For 204 of every 208 weeks in every
four years, my fiancé is an attentive, thoughtful guy. He does an A+
job of looking at me and nodding when I'm going on about things I'm
excited about but about which he doesn't particularly care; he makes an
effort to remember some of the content of such gushings and is genuinely
embarrassed and apologetic when we both later realize he wasn't paying
as much attention as he thought he was and doesn't even remember the
conversation; he goes through all the late night shows every night and
makes sure to set up any that feature anyone I'd want to see; he lets me
watch Scooby Doo and Murder She Wrote on Saturday mornings without so
much as a grumble and seems appreciative when I save clips from The
Middle on our DVR for him to watch that remind me of us or me....
But
for four weeks in every four years, there exists a horrible black hole
called the Olympics. My fiancé is obsessed with the Olympics. It's an
addiction that at first made me crabby and antsy and now, after years of
being together, I've come to accept... and still makes me crabby and
antsy. As I write this, there are 31 recordings on our DVR labeled "2018
Winter Olympics." Every 2 1/2 years or 1 1/2 years, depending on
whether it's going from Summer to Winter or Winter to Summer, I lose
access to the TV, and more importantly, my wonderful, thoughtful fiancé
develops a single-minded addiction that results in a magnet that keeps
him firmly attached to the couch, spending every waking moment (literally --
not literally the way people use literally to mean figuratively, but
actually literally) at home watching the Olympics. If I try to talk, he
involuntarily sighs and pauses the TV, which makes me ask, "I can't
even talk over the commentators?" to which he responds by politely
trying to remind me that he only gets to watch biathlon or Nordic-combined or ice sweeping or ping pong or trampoline once every four
years, so yes I can talk, but he wants to hear the commentating, so then
I get all irritated and in a huff that I can't talk, and I do my best
to let him be and keep to my book and writing, but I'm me, so that
doesn't work, and I inevitably forget I'm irritated and start talking
again, and by the end of the two weeks, he learns how to tune me out so I
can keep talking and he can keep listening to the commentators discuss
the nuances of sledding, and I stop making much of an effort not to
talk.
And being the nice guy he is, when he really really wants
to listen to something on the TV, rather than say "please don't talk,"
he says, "Now, I'm trying to get through this block before the next
recording starts, so I'm going to be really focused on it." This
translates to "I'm not going to hear a word you say until I've finished
watching this recording, and I'm not pausing for you to talk."
So the other night he started watching one of the 512 winter sports that looks
to me like gymnastics with either skis or a snowboard attached (not
literally -- this is hyperbole -- people who use "literally," please
take note of the difference), and I started talking about something
non-Olympics-related that I found interesting. Or I wasn't talking out
loud at all, as you'll see.... Anyway, then something exciting happened
on the TV and he told me to watch it because it was cool, so I did, and
then this almost-conversation happened:
Me: Wait what were we talking about?
Jonathan: I don't know. I told you I was focused on this.
Me: Yeah but it was important.
J: Sorry.
Me: Hmm.... You know what, I don't think it was us.
J: Okay.
Me: I mean I think it was Julie and Caroline who were having the important conversation.
J: Ah.
Me: They're characters in the book I'm writing.
J: Yeah.
Me: They were having a conversation in my head in the next scene I'm writing.
J: Mm.
Me: ....Also it could have been me talking to myself. That seems to be happening, too.
J: Yup.
~~~~
Post Script:
That was going to be the end of this blog post, but as with all blog posts in which I write about my fiancé, I let him read it first before posting it. When he finished, he told me to check his Facebook wall. I did. This is what he posted:
Someone please remind me to take a solo vacation in 877 days.
Monday, February 26, 2018
Tuesday, February 20, 2018
Featuring my dad's review of a very highbrow film
Today's blog post comes courtesy of my dad,
who, generally speaking, does not like fantasy films. I've been trying
without success to get him to watch the excellent How To Train Your
Dragon for two and a half years, but it's animated and about a
dragon,
so I think that's two strikes against it for him. A little over a week ago, I sent him a
short children's book I wrote, which, without giving anything away,
involves a dragon. He read it and loved it, and I suppose that opened
his mind to stories involving dragons. So anyway, last week this
e-mail exchange occurred (Oh, and this post contains significant
spoilers for the movie Dragon Warriors, so, ya know, if you had an
intense yearning to Netflix that one, maybe skip this):
From my dad:
(The movie is called "Dragon Warriors" and that description reads "When a princess jilts a powerful wizard, he vows to clear the land of love and orders a fire breathing dragon to take out affection in the kingdom.")
