I've been daydreaming a lot about vacations lately, because for the first time in my life, I've really started to need them. When it comes to going on one though, it's the really planning of them that I cherish. I really love the act of packing my maroon Chinatown Prada weekender bag and toting it around the city like I'm really somebody. It looks damn real, and when I have it with me it's the only time hardcore straight girly-girls eye me up and down with envy. Tonight, after work, I'm leaving for Lake George, NY. I'm excited about a little stress-free weekend vacation with my cousin and friend. We'll go swimming in the lake and probably go on our own little cruise, floating down a really lazy part of the Hudson River in an innertube, Corona-with-lime in-hand.
I was perfectly buzzing from the anticipation of this mini-break by the time I got to work today. I sat down with my joe, logged in to my computer, and intended to give my personal email account a quick check, and there it was sitting in my inbox--The email that every young, financially-challenged lesbian both detests and savors: The Olivia Cruise Newsletter.
I wish I could afford an Oliva Cruise. Not too long ago, I made the big mistake of registering to win a trip for two on an Olivia Cruise with every email address I have--You know, to increase my chances of winning. Not only did I NOT win a fabulous lesbian cruise for two with performances by the Indigo Girls and Melissa Etheridge and with all meals catered by hot, hot, HOT Celesbian Chef Cat Cora, but I'm reminded of the fact that I can't afford an Olivia Cruise with each of the monthly newsletters that now arrive to, you guessed it, every email address I have. Also, every month, a brochure is sent to my home address containing full color, glossy pictures of power lesbians embracing poolside, tossing a beach ball, drinking a mojito, eating filet mignon, and smiling with their perfectly white, straight…teeth. Ohhh, it hoits! It hoits! The humanity!
I looooove lesbians, and I'm pretty certain I would love a cruise if I could ever manage to get myself onto one. But when an inside cabin on a Celebrity Cruise to Alaska runs for $799 and the same cabin on an Olivia Cruise can shake $2000 from your pockets, it really makes me wonder…Why should I be tempted to pay $1200 more to be surrounded by hundreds of rich, partnered women just to listen to the Indigo Girls play for 3 nights in a row? Props to the Girls, but lesbo, please…Everyone we know plays acoustic guitar. I just don't see why we can't all get uber-organized and say, "Okay, troops, here's the plan. We're gonna take over the Carnival Spirit to Alaska in October 2009! Everyone bring your guitars and your binoculars--That's right! We're going whale watching!" If we can take over Walt Disney World, certainly we can master a cruise ship, right?
I'm not clueless. I know there's a reason why this cruise exists, and I understand it. I'm even appreciative of it. Gay couples and families are not fully accepted by our friends in the Heartland, and we need a place where we can be as gay as we wanna be. Rosie's Big Gay Boat documentary really illustrated that well for us---Hundreds of gay families got the chance to go on a family cruise to the Carribbean, thanks to Rosie O'Donnell. The one sentiment the moms, dads, and precocious pre-teens kept expressing over and over again was that they were thankful to finally be on a vacation where they just dealt with normal vacation stuff: No one was judging them or shaming them.
It's cool. I get it. It just sucks that we have to pay that much more for it.
I guess my true point, my uncensored agenda, my deepest desire and aspiration is this: I would really, really like to be on a boat in the middle of the ocean with 500 good looking, single women.
Alaska '09, BABY.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
HR: The Paradox
There are roughly three kinds of artists in New York City.
1) Wildly successful artists.
2) Artists who work at restaurants.
3) Artists who work in offices.
I am an artist who works in an office. I am too much of a weenie to work in a restaurant. I have insanely strong arms, yet the thought of lifting a tray makes me want to go on strike.
I first started working in this law firm (the office from which I'm writing at this very moment) in November, 2002. It is now July, 2006, and it's been what we office artists commonly refer to as "a long fucking time." At first it was charming: I would get up early and get dressed up for work everyday and pretend to be somebody I wasn't-- Perhaps acting the role of a lifetime. It's a role I'm still playing, in fact, but on a much more angry, desperate level. Some might say "method."
My friends who were restaurant artists warned me I'd get too comfortable. They were right. I've gotten comfortable and brain dead as my office has become larger, colder, and more corporate. During the fake "you may speak freely" portion of my annual review this past June, I tried desperately to describe my strange, complex feelings about the office atmospheric change to our Regional HR Manager, a corporate robot woman I'll refer to as Motorola. My friend M came up with that because she's convinced she plugs herself into a wall at night to recharge. It's Motorola's job to peel the human face off every single one of the firm's offices on the east coast, and to assemble protocol for every possible question or problem ever to arise . And when a new problem pops up, she stores its resolution away in her little Motorola brain for safe-keeping, until she writes it down and it becomes the Word. Motorola is part of the firm's initiative to make this place a little more uniform-A little more homogenized. During my meeting, when I used the words "cold" and "corporate" in the same sentence, she tapped her pen on her chin and smiled a little--the first time during our 35 minutes together. She took the word "corporate" as a compliment, she said, and referred to it as a "new firm-wide initiative." She seemed to be filled with pride that that I'd even mentioned the word. Even a little touched.
