Let nothing you dismay... except for that lost little lamb who ran away from the flock kicking and screaming, who y'all keep saying things to about how she'll always be Catholic and other rather offensive bullshit.
Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day... But nevermind the fact that each and every one of said busybodies probably celebrated the birth of their "Savior" by exchanging several gifts of significant commercial value. I mean, I did, and I'm assuming that we're not so different when it comes to traditions inbred since childhood. Live by example: FAIL.
To save us all from Satan's power, when we were gone astray... You won't win me back with passive-aggressive statements. Even Satan knows that.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy... It would comfort me if you would respect my decisions. And it would bring me much joy if you'd actually care to ask me about why I wholehearted say "Fuck you" to organized religion and in particular the Catholic Church. I will engage in a meaningful dialogue with any one who asks for it; but I will not put up with your comments that degrade my choices any longer.
Oh, tidings of comfort and joy... I don't bother you on a daily/weekly/monthly basis about your choices. Because your faith is your comfort. And that's fine. I do reserve the right to point out the historical implications of your participation in an organized religion with a rather dubious past, but I promise to keep it tame: "Merry Christian-appropriated pagan symbolism Day" and "Happy Zombie Day!" are usually the extent of my public humiliation of you. If you'd like to see an all-out, balls-to-the-walls public blasting, please read my previous post entitled "An Open Letter to My Ex."
Go ahead. Keep pushing my buttons. Talk yourself into a hypocritical hole. I am taking names and kicking ass, and Christian Bullies are next on my list. Seeing as I can count the number of people who have asked me what happened and why I became an atheist, you have no right to judge, condemn, make pithy, snide remarks and passive-aggressive statements about my lack of religion/faith/whatever. And if you think I'm not going to call you on it, you are very mistaken.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
A Christmas Wish
This Christmas season, a time in which we exchange gift wishlists and focus on the material needs and wants of our friends and family, I would like to ask you a favor. Stop for 10 minutes, and send a thought or a prayer to the family of a very special young woman. Her name is Lizzy Seeberg, and she was murdered by Notre Dame.
Yes, it's a bold statement. It's an angry statement. I haven't been able to properly speak out about her story yet, because I am still so, so angry. But this Christmas, the gift I can give to her and her family is my voice.
If you Google her name, you can very easily read her story. She was sexually assaulted by a Notre Dame Football player, and 10 days later, she took her own life. Her case was not investigated by the NDPD until the Chicago Tribune blew the story out of the water with an investigative piece last month. Since then, there has been an outpouring of questions and support for Lizzy and her family. South Bend prosecutors are not following through on the case, however, and Notre Dame administration has not been cooperative in the least. To give you a taste of their attitudes, friend of mine who works at the Morris Inn on Notre Dame's campus and I were IMing as he watched a few of the higher up admins read the story in the lobby. He described the facial expressions and reactions. They were not just concerned - they were angry. They conducted hurried phone calls on their cell phones and though he couldn't hear what they said, he could pick up on tones and body language. It was not a pretty sight to behold.
Lizzy Seeberg is my Saint Mary's sister. One of the greatest aspects of Saint Mary's is that we are bonded for life, no matter what our major, class year, or personal backgrounds. We don't need to know each other; the bonds of sisterhood transcend time and space. We stand together. Lizzy needs us to stand up for her now, because she no longer can.
I've read a lot on the matter. I've read prosector's blogs and news articles, press releases and official statements. What the matter comes down to is not poor journalism on the part of the Chicago Tribune and the South Bend Tribune. It is not about about who has jurisdiction in what areas. It is not about fairness and good vs. bad investigative practices.
It is about the fact that Saint Mary's women are often treated as second class citizens on Notre Dame's campus, and that a high profile male has more respect and rights allotted to him than a female on their campus. It as about the fact that a supposedly Christian and Catholic group of people don't value a woman as a person, and that the Church is so drunk with its own patriarchal power that Lizzy's case was set up for failure from Day 1. There are good people at Notre Dame; one of them is my mentor and good friend. This is not an attack on the people of Notre Dame. This is an attack on the institution of Notre Dame. And there is a difference.
