I am Woman, Hear me Roar . . . with Laughter (a private exchange made public)

Alizarin to Lychee:
Here's a list of qualifications for a job I'm perusing -- tell me -- how in the HELL would you convince someone that you have this stuff? (And does this list make you laugh like it made me laugh?)

Lychee’s response (with the original list of qualifications):
Yup.

Qualifications:
• The ideal candidate will be entrepreneurial, resourceful and assertive.

Hire me or I will harass you with emails until the end of time! You found and applied for the job, how much more resourceful and assertive must you be?

• Excellent organizational, interpersonal, and communication skills are required.

Be sure to use paragraphs in your letter, have bullet points on your resume, and avoid slang and contractions in your letter (except when trying to display qualification #6).

• Intuitive business skills are necessary.

Hm. What does this mean? You must possess a brain? That is a lot to ask. Maybe it means you must not only possess a brain, but use it while at work so you can come to business-like conclusions without receiving a memo, such as painting your nails at the front desk is not appropriate and knowing how to answer the phone with something more than “Huh, what do you want?”

• Experience with electronic media and/or Journalism is a big plus and strongly encouraged.

You read many blogs, shop online, watch videos on that yahoo music site which is the only one my students do not seem to have a problem finding, and download all your music illegally.

• Proven track record of exceptional achievement and hard-work ethic are important.

You have managed to live in the same apartment in NYC for how many years without being evicted or having to take in a family of five.

• Knowledge of popular culture and deep understanding of their respective community, particularly of the 18 to 28 age group, is important. Ideal candidates will evince sensitivity to trends and ideas shaping and affecting that age group.

What is this wording? Clearly, they need to hold the clear communication standard higher: “popular culture and . . . their respective community”? Who the fuck is Popular Culture? I think all you need to know here is that ‘P. Diddy’ is too complicated a name for Pop Culture (we are good friends like that) and her/his (I have not had the nerve to ask and it is unclear, poor thing) respective community to deal with. It is a tough road they have to haul and you must be understanding that grasping the idea that P.Diddy is a full name that some old man made up to give the illusion of being cool and hip and to always have a fall back reason for some media attention is overwhelming when having to decide if the Gap or Banana Republic is cooler this week, or can I pass of the Old Navy top as hip if I match it with Banana Republic pants? (Yes, I obviously, by that last statement, am not qualified for this job).

• Candidates must demonstrate passion, exceptional hard-work ethic, and a desire to dedicate themselves to this extremely rewarding and important job.

LMAO. Because everything about Popular Culture, his/her respective community, and 18-28 year-olds is important and rewarding. This was undoubtedly written by a passionate (for the one-night stand he/she has last night), self-important 18-28 year old whose work ethic involved writing this ad with a hangover.

DEAR ALIZARIN: Finally my $2 (since $.02 is worthless) on the gas issue

From Alternet:

 Iraqis argue that they have the knowledge, skill and experience to conduct the reconstruction themselves; what they need is the money and decision-making control that they are being denied.

 

Yes, I dread going back to work and having to dump close to $30 into gas a week (for my little Toyota that gets a reasonable 32 mpg) when not so long ago it was a mere $15 to 20 a week.   I don't want to become bitter (or feed the bitterness) of all the SUV drivers getting 12 mpg (ok, maybe 20).   Moreover, I don't want to be a whiny American crying over having to pay forfor the convience of having my own car to go where I want when I want.  Afer all, for years we have paid far less for gas (particularly in comparison to our standard of living) than almost any other country in the world.  However, what I do find intolerable is having to both pay outrageous prices and listen to the Bush administration rhetoric about the war and all the good we are doing in Iraq.   Who sees through this?  Who can get beyong the billions of dollars Bush and his corporate friends are making on this war at the expense of the Iraqis and many Americans (not that I am comparing myself to anyone in Iraq, but there is a large part of the American public for whom this gas prices increase is a huge burden; luckily, I am not one of them).  Higher gas prices to fund technology to preserve our environment and to encourage more ecologically friendly car purchases I could deal with.  Higher prices to fund the mistakes, egos, and wallets of a President, about whose legitmacy as President I have reservations, and his friends  . . . well . . . need I say more?

 

Lychee

DEAR ALIZARIN: Starbucks does not cut Lychee's Fruit Diet

Not to be confused with a lychee fruit diet. That would be cannibalism.

Heading out to Malibu today we stopped at the swanky Albertson's in Calabasas, outfitted, of course, with a Starbucks stand (cause who can make it through that gigantic store without some caffeine -- well, my yoga instructor who I guess would just have to stop along the way to do a handstand to rejuvenate himself). With this instruction still in my head from yoga class, I attempted to resist getting a coffee product. I excitedly went to order a Strawberries and Crème Frappaccino. No only is it no caffeinated, but it also fits in with my 'fruit diet' (remember you heard it hear first, copyrighted via blog -- is that possible -- at this moment!)

The fruit diet is incredibly simple. Anything with real fruit in any form is acceptable for eating. Meats and non-fruit items must be considered only if they are in low-fat, preservative free form. Same with fruit, except, it overrules any carbohydrates. It is really quite easy. For example, pie. Pie is totally in limits as long as it is fruit pie made with fruit that was fresh (canned fruit and fruit preserved for eternity in sticky syrup do not count because it is not really fruit). Likewise, while a chocolate chip scone or a 'raspberry' scone that has no actual evidence of raspberry beside the blob of red plopped in the middle that resembles a bleeding wound more than a raspberry are off-limits, a blueberry scone with discernable blueberries (or any other type of fruit, in which case it would not be a blueberry scone) is perfectly acceptable. Muffins are difficult as they can be deceiving. Sometimes, trying to fool followers of Lychee's Fruit Diet, muffin makers will sprinkle a few blueberries on the top but actually, the muffin is void of blueberries and is more like cake in the form of a muffin. However, the bakers of Avila Village Deli exemplify the true blueberry muffin, which is acceptable for followers of the LFD. This muffin has whole blueberries oozing throughout the muffin and usually leaves a bluish tinge on the eater's fingertips.

So, at the Starbucks stand in the Albertsons, I am all excited about the Strawberries and Crème Frappaccino. Then, I see in the green tea frappaccino description some sort of flavored syrup listed. Hm. My choice's description is a bit vague. I catch the young, blond, prepubescent barista (baristo?) before he gets to my order.

"Does it use real strawberries or just strawberry flavored syrup?” I ask.

"Well, kind of."

"Kind of real or kind of syrup?" I attempt to find clarity.

"It has real strawberries in it,” he tries to explain as he pulls out a box resembling a box of soy milk from under the counter. “We use this . . . “At a loss for words to describe it, he places the box of 'strawberries' on the counter. I look and see in the ingredients: water, high fructose corn syrup, strawberries . . . I've read enough. And we wonder what is wrong with this country. Never, ever would this happen in Costa Rica where I could get a fresh fruit shake (with real fruit that has real flavor) and organic coffee for under three dollars.

So, I went, of course, for the 'all natural' regular coffee frappaccino (almost fell for the 'light' but it has NutraSweet in it).

"Did you want whipped cream on that," he asked.

"Sure, just a dab," I said, not wanting to be too much of a problem.

DEAR ALIZARIN: The world's cheapest date practicing hokey new-agey optimism

After one bottle of beer made by German nuns (or the bartender told me), I was very happy I opted for the lower heeled, more comfortable black shoes rather and the more trendy, higher healed brown shoes. In Costa Rica, I blamed it on being so close to the equator, but clearly, my alcohol tolerance has taken a sudden drop over the past several months (which could explain much of Belize . . .). The effect of this holy water disguised as beer was so strong it strengthened my resolve to take advantage of the fact that for once I did not have to drive home and to keep by promise that I would buy the second round for Grooveva, my loyal chauffeur for the night, and myself. It was a lovely, flavorful, but not too heavy Josefi Bock beer and it really knocked me out. I avoided embarrassment the rest of the evening by using short sentences to prevent slurring and by managing to not trip over the air blocking my path.

Grooveva kindly drove me home (I had planned to take the subway) and, upon arrival in my apartment I forced down a glass of water (knowing dehydration would soon follow) before undressing and lying in my oh- so comfortable bed to let the world spin and spin. Two beers. What is wrong with me! I apologize for misleading you in the title, as there was no actual date involved. Just the spinning room and me. During which I did contemplate the idea of Grooveva not being such a loyal chauffeur and having to find a handsome and gallant knight to take me home. Then, I passed out (well, fell asleep very quickly).

Therefore, given the beers and my low alcohol tolerance, maybe the rest of the evening was all an illusion. The scary thing about running into your past is that it may expose the truth that you are the same person you were the first time around. Last night, I had a spiritual collision with my own self from two years ago.

Hanging with Grooveva, the one person who has been able to balance friendships with me and the ex-boyfriend's (through whom we met) crowd in a manner at once open yet discreet, we ran into several from that crowd. All of us living within 10 miles of each other, it is amazing it took two years, a collision I no longer really avoided, but also did not encourage. Everyone exuded genuine goodwill and sincere pleasure in the chance meeting. One person gave me a sort of stilted hello and hug, then, a few minute later leaned over to admit, "I just want to say you look really fabulous and I totally didn't recognize you at first, so sorry I was kind of distant when you said hi." (That and being carded for the beer really, really made my week.) It was great to chat and catch up and verify that the past two years of my life and who I am now is not an illusion, but really exists.

But why now?

Lately, the universe has been throwing me the proverbial curve balls. Mostly I have caught them and thrown them back.

I had finally found my niche and routine in LA. While in Costa Rica, the thought of tearing myself from the blessings I have here filled me with a bit of anxiety. Was I actually getting rooted and attached? Not so fast, Lychee.

Sadly, many of my sources of sanctuary and fellowship are being shaken up and shaken down. People are leaving and tensions in groups arise as others deal with feelings of loss and abandonment by those who must move on. Not only have I found myself to be genuinely happy for these people who face new adventures in their lives, I also felt a sense of freedom in knowing that this is one less attachment I have to worry about breaking when/if my time to leave LA comes.

Finally, the physical collision: the car accident. Minding my own business in the far right lane, waiting for the next exit to get off the freeway, someone bounces into my car. I feel so lucky this happened. Statistically, driving in LA, I figure I am bound to be involved in an accident. This was it. No injuries. My car still runs. Moreover, shockingly, the damage is minimal. The insurance is paying for all of it. My rates will not go up. Got the accident done with and I got the message: do not be too attached to anything, tangible or intangible.

Life is short, jump into the fire, to very loosely paraphrase Rumi.

Time for more coffee and to get to work (yeah, I know I've been saying that all week!)

Lychee

DEAR ALIZARIN: Generational communication gap

Thank you, Aaron McGruder, for your vivid and clear explanation of how my always clear and direct instructions are maligned at the hands of my students. Suddenly, as I write this, I realize if I were speaking you would only hear the teacher from the Peanuts. Thank goodness this isn't steaming audio.

Lychee

DEAR ALIZARIN: New York, New York

Welcome home!

Is the heat index really 106?

How was the meeting today?

Is the hubby being a good boy?

Was Tiny happy to have your face to sleep on again? (Tiny is the kitten, not her hubby).

I am still thinking about all the work I should be doing and deciding where to start. This, I expect, will take up much of my morning.

Lychee

DEAR ALIZARIN: We don't need no education . . .

. . . but we can't escape thought control.

This seems to be the philosopy of the school district for Latino students. I subbed today for a colleague of mine who is on track and had to cover an extra class during my conference period.

One thing that never disappoints is the chaos of the front office (to be polite). When I first got the request, I sent it back as I had planned to meet with our literacy coach to talk about the district mandated curriculum -- what is working, what is not, and what should I expect when I return to work in two weeks. I received the request again, but wasn't sure if it was because they didn't know they sent it once or they really needed coverage. I called the front office, but, as frequently happens, no one answered, so I returned the request with a note. Then, the principal called me to tell me they really needed to cover the class. I have rarely spoken to our principal in the few years I have been here and found it odd and disconcerting that she would take upon herself to conduct such a menial task. I mean, shouldn't be running the school, not calling teachers? Weren’t there more important things for her to be addressing? And, if they had answered the phone when I called, it wouldn't be necessary to be calling me now. Did they think I was being rebellious and needed the boss to give me a good talking to?

So, I get to this class and find there are no lesson plans, no roster, and essential no class. There is a vhs copy of the movie Big with instructions that they are to finish watching the movie today. I ask the students who their teacher is and why they are watching this particular movie . They said they do not have a teacher. Today is August 11th and school started on July 5th. Apparently, they had a sub for a few weeks and then no one since then. I imagine there is probably random coverage (teachers babysitting during their conference periods). They had already started the movie and seemed excited about finishing it or else I might have whipped out my lesson on Tone again (where they listen to and discuss songs to understand what tone is in literature). When I spoke to my colleague that I was subbing for she said the school knew what was going on, that the long term sub did nothing but read the paper all day. When an English department member brought this up at the faculty meeting, apparently the principal's reply was that an English teacher told the sub this was acceptable and that they had no right to complain. That's team spirit for you. A few weeks later (maybe days since I am not sure when the meeting was), she is calling me to babysit them. Well, they really enjoyed the movies and it was one of the most polite classes I have ever covered. Maybe I'll volunteer to fill in if my conference matches up with their class (all means some nice extra pay for me, I will admit).

<>
We wonder why Joe Millionaire was such a hit.

At lunch I saw a few students who all complained how boring their new English teachers are BORINg-- the same complaint I heard all the time in class last year. I asked what they do and they said nothing. I happily reminded them this is exactly what they always begged me to do in class last year. Be careful what you wish for . . . It was nice to see them.

Thankful to have two more weeks off . . .

Lychee

DEAR ALIZARIN: Blame in on the jetlag

. . .  I just know that the flight on the ultra-hip and youthful Song airlines was not quite as annoying on the way home as it was on the way to Tampa.   Nonetheless, I certainly felt like an old fogy as I begrudged the blaring hip-hop and pop music pumping through the cabin as we boarded and waited for take off.  I debated the validity of my being slightly offended by the safety instruction tape with the salsa theme featuring a speaker with a thick Mexican accent.  Actually, I resented the fact that they bothered to make these tapes (I know even audio tapes can be a pricey project) rather than letting the real live flight attendants recite the instructions.  I questioned if it was really annoying, a bit discriminatory, and condescending to the general public intellect or me looking for something to dislike.  I decided it was a bit of both.  In the end, I'd just prefer a small free bag of pretzels to the snazzy taped instructions. 

 

Then there are the individual TV screens in the back of the seat in front of you bombarding you with attempts to sell the virtues of dish TV on the airline and the ability to buy a meal if I am hungry.  The fact that we ended up sitting at the gate for almost an hour only made me long even more for the old-fashioned quiet airlines where the best form of entertainment was quietly reading and maybe even talking to someone next to you.   (Not that I wanted to talk to the man two seats over cursing the airline for wanting to replace a part of the airplane).  Nonetheless, overcome by too much flying and too many different time zones in one week, beset with insomnia and no longer able to focus on my book, partway through the flight, I did tune into the satellite TV to catch some news and got sucked into a fairly interesting show about the American obsession with beauty.   The guests included two guys who founded the personals website, beautifulpeople.net.   I saw them earlier in the week on The View.  On both shows they were deservedly put on the defensive (they claimed it was not all about looks).  One of the guys, I think, is really not that attractive and the other only in that very ordinary, boring way.  Neither of them knew who Ted Bundy was (or maybe that was from on The View).  I am glad to see they are getting chastised and called out for what they are on these shows, though, in reality, it is just the beautiful people telling them they should not be so obsessed with the beautiful people. And what does it mean when someone talks about an ex and says, "He/she was very beautiful."  Does that mean that the person regrets losing such a beautiful person?  Or that anyone after that person is bound to be a disappointment?  (Uh, that wasn't on the show, a personal tangent there). Curious thing, this beauty.   For instance, the models on the show did not seem that much more beautiful than the psychologist.  I wonder what I would look like with professional stylists, professional photographers directing and lighting me, and the, of course, the airbrushing afterwards.   Once that show was over, I figured since I was in the system of Song entertainment offerings, I'd check out the music.  To my surprise, there was a decent variety of choices.  I listened to a bit of Miles Davis, YoYoMa, and Paco De Lucia (a new find that I really enjoyed).    However, none of this was as charming as the cute steward who humored my attempts at Spanish from Taca Airlines.  

 

Grounded in California, for the next few months,

 

Lychee