Life in the Slow Lane

If you plan to make idle conversation with your co-worker about data-entry while you type away, it would be a good idea to make sure that the Queen of Data-Entry Relations has not chosen just that minute to walk by.

Over the last several days, I have had multiple opportunities to peruse classified ads for rooms available for rent. If you have had any experience with this sort of thing, you probably are not surprised to know that I come away with a renewed appreciation for what I have. Alongside the down-right disturbing (it is alarming how many people have decided that it is easier to advertise an empty room than to go through the hassle of personal ads), are the frustrating (if you go through the trouble of advertising a room, why not take the extra 30 seconds to give details like cost, or location, or size of room, or how to be contacted?), and the depressing (one room for $1000 a month plus utilities?). But over and over I am puzzled by the qualification "looking for someone clean but fun" or "looking for someone with a sense of humor but tidy". Has the entire world decided that those two things don't go together? Sadly, reading through these classifieds puts my sense ...

Today I was going to treat you all to some rather awesome pictures, but for some reason, Target's photo people messed up my photos again , and so you will all have to wait to be inspired. So I thought I would complain about matchmakers instead. First, let me confess that I have, at one time or another (or a lot more than that, too), contemplated matchmaking. I think there are several appealing things about being a matchmaker. For anyone who has even a small toe worth of romantic inclination, there is something magical about the process of two average people becoming absolutely non-average to each other. And, of course, if you manage to be a part of introducing them, you get your fifteen seconds of fame every time the smitten couple shares their "How we met story" for the next seventy-five years. But I think there are other things at work in matchmaking. I imagine the satisfaction that is to be had over pairing slacks with a snazzy shirt is just a faint shadow of the s...

Anything that gets a lot of attention has at least one unauthorized version. At my desk on the corner of Main Thoroughfare and Bathroom Hallway, I am slowly developing the grand tour "The Unauthorized Version." That way, while people hang out at my desk waiting for their traveling companion to exit the restroom (How awkward is that?) I can entertain them with strange but true facts. Of course, some may not find the mysteriously vanishing "Exit" sign entertaining. And others may not appreciate the eerie resemblance the main architectural feature has to a coffin. Still others may find it down right dull to hear what methods we use to outsmart the light sensors (flying kleenex boxes, anyone?). But you've got to be intrigued when you can hear conversations on the floor below you better than the person on the other side of the elbow-high wall. And who could turn away from the tale of the construction worker who was seen every day for two weeks, wearing the same ...

Sometimes I feel as if I am standing on the edge of a great cliff, trying to say something profound. From my precarious position I look out across the expanse of wilderness as it merges with civilization. I see roaring rivers and myriads of trees moving to music just beyond my range of hearing. I see the endless criss -crossing of roads, the confusing tangle of asphalt. I stand at the edge, and I make my mouth open as if to speak, but the valley is too big, the words disappear before they are formed. And dejected, I look down. Down to where my feet touch the earth. Ah, the ant. Perhaps my words will come nearer to giving justice to the ant than they can for the valley. And so I speak of the ant and hope, one day, to speak of the valley.

Why does style not mesh with gemütlich ? The closest they managed to get today was when my cozy-clad knee smacked right into the corner of the ultra-modern coffee table.

I'm taking the Random-Yellow-Card-Question Challenge . If you were lost in an unfamiliar city, what would you do? There have been many times that I have been lost in an unfamiliar city. Back when my move to Los Angeles coincided with me learning to drive, I spent hours upon hours being lost. Usually it had something to do with me turning East into the setting sun or getting directions for approaching from the North and then needing to come from the South instead and not flipping all of the turns. But as scary as it may be to be lost in Lost Angeles, I remember being more afraid when I got lost in Brussels. I was tagging along with my friend on a school field trip to a concentration camp ( Breendonk ) and on the way back we stopped to do what everyone wants to do after spending time thinking about man's inhumanity to man: shop. My friend and I had no Belgian currency (before the days of the Euro) nor did we really see anything worth looking at in the closest mall, so we se...

Dear Gentle Readers, Earlier I wrote about the sometimes exceedingly frustrating bother of trying to figure out a person's name. Since that time I have often thought to myself, while guessing at someone's given name, "Wow. This is so hard. I should write a blog post about it." And then I remember that I already have. But today I would like to address another question. Frequently when someone is asking a question in the great wide world web, they do not sign their question with their given name. They become "DR" or " tinkerbell 16" or "Bro Smith" or "Sleepless in Atlanta" or "P. Johnson" or absolutely no name at all. Now the whole point about writing personalized letters is to make them personal and yet be professional. It is ever so hard to do so when you begin with "Dear Mr./Mrs./Miss/Ms. Johnson" or "Dear tinkerbell " or "Dear Brother" or, simply, "Dear Friend." The wor...

In my field of work, person first language is a must. You ask: What is person first language? I answer: Person first language requires that you first refer to the individual and then include what it is you wish to describe about that person. For instance, instead of saying "The brown-eyed girl" you would say "the girl who is brown-eyed" and "the oldest child" becomes "the child that is oldest". Now we all remember being taught about changing word order to emphasize something, for instance that it is a girl that is brown-eyed and not a boy, but the writer in me cringes that every sentence must clang out the same way. And then I wonder what would happen if we carried this language change to phrases that do not refer to people: instead "the shaggy dog" you would say "the dog that is shaggy" instead of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" it would be "The Wedding that is Big, Fat, and Mine" instead of "Life in the ...

On the top of the first page of the LA Times that I received yesterday, was the following headline: CROWD CONTROL Pop Culture Bends to Fans Next week I expect to hear something equally brilliant like "Light proves helpful in illumination."

Our new offices were designed with the minimalist in mind. Lots of stark lines and open space. For the next three weekends there are large groups of people-to-be-pleased coming through, and we are supposed to do everything in our power to not have anything that detracts from the architectural design of the building. That means I can't have my Australian calendar filled with Aborigine art nor my Colombian, Laotian, Chinese, Brazilian, Bolivian, or Pakistani decor, because (in case you weren't aware) it does not have the same stark modern feel. That also means that we have to rent a U-Haul to park in back to stash the boxes and boxes of things that would go on shelves, if those shelves fit the minimalist design. That means that my snazzy foot stool that is the envy of the workplace is squeezed in my file drawer with my Spanish dictionaries, reference books, and box of Kleenex. I think that perhaps for the rest of the month, whenever anyone asks me to do anything I will simply sa...

In case you were unaware, I do not work for a dating service. I'd like to take the time to point this out a second time: I do not work for a dating service. Now perhaps you are of the blessed group of people who have known this all along, but you would be surprised at the number of people who don't realize this. "I would like to find a female between the ages of 18-32 to be a pen friend and possibly more." Hm... maybe if you weren't serving time in prison , you might have better success with the ladies. or "I would like to write you so that we can exchange letters and love and photos and names and so that you can help me get my visa." That's a winning proposal. or "How long should I wait for Ms. Right?" Isn't the whole point of a Ms. Right that you wait for her until she shows up? I know, I know. I have no sympathy. It's a good thing I don't work for a dating service.

A day's worth of mail can vary greatly from day to day. Today mostly questions I can forward to another department to answer, tomorrow questions about the meaning of life and an introduction to some new, bizarre health treatment with disgusting side-effects, described in more detail than necessary. When you are confronted with such a letter, one that stretches for pages and pages or one that in a matter of two sentences makes you want to sneak it on to your neighbor's desk, there must be some way to make the letter less intimidating. And that thing is cover sheeting. Cover sheeting is a fancy word that really just means "find the person's name and contact information and main reason for writing". Cover sheeting is imposing your own organization onto someone else's free expression. Now admittedly, that doesn't help much when the person is convinced that your NPO must have it's own private jet, but it accomplishes wonders in many other headaches. A...

I once watched a movie where I spent the majority of the movie thinking "This is such a dumb movie. No one really behaves like this." I have since been proven wrong. But today, oh today, I was told a story that made me wonder if the person still thought it was April 1 and could slide a whopper of a tale by me. During the reminiscing after a funeral, one of the bereaved suggested that they might get a tattoo to remember the deceased by. The 75 year old widow thought that it was a lovely tribute and prompted every one to think of what tattoo would be most meaningful. And then, with the matriarch going first, all of the women in the family flooded a tattoo parlor and went under the needle. Maybe I am just woefully ignorant, but does stuff like this really happen? or should I keep an eye out for when the peel-and-stick tattoo wears off?