A bit later:
Me: Wait, you actually watched that movie you sent me the description of?
And my dad's e-mail response:
Hell yes, it was fantastic!! The ending was a real hoot. The evil wizard has the “beautiful and voluptuous princess” (no kidding, the priest who was supposed to perform her marriage to the wizard called her that during the ceremony, to which the wizard responded, “Please, this is a wedding ceremony.”) chained to a wall and is facing her. The dragon is behind him, also facing the princess. The evil wizard commands the dragon, who you notice has a lot of teeth and a big roar, “Destroy and eat the vile creature in front of you.” (She had refused to say “I do” and the wizard had already killed the priest for messing things up.) So the dragon leaned over and ate the wizard, which left the eager viewer with the moral of the whole story — Speak precisely and don’t give orders that are easily misinterpreted. The princess is then set free by her beloved, who has just arrived on the scene and prepares to do battle with the dragon, but the princess runs to the dragon to thank him for saving her, and the dragon purrs like a cat and nuzzles her and they all lived happily ever after. A true children’s story. Gives new meaning to the word “campy."
~~~
As I've written about before, when I was in third grade, my homeroom teacher had us do a class exercise where we had to write out the instructions for her to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from scratch, starting with a closed loaf of bread, closed peanut butter and jelly containers, and utensils set out on a table. She only followed the directions completely literally, so if anything we wrote was unspecific, or if we skipped even the tiniest step, we failed the exercise. The point was to get us to give clear directions that can't be misinterpreted, and I wrote about five pages and succeeded in getting her to make the sandwich. And now I know the real significance of this exercise -- she was training us how not to be eaten by dragons.
From my dad:
(The movie is called "Dragon Warriors" and that description reads "When a princess jilts a powerful wizard, he vows to clear the land of love and orders a fire breathing dragon to take out affection in the kingdom.")
A bit later:
Me: Wait, you actually watched that movie you sent me the description of?
And my dad's e-mail response:
Hell yes, it was fantastic!! The ending was a real hoot. The evil wizard has the “beautiful and voluptuous princess” (no kidding, the priest who was supposed to perform her marriage to the wizard called her that during the ceremony, to which the wizard responded, “Please, this is a wedding ceremony.”) chained to a wall and is facing her. The dragon is behind him, also facing the princess. The evil wizard commands the dragon, who you notice has a lot of teeth and a big roar, “Destroy and eat the vile creature in front of you.” (She had refused to say “I do” and the wizard had already killed the priest for messing things up.) So the dragon leaned over and ate the wizard, which left the eager viewer with the moral of the whole story — Speak precisely and don’t give orders that are easily misinterpreted. The princess is then set free by her beloved, who has just arrived on the scene and prepares to do battle with the dragon, but the princess runs to the dragon to thank him for saving her, and the dragon purrs like a cat and nuzzles her and they all lived happily ever after. A true children’s story. Gives new meaning to the word “campy."
~~~
As I've written about before, when I was in third grade, my homeroom teacher had us do a class exercise where we had to write out the instructions for her to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from scratch, starting with a closed loaf of bread, closed peanut butter and jelly containers, and utensils set out on a table. She only followed the directions completely literally, so if anything we wrote was unspecific, or if we skipped even the tiniest step, we failed the exercise. The point was to get us to give clear directions that can't be misinterpreted, and I wrote about five pages and succeeded in getting her to make the sandwich. And now I know the real significance of this exercise -- she was training us how not to be eaten by dragons.
Wednesday, February 14, 2018
Valentine's Day
Today at work I was talking to a coworker who asked if I have a
significant other and if I'm going out for Valentine's Day. (Actually she
asked if I have a "bae." I'm not as cool as she is.) I told her yes,
and that after he and I have been saying to each other for months that
we were going to have a date -- and continually setting a time and then
not sticking to it -- we're finally having the proper fancy dinner date
we were supposed to have months ago. I then quickly and embarrassedly
had to explain that I'm talking about my fiancé with whom I happily
live, not some random guy I've been trying to hook up with for months,
and I just meant that we always crash on the couch like an old couple
rather than going out....
And now it's 4:30 pm and I'm
home, having changed into an oversized Hanes sweatshirt that I
sprayed with perfume that smells like s'mores on a beach at night, and
velvet leggings with pink flowers on them, and I have a giant cup of
caffeine-free tea in a Curious George mug and another cup of coffee in a
Minnie Mouse mug, and I'm curled up on the cushy couch reading The
Hound of the Baskervilles with my furry, fluffy cat next to me, and I set
the alarm for when I have to get myself up and ready for our date (i.e.
change out of my oh-so-comfy-and-cozy lounge-wear, which I have by now
melted into), and I'm thinking through my shoe options to figure out how
I can look nice without wearing heels because the prospect of walking
in heels tonight is just so not appealing, and I think I'm beginning to
see why it is we haven't actually gone out on a date in months....
Sunday, February 11, 2018
Creating a hostile environment from the top down
With all the #MeToo stuff and the
resulting changes that attempt to make things better in the workplace,
my mom and I were recently discussing what the long-term solution is to
women (or men) facing sexual harassment and a threatening environment at
work. Generally in the entertainment industry, there seems to be a
slow solidifying of formerly blurry lines separating professional
meetings from personal ones, and there's an increase in female
"chaperones" for meetings between male execs and female employees. It's great if that's decreasing harassment, but I think it's pretty
depressing if we're saying that we think men need to be babysat in order not to harass
someone -- and it's unnecessarily restricting for all the many situations
that don't involve a predator or harasser. Surely there's something
else that can be done to actually
change the long-term attitudes in the industry and increase respect
between colleagues. Having worked myself in at least one entertainment
industry workplace with serious problems in this arena, my personal
opinion is that there are two major areas that need to change before any
workplace with sexual harassment can be fixed: For one, the top of the
company can't be engaging in the problem, and secondly, the Human Resources
department needs to actually be helpful and a viable outlet for recourse
in the event of a
problem. When someone at the top sets a bad example for the rest of the workplace, and when Human Resources turns a blind eye or implies that if
something happens it's the harassed employee's fault, the workplace
culture will inevitably be unhealthy.
When I went to work in an internship in this unhealthy workplace, which we'll call the John Doe Show for the purposes of this blog post, I didn't know that "John Doe," the guy at the top of the totem pole, had a reputation for having relationships with staffers. That's come out in the years since, but at the time, it was a fairly well-kept secret. Sure, there were public displays of what frankly is totally creepy behavior towards women that would make anyone say, "ugh, gross" if viewed through an honest lens, but the public laughed off those displays as humorous personality quirks rather than taking them as signs of a man who used his celebrity and power to uncomfortably objectify women with no repercussions -- and no one who knew better said anything publicly.
I recently
reread my journal from that time, which I was writing to turn in for
internship credit in college and was therefore sanitized and cleansed of
my actual opinion of some events. I wrote my genuine thoughts in a
giant spiral notebook that still sits in my parents' house, and which I
remember hiding from other staffers at work as I was writing in it.
Reading my "official" journal, I was struck by the difference
between what I wrote about Human Resources' talk to the interns our
first day and what was actually said and meant -- and how unprofessional
the work environment really was.
What I wrote: On the first day, Human Resources "had us watch a sexual harassment video and warned us about what not to do" and told us that "we represent John Doe and the show at all times."