To me, the term "Human Resources" is a joke. When you call HR in this office, it's a process not unlike being on hold with Dell Tech Support then being transferred to some guy in Bombay who trouble shoots your problem by reading from a "choose your own ending" script.
Every time I call with an issue, one of two things happens: The initial response is "Can you email your question to me?" Email you? I've got you on the phone right now. Why the fuck would I want to do that?
Then I may get a loud, punishing, indiscreet sigh followed by the shuffling of papers, the clicking of a keyboard, and the lightly-condescending recitation of a long piece of policy that's been hidden on some obscure page of the firm-wide intranet. There's a manual and an easy answer for everything in this place, and supposedly (if you can find it) it's all on the intranet---the go to for everything from vacation time to office discounts at the local tanning salon. I suspect that one day, companies will eliminate HR entirely and will replace it with the goddamn intranet. The way it's set up, I don't think they want to be bothered until you're ready to quit.
I am so ready for a face-to-face meeting.
1) Wildly successful artists.
2) Artists who work at restaurants.
3) Artists who work in offices.
I am an artist who works in an office. I am too much of a weenie to work in a restaurant. I have insanely strong arms, yet the thought of lifting a tray makes me want to go on strike.
I first started working in this law firm (the office from which I'm writing at this very moment) in November, 2002. It is now July, 2006, and it's been what we office artists commonly refer to as "a long fucking time." At first it was charming: I would get up early and get dressed up for work everyday and pretend to be somebody I wasn't-- Perhaps acting the role of a lifetime. It's a role I'm still playing, in fact, but on a much more angry, desperate level. Some might say "method."
My friends who were restaurant artists warned me I'd get too comfortable. They were right. I've gotten comfortable and brain dead as my office has become larger, colder, and more corporate. During the fake "you may speak freely" portion of my annual review this past June, I tried desperately to describe my strange, complex feelings about the office atmospheric change to our Regional HR Manager, a corporate robot woman I'll refer to as Motorola. My friend M came up with that because she's convinced she plugs herself into a wall at night to recharge. It's Motorola's job to peel the human face off every single one of the firm's offices on the east coast, and to assemble protocol for every possible question or problem ever to arise . And when a new problem pops up, she stores its resolution away in her little Motorola brain for safe-keeping, until she writes it down and it becomes the Word. Motorola is part of the firm's initiative to make this place a little more uniform-A little more homogenized. During my meeting, when I used the words "cold" and "corporate" in the same sentence, she tapped her pen on her chin and smiled a little--the first time during our 35 minutes together. She took the word "corporate" as a compliment, she said, and referred to it as a "new firm-wide initiative." She seemed to be filled with pride that that I'd even mentioned the word. Even a little touched.
To me, the term "Human Resources" is a joke. When you call HR in this office, it's a process not unlike being on hold with Dell Tech Support then being transferred to some guy in Bombay who trouble shoots your problem by reading from a "choose your own ending" script.
Every time I call with an issue, one of two things happens: The initial response is "Can you email your question to me?" Email you? I've got you on the phone right now. Why the fuck would I want to do that?
Then I may get a loud, punishing, indiscreet sigh followed by the shuffling of papers, the clicking of a keyboard, and the lightly-condescending recitation of a long piece of policy that's been hidden on some obscure page of the firm-wide intranet. There's a manual and an easy answer for everything in this place, and supposedly (if you can find it) it's all on the intranet---the go to for everything from vacation time to office discounts at the local tanning salon. I suspect that one day, companies will eliminate HR entirely and will replace it with the goddamn intranet. The way it's set up, I don't think they want to be bothered until you're ready to quit.
I am so ready for a face-to-face meeting.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Ack! You punk! Sure!
I have some pretty severe lower back pain for somebody in their 20's. I've tried chiropractors, but it doesn't seem to do anything. Working out helps for a couple of hours but it always stiffens up at night again. Waking up in the morning is when my back is the worst. I think of it as my own personal spin on morning wood, with no hope of release.
Yesterday, out of sheer desperation for something a little more invasive, I decided to try acupuncture. A friend of mine is in her 2nd semester at a school of eastern medicine here in the city. She can get me a discount on treatments, and a few of our friends have had some great results, eliminating everything from stress to the runs.
I arrived at the school early to fill out the required paperwork, which was the most detailed questionairre I'd ever been handed. Silly email quizzes have nothing on this guy, and I'm not actually sure I even knew all of these facts about myself.
