of us to get out and about. The unofficially designated theme of the weekend is Don Quixote, and we're planning on taking her to see Man of La Mancha while she's here. (Brian Stokes Mitchell is amazing.)

Of course, my stomach has chosen this most inopportune time to wreak havoc. I have been so well (dare I say healthy?) for the past month, so this evening was a real disappointment. Since I couldn't go out due to this stupid flare up, Eric and I spent the evening entertaining mom with our extensive but random mp3 collection, impromptu choreography and sing-alongs. We were not limited to the tradition air-guitar, but also played air-banjo, air-fiddle, air-harmonica, and air-upright bass. Should be a great weekend.

Monumental Purchases

The Hillenbrand-Marhsalls are buying San Antonio's Cactus House. The Casey Parents are in negotiations to buy their "This Old House Fixer-Upper Dreamhouse" (built in 1861). Peppermint Tina has been hinting at a new house for some time now.

Me? I bought shoes today.

The Angry Inch

"Who is this Hedwig and why
haven't I heard of her before, Bob?"

When was this Hedwig tribute album announced and why am I just hearing about it? In any case, it looks like a great lineup: Ben Folds, Ben Lee, Cyndi Lauper, Sleater-Kinney + Fred Schenider, et al... Even Yoko Ono, who I am genetically predisposed to resent and dislike, should be a good fit on "Hedwig's Lament/Exquisite Corpse" (with Yo la Tengo, no less).

Secret note to the American Idol Producers:

Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but Burt Bacharach's music did not age well. No, not even "What the World Needs Now is Love". Yes, some of us still like that particular song, but it all sounds like elevator music. Stop trying to push Burt Bacharach on my generation - we have enough sap (ever heard of Lionel Ritchie?). Oh, and Ruben sounded awful tonight, Clay really needs a haircut (and to open his squinty left eye), and Paula Abdul has seriously lost her mind.

Pretend

This afternoon at work we had an "emergency evacuation" drill. We all grabbed our things and headed down the staircase to the designated meeting spot: Pier 11. As we were milling aimlessly around the Pier, waiting for permission to go back inside, two taxis came screaming down the street beside the pier. The other cars swerved to get out of the way as the rear taxi slammed on the brakes, barley missing the cab in front and ending up perpendicular to the rest of traffic. Someone in the second cab got out of the backseat and started running away. Then all the cars in traffic stopped and back up and raced again. It turns out, there was no traffic melee at all...they were filming Spiderman 2.

Another Coffee Post

I'm strangely curious about this recipe for coffee jello. I'm not sure gelatin is a good texture for coffee, but with that much sugar, I'd probably like it anyway. (via not martha)

Upon further reflection: Although I love coffee, I'm not a big fan of "coffee-flavored" things such as ice cream, candies, or even iced coffee. I love coffee cake, but it tastes nothing like coffee... As usual, I digress.

ooohhhh

Exactly an hour after I wrote the below post, roughly two hours after the song first popped into my head, I opened the new issue of Vanity Fair directly to a page referring to Sonny Bono's memoir "And the Beat Goes On." Whence the recurring theme?

(Note: as mentioned previously, my parents have a cat named Sonny [Bono. Sometimes goes by the names "il gato", "Son. E. Gato" and "Sonny Corleone"]. I have no doubt that he's involved in this somehow...)

...la de da de dum

I keep forgetting to bring some cd's in for cubicle-listening pleasure. It's pretty quiet around here...so please explain why Sonny & Cher's "The Beat Goes On" has been swirling around in my head for the last hour. Alas, don't worry - I had forgotten how groovy the song is.

In other office news, I'm pretty excited to report that there a bunch of knitters here (I realize that sounds like some sort of cult/religion. Knitters: Kind of like Quakers, only with really big needles). Earlier this year, they purchased some eyelash yarn in bulk and commenced a scarf project. Now, I'm not so big into group activities/interacting with people in general, but I really like eyelash yarn and I can always use someone to help me with my stitches. This job is getting better and better. (Okay, now the song in my head is the Beatles' "Getting Better All the Time"...)

Fine, but what about Moon Pies

All joking (and ridiculous litigation) aside, this is on the right track...

"Oreo cookies should be banned from sale to children in California, according to a lawsuit filed by a San Francisco attorney who claims that trans fat -- the stuff that makes the chocolate cookies crisp and their filling creamy -- is so dangerous children shouldn't eat it." (Full Article via SFGate)

Downright Pinoy

On more than one occasion (generally on the phone), people have looked at my last name (Jose; yes, with an accent over the e) and assumed I speak Spanish. Two years ago, the phone company started sending us a Spanish billing statement...when I dialed the help number on the bill, the recording was only in espanol and I couldn't figure out how to get to a real live person.

No, I'm not Spanish. I'm a Scots-Irish-American who occasionally affects a British accent. But the "Jose" comes from my husband's family, via the Philippines.

Here's an interesting site with more background on Philippine history and names... "One of the more obvious marks left by Spanish rule in the Philippines is the prevalence of Hispanic surnames among Christianized Filipinos." Salamat.

Couplets

My brother-in-law works a lot of the NY awards shows. I'm not sure how he describes this job (escort? man-servant? unpaid stage manager?) but the gist of it is that he is assigned a specific performer at each show, and he must make sure their needs are met, that they get on and off stage okay, etc. He has done scads of these shows (The Grammys, MTV Awards, Tonys, the John Lennon Tribute), and subsequently has enough clout that he sometimes gets to choose his own "talent" to escort. That's how he met Brittney, Pink, Alannis, and Elvis...Costello. My brother-in-law always comes back with good stories, most of which it would be unkind and too second-hand to repeat here.

I was thinking of this today as I read that Elvis Costello and Diana Krall are getting married. I am a longtime fan of both performers, but not a big fan of their relationship. The timeline's a little hard on my conservative and romantic sensibilites: he was just divorced in November. And although they are both fairly attractive, I don't think they look right together. (Yes, I realize how shallow I am.) I won't stoop to mentioning that *ahem* someone told me that this couple seems very strange in person and not at all friendly (strange is fine, but unfriendly is not so cool...).

On the other hand, if they decide to breed, their kids should be incredibly talented.

Today

I intended to post something pithy and tear-jerking in honour of Mother's Day today. We sent rose plants (real plant-able plants rather than a pretty-for-a-few-days bouquet) to both Mums which arrived yesterday, and did the official "calls to mom" yesterday as well. Still, sappy and heartfelt has long been by specialty, so this space was reserved for some motherly tribute. Nothing went as planned.

This morning I got a call from my mum bearing the bad news of a shocking and unexpected death in the extended family. Of course, from there the day gave in to repeated references and thoughts of some of those we've lost. My Grandma Lorie died on Christmas 2000. My father in-law died at Christmas-time 2001. Uncle Gerald in February 2002. Grandma Ruby last fall. Grandma JoAnn this March. Last week Eric's childhood friend died of cancer. etc., etc...

It has started to feel like a stready stream. And yet it is fairly notable that each loss is so remarkably different. Of course, some of these people were much closer, much more an active part of our lives. But it's beyond that... as time, and loss, goes on, our reactions change. I'm not easily shocked. I don't cry as easily or as often - sometimes I feel "cried out", and yet I can find a torrential flood of emotion at the loss of a remote aquaintance. It's just all so unexpected. This may sound depressing to read with such matter-of-factness, but "loss" has lost most hint of "depression" in my life. I'm learning from everything, and as I look at the situation, it's easy to see there's still much more in the "blessings" column than the "loss" column. I'm learning not to expect a tomorrow. Truly live as if today is your last day. Be the person you want to be. Forgive and love and touch and hug. Cry if you need to, but smile if you can. Because you never know.

Pretty Pictures

Schmalex has posted some beautiful pictures he took in Vietnam.

And for the record: no, I haven't rsvp'd for the reunion yet. I'm still working on that "provide a brief update on your life" part...you know, because it really really matters.

Two to Tivo

I was excited to read that Zadie Smith's wonderful novel "White Teeth" has been made into a two-part movie. Of course, I'm also a little worried (since adaptations of great books can sometimes be so very bad), but according to today's NY Times, the movie "is unswervingly faithful to the novel's balance of sentiment and satire".

Unfortunately, in Manhattan anyway, part one of White Teeth airs at the same time as Six Feet Under and the Beverly Hills 90210 10-year high school reunion. What's a television addict to do? Rush out and buy a Tivo for each set? Hook up the vcr to tape one show, then turn up both tv's in the house with the remaining two shows? Unfortunately, there can be no "during the commercial" channel-flipping, since HBO has no in-show adverts.

Truth be told, Six Feet Under will probably win this contest at Casa Casey-Jose, but never let it be said that television-dependence is an easy burden to carry. Oh, and if you want to borrow my copy of the book White Teeth, let me know.

Leapin' frigging Lizards

The one night by mind/body feel like sleeping before 3a.m., there are drunk girls outside singing "The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow" at the top of their lungs. [I'm assuming they're drunk. Songs from Annie tend to be much more impassioned after a few drinks.] If only Dad would lend me his high-powered 'tater gun...

Final Update on the j-o-b

I am [almost] officially gainfully employed. They offered me a package - salary, benefits, double-wide cubicle and all. Of course, that's all contingent on passing the drug test tomorrow morning. [There are a few too many drug-test jokes and sad stories which could be inserted here. Having worked in "random drug-testing" hell, my Dad knows them all, so you can just wait to read it on his blog...]

Aha! But I am going to be famous

Interesting [and, in my experience, very true] quote from gawker:

"'The weird thing about New York," an out-of-town visitor said to me several months ago, "is that no one here has 'normal' ambitions. You never meet people who want to work in mid-level management and have a house in the suburbs with the white picket fence. Everyone here is plotting to be a Fortune 500 CEO, or a famous novelist, or a movie star." I'd say that's definitely true for people of a certain age. "You're not going to be famous" is probably the single most depressing thing you could say to most people under the age of 35 in Manhattan."

Settling in...sort of

This post is being written *undercover* from my new office. I figured a status report was in order:

So far so good. I'm working the exact job I was not hired for in January. Unfortunately, this means that I'm in a "temp-to-[possibly]-permanent" situation, since the girl who officially holds this position is out on disability. It's widely believed that she won't be back, but they can't exactly give her job away in the meantime, or at least until she makes a decision. So it's still a waiting game. I would know how this "officially a temp" thing affects the benefits situation if they would get the damn approval and "officially" hire me. As is, I'm temping through my placement agency today and tomorrow, and Company W hopes they'll have the big boss' signature on the approval form by then so I can be an official salaried temp. Whatever that means.
The good news is that the bosses are just as nice as I remembered, and the work doesn't seem too hard.
The not-so-good news is *gasp* that they have Internet blocking software here which blocks out my hotmail and webmail accounts...I'm not in the habit of going full days without access to my email. The good-for-feeding-the-addiction news is that several of the parks in this part of the City are hooked up with free wireless internet access, so I could bring my laptop and email from there during lunch if it was a nice day and I was so inclined. We'll see if it comes to that. I wonder how much Internet monitoring they do here (you know, just for reference...not because I'm surfing for porn or anything)? I also wonder if it's only a matter of time until they block access to Blogger, which is just as much of a time-killer as email?

Oh, did I mention that my cubicle is a double-wide? It's roughly the size of my apartment.

"a bear in his natural habitat

I'm glad to read that the Henson family is regaining rights to all things Muppet. My life pretty much mirrors The Muppets Take Manhattan:
---"After graduating from college, Kermit and his friends go to New York to get their musical on Broadway only to find it's a more difficult task than they anticipated."

Closer

Final approval for the new job still hasn't passed through all the necessary red tape at Company W. But I start training tomorrow, so it sounds like it's really-probably-maybe going to happen.

In case you're keeping score: I think Kimberly will be kicked off the Idol tonight. TWP always has hilarious show recaps.

Anticipate

A repeating lesson: don't try to predict what will happen next. To be more precise, you can go ahead and try, but don't believe you can plan it out. I'm not out of control, but I'm certainly not in control at the moment...just kind of along for the ride.

Still without a job. Still waiting to hear anything at all from Company W. I'm currently temping at another firm that I originally interviewed with in January. They explicitly did not hire me because of my health situation, need for flexibility for doctor's appointments, upcoming surgery, etc. The [not so] funny thing is, this company is going to offer me a permanent job today. The work day is 8:30am-6:00pm with no lunch break... how can anyone be healthy in that environment, much less a person with a chronic illness? I'm planning on taking the "meeting" with the boss as an opportunity to point out that they didn't hire me for health reasons and those reasons haven't gone away [hello...read the Persons With Disabilities Act much?]. I know they'd love to hire me now that they've seen my work firsthand, but "you snooze you lose!" I can't work in a place where I'll be made to feel guilty every time I take a sick day. Because lord knows I love a good sick day.

And everywhere I go, bits of my past are showing up. Pieces of the puzzle that made me neurotic-diva-girl I am today... music, pictures, people... This weekend I happened across the video for REM's Driver 8 and it was like going back in time to my "alternative years" (back when REM was "alternative" music. back when there was such a thing as "alternative music".). There was so much magic in the first taste of freedom. A feeling of control, like I was discovering new worlds and everything was mine to conquer. Hanging out in coffee shops until the wee hours, talking and laughing and trying to figure out how life works. It's not really so different today, just without the green tights and funky shaved hair. I think I really need to cut loose and let myself be whoever I want to be for a change. Let's see: I'm way too old to start smoking, but maybe it's time for that tattoo?

Fragments

Anxious to hear from the new job.
Anxious to get started...on everything.
Eager to find new music and find my voice.
Eager to audition and compete.
Afraid of doing too well.
Afraid of being rejected not for my voice, but for my physicality.
Needing to lose weight.
Needing to love my body anyway.
Nervous about rehearsal tonight.
Nervous that I might repeat the same mistakes.
Grateful for support.
Grateful for people who understand.
Missing people we've lost.
Still grieving and missing so many people.
Loving. Being. Working. Surviving. Growing.

Considerations

The opera went quite well. There was no residual cruddy-ness from Tuesday's crash-and-burn rehearsal, and I was overall very happy with my performance. After the show I was approached by a woman from the NY Wagner Society (these people are serious...) who was very impressed with me as a Wagnerian Singer. After a little "Melissa's really great" love-fest with my friends who had come to see the show, she wrote her address down and urged me to contact her when I give my next recital, as she and several of her fellow Wagner-ites would love to hear me. As I was leaving, another woman approached me and extended very high praise of my singing (both of the admirers declared that I was one of the two best singers in the show). I got this woman's name and address as well to "put on my mailing list". When I did a google search on her name I learned that she is a mezzo-soprano of some renown that performed at the Met for years. Eloquent me - all I could think was: "neat". Don't worry; I've been a good girl and crafted thank-you notes to both of my new fans to thank them for their interest, etc.

This was all kind of funny to me because:
- The role I sang is pretty small, and it's at the very beginning of the opera. By the time the opera was done, I had been finished singing for close to two hours. Not that my voice is forgettable, but I don't think the role necessarily leaves a big impression.
- I have never thought of myself as a "Wagnerian" singer. I'm not sure that I am, even though the mention of it made me want to dig right into Elsa's Dream. I'm still not sure which roles are going to be my "money-makers", yet I'm getting to a stage in my career where I need to have a clearer definition of my voice and where it's going. It's not just about what you can sing. It also has to do with the color and weight of the voice and how they complement the music. It's a subjective and often-exhausting process.

When we were walking home from dinner, [okay, we were actually headed toward Krispy Kreme, but I'll never admit it so calm down, okay?] we saw a big group of people milling around outside a church up the street. It seemed there was definitely something going on, as there was hushed roar among the crowd and people looked very animated. When we got closer we realized that everyone was using sign language...the church has a mass for the hearing-impaired on Saturday evenings. It was fascinating watching this group of people interacting in this beautiful physical language, and yet such a mystery.

When I was in 4th grade, I went to the birthday party of a boy named Victor. Victor always seemed out of place; he dressed like a kid from the 1950's, and seemed just as naive. He was very odd, and much too sincere to make it unscathed through adolescence. At the party I met Victor's parents; they were both deaf. Victor and his family moved away after that school year, and I've always wondered what became of him and how he got through it. In some sense he must have felt like an outsider in the hearing world and in the deaf world... If he's made it this far, I'll bet he's an incredibly strong, special person. (I'm not willing to guess how he's dressed, though.)

