Foiled Once Again Thursday, Aug 30 2007

I’ve really been wanting a Blackberry for work, mostly because all the cool kids have them.  And I know it’s sort of habit-forming (they don’t call them Crackberries for nothing) but it also could really come in handy in my line of work.  My boss has one, but I’m firmly of the belief that the rest of us could use one.

So we have all this money to spend by the end of the fiscal year, because if you don’t spend it, it just goes away — POOF — just like that.  (That’s your federal gov’t for you — imagine if we told the president his personal bank account would be cleared out on 1 January and all his money would disappear into the atmosphere).  And I made the Blackberry suggestion, going with two pretty solid reasons, in my book — 1) We frequently end up using our personal cell phones for business and 2) It will give us access to our e-mail when we’re away from the office and don’t bring an office laptop with us.

But then, grrrr, my co-worker was all, “Maybe we just need one to keep around, in case any of us go away.”

So that’s the stupid plan — we purchase 3 new cell phones for business use (1 for each of us) and then ONE Blackberry that our IT people will have to change the profile on every time someone needs to use it.  I ask you, how dumb is that?  Why not just buy 3 freaking Blackberries that (duh) would function as cell phones and allow us access to e-mail ALL THE TIME and would not require getting some computer whiz to change every time someone needs one?

Mama wants a new toy, dammit.

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Two Years Ago Wednesday, Aug 29 2007

Two years ago Hurricane Katrina struck the Gulf Coast.  There’s been a lot of media coverage over the past few days and weeks of the storm and the aftermath and the progress that has been made.  I have never lived there and before the storm I had only visited New Orleans for a total of one day.  At the time, I did not know anyone that was personally affected by the destruction and devastation.

A year ago today I stood in the Lower 9th Ward, mere feet away from one of the levees that breached.  I saw foundations with no houses on top of them — they had been washed away.  I saw staircases that went nowhere.  I saw cars in trees.  The streets had been reduced to rubble.  For blocks and blocks, in what had been a vibrant neighborhood, there was no one there.  Reading about it was one thing, seeing it for myself was another.
Spending two months working in New Orleans changed my world.

Without saying too much, I work for one of the agencies that has shouldered a great deal of blame for what happened in New Orleans.   But thousands of people from this agency have also spent two years down there, working long hours, away from family and friends, doing everything we can to rebuild and make people as safe as possible.  It is so hard to read the very critical stories and watch the pundits try and place the blame.  I suppose it is a natural instinct to want a bad guy, someone to blame, but I do not believe there is anyone who would have wanted this to happen, who would have deliberately set this course of action into place, just as the terrorists did on 9/11.

I believe that Hurricane Katrina was a natural disaster, a horrible storm of epic proportions.  It was a confluence of meteorological events — low pressure and warm air and water vapor and currents — coming together at exactly the wrong moment.

And the results of that natural disaster, the mistakes and the miscalculations and the responses and the scars that have not healed, were a confluence of political and sociological and psychological and economic factors, all of which exploded together at the wrong moment in time.

More than a thousand people lost their lives, millions lost their homes and their livelihoods and their way of life.  A great deal of work has been done to try and bring New Orleans and the Gulf Coast back.  Much, much more work is to be done.

Can New Orleans be saved?  I don’t know, and I don’t think anyone has the answer.  It will take a long time and many, many more resources than they have now.

Here is what I do know.  I was in the 9th Ward a year later and although I didn’t take one picture, I will always remember  what I saw.   But there is another image from the one-year anniversary of Katrina that gave me hope, not despair.  A few hours later I was sitting in a restaurant on St. Charles Ave., having a late lunch with some co-workers.  Suddenly we heard a bell from one of New Orleans’ trolleys.  The trolley line on St. Charles hadn’t been operational since the storm but on that day, that horrible anniversary, they had hooked a trolley up and were using a truck to tow it up and down the line, the bell ringing all the way.

You could feel the excitement in the restaurant — there were cheers and smiles and laughter and applause.  To me, that trolley represented New Orleans and its people.   They may need a truck to tow them along for a long time, but they will be there, as loud and noisy and colorful as they have ever been and making their presence known.  And someday I’m going to go back to that city and ride that St. Charles line and be grateful for everything that New Orleans has given us.

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The Trip From Hell Tuesday, Aug 28 2007

When last I wrote here, I was preparing to embark upon a business trip to Nashville. Remember, I was all, “I love traveling. I just love it. I love road trips and I love flying and I love hotels. I even love airports.”

F*CK THAT NOISE. This was, honest to god, the trip from hell. (The conference was awesome — it was just the getting to and from that nearly killed me.)