Translation: She told us not to make eye contact with "John," not to talk to him, not to use his elevator, not to go in his wing of the office, to clear the hallway if we ever knew he was coming, and to make all efforts never to run into him. (She passed this off at the time as rules for a big celebrity. Now I think it was ensuring he didn't start any more relationships with interns. I had to deliver something to his dressing room every day and was told explicitly, "Get in and out of the dressing room when he's not there, and don't let him see you coming or going." What wasn't said but implied was "or else." What I'd like to ask now is "Why? Is he so incapable of self control that if he so much as sees a young lady coming or going from his dressing room he'd harass her? Are you that scared of him saying or doing something that puts you in legal danger? And if so, why is this accepted behavior?") In regard to our bosses, she told us they would try to get us to go out drinking with them. She said she officially was telling us not to do that because we'd see things we shouldn't see and probably be pressured to do things we shouldn't do, and then we'd be put in the position of saying no and having to go to work with them the next day and they'd be mad at us for saying no -- or we'd have to say yes since they're our bosses. Either way, if we hung out with them when they pressured us to, she heavily implied the consequences were our own fault. So we shouldn't do it. But then she told us that it's part of the office culture there for the interns to go out with their bosses for drinks at least once a week, and it establishes good relationships that can lead to us getting more responsibility -- so it's a judgment call.
What that really means: "I know stuff is going down that shouldn't, and I'm unofficially telling you, and I'm also telling you that it's your own fault if something happens and I'm just looking the other way and this is a lose-lose situation. And I'm no use to you in creating a safe and professional work environment."
What that meant for me: My bisexual female supervisor, who I was eventually told selected me from the pool of hired interns as her own because her impression of me from her interview with me was that I would be a "party girl," pressured me repeatedly to go out drinking after work. I didn't. She then gave me no responsibility throughout my internship, she gave me the cold shoulder once she figured out I wouldn't go out with her, and eventually she was fired for trying to make out with her next female intern at the bar she wanted me to go to. But before she was fired, she was responsible for the fact that while my internship should have been spent on shoots and in production, I instead was assigned to do dry cleaning, buy the director's kid gifts, get a lipstick stain out of a jacket, make countless trips to McDonald's, and take inventory of a ten-foot-tall, over-cramped closet full of hundreds of tapes in boxes by emptying the entire closet out every week and counting and then putting them back rather than just making a system to keep track of what goes in and out. At my exit interview, the same Human Resources woman who gave us the talk on our first day said my supervisor told her I was uninterested in production and so I didn't get the same production responsibilities of former interns in my position. I was very interested in production. I wasn't interested in drinking and partying and whatever else my boss wanted to do. And at no point did I think going to Human Resources was a viable option. She had made it clear -- party with your boss if you want responsibility, but don't if you want to avoid awkward situations. The responsibility lay fully with the interns for our reaction to the situation, not with the staffers for not creating that situation in the first place. That's the opposite of how it should be. And until both those in leadership positions and Human Resources are on the side of right, no real and lasting change can truly take place.
When I went to work in an internship in this unhealthy workplace, which we'll call the John Doe Show for the purposes of this blog post, I didn't know that "John Doe," the guy at the top of the totem pole, had a reputation for having relationships with staffers. That's come out in the years since, but at the time, it was a fairly well-kept secret. Sure, there were public displays of what frankly is totally creepy behavior towards women that would make anyone say, "ugh, gross" if viewed through an honest lens, but the public laughed off those displays as humorous personality quirks rather than taking them as signs of a man who used his celebrity and power to uncomfortably objectify women with no repercussions -- and no one who knew better said anything publicly.
During my time there, however,
without benefit of anyone telling me anything explicit, I was able to
put together the pieces of what I saw, what I was told, and the vibe I
got, and I wasn't in the least bit shocked when John Doe's misdeeds
eventually became very public knowledge. Perhaps worse, the example he set
created an atmosphere in the rest of the workplace that was
uncomfortable and at times hostile.
What I wrote: On the first day, Human Resources "had us watch a sexual harassment video and warned us about what not to do" and told us that "we represent John Doe and the show at all times."
Translation: She told us not to make eye contact with "John," not to talk to him, not to use his elevator, not to go in his wing of the office, to clear the hallway if we ever knew he was coming, and to make all efforts never to run into him. (She passed this off at the time as rules for a big celebrity. Now I think it was ensuring he didn't start any more relationships with interns. I had to deliver something to his dressing room every day and was told explicitly, "Get in and out of the dressing room when he's not there, and don't let him see you coming or going." What wasn't said but implied was "or else." What I'd like to ask now is "Why? Is he so incapable of self control that if he so much as sees a young lady coming or going from his dressing room he'd harass her? Are you that scared of him saying or doing something that puts you in legal danger? And if so, why is this accepted behavior?") In regard to our bosses, she told us they would try to get us to go out drinking with them. She said she officially was telling us not to do that because we'd see things we shouldn't see and probably be pressured to do things we shouldn't do, and then we'd be put in the position of saying no and having to go to work with them the next day and they'd be mad at us for saying no -- or we'd have to say yes since they're our bosses. Either way, if we hung out with them when they pressured us to, she heavily implied the consequences were our own fault. So we shouldn't do it. But then she told us that it's part of the office culture there for the interns to go out with their bosses for drinks at least once a week, and it establishes good relationships that can lead to us getting more responsibility -- so it's a judgment call.