Tonight was the third time in just over a week that I've had a conversation about sign language and how beautiful it is, both as a concept and in practice. I'd like to learn to sign... I wonder if I ever will?

Derby Day

I love The Kentucky Derby. I love the ceremony of it all (the hats! the roses!). The horses are beautiful and magical and I truly believe the horses themselves want to win the race more than any trainer or spectator in the bunch. I've been known to get teary-eyed when they play My Old Kentucky Home (the one day a year this could ever happen), and I can't hear Dan Fogelberg's Run For the Roses without crying. I have a top secret method for picking my horses, mostly based on selecting my favorite names. This is the first year I haven't had a Bob Baffert or D. Wayne Lukas horse in my picks (they are, after all the best trainers...), which probably means Indian Express will win just to taunt me.

I'll be at the Opera, so please root for these three-year-olds for me:
- Buddy Gil
- Peace Rules
- Eye of the Tiger

Games

I don't think kids of my generation ever learned to play marbles. It is some kind of game, right?

When we were little, Lauren and I would play a game called "Sean and Ricky". Those were the names of our pretend boyfriends, and the game consisted of getting ready for "dates", then riding our tricycles in circles around the driveway until we got to the boyfriend's "house" (a designated spot in the yard or porch). Not sure what we did when we got the the pretend-boyfriend's pretend-house...after all, we couldn't have been older than five.

Happy May Day

Inspired (as always) by Loobylu, I've posted a list of my May inspirations + obsessions. Feel free to add your own... or just live vicariously through mine.

Hey, why not?

"You'll have good luck all month if the first words you utter on the first of the month are 'Rabbit Rabbit'"

Working Girl

So, I got a job. Details kind of fuzzy at this point.

An overview: When I moved back to the City in January, I signed on with a placement agency and was sent on about 15 interviews over a few months. The first place I interviewed with (we’ll call them “Company W”) was a downtown firm near Wall Street and the Brooklyn Bridge. I love the area, I liked the bosses, and I felt very good about the job (read: I thought they were going to hire me). They called me back in for a second interview. It was great! They loved me! …then I didn’t get the job. [They hired someone with “more experience”. Yeah, whatever.] Of all of the jobs I went out for, this was the only one I really felt disappointed about not getting. [Okay, for superficial reasons I also liked the ad agency that had a free smoothie/espresso bar in the lobby…I didn’t know firms still did that, it seems so "Internet Bubble/New Economy".]

Skip ahead to the end of March, when I decided to sincerely pursue and develop my own business, RightMoonPapers. I told the placement agency I was no longer on the job hunt and that I was only interested in temp assignments. In my mind the job search was over. Then two weeks ago I got a call from Karen, my placement counselor. Company W has another position open, and even though they have been seeing people, they “like me best”. And, oh yeah, there’s another company that wants to hire me sight-unseen for a temp-to-perm position. The second job was guaranteed, and the position with Company W was not, but because of a timing issue I had to choose between the two right away. Probably safer to choose the sure thing, since Company W had already rejected me once… But this was so random and unexpected that it all threw me for a loop. I didn’t even want a “day job”, but the money sounds good, and I do believe that opportunities present themselves for a reason. The recurrence of Company W was intriguing; I needed to follow it through and see why this company had come back onto my radar.

Last week, of course, I took a battery of tests stopping just short of brain scans and genetic screening for Company W. I really didn’t think I would get the job after that. But this week I got a call from my agency. I got the job. The money is “beyond my expectations.” The thing is, I have no idea what those details are. I don’t know what position I was hired for. I don’t know how much money I’ll be making (what do they think my expectations were?). No one’s telling me these details until the negotiations are complete and the internal paperwork signed, which I’m told should be by Friday.

I’m still a little skeptical. I thought I had this job back in January, after all. But I’m told I “definitely” have this job. I “have been hired,” so we’ll see.

For me this has all been a lesson in flow. When I gave up worrying about a job and what I’m “supposed to do”, something utterly unexpected popped up. When I decided not to worry about the rejections and to re-focus on endeavors that were important to me, things started to come together. I’m open to whatever happens next. Of course, I’m not counting on anything until I have a singed contract… and no matter what happens, I’m still plugging away at my own (singing, creative) endeavors, because I know there’s true happiness for me there.