Okay, here’s what my itinerary should have been:

Monday A.M. — ORF to Dulles, Dulles to Nashville, arriving mid-afternoon.

Friday P.M. — Nashville to Dulles (leaving at 6:05 p.m., so I had time to play tourist), Dulles to ORF, arriving around 11 p.m.

Here is how things actually worked out:

Monday A.M. — Flight to Dulles took off late for NO REAL REASON, or at least no reason they choose to explain to us. When I arrived in Dulles, I learned that my flight to Nashville had been cancelled. Shit. So I spent a half-hour in line at Customer Service and here’s what they worked out: I would take a taxi (which they paid for) to Reagan National, to get a flight on a different airline to Nashville. Oh, and if I waited around for my luggage, I wouldn’t make the flight.

So I dashed through Dulles, jumped in the taxi, took the 30-minute trip, stood in line for a boarding pass, stood in line for security and wolfed down a Cinnabon before boarding my plane. It was very Amazing Race.
To make a long story very short, my luggage did not arrive at my hotel until TUESDAY EVENING, like, more than 24 hours after I arrived. It was awful. I never think to carry-on any extra clothing or anything, which I certainly will be from now on.

Okay, now Friday. I had spent all day bumming around Nashville in the bazillion degree heat (which was fun, even if I was by myself) and I was ready to go home.

Checked in at the airport in Nashville. They told me that my flight was delayed (natch), but I should still make my connecting flight. Then the flight was delayed some more. And some more. Again, for NO APPARENT REASON and they didn’t feel like telling us a damn thing. (HAAAATE United Airlines. HAAAAATE.)

Sure enough, by the time my flight landed in Dulles, I had missed my connecting flight home. Bitches. So I stood in line again at the Customer Service counter with a lot of very angry people who’s flights had also been canceled or missed or whatever. This time I waited for an hour. At 10:30 at night.

Finally I got to the hapless agent. The first flight they could guarantee me a seat on was on Saturday afternoon. Bitches. The only thing I had going for me was that the reason I had missed my flight (even though they never told us the reason) made me eligible for compensation, i.e. hotel room, taxi, breakfast, etc. I got seriously lucky, y’all, and it could have been a lot worse.

The only hotel room they could give me was in Crystal City, which is a good half-hour away from Dulles. By the time I checked in it was almost 1 a.m. I had gotten myself on a standby list for the first flight out, so I had to have a taxi come pick me up at 6:30. Sigh. At least this time I had been smart enough to take a change of clothes and a few necessary toiletries in my carry-on bag.

Got back to the airport the next morning and by the grace of god, somehow got on that first a.m. flight standby. I have no clue how that happened, because a bunch of standby passengers got on, so some connecting flight must not have arrived. Whatever. I got home, eventually.

This experience was, like, the third time this summer I have had airline flights seriously screwed the hell up. They generally blame it on weather, so either we’re approaching the end of times, or else “weather” is code for, “yeah, we’re overbooked and understaffed and barely break even every month unless we run our airlines in this slipshod manner.”

And I had spent most of the week in Nashville hanging out with my buddy Todd, who I worked with in NOLA last summer, and I caught his cold. I’ve been sick as a dog since I got back. All the muscles in my chest and back are killing me from coughing up a lung for the past four days.

I don’t have any upcoming trips, as far as a I know, which is a good thing — I’m not sure I’m ready to deal with airports and planes for a while.

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Leavin’ on a Jet Plane Sunday, Aug 19 2007

I really don’t get to travel much for work.  Well, except for the fact that the past two summers have found me spending several weeks away from home for work-related things, but those are sort of the exception rather than the norm.  Usually it’s just a conference a year or something.

Tomorrow I’m leaving for a week-long conference in Nashville.  I’m stupid excited about getting the chance to go this thing.  It’ll be a chance to meet my counterparts from our districts and divisions all over the country, and network, and maybe get a few job leads.  Plus lots of awesome training, hopefully getting to see a few folks I’ve met before and, you know, a week in which I won’t have to do any real work!  And my boss was kind of nice to decide that instead of him going, he would send me instead, since I had been “working so hard” and I had “earned it.”

Of course, as usual, I have over-packed to the 10th power.   I have absolutely no clue what people are going to be wearing all week, so I have prepared for any eventuality.

I love traveling.  I just love it.  I love road trips and I love flying and I love hotels.  I even love airports.  I think it has to do with moving so often as a kid, and living overseas a lot of the time.  It’s wanderlust, I guess.  Traveling is in my blood.

I’ll be back next weekend…hope everyone is enjoying the last couple weeks of summer!

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On Writing Friday, Aug 17 2007

The reason one writes isn’t the fact he wants to say something.  He writes because he has something to say.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

I have been a writer ever since I can remember.  I tend to think people are either born writers, or they’re not.  If you are not a born writer, someday you may be a very good imitation of one, but writing will never be your natural instinct.

I have always been a reader, and have always had a very active imagination, and I think those two things had a lot to do with why I am a writer.  The first story I really remember writing was in 2nd grade, for a story competition — it was about a girl who has a very vivid dream one night that she woke up and was a teacher.  My mom saved a copy of the book and even now I think it was a pretty advanced story for a 7-year-old.

In middle school I would dictate my stories into my purple boombox, and by high school I was writing them on the computer.  I had a friend that was also a writer, and we would read each other’s stories.  Most of mine were in a similar vein to those I read — typical high-school Young Adult romance types of stories, about the girl that I wanted to be but wasn’t. 

While I kept writing fiction, in college I also found journalism.  I quickly grew tired of the formulaic news stories that I had to write, both for my classes and for the college newspaper, but I did enjoy editorials, columns, reviews, feature writing — you know, the fun, creative stuff.  I knew that I didn’t enjoy journalism enough to make a career out of it, but over the past 8 years my various jobs in PR have given me plenty to write. 

And I’ve kept writing fiction too, almost all of which I have never shared with anyone.  I have submitted a couple of short fanfic pieces but that’s about it.  Most of it is unfinished and quite a bit of it hasn’t been touched.

For me, writing always begins with a character.  They are born out of a spark of an idea and I spend a lot of time figuring out who they are, what they do, what they look like, their background, their family, their personality traits.  I can hear their voices.

And then I am trapped, because I have to figure out what to do with them.  I need, you know, a plot.  An antagonist.  A climax.  A resolution.  Those things are always what trip me up, which is why I have many beginnings and almost no endings. 

Lately, I’ve had a pretty bad case of writer’s block, both in my professional and personal life.  At work, I feel like I’ve written the same things over and over.  At home, all the characters are still there but I’m not at all motivated to let them out to play.  It’s been a very dry spell.

I’ve been forcing myself to blog, just to write something, anything.  But someday I really want to produce more.  My dream is to write a book.  I signed up for NaNoWriMo last year and wrote…not one damn word.  (But I signed up!  And read the book about writing that the founder had written.  So that’s progress, maybe?)

So in short, I’ve just written about writing and being a writer and the fact that I haven’t been able to write much except the writing you see here.  Sorry about all that. 

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Hello, I’m a Spazz Thursday, Aug 16 2007

This morning I was very proud of myself, because I actually got up a few minutes after the alarm went off and got moving, rather than laying around for another 45 minutes.  And then I thought, “Hey, I’ll have enough time to stop at Starbucks and still be early for work!” 

So I sat at a stoplight about two blocks from my apartment building and suddenly became aware that several firetrucks and ambulances were speeding past me.  Because they were behind me, I couldn’t see quite where they were going. 

I had two thoughts:

I hope there’s not a fire at my apartment building again; and

Shit, I don’t think I turned off my iron!  (I iron my clothes every morning and the auto shut-off feature has just seemingly stopped working  and even if the dial is completely in the off position, sometimes it still stays warm all day.)

Suddenly I was convinced — CONVINCED — that my apartment was currently ablaze due to iron being left on. 

I had to take a bit of a wacky route back to the place, and by then my apartment building was clearly not on fire.  But I still parked out front, took the slow elevator up 8 flights, ran into my apartment to unplug the iron (which had been in the off position after all), took the slow elevator back down 8 floors and got back in the car.

And then I still went to Starbucks, not caring if I was going to be late to work or not!

 Other things I need to blog about:

The long, painful, honest conversation with The Boy last night that did not go well.

My “fake” brother and the fact that I’m pretty sure he’s a compulsive liar, or at least a chronic over-exaggerator.  And also annoying. 

Writer’s Block. 

And a piece of good news — Baby M is home from the hospital, all 4 lbs., 10 oz. of her!  It’s so weird to remember that she wasn’t even supposed to be born until another whole 4 weeks from now. 

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Something I Don’t Get Tuesday, Aug 14 2007

Okay, y’all, I really have a serious question here…

Very, very often you will hear about some celebrity couple who has just become parents, or who are expecting, that are not married.  I’m not talking about the not married couples that have been together for years and years (like Goldie and Kurt), I’m talking about Actor and Actress or Actress and Musician or Actor and Model or whoever, that maybe have dated for a few weeks or months or maybe a year or so and are now pregnant.