What that really means: "I know stuff is going down that shouldn't, and I'm unofficially telling you, and I'm also telling you that it's your own fault if something happens and I'm just looking the other way and this is a lose-lose situation. And I'm no use to you in creating a safe and professional work environment."
What that meant for me: My bisexual female supervisor, who I was eventually told selected me from the pool of hired interns as her own because her impression of me from her interview with me was that I would be a "party girl," pressured me repeatedly to go out drinking after work. I didn't. She then gave me no responsibility throughout my internship, she gave me the cold shoulder once she figured out I wouldn't go out with her, and eventually she was fired for trying to make out with her next female intern at the bar she wanted me to go to. But before she was fired, she was responsible for the fact that while my internship should have been spent on shoots and in production, I instead was assigned to do dry cleaning, buy the director's kid gifts, get a lipstick stain out of a jacket, make countless trips to McDonald's, and take inventory of a ten-foot-tall, over-cramped closet full of hundreds of tapes in boxes by emptying the entire closet out every week and counting and then putting them back rather than just making a system to keep track of what goes in and out. At my exit interview, the same Human Resources woman who gave us the talk on our first day said my supervisor told her I was uninterested in production and so I didn't get the same production responsibilities of former interns in my position. I was very interested in production. I wasn't interested in drinking and partying and whatever else my boss wanted to do. And at no point did I think going to Human Resources was a viable option. She had made it clear -- party with your boss if you want responsibility, but don't if you want to avoid awkward situations. The responsibility lay fully with the interns for our reaction to the situation, not with the staffers for not creating that situation in the first place. That's the opposite of how it should be. And until both those in leadership positions and Human Resources are on the side of right, no real and lasting change can truly take place.
Thursday, February 1, 2018
The many lives of "Jessica Pollack"
There are a lot of Jessica Pollacks out in the world. I know this because I get e-mails for them -- seemingly for all
of them. At first, years ago, I thought there was just one Jessica
Pollack out there who either didn't know how to spell her last name or
was purposely giving it out incorrectly. I could tell from the e-mails
that she was a newlywed stripper whose new husband had a lot of money,
so I figured it was possible she didn't yet know how to spell her new
name or didn't want people who knew her from her old life bothering her
via e-mail. Possible, right? But then as Gmail took off and became the
most popular e-mail service, I started getting more e-mails. Many
more. Pretty soon, I figured out either this woman lived the most
exciting, multi-city life ever with multiple identities, or there are
Jessica Pollacks all over the country giving out the wrong e-mail
address.
I'm at a loss for how this happens. I know that some of them spell their last name with two Os instead of an A, and some of them have one L instead of two, but I still don't get how all of them have such horrible handwriting that people are routinely misreading their last name. More perplexing yet is how and why most of their friends insist on e-mailing me over and over despite my e-mailing them back to tell them they have the wrong address.
I'm at a loss for how this happens. I know that some of them spell their last name with two Os instead of an A, and some of them have one L instead of two, but I still don't get how all of them have such horrible handwriting that people are routinely misreading their last name. More perplexing yet is how and why most of their friends insist on e-mailing me over and over despite my e-mailing them back to tell them they have the wrong address.
My favorite
exchange ever was with a friend of the Jessica Pollack I have labeled
"Walking-Group Jessica." The friend e-mailed out to the walking group
about their meeting time and location, I e-mailed back to say she had
the wrong address, and she responded by forwarding my e-mail to her back to my e-mail address again... so her Jessica could see my response... at my
e-mail address... which makes perfect sense. I told her again she had
the wrong e-mail address. So next she e-mailed the whole group
(including me) to ask if they got her e-mail, since "Jessica" didn't, so
she wanted to make sure there was nothing wrong with her own e-mail
account. I e-mailed her again, assuring her her e-mail account was just
fine, but if she continued to send it to the wrong address, her Jessica
would continue not to get it, and this was the wrong address. That seemed to finally end that absurd e-mail back and forth, though whether or not she ever understood the problem I'll never know.
Another
woman sent a medical referral e-mail to me three times. I'd e-mail her telling
her she had the wrong address, she'd thank me, and then she'd e-mail me
the same e-mail again. I gave up after the third identical back and
forth. Hopefully whichever Jessica that was got the medical treatment
she needed.
A third e-mailer sent me report cards for
the child of one of the Jessicas. I told her she had the wrong
address. So she e-mailed me the report cards again. And then she went
above and beyond and sent me another e-mail to tell "Jessica"
that she had sent the report cards to her e-mail again. Because if you
can't contact someone via e-mail, the solution is clearly to tell them
via e-mail that you're having trouble contacting them via e-mail.
One
option here is that these e-mailers all lack common sense and logical
thought. But there's another option: I suppose they could be
convinced it's a flaw in the time-space continuum rather than actually
the wrong address. I suppose they might think I hacked the account from
another dimension and kept the e-mail from getting to their
Jessica Pollack, and if they just resend it, this time it will make it
through the wormhole unscathed and safely reach their friend. Maybe
this is true. Maybe we're all the same person in different dimensions.
After all, quantum physics says that everything that can happen does,
in some deminsion (or something like that). If that's the case, I live
quite a variety of lives....
I've added all the
e-mails for other Jessicas to a folder over the years, and a scan of
those e-mails gives a picture of many different Jessica Pollacks. In
addition to the stripper newlywed (who's not so newlywed anymore),
there's another dancer Jessica, a Jewish mom Jessica, the Jessica who is
in a walking group, a soccer mom Jessica (I get all the updates about
her kid's soccer team -- they're never short on snacks, so that's good),
a Jessica with a nice grandma (the grandma gets the award for logic and
niceness in both e-mailing me back to thank me for informing her of the
incorrect address and for understanding what a wrong e-mail address is,
and as someone who doesn't have any grandparents anymore, I think her
Jessica Pollack should really appreciate her grandma more and communicate with her grandma enough that
the woman knows her e-mail address), a Jessica whose work colleagues ask
for lotion samples (actually, it was more a polite-but-curt demand:
"Please remind XXX that she has promised me the lotion samples"), a rich
shopper who buys $500 outfits at upscale boutiques (you know the kind
— bland, empty showrooms with one rack of boring clothes
that could sell for a fraction of the price at Target and no one would
ever know the difference) and then returns them a month later, a rich
traveler Jessica who stays at fabulous resorts all over the world, and a
Jessica who gets spa treatments and acupuncture and other weird
treatments I can't even pronounce and suspect accomplish pretty much
nothing.
Over the years, I've wondered which of these
Jessicas are the same. Did stripper newlywed Jessica become soccer mom
Jessica, or perhaps she's now rich shopper and traveler Jessica? Is the
traveler also the one who gets exotic spa treatments? Am I the only
Jessica Pollack who's not rich? And why is one of them responsible for
getting her work colleague his promised lotion samples? Why doesn't he
ask the person himself? Seems to me if he's getting free samples from
someone, the least he could do would be to ask for them himself rather
than making some Jessica Pollack ask for him. After all, maybe she has a
spa treatment to get to. Or a kid to pick up from school. Or a plane to
catch. Or a pole dancing class to get to. Or a soccer game to watch.
Or a walking group to find (because I imagine the walking group
coordinator never did get the right e-mail address there, so maybe
there's some poor Jessica Pollack who's just been wandering around
aimlessly for the past eight years looking for her walking group).
But
then, as I was writing this, I got a text. It's a text of some pictures
of some kids in a classroom. I have no idea whom it's from, but I'm
afraid to text back, lest I find out it's for a Jessica Pollack.
Because then that would mean we have the same phone number, too. And
then... well, then I think I'm in a Ray Bradbury book.
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