I sat in the waiting room for a while. It was a decent waiting room. There were a few plants in the corners and the latest issue of New York Magazine was in the racks. There were patients of all ages there. One of them was an older woman of about 70 who stood-I'm not kidding-at a nintety degree angle. I realized that if I didn't take care of this problem now, that would undoubtedly be me in 40 years. She was taken back to the treatment rooms, and I resumed my people watching. A really tense woman sat across from me, obsessively text messaging. Another woman sat reading Highlights Magazine. I thought it was strange that Highlights Magazine was stil being published and was in this particular waiting room, but was glad for the familiarity of the cover.
Also in the waiting room was a great big window looking into what I'm going to call the herb room. In the herb room were shelves stacked to the ceiling with every kind of herb you could imagine. (All except one, I imagine.)Inside the herb room was a reserved, shy-looking girl working quietly and methodically. Her sole job, it seemed, was taking the herbs out of one huge glass jar, weighing them, and putting them into another glass jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. I drifted off to sleep watching this woman's repetitive work and was jolted awake by a harsh Russian voice saying my name. "Janey-fur?"
"Yes?"I said along with 2 other women named Janey-fur. Turns out, she needed crazy text lady.
They left and I returned my attention to the herb room, so that I could fall asleep again. I really was nervous about receiving acupuncture for the first time, but for some reason, when I'm afraid, my body shuts down completely. Most of the people I know become edgy and jumpy. I get sleepy and fetal.
This time, it was impossible to drift off, because a really beautiful yoga-bodied blond-whispied woman glided into the herb room. She posessed three very key items: a labcoat, a clipboard, and a really great haircut. Just one of those things is sexy, but if you're donning all three and happen to be attractive, then we have a problem. The problem is that you're still wearing the labcoat and on the other side of the room and we're still in a public place and neither of us are naked.
She was chatting on the other side of the window with one of her coworkers and laughing in what seemed to be slow motion underscored by Barry White.
Please don't let her be my intern. Pleeeease! I begged the universe.
"Jennifer?" I looked up. "Hi, Jennifer. I'm Ethel. It's nice to meet you." I shook hands with Ethel, a non-blond. She was around my age and had a very comforting smile. My nerves began to melt away.I was safe. Blonde Lady was still yukking it up in the herb room. She was indeed not my intern which meant that if I saw her on the street someday, she was fair game. I wouldn't do anything about it, but the contest was now fair and open to to me if I should one day like to participate: No Purchase Necessary.
"I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"No, I said. Not too long." Ethel began to walk to the treatment rooms and I took one last look into the herb room. She was gone. Oh, well, I thought, We have our whole lives to look at each other.
Ethel opened the door to the treatment room for me, and I was kicked in the figurative stomach. There was Blonde Lady getting the room ready for my appointment. Apparently, they were going to work on me together. Apparently we weren't getting married someday. And apparently, I would never see this woman without her labcoat.
Ethel hit me with a barrage of about 100 questions, regarding every bodily function you can imagine.
E: Do you sweat anywhere abnormal, Jennifer?
Me: I sweat under my eyes alot, I guess. What's abnormal?
E: Have you noticed a yellowish coloring in the armpit area of any of your white shirts?
Me: I thought that was deodorant.
E: It might be.
Blonde Lady: But it could be something else.
I froze. This was the first time she'd opened her mouth since the intoduction. My insticts were to keep this beautiful person talking--to engage her in intellectual conversation, but common sense told me that after we were done here, she wouldn't even want to look at me in the real world.
E: What about bowel movents?
Me: Ha, ha, ha! What about bowel movements? They happen. Ha, ha, ha!
I smiled at Blonde Lady. She returned the smile politely. Damn her boots were sexy.
E: How many times per day and when?
Me: Uhh, well. I- I go in the morning, I guess, and um-
Blonde Lady: (sotto butter voce) Jennifer, I know it's strange to talk about this, but really, it's all we talk about all day long. It's almost fascinating.
That was all I needed: Permission to fascinate. I'm going to spare you the details. It suffices to say that I have regular bowel movements, and B.L. now knows precisely how many times per day they happen and their color, texture, and consistency. (She inquired about the color, actually. My only conclusion is that she wants me. Bad.)
B.L. also knows the color of my tongue, noted concern about its slight yellowish coating, and marvelled at how wide it was. She knows when and what I eat, what time I go to bed, and when I use the steam room at the gym. She knows the regularity and duration of my menstrual cycle, and precisely, on a scale from one to ten, how much rage I exhibit while PMSing. Simply put: She knows more about me than anyone I've ever dated.
So why aren't we married? Oh, right. Labcoat.
After the interview was done, B.L. pressed on my abs a couple of times and determined I had some sort of deficiency in my spleen. Then I flipped over, and after a brief visit and consulation with their supervisor, B.L. and Ethel started sticking me with needles. There was a crazy electricity that took place each time a needle was flicked into my skin. It would sting for a second then the pain would slowly dull.
Here's the rundown:
The Treatment:
1 pin in each hip (slightly uncomfortable)
2 pins in each hand (really alarming)
2 pins in my lower back (a little pinchy)
1 pin in each foot (sweet jesus that smarts)
Outcome:
10 needles
20 minutes of silent, face-down-on-a-table meditation
8 fantasies about B.L.
None of these fantasies went all the way, however, because as far as fantasies go, I'm pretty unimaginative. They all took place in the treatment room. I realized as soon as we started making out that I still had needles in me and that was in no way sexy and in every way a logistical nightmare. I eventually gave up and started thinking about what I was going to make for dinner that night.
I couldn't even feel the needles as they pulled them out of me. The members of Team Intern were extremely quiet, careful, and gentle.
I'd made it! I'd officially survived my very first acupuncture treatment. I was so proud of myself for getting through it-For simply having tried something new.
Just as I was about to get up and dressed I felt two hands on my ass.
BL: Your glutes are really tense.
Me: Oh, really? Wow.
BL: Yeah. God, I'm really having to dig in here.
Me: Yeah, I can feel that.
Ethel: We're lucky enough to have a certified massage therapist in the room.
Me: Oh, neat.
BL: You're going to have to come back next week for some cupping.
This ass massage went on for about 20 minutes.
Now, I know what you're thinking, but I'm not really a dirty kid. I've had a number of massages before by a number of different people. I wasn't turned on while this was happening. More than anything, I found it difficult to relax around BL. Throw on the added layers of disrobing, talk of bowel movements, and ass rubbing, and it's an almost unbearable situation.
After the two interns left the room, I got up and took inventory of my usal pain. The tension in my hips was significantly lessened. My lower back wasn't seizing. My ass felt great!
I'll go back.
Stop it. Whatever you're thinking, that's not the reason.
Yesterday, out of sheer desperation for something a little more invasive, I decided to try acupuncture. A friend of mine is in her 2nd semester at a school of eastern medicine here in the city. She can get me a discount on treatments, and a few of our friends have had some great results, eliminating everything from stress to the runs.
I arrived at the school early to fill out the required paperwork, which was the most detailed questionairre I'd ever been handed. Silly email quizzes have nothing on this guy, and I'm not actually sure I even knew all of these facts about myself.
I sat in the waiting room for a while. It was a decent waiting room. There were a few plants in the corners and the latest issue of New York Magazine was in the racks. There were patients of all ages there. One of them was an older woman of about 70 who stood-I'm not kidding-at a nintety degree angle. I realized that if I didn't take care of this problem now, that would undoubtedly be me in 40 years. She was taken back to the treatment rooms, and I resumed my people watching. A really tense woman sat across from me, obsessively text messaging. Another woman sat reading Highlights Magazine. I thought it was strange that Highlights Magazine was stil being published and was in this particular waiting room, but was glad for the familiarity of the cover.
Also in the waiting room was a great big window looking into what I'm going to call the herb room. In the herb room were shelves stacked to the ceiling with every kind of herb you could imagine. (All except one, I imagine.)Inside the herb room was a reserved, shy-looking girl working quietly and methodically. Her sole job, it seemed, was taking the herbs out of one huge glass jar, weighing them, and putting them into another glass jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. Jar. Scale. Jar. I drifted off to sleep watching this woman's repetitive work and was jolted awake by a harsh Russian voice saying my name. "Janey-fur?"
"Yes?"I said along with 2 other women named Janey-fur. Turns out, she needed crazy text lady.
They left and I returned my attention to the herb room, so that I could fall asleep again. I really was nervous about receiving acupuncture for the first time, but for some reason, when I'm afraid, my body shuts down completely. Most of the people I know become edgy and jumpy. I get sleepy and fetal.
This time, it was impossible to drift off, because a really beautiful yoga-bodied blond-whispied woman glided into the herb room. She posessed three very key items: a labcoat, a clipboard, and a really great haircut. Just one of those things is sexy, but if you're donning all three and happen to be attractive, then we have a problem. The problem is that you're still wearing the labcoat and on the other side of the room and we're still in a public place and neither of us are naked.
She was chatting on the other side of the window with one of her coworkers and laughing in what seemed to be slow motion underscored by Barry White.
Please don't let her be my intern. Pleeeease! I begged the universe.
"Jennifer?" I looked up. "Hi, Jennifer. I'm Ethel. It's nice to meet you." I shook hands with Ethel, a non-blond. She was around my age and had a very comforting smile. My nerves began to melt away.I was safe. Blonde Lady was still yukking it up in the herb room. She was indeed not my intern which meant that if I saw her on the street someday, she was fair game. I wouldn't do anything about it, but the contest was now fair and open to to me if I should one day like to participate: No Purchase Necessary.
"I hope you haven't been waiting long."
"No, I said. Not too long." Ethel began to walk to the treatment rooms and I took one last look into the herb room. She was gone. Oh, well, I thought, We have our whole lives to look at each other.
Ethel opened the door to the treatment room for me, and I was kicked in the figurative stomach. There was Blonde Lady getting the room ready for my appointment. Apparently, they were going to work on me together. Apparently we weren't getting married someday. And apparently, I would never see this woman without her labcoat.
Ethel hit me with a barrage of about 100 questions, regarding every bodily function you can imagine.
E: Do you sweat anywhere abnormal, Jennifer?
Me: I sweat under my eyes alot, I guess. What's abnormal?
E: Have you noticed a yellowish coloring in the armpit area of any of your white shirts?
Me: I thought that was deodorant.
E: It might be.
Blonde Lady: But it could be something else.
I froze. This was the first time she'd opened her mouth since the intoduction. My insticts were to keep this beautiful person talking--to engage her in intellectual conversation, but common sense told me that after we were done here, she wouldn't even want to look at me in the real world.
E: What about bowel movents?
Me: Ha, ha, ha! What about bowel movements? They happen. Ha, ha, ha!
I smiled at Blonde Lady. She returned the smile politely. Damn her boots were sexy.
E: How many times per day and when?
Me: Uhh, well. I- I go in the morning, I guess, and um-
Blonde Lady: (sotto butter voce) Jennifer, I know it's strange to talk about this, but really, it's all we talk about all day long. It's almost fascinating.
That was all I needed: Permission to fascinate. I'm going to spare you the details. It suffices to say that I have regular bowel movements, and B.L. now knows precisely how many times per day they happen and their color, texture, and consistency. (She inquired about the color, actually. My only conclusion is that she wants me. Bad.)
B.L. also knows the color of my tongue, noted concern about its slight yellowish coating, and marvelled at how wide it was. She knows when and what I eat, what time I go to bed, and when I use the steam room at the gym. She knows the regularity and duration of my menstrual cycle, and precisely, on a scale from one to ten, how much rage I exhibit while PMSing. Simply put: She knows more about me than anyone I've ever dated.
So why aren't we married? Oh, right. Labcoat.
After the interview was done, B.L. pressed on my abs a couple of times and determined I had some sort of deficiency in my spleen. Then I flipped over, and after a brief visit and consulation with their supervisor, B.L. and Ethel started sticking me with needles. There was a crazy electricity that took place each time a needle was flicked into my skin. It would sting for a second then the pain would slowly dull.
Here's the rundown:
The Treatment:
1 pin in each hip (slightly uncomfortable)
2 pins in each hand (really alarming)
2 pins in my lower back (a little pinchy)
1 pin in each foot (sweet jesus that smarts)
Outcome:
10 needles
20 minutes of silent, face-down-on-a-table meditation
8 fantasies about B.L.
None of these fantasies went all the way, however, because as far as fantasies go, I'm pretty unimaginative. They all took place in the treatment room. I realized as soon as we started making out that I still had needles in me and that was in no way sexy and in every way a logistical nightmare. I eventually gave up and started thinking about what I was going to make for dinner that night.
I couldn't even feel the needles as they pulled them out of me. The members of Team Intern were extremely quiet, careful, and gentle.
I'd made it! I'd officially survived my very first acupuncture treatment. I was so proud of myself for getting through it-For simply having tried something new.
Just as I was about to get up and dressed I felt two hands on my ass.
BL: Your glutes are really tense.
Me: Oh, really? Wow.
BL: Yeah. God, I'm really having to dig in here.
Me: Yeah, I can feel that.
Ethel: We're lucky enough to have a certified massage therapist in the room.
Me: Oh, neat.
BL: You're going to have to come back next week for some cupping.
This ass massage went on for about 20 minutes.
Now, I know what you're thinking, but I'm not really a dirty kid. I've had a number of massages before by a number of different people. I wasn't turned on while this was happening. More than anything, I found it difficult to relax around BL. Throw on the added layers of disrobing, talk of bowel movements, and ass rubbing, and it's an almost unbearable situation.
After the two interns left the room, I got up and took inventory of my usal pain. The tension in my hips was significantly lessened. My lower back wasn't seizing. My ass felt great!
I'll go back.
Stop it. Whatever you're thinking, that's not the reason.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
I don't even think I have to editorialize this all that much, but I'll set it up for you.