I lived on campus for all four of my years at Saint Mary's. I attended football games and parties at Notre Dame; I ate dinner with friends and hung out in their library on occasion when I needed a larger range of resources. I went to Ireland with some Notre Dame girls, and worked on the ND campus for two summers for Conference Services. I dated the occasional Domers; some of my friends are married to them (and they are very nice people). There is a very complex and strange relationship between Saint Mary's and Notre Dame, and I don't have the wherewithal to dive into it today. But what you should know is this: by and large, the attitude towards SMChicks from the general ND population is one of condescension and distrust. Men think we're easy, women think we're there to steal their men, and everyone knows that the reason we're at SMC is because we didn't get into ND.
With that attitude, I have no surprise that the ND "investigation" of Lizzy's allegations was swept under the rug, and met with closed mouths and "No comment" when outsiders started asking questions. When I first heard about Lizzy's death, and all of the conflicting information, my reaction was "There's something we don't know here. There's more. Way more." And I was right. There was a lot more than a stressed out and depressed young woman. There's a young man with a history of violence and disrespect who has not been held accountable for his actions. There's an administration who is desperately trying to cover things up as best they can. There's a president of a women's college who is interestingly siding with the ND administration to a certain extent, who is not willing to take a stand for her students at the risk of alienating her contacts and relationships with Notre Dame.
We can't fix the past. We cannot go back in time to help Lizzy in her hour of need. We already failed her on that count. But we can stand up and speak out about our experiences and perceptions of the culture clash that exists between Saint Mary's and Notre Dame. I don't know how to fix the attitudes. That's way beyond my personal abilities. But I can tell people what happened to me, and what I saw during my time.
Notre Dame is not a safe place for Saint Mary's women. I'm not even sure it's a safe place for women in general. I have found that institutions steeped in thousands of years of traditions generally aren't safe for those of us who live in the modern world, and embrace science and rational thought.
So this Christmas, regardless of your creed or faith, regardless of your background or your love or hate for Notre Dame, I ask you to send good thoughts, pray or do whatever you do. Ask the universe for the Seeberg family to be blessed with grace and strength. Pray for the lost girl who felt she had no recourse other than taking her own life. And hope beyond anything you've ever wished for that somehow, Justice will prevail. Because it looks like Justice needs a little help today with this case.
All I want for Christmas is Justice. I hope you want the same.
Yes, it's a bold statement. It's an angry statement. I haven't been able to properly speak out about her story yet, because I am still so, so angry. But this Christmas, the gift I can give to her and her family is my voice.
If you Google her name, you can very easily read her story. She was sexually assaulted by a Notre Dame Football player, and 10 days later, she took her own life. Her case was not investigated by the NDPD until the Chicago Tribune blew the story out of the water with an investigative piece last month. Since then, there has been an outpouring of questions and support for Lizzy and her family. South Bend prosecutors are not following through on the case, however, and Notre Dame administration has not been cooperative in the least. To give you a taste of their attitudes, friend of mine who works at the Morris Inn on Notre Dame's campus and I were IMing as he watched a few of the higher up admins read the story in the lobby. He described the facial expressions and reactions. They were not just concerned - they were angry. They conducted hurried phone calls on their cell phones and though he couldn't hear what they said, he could pick up on tones and body language. It was not a pretty sight to behold.
Lizzy Seeberg is my Saint Mary's sister. One of the greatest aspects of Saint Mary's is that we are bonded for life, no matter what our major, class year, or personal backgrounds. We don't need to know each other; the bonds of sisterhood transcend time and space. We stand together. Lizzy needs us to stand up for her now, because she no longer can.
I've read a lot on the matter. I've read prosector's blogs and news articles, press releases and official statements. What the matter comes down to is not poor journalism on the part of the Chicago Tribune and the South Bend Tribune. It is not about about who has jurisdiction in what areas. It is not about fairness and good vs. bad investigative practices.
