Ashyknees' Time Killer

The author is willing, but her punctuation is weak.

Friday, July 30, 2004

Free Moving Dates

One of my favorite playthings as a child was a Barbie paper doll/coloring book that featured Her Friend Christie. In the book, Barbie and Christie and their boyfriends, Ken and Curtis, skied, hiked, and played tennis all day long. Such fun.

Apparently, I wasn't the only one nostaligic for this paper doll lifestyle. Forget all those statistics about sedentary Americans. An alarming number of internet dating people claim to be valderi-ing and valdera-ing (not just the white people, even) away the hours. So are members of the various social activities I have investigated (what was I saying about pride?). When they're not cutting through the powder, they're kayaking, motorcrossing, blading, or dancing. It's not enough to enjoy a pleasant walk. If you're not clocking at least 5 mph, you could be left in the dust.

Somewhere there's a guy sitting around and smoking who is just right for me, only we'll never meet, because he'll never get off his ass.

My Pride is All I Have

Thanks to "Jenny from the Block," I know that I'm not the only one with pride on her mind. What is the value of self integrity? Which games will I condescend to play and for what stakes? How often must I bite my tongue and where might I have to stick it?

Over the years I've had bosses order me to I clean mountain lion fur off of velvet, taste mysterious salads to determine their meat content, and most recently, smell a room to see if anyone can tell that students were snacking in it. But work will always be like that, even with promotions and advanced degrees. I've seen a middle aged gruff CFO haul ass like teenage cadet at the word that his boss was approaching. For me, the most complicated self-integrity questions are personal.

I found that I am not willing to honor a strange man's request for a picture of my legs, but I am willing to pay $24.99 a month* for the chance to correspond with men like him via cloaked email.

Now I am deciding how much of my pride to ditch so that I can see Thing 1 and Thing 2 in spite of their parents' pride. There are a lot of little boys running around, but ones to love are hard to come by.

*cheaper if you order more months

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Queen in Training


In spite of the agita, it's better to be on top. And perhaps someday I will get paid to have responsibility and authority.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

Becoming a Gentle Breeze

Remember, Admins. Some people are very special. You can't ask them to fill out the same forms everyone else fills out, because these people are deep, complicated, and above all, sensitive. When your boss boss "tasks" you with gathering information from many very special people and they turn up their noses at your petty forms --the forms that you in your small mindedness worked so hard to make simple yet flexible--
you can only chuckle to yourself, "Oh, those eccentric intellectuals!" You certainly don't call them nasty names out loud in front of the impressionable student workers. You would never, never imagine the swift sweet landing of your foot against their very special, sensitive butts.

No, you become that steady stream of water that polishes the stone, the firm but gentle breeze that trains the gnarled oak.

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Think Globally, Act A-holely

This onion sample goes out to my fellow administrative assistants out there, wherever the progressives you support may go astray.

Monday, July 26, 2004

Stuff That Actually Happened

Last Friday, I forgot that one drink at Judy's bar equals two drinks anywhere else, so I got pretty tanked waiting for Melba, Sage and her main squeeze to arrive for dinner. I hope I didn't alarm my companions with my geeky tipsy chatter. I ate walu for the first time.


On Saturday, my butt got numb while a beautiful blue haired lady did this to my head. The coils are still kind of tight for my taste, but they should puff out a bit. Next time I will do this to my own head and save some cash.

Sunday ended with a fine improv show in Bryn Mawr. We had special guests, Rare Bird Show, who are powerful amusing. There's nothing like bringing quality entertainment to the public. For a while, it looked like it was going to be just me and the boys, and that's okay.  I may not have read any old school comic books, I may never see Nudist Colony of the Dead, and I will not jump up and down with them when they start simultaneously stroking their little imaginary guitars; but the boys and I get along just fine.  Still, it was great when our little blonde spitfire arrived in time for a farewell performance. Sniff. Now that she's completed college and bartending school, she'll be off to Chicago, the improv comedy capital of the the world, to take her shot at stardom. Ah. To be 22 and ballsy. To have high boobs and high metabolism.

Climbing out of the Internet Hole

Middle school brain will tell me to use words like "thingy" and "that doodad" when referring to technical and mechanical equipment, because we wouldn't want anyone to know that we know anything technical, would we?  We wouldn't want to offend someone who didn't know the proper term. We wouldn't want to challenge any experts. And most of all, we wouldn't want anyone to expect us to actually know more about a technical subject than we actually do. (Who are we? Middle school brain and me, that's who.) That explains why I sometimes find myself calling an ethernet port an internet hole.

Although many technical terms are designed to exclude people from trades, confound middle managers, cheat customers and --if you'll pardon the expression --"swing dick," I hope the word "thingy" never falls from my lips again.


Friday, July 23, 2004

The Pricking

Ever since I was a teen, I've noticed a that I get a strange sensation in my right thumb when things aren't quite right. This is the first time I have mentioned this to anyone, and I only do so now because I realize I'm not the only one who has had this experience.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

A Wonderful Horrible Idea


Gin and Tonics in the staff lounge vending machine.

Friendly Neighborhood Questions

Okay, so, Spider-Man 2 was a blast, but at times my disbelief was suspended on a very flimsy web.

I know better than to ask what's up with that fusion stuff, or why someone thought it was a good idea to have four robotic arms jacked into his spinal column, yet I wonder:

Is there an actual NY subway line that becomes an elevated train, ends near a body of water, and goes to Bay Ridge?

How does Doc Ock actually buy stuff with the money he steals?

How does Doc Ock tap into the power grid from a decrepit abandoned pier?





Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Reminder to myself for future reference

  • Many things I once enjoyed are still worth pursuing.
  • People don't suck all the time.
  • Nothing, not pain, not even anger, lasts forever.
  • I can only guess what goes on in other people's heads.
  • Nothing meaningful is self-evident.
  • There is strength in vulnerability.
  • People will hurt you for no good reason.
  • Though the bed and book are o so comfortable, there really is fun to be had outside.

P.S. Never ask a man who always wears shorts any remotely controversial questions.

Monday, July 19, 2004

I, the Jury...not!

Whew! Once again I have escaped from actually serving on a jury. I was summoned to appear in court this morning, the lady called my name and I and 32 others walked pre-school field trip style to city hall for civil trial jury selection. Whatever I said that made the lawyers look me over will remain a happy mystery. All the sitting and waiting at the Court of Common Pleas (Common Pleas? If they're going to use names like that, they should have to wear powdered wigs, too.) gave me time to enjoy McSweeney's Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales. The editor, Michael Chabon, boasts that all the tales have actual narratives. The narrative is a slippery little devil, at least in my greasy fingers. I find that in my life, stuff just happens, and not necessarily in order. Perhaps by reading the Thrilling Tales, I will learn what it takes to spin gripping yarns from wooly life experience.


Double Bus Dutch

I rode five, count them, five different buses this weekend. That took me dangerously close to by bus riding limit, but it was worth it. I, too, attended the annual BBQ in the Bronx, hosted by the lovely Quiconque and her small brown family. As usual, the mix of food, music and people was excellent. I met preservationists, martial artists, a new toddler (new to me) and even more librarians. I saw friends from my college days. To make it even better, Yoko was there. I love it when friendship circles do the Venn thing. Although no one got to take home any stray cats this year, the BBQ was a stone cold grove.

On Sunday, after gorging on free food and cable at the Quiconque compound, I bussed to Manhattan for dinner with an old friend from my days in the education department the American Museum of the Moving Image, the only museum I know that has an Urkel doll in its collection. This friend has moved on to much bigger and dare I say better museums.
 
The final bus ride home was remarkably quiet and odor free.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Well Done

I was sitting in a diner waiting for something when I overheard this guy tell the waitress, "I'd like my toast burnt--and I mean burnt." When the toast arrived, he said it was okay, even though it could have been blacker.

from the burnt food museum.

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

Summer of Sam's Club: Anything but Chocolate

After I learned to understand Aunt Liz's directions, I made it to Sam's Club, her favorite retail Mecca. My assignment was to purchase enough bulk items to fill her huge larder and restock her 2 fridges and the extra freezer unit in the garage. As I steered the blue barge-like shopping cart beneath the think plastic fringed gates and showed the greeter my aunt's membership card, my chest contracted and my belly glurged. It was almost like my first few minutes aboard submarine Becuna.

Like the City in Babe, a Pig in the City, where the World Trade Center, the Eiffel Tower and the Sydney Opera House occupy the same block, Sam's Club is a world of dreamlike juxtaposition. Radial tires alongside diapers. The Godfather DVDs next to crates of WD-40. Respectable middle aged women in walking shorts next to their sleazy t-shirt wearing daughters (I guess if let your kid wear a shirt that says "Slutz go down easy" it's your duty to escort her through public spaces). At first, Sam's Club appears to have everything you could ever want. Then you see that all they have is everything that most people want in containers that even fewer people can actually carry, only when most people want something, it's likely to run out. And that was what happened to every flavor of Ensure but the chocolate. Something is so horribly wrong with the Chocolate Ensure formula, not even people on limited diets will touch it. Chocolate is to Ensure what green is to lollipops.