Two years ago, the firm ordered a new Starbucks instant coffee maker. It is similar to the Flavia machines, in that it makes your coffee in less than a minute, but the blessed key difference is that it freshly-grinds the amount of beans needed for each individual cup of coffee. You simply pick the kind of beverage you would like (caf/decaf/half-caf/hot chocolate) and the size (tall/grande/coffee pot). It also introduced to us the grande wax paper cup---a luxury which we have grown very attached to. Recently, we, the worker bees, have noticed the disappearance of the grande cups and a number of complaints were sent to the guy in charge of ordering supplies. This was sent to the receptionists and butlers. (Yes. We have butlers.) He didn't even have the guts to send it to the NYALL distribution list.
To: NYButlers; NYRecep
Subject: Large Coffee Cups & Large Starbuck Option
Below is my "official" response for now in the event you want to forward on to anyone who inquires in my absence. Thanks.
In recent months we were asked to cut some costs in our coffee pantries. We worked closely with our coffee vendor to make some adjustments while being very careful not to change or take away too much that we've been come accustomed to. In addition to some behind the scenes savings on our rental equipment and brand changes on some pantry items, we've disengaged the large option on the Starbuck machine which eliminated the need for the over priced large 12 oz. coffee cup. Surprisingly enough these two adjustments alone save the Firm* a significant amount of money annually while we address the safety and service issues that go along with the change. I'm personally going to miss the large coffee option myself and would suggest going to a smaller cup or personal mug size while we monitor reaction this month. If it's just the large cup you're looking for, I would suggest, as I have for others, bringing in or purchasing a large plastic cup you're comfortable carrying from the pantry to your desk. As a reminder our Butler staff run the dishwashers in every pantry every night in the event you would like it washed when you leave for the day. If you have any questions please feel free to let me know. Thanks.
Joe X
I'm going to write an office musical called "Common Sense" and there's going to be a dream ballet between a grande paper cup and the character based on this guy. It will be raining pennies. If anyone would like to executive produce you can contact me via email, snail mail, phone, or by dry erase board. You may also verbally communicate with me face to face by opening your mouth and making sounds that form words. Or by American Sign Language. I will then respond to you in the same manner.
Keep breathing in and out.
Jenks, the person who wrote this blog entry.
*Note: "Firm" is capitalized like "God."
Two years ago, the firm ordered a new Starbucks instant coffee maker. It is similar to the Flavia machines, in that it makes your coffee in less than a minute, but the blessed key difference is that it freshly-grinds the amount of beans needed for each individual cup of coffee. You simply pick the kind of beverage you would like (caf/decaf/half-caf/hot chocolate) and the size (tall/grande/coffee pot). It also introduced to us the grande wax paper cup---a luxury which we have grown very attached to. Recently, we, the worker bees, have noticed the disappearance of the grande cups and a number of complaints were sent to the guy in charge of ordering supplies. This was sent to the receptionists and butlers. (Yes. We have butlers.) He didn't even have the guts to send it to the NYALL distribution list.
To: NYButlers; NYRecep
Subject: Large Coffee Cups & Large Starbuck Option
Below is my "official" response for now in the event you want to forward on to anyone who inquires in my absence. Thanks.
In recent months we were asked to cut some costs in our coffee pantries. We worked closely with our coffee vendor to make some adjustments while being very careful not to change or take away too much that we've been come accustomed to. In addition to some behind the scenes savings on our rental equipment and brand changes on some pantry items, we've disengaged the large option on the Starbuck machine which eliminated the need for the over priced large 12 oz. coffee cup. Surprisingly enough these two adjustments alone save the Firm* a significant amount of money annually while we address the safety and service issues that go along with the change. I'm personally going to miss the large coffee option myself and would suggest going to a smaller cup or personal mug size while we monitor reaction this month. If it's just the large cup you're looking for, I would suggest, as I have for others, bringing in or purchasing a large plastic cup you're comfortable carrying from the pantry to your desk. As a reminder our Butler staff run the dishwashers in every pantry every night in the event you would like it washed when you leave for the day. If you have any questions please feel free to let me know. Thanks.
Joe X
I'm going to write an office musical called "Common Sense" and there's going to be a dream ballet between a grande paper cup and the character based on this guy. It will be raining pennies. If anyone would like to executive produce you can contact me via email, snail mail, phone, or by dry erase board. You may also verbally communicate with me face to face by opening your mouth and making sounds that form words. Or by American Sign Language. I will then respond to you in the same manner.
Keep breathing in and out.
Jenks, the person who wrote this blog entry.
*Note: "Firm" is capitalized like "God."
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Rally, rally f#cked up.
I love New York. I do. I love the rush and the bustle and riding the subway, and I even love the smell of urine every once in a while on a hot day in Chinatown to remind me that we're all human beings and that some human beings drop trough on the sidewalk. I love the you're-okay-I'm-okay-just-as-long-as-you-don't-fuck-with-me attitude. People are real and honest and very, very blunt. Even if they're from a conservative Jewish or Italian Catholic family, you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who will evangelize to you about why living their way is the best way.
