People who do account for their time in increments of, as it often turns out, 6-minutes, take that reporting pretty seriously. In my previous post, I mentioned not having to report my minute-by-minute productivity, and used 7 minutes as an example. Why does it matter, I asked one of the pointer-outers? After all, 6 is no more neatly divisible into 100. But apparently a lot of American companies are still using the non-metric hour, so the math is based on divisibility into 60. Happy Labor Day.
career
Things I Like to Pretend, Gu™Energy Gels, Triathlon!
With so little time left before my birthday to behave as though I am not yet my current age, I’ve had a lot of dancing to do recently. It’s okay to pretend not to be a grown-up sometimes, because by day I’m a surgeon (cardiothoracic–also pretend). To paraphrase my eight-year-old, it is a complete coincidence that I was beyond-four-cups-of-coffee exhausted when I woke up at 4:30 this morning to go watch his first triathlon, but someone else was pretty whiny too because he had been forced to eat breakfast, and there was simply no time for a Belgian waffle with powdered sugar, maple syrup, and a Maraschino cherry. Brad, at least, was not whiny, but I think he would have missed about a third of the stoplights if I hadn’t been there with my 37% caffeinated pretend surgeon’s brain.
A triathlete is something maybe even a little too crazy to pretend to be. I can’t figure out why it doesn’t appeal to me more, since when I break it down into its basic parts—standing around a little underdressed for the weather, jumping into cold water, and then working out for a few hours—it’s all kind of what I end up doing a lot of weekends anyway. So maybe the turn-off for me is having to put it all together in a prescribed order, and having to remember so many more components than your running watch and your Trader Joe’s Gummy Penguins–or Gu, which is probably what I should have mentioned if I’m ever going to get sponsored. I think I did have Gu during the New York Marathon, which was very successful in some ways. So if you’re reading this, whoever makes Gu, I’ll take a coupon, although I don’t think I’ve ever used a coupon. Also, I’m not much of a swimmer, or a biker, which I learned today counts for something like two-thirds of your score.
Japanese Vending, Jethro Tull, Special Peanuts
When I was very young and knew more about the world (or however Bob Dylan said it), I decided it would be a good idea to work in the travel agency at UVA, mentoring students who didn’t realize they could play beer pong in Europe or that Japanese vending machines dispensed pornography. One excuse I would like to offer for persuading one of my best friends to come work there with me for what seemed like about a year (do you care, LinkedIn?) sitting in a basement office listening to Jethro Tull, was that I believed we were going to end up doing a lot of jetsetting as soon as our IATA cards were approved by Head Office. I didn’t yet realize that being a travel agent wasn’t anywhere near as good as having an American Express Platinum Card for getting hotel room upgrades or imagining strangers admire you. It was all wasted on John anyway. I think he has always gotten things for free. Why is that?
It seems awfully linear to mention this, but only in the sense that I’m picking up a thread from my last post–it has nothing at all to do with the last paragraph, except insofar as the parties have met: It’s starting to look like I might not make it back to Concord Mall for hats before the weekend, when I have my next two birthday celebrations. If you are Katie or Stevie, and you love a surprise, you might want to stop reading this.
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So the good news is, even though, thanks to the snow, I will likely not be able to buy trucker hats for either of the above from Spencer Gifts–and I was kind of wanting to boycott anyway, because last time they were out of “I ❤️ the old Latin mass”–I was able to make each one a cupcake today. They are an homage to Christine’s birthday cupcakes from last week, with the same dark chocolate cake, chocolate ganache center, marshmallow buttercream frosting, and salted caramel drizzle (perfect for those avoiding sugar). I added candied peanuts this time, to commemorate the very special milestone birthdays we’re celebrating this weekend. Can peanuts be said to be wizened? No, no–I’m sure that’s not the word I meant to use.
Misspent Youth, Pour-a-Quiche, Introducing Rosamunde Portsmouth
When I was busy misspending my youth–by which I mean everything from the day I quit piano lessons, through the summer I lived in the “International House” in Freiburg learning [card games] instead of German, up until I realized all my options had become limited–I often heard myself telling people I thought maybe I would write a book one day. I can’t imagine now when I supposed I’d accomplish it–while my children were playing out of doors or building dioramas out of found objects? It turns out what I tend to do, after I have finished doing their chores, while they are definitely not watching Austin and Ally, is an elaborate cooking project. Recently, however, like all responsible husbands, mine has set some limits for me—among them, a three-hour time limit for preparing dinner. “Not every meal is Thanksgiving,” adds a cheeky eleven year-old.
In the plus column, now that I’m limited to potted meats and Pour-a-Quiche, I’ll have plenty of time for Rosamunde Portsmouth, the heroine of my forthcoming series of novels. I haven’t decided what she does, besides a lot of unapologetic staying out late and then working in an office, where she often arrives rumpled. Very glam. She does NOT like to be called Roz!
Alfonso Ribeiro, Nena, Frango Mints
Linked In would like me to add a few details to my job history. And it (Linked In) matters(?)
I’m definitely going to have to finesse some things. I had a job or two, before I got the one I have now that people love to say they respect, but kind of think is for no-ambition German Literature majors (answer: secret shopper, online*). I would much rather post some of my relevant experience, e.g. I taught Alfonso Ribeiro how to hand-splice eight track in New York City in the late 90’s–attn: Mother, that’s not a reference to illegal drugs–and I’ll bet many of my professional contacts would be interested in knowing about that sort of accomplishment. Unfortunately, Linked in is obsessed with dates and employers. And while I would say it took Alfonso longer than it should have, it was easily less than a year. And then I would want to add that I trained that same year as an airline hostess, though the process got derailed (if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor) while I awaited results from some tests United Airlines makes you take to see if all your years of reading Goethe and listening to 99 Luftballoons have helped you be able ask Germans what they’d like to have to drink (Antwort:Bier). And then grading the language tests takes three months or so, during which time I read that the stale air on airplanes has a premature aging effect on the skin, and also, during that time, I might have gotten pregnant or something–I have lost track of some of those months. But I did get to go to Chicago several times to be weighed at United’s headquarters, and when I got off the scale, I could go eat Frango Mints at Marshall Fields. Which reminds me I don’t think I was pregnant, even though that would have been a nice excuse for the eating. I couldn’t have been pregnant because I wasn’t married (attn: Mother). I think when I wasn’t in Chicago or New York that year, or come to think of it, maybe also Guatemala, where I learned to say “quiero ser aeromoza” which turned out to be a crock of shit, I was in Washington DC, trying to catch a husband. Because I think I had decided that was looking like a pretty good deal. I’m going to spin this differently on Linked In, I think.
*not true
extra strong opinions 