Even without my uncle's Ensure, the black-eyed peas and the proper brand of condensed milk, I was gratefully welcomed back to Aunt Liz's. It felt great to be appreciated, even if it was only for the successful delivery of frozen breaded shrimp and enough paper towels to clean a small skyscraper.

Monday, July 12, 2004

Loads of Nodes

The old lymph nodes are tender. Colds always strike my neck. So no brilliant admin action today. No taking ownership of that pencil sharpener shavings tray that needs emptying. No new brilliant paper clip distrubution system. No electronic nagging my superiors to do things that my boss boss asked me to ask them to do. I did come into the office to put an "I am out" message on my email, return some overdue reserve movies (I finally saw The Seachers and The Bicycle Theif so I get bonus points with the big Film Geek in the sky), but now it's raining like a mofo. So I'm stuck. Guess I'll cab it back to the house.

Keep your glands dry!

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

I'll Flip Ya

Today my boss boss praised me for ordering flip chart stands. "Way to take ownership of that situation."

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

Operation Get Ass Out of Door

In the never ending quest to get my nautical geek on, I visited the submarine Becuna at the Independence Seaport Museum on Saturday. I was the only single lady visitor on board. Surprise. No, I wasn't looking for love on a submarine. Much like being the only girl in the rocket club or improv group, being the only available chick in the place was nothing to get excited about. In fact, my female presence seemed to scare the hell out of one cluster of geek guys inspecting the Becuna's innards. The poor things thought they'd found the one place outside of their basements that was girl-free. Ha!

Part of the joy of 20th century history tourism is meeting some of the actual players. Look, ma, real World War II Vets! Can I pet them? Some Walter Matthau looking guy showed me the periscope and I got to ask another wiry little WWII Navy veteran brilliant questions like "What did you eat on the submarine? Dried foods?" and "Did you get enough exercise? (never mind the global war raging around you)?". There's always a extra expert in any tour group, in this case a younger veteran who was with is wife, of course, who has to talk as much as the official docents. I wanted to say look, I'm here to listen to the really old guy, so shut up.

I felt a bit old myself as a little girl asked her dad, "Was this submarine in World War II and The Cold War?" I know that Berlin wall falling isn't news, but when something spans the first 2 decades of your life, it's hard to let go.

I honored the submarine vets with my ability to make a simple exit into a potential I Love Lucy routine. As I was climbing out of the conning tower, my foot got stuck in the hatch. With one foot tenuously planted on the deck, the other still in the tower and my left leg balanced oh so gracefully perpendicular to the deck, I had to resist the urge (yes, I have these urges) to lose my balance completely and fall over the railing chain and into the river. "You're gonna break your leg!" called out the wiry sub vet. Just doing my part to entertain the troops.

Friday, July 02, 2004

Back Draft

Last night I heard a rumor that they are bringing back the draft. Snopes says probably nope.

Thursday, July 01, 2004

Structure

I've had a couple of sessions with the career coach provided by my employer, but I don't think this woman is willing to do what I need. It's not enough for someone to tell me, "think about these career options and see me in a month." She might as well say, think about these career options, then watch some movies, then rearrange your furniture, then contemplate the play of light and shadow on your ceiling. Will is not enough. I need structure, Weight Watchers structure. Maybe I'll ask my career coach if she knows of a program that would provide the kind of structure I'm looking for.

Flesh Machine

I wish I could just turn off certain parts of my brain, the ones that notice tedium, for instance, and grind through my work day like the efficient flesh machine of my bosses' dreams.

Some people believe that an administrative assistant should be like a smiling PDA, an extra brain that takes in all the stupid little details higher brains shouldn't be bothered with, synthesizes them, then acts on them with efficiency and grace.

Why, oh, why am I and administrative assistant?

One thing is, the really efficient, professional administrative assistants I have run into are not passive sponges who pliantly absorb any messy task put before them. They are careful screener and filers. They deflect as many tasks as they accept. They require their bosses to assign tasks in a certain order, at a specific time, and in a particular format. People sulk when they cut off stories about the best barbecue in the world or the cute thing the grandchild said. "Why can you just...(read my handwriting, fetch me a pencil, drop what you're doing now for me, listen to my travel adventure story that takes place somewhere you can never really afford to visit)?" People look down at these petty admins and their obsession with procedure and detail, but they should be respected.

I remind myself that I chose to be an administrative assistant and while I can't quit my job, there's no insurmountable barrier that prevents me from doing something else. That doesn't make me feel better yet, but it's true.