That's why I find it absolutely fucking ludicrous that last week, the New York State Court of Appeals ruled against gay marriage. The majority offered ridiculous arguments:
First, the Legislature could rationally decide that for the welfare of children, it is more important to promote stability, and to avoid instability, in opposite-sex than in same-sex relationships. Heterosexual intercourse has a natural tendency to lead to the birth of children; homosexual intercourse does not. Despite the advances of science, it remains true that the vast majority of children are born as a result of a sexual relationship between a man and a woman, and the Legislature could find that this will continue to be true. The Legislature could also find that such relationships are often too casual or temporary. It could find that an important function of marriage is to create more stability and permanence in the relationships that cause children to be born. It thus could choose to offer an inducement - in the form of marriage and its attendant benefits - to opposite-sex couples who make a solemn, long-term commitment to each other.
I just don't understand how this is an argument. Someone please break this down for me. Judge Robert Smith is saying 1) That boys and girls make babies, which we know, or if we don't know that, one of our mommies will soon tell us; and 2) That because boys and girls can make babies, they're more likely to stay together.
Here's a big surprise. Are you ready for this? He cites absolutely no scientific proof to validate this conclusion and furthermore fails to give props to the fact that when gay couples want children, they actually have to go great lengths to plan for them.
I know I don't have to bring up any divorce statistics for all of you, no matter what you believe, to see that the argument is weak. And to those of you reading my blog at are gay, can you please PLEASE let me know if you guys are great, big abusive, shiftless whores? PLEEEEASE. If you are, I'm afraid I just didn't get the memo.
The Legislature could rationally believe that it is better, other things being equal, for children to grow up with both a mother and a father. Intuition and experience suggest that a child benefits from having before his or her eyes, every day, living models of what both a man and a woman are like. It is obvious that there are exceptions to this general rule - some children who never know their fathers, or their mothers, do far better than some who grow up with parents of both sexes - but the Legislature could find that the general rule will usually hold.
Second verse, same as the first. Everyone knows that gender roles are a crock of shit anyway. Men play sports and bring home the bacon and do not under any circumstances cry. Women serve their men martinis, teach the girls how to do their hair, and are spendthrifts at the local mall. Again, he cites no scientific evidence.
The court's minority opinion differed in language and sentiment:
Simply put, fundamental rights are fundamental rights. They are not defined in terms of who is entitled to exercise them. The claim that marriage has always had a single and unalterable meaning is a plain distortion of history. In truth, the common understanding of "marriage" has changed dramatically over the centuries.
The state plainly has a legitimate interest in the welfare of children, but excluding same-sex couples from marriage in no way furthers this interest. In fact, it undermines it. Civil marriage provides tangible legal protections and economic benefits to married couples and their children, and tens of thousands of children are currently being raised by same-sex couples in New York. Depriving these children of the benefits and protections available to the children of opposite-sex couples is antithetical to their welfare.
Defendants primarily assert an interest in encouraging procreation within marriage. But while encouraging opposite-sex couples to marry before they have children is certainly a legitimate interest of the state, the exclusion of gay men and lesbians from marriage in no way furthers this interest. There are enough marriage licenses to go around for everyone.
Thank you, Judge Judith Kaye. By the way, does anyone else find it superbly-fitting that someone by the name of Judy Kaye is fighting for for gays? Sorry. Couldn't resist. Judy Kaye, the actress lives in Jersey, anyway.
There was a rally last night in several places all over New York State. I attended the NYC one at Sheridan Square, outside the Stonewall Inn. This is a historic site for gays everywhere, because it's where the gay rights movement was born.
A lot of great speakers were present offering reassurance, and the rally was both comforting an invigorating.
You can read an article about it here or here. Or see a slideshow here.
The overall urgent message of the evening was simple: WE (meaning ALL citizens) HAVE TO TAKE ACTION IN ORDER TO SECURE OUR RIGHTS.
In the past couple of years, the gay community has been beaten back a bit. I've noticed it in New York as a volunteer for Marriage Equality New York who organizes an annual march across the Brooklyn Bridge. Three years ago its attendance boasted 4,000 and this year it was down to a few hundred.
We've taken a backseat to our own fight and allowed organizations such as Lambda Legal, Empire State Pride Agenda, and the Human Rights Campaign to fight the fight for us. Thankfully, they've been up for it.
Now the fight is with the lawmakers---with your New York State representatives. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write everyone who represents you. You can write one email as I did and copy and paste them using the user-friendly ESPA site. Simply type in your zip code, and the site lists everyone you could possibly have voted for. Demand that they support full marriage rights for every single New York Citizen.
If you don't live in New York, please visit www.hrc.org to find out how you can help in your state.
15 minutes, tops.
Thanks,
Jenks
That's why I find it absolutely fucking ludicrous that last week, the New York State Court of Appeals ruled against gay marriage. The majority offered ridiculous arguments:
First, the Legislature could rationally decide that for the welfare of children, it is more important to promote stability, and to avoid instability, in opposite-sex than in same-sex relationships. Heterosexual intercourse has a natural tendency to lead to the birth of children; homosexual intercourse does not. Despite the advances of science, it remains true that the vast majority of children are born as a result of a sexual relationship between a man and a woman, and the Legislature could find that this will continue to be true. The Legislature could also find that such relationships are often too casual or temporary. It could find that an important function of marriage is to create more stability and permanence in the relationships that cause children to be born. It thus could choose to offer an inducement - in the form of marriage and its attendant benefits - to opposite-sex couples who make a solemn, long-term commitment to each other.
I just don't understand how this is an argument. Someone please break this down for me. Judge Robert Smith is saying 1) That boys and girls make babies, which we know, or if we don't know that, one of our mommies will soon tell us; and 2) That because boys and girls can make babies, they're more likely to stay together.
Here's a big surprise. Are you ready for this? He cites absolutely no scientific proof to validate this conclusion and furthermore fails to give props to the fact that when gay couples want children, they actually have to go great lengths to plan for them.
I know I don't have to bring up any divorce statistics for all of you, no matter what you believe, to see that the argument is weak. And to those of you reading my blog at are gay, can you please PLEASE let me know if you guys are great, big abusive, shiftless whores? PLEEEEASE. If you are, I'm afraid I just didn't get the memo.
The Legislature could rationally believe that it is better, other things being equal, for children to grow up with both a mother and a father. Intuition and experience suggest that a child benefits from having before his or her eyes, every day, living models of what both a man and a woman are like. It is obvious that there are exceptions to this general rule - some children who never know their fathers, or their mothers, do far better than some who grow up with parents of both sexes - but the Legislature could find that the general rule will usually hold.
Second verse, same as the first. Everyone knows that gender roles are a crock of shit anyway. Men play sports and bring home the bacon and do not under any circumstances cry. Women serve their men martinis, teach the girls how to do their hair, and are spendthrifts at the local mall. Again, he cites no scientific evidence.
The court's minority opinion differed in language and sentiment:
Simply put, fundamental rights are fundamental rights. They are not defined in terms of who is entitled to exercise them. The claim that marriage has always had a single and unalterable meaning is a plain distortion of history. In truth, the common understanding of "marriage" has changed dramatically over the centuries.
The state plainly has a legitimate interest in the welfare of children, but excluding same-sex couples from marriage in no way furthers this interest. In fact, it undermines it. Civil marriage provides tangible legal protections and economic benefits to married couples and their children, and tens of thousands of children are currently being raised by same-sex couples in New York. Depriving these children of the benefits and protections available to the children of opposite-sex couples is antithetical to their welfare.
Defendants primarily assert an interest in encouraging procreation within marriage. But while encouraging opposite-sex couples to marry before they have children is certainly a legitimate interest of the state, the exclusion of gay men and lesbians from marriage in no way furthers this interest. There are enough marriage licenses to go around for everyone.
Thank you, Judge Judith Kaye. By the way, does anyone else find it superbly-fitting that someone by the name of Judy Kaye is fighting for for gays? Sorry. Couldn't resist. Judy Kaye, the actress lives in Jersey, anyway.
There was a rally last night in several places all over New York State. I attended the NYC one at Sheridan Square, outside the Stonewall Inn. This is a historic site for gays everywhere, because it's where the gay rights movement was born.
A lot of great speakers were present offering reassurance, and the rally was both comforting an invigorating.
You can read an article about it here or here. Or see a slideshow here.
The overall urgent message of the evening was simple: WE (meaning ALL citizens) HAVE TO TAKE ACTION IN ORDER TO SECURE OUR RIGHTS.
In the past couple of years, the gay community has been beaten back a bit. I've noticed it in New York as a volunteer for Marriage Equality New York who organizes an annual march across the Brooklyn Bridge. Three years ago its attendance boasted 4,000 and this year it was down to a few hundred.
We've taken a backseat to our own fight and allowed organizations such as Lambda Legal, Empire State Pride Agenda, and the Human Rights Campaign to fight the fight for us. Thankfully, they've been up for it.
Now the fight is with the lawmakers---with your New York State representatives. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write everyone who represents you. You can write one email as I did and copy and paste them using the user-friendly ESPA site. Simply type in your zip code, and the site lists everyone you could possibly have voted for. Demand that they support full marriage rights for every single New York Citizen.
If you don't live in New York, please visit www.hrc.org to find out how you can help in your state.
15 minutes, tops.
Thanks,
Jenks
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