So my question is this — did they plan the pregnancy, or did it just happen?  Do they not understand how birth control works in Hollywood?  Do they just not feel like they need to get married?  Is marriage too old-fashioned? 

I mean, it just seems rampant among the famous.  I do know people that have gotten pregnant before marriage, but it was generally an accident.  And somehow I can’t believe that all of these Hollywood couples are having accidents, so they just don’t care about the whole idea of marriage??

Seriously, these are the things I think about sometimes.

Also something I don’t get — apparently I missed the memo that moved Angelina Jolie’s status from “weird Goth actress who was crazy enough to marry Billy Bob Thornton and wear a vial of his blood around her neck while maybe having a strange relationship with her brother” to “Saint.”  Was it all the adopting of ethnic children?  Was it upgrading from Billy Bob to Brad (while he was MARRIED)?  It just sort of baffles me…I woke up one morning and no one was scared of Angelina anymore.  They love her.  Whaaaat? 

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ohmigod Monday, Aug 13 2007

Why in the hay-ell does my moronic co-worker feel the need to SCREAM into the phone?  Is he not familiar with the technology?  The technology in which the phone amplifies his voice and transmits it across wires to a destination, no matter how far away.  It’s not 1912, you don’t have to scream into the little horn part on the wall!

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Just Another Manic Monday Monday, Aug 13 2007

Josh Lyman (a West Wing character I would totally have a crush on if he was a real person) once said, “”You know, I’m so sick of Congress I could vomit.”

Today I would like to amend that statement for my own personal use.

You know, I’m so sick of the media I could vomit.

I was a journalism major.  Some of my friends are real true journalists.  A lot of my job involves working with reporters and editors and producers.  Generally, I have a tremendous amount of respect for them and it’s really my favorite part of what I do.  I’m usually the one going, “They’re not that bad.  Most of them are just trying to tell a story with no agenda.”

And then I have mornings like these, when I look at the front page of the paper and think…”I’m so sick of the media I could vomit.” 

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The Cool Aunt Thursday, Aug 9 2007

In the past few years I’ve taken on a new role in life, one that I completely enjoy — that of the “cool aunt.”  As both my brothers are younger than I am, and are (as of yet) single and childless, technically I’m not an aunt at all.  But I like to think of myself as the cool aunt/godmother/general all-around awesome person in the lives of my friends’ kids.

I’ve mentioned before that watching my friends become mothers has been amazing.  First it was my friend B, who’s daughter Lil’ A was born 6 years ago.  Then my best friend T had her two kids, and now my friend M is the latest to join the mommy club.  It’s been kind of tough, too, to be one of the kidless ones, but seriously the good outweighs the not-so-good.

I think my best friend T’s journey into motherhood was the one that was most significant for me.  After all, we’ve known each other since we were 15.  I knew her before she met her husband.  I was her maid of honor at her wedding.  I knew that she and the mister were trying to start a family and I was one of the first people she told when she found out she was pregnant.  I shrieked with joy when she told me it was a girl and organized a baby shower and started counting down the days to her arrival. 

And then the Divine Miss M (one of our nicknames for her) arrived and suddenly there she was — a whole new person.  She turns 2 on Sunday, and I can’t believe how she’s grown and changed.  She has a personality.  She has her own thoughts and opinions and mannerisms.  I look at very early photos of her and can’t belive who she has become.  I hope that I will always be in her life, cheering her on at every milestone, listening to her drama, just being there for her in a different way than her parents.

T’s first baby wasn’t even a year old yet when she got pregnant again.  When she found out the baby was a boy, I was a tad disappointed — the Divine Miss M was so much fun and I liked picking out cute pink outfits and girly presents, which she never liked anyway.  When Master J (nickname we have for her son) was born, I think we all kind of thought he would be like the first one.

But it hasn’t been.  To my surprise, my relationship and bond with him may even be stronger.  He’s at that great giggly smiley stage now, and I can make him laugh like nobody else.  He’s just an absolute sweetheart and I fall to pieces every time he gives me one of his crooked grins.  Soon he’ll be crawling and walking and chubby baby thighs will turn into lean toddler legs but I hope he never loses that adorable nature.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I start spoiling my friends’ kids the minute I know about their existance.  I looove to baby shop and the kids in my life have received lots of clothing and toys.  But I’ll also change diapers and babysit and push the big-ass double stroller up a hill and be spit up upon and help give baths and read bedtime stories and retrieve pacifiers that have been spit out for the 756th time. 

Hopefully someday I’ll have my own kids, and clearly my love for them will be immense and fierce.  For now, I’m the cool aunt and I love it. 

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