It is about the fact that Saint Mary's women are often treated as second class citizens on Notre Dame's campus, and that a high profile male has more respect and rights allotted to him than a female on their campus. It as about the fact that a supposedly Christian and Catholic group of people don't value a woman as a person, and that the Church is so drunk with its own patriarchal power that Lizzy's case was set up for failure from Day 1. There are good people at Notre Dame; one of them is my mentor and good friend. This is not an attack on the people of Notre Dame. This is an attack on the institution of Notre Dame. And there is a difference.
I lived on campus for all four of my years at Saint Mary's. I attended football games and parties at Notre Dame; I ate dinner with friends and hung out in their library on occasion when I needed a larger range of resources. I went to Ireland with some Notre Dame girls, and worked on the ND campus for two summers for Conference Services. I dated the occasional Domers; some of my friends are married to them (and they are very nice people). There is a very complex and strange relationship between Saint Mary's and Notre Dame, and I don't have the wherewithal to dive into it today. But what you should know is this: by and large, the attitude towards SMChicks from the general ND population is one of condescension and distrust. Men think we're easy, women think we're there to steal their men, and everyone knows that the reason we're at SMC is because we didn't get into ND.
With that attitude, I have no surprise that the ND "investigation" of Lizzy's allegations was swept under the rug, and met with closed mouths and "No comment" when outsiders started asking questions. When I first heard about Lizzy's death, and all of the conflicting information, my reaction was "There's something we don't know here. There's more. Way more." And I was right. There was a lot more than a stressed out and depressed young woman. There's a young man with a history of violence and disrespect who has not been held accountable for his actions. There's an administration who is desperately trying to cover things up as best they can. There's a president of a women's college who is interestingly siding with the ND administration to a certain extent, who is not willing to take a stand for her students at the risk of alienating her contacts and relationships with Notre Dame.
We can't fix the past. We cannot go back in time to help Lizzy in her hour of need. We already failed her on that count. But we can stand up and speak out about our experiences and perceptions of the culture clash that exists between Saint Mary's and Notre Dame. I don't know how to fix the attitudes. That's way beyond my personal abilities. But I can tell people what happened to me, and what I saw during my time.
Notre Dame is not a safe place for Saint Mary's women. I'm not even sure it's a safe place for women in general. I have found that institutions steeped in thousands of years of traditions generally aren't safe for those of us who live in the modern world, and embrace science and rational thought.
So this Christmas, regardless of your creed or faith, regardless of your background or your love or hate for Notre Dame, I ask you to send good thoughts, pray or do whatever you do. Ask the universe for the Seeberg family to be blessed with grace and strength. Pray for the lost girl who felt she had no recourse other than taking her own life. And hope beyond anything you've ever wished for that somehow, Justice will prevail. Because it looks like Justice needs a little help today with this case.
All I want for Christmas is Justice. I hope you want the same.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Peeved, as in Pet
You ever have something that REALLY grinds at you? REALLY gets under your skin, until you glare at it and make scary, terrible noises?
Those things are usually called pet peeves. Linguistically, it appeared in 1919, and has its roots in peevish (ornery or ill-tempered), and the word is considered a "back-formation" (where you create a new word from an old word by removing parts of it, which may or may not change what part of speech it is. Ex. couth from uncouth, shevelled from dishevelled, burgle from burglar, etc.)
Some people know what my pet peeves are. I have several, but the number one pet peeve that manages to piss me off at least once a week is what I call "Don't you know your own email address, other Erin Scott?"
You see, there are other Erin Scotts in the world. I have accepted this terrible fact because there really wasn't much sense in bemoaning it, and killing all of those impostors would just talk so much time, you know? But it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't get their stupid email all of the time. There are about 7 other Erin Scotts for which I get emails ALL. THE. TIME. It wouldn't be a big deal, either, if it wasn't for the sheer stupidity of people who share my name. I mean, seriously? Who does not know their own email address?
Now, it could be that some of these folks just don't want to give out their actual email address. To which I say, fine, be weird like that, but keep me the hell out of it. It could also be...that.... actually I have no other ideas on why the stupid Erin Scotts out there give out my email address.
In this day and age, it is of critical importance that you have an email address. And that you check your email. And that you respond to email (hopefully in a polite and timely fashion). Somewhere in there, I'm pretty certain that you type your email address at least once. Probably when logging into your email.
I assure you, I am the only erin.scott@gmail.com. I am an early adopter: when Gmail first started coming out, and my tech friends were all OOOOH GMAIL, I said, "Hey, throw an invite my way?" And they did. And I got erin.scott@gmail.com (just like I also got Voice and Wave: as an early adopter). I tend to be on the edge of technology - not the cutting nor the bleeding edge, but I'm rollin' along, fairly in the know. With a name that's not truly unique, you have to be on the edge to get what you want.
I actually have a response written and saved as a signature in Apple Mail, so that when I get email intended to go towards Other Erin Scotts, all I have to do is hit about 3 buttons, and the original sender will receive an email that goes something like this:
This one time, I almost had a fight with someone over email, who was seriously insistent that I was fucking with her, and trying to get out of paying extra money for a second cat in the apartment. She got the Other Erin Scotts dad involved because he was a co-signer on the lease or something, and then he started getting all up in my e-face about lying and dealing with consequences. Sir, I think you have bigger problems than me. Such as the fact that your daughter is an apparent idiot, because a) she doesn't know what her email address is and/or b) she thought that she could get away giving out false information.
I have some messages to the Other Erin Scotts out there:
To the Erin Scott in the DC area, pay your freaking landlord already.
To the Erin Scott in California, your level of interest in fitness and gyms is sort of frightening.
To the Erin Scott in Colorado: Your dad wants to talk to you.
To the Erin Scott in Australia: I know waaaaay too much about you. You are a nurse, you live possibly in Adelaide, you like gyms, and you might have a small animal? Not sure on the last tidbit.
To all of the Other Erin Scotts: GET A CLUE.
Those things are usually called pet peeves. Linguistically, it appeared in 1919, and has its roots in peevish (ornery or ill-tempered), and the word is considered a "back-formation" (where you create a new word from an old word by removing parts of it, which may or may not change what part of speech it is. Ex. couth from uncouth, shevelled from dishevelled, burgle from burglar, etc.)
Some people know what my pet peeves are. I have several, but the number one pet peeve that manages to piss me off at least once a week is what I call "Don't you know your own email address, other Erin Scott?"
You see, there are other Erin Scotts in the world. I have accepted this terrible fact because there really wasn't much sense in bemoaning it, and killing all of those impostors would just talk so much time, you know? But it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't get their stupid email all of the time. There are about 7 other Erin Scotts for which I get emails ALL. THE. TIME. It wouldn't be a big deal, either, if it wasn't for the sheer stupidity of people who share my name. I mean, seriously? Who does not know their own email address?
Now, it could be that some of these folks just don't want to give out their actual email address. To which I say, fine, be weird like that, but keep me the hell out of it. It could also be...that.... actually I have no other ideas on why the stupid Erin Scotts out there give out my email address.
In this day and age, it is of critical importance that you have an email address. And that you check your email. And that you respond to email (hopefully in a polite and timely fashion). Somewhere in there, I'm pretty certain that you type your email address at least once. Probably when logging into your email.
I assure you, I am the only erin.scott@gmail.com. I am an early adopter: when Gmail first started coming out, and my tech friends were all OOOOH GMAIL, I said, "Hey, throw an invite my way?" And they did. And I got erin.scott@gmail.com (just like I also got Voice and Wave: as an early adopter). I tend to be on the edge of technology - not the cutting nor the bleeding edge, but I'm rollin' along, fairly in the know. With a name that's not truly unique, you have to be on the edge to get what you want.
I actually have a response written and saved as a signature in Apple Mail, so that when I get email intended to go towards Other Erin Scotts, all I have to do is hit about 3 buttons, and the original sender will receive an email that goes something like this:
I'm sorry, but you have the wrong email address for Erin Scott. Please check your records. You may wish to contact the intended recipient through other means.I get a lot of "erinscott@gmail.com" mail. Obviously.
Additionally, it should be noted that erin.scott@gmail.com and erinscott@gmail.com are actually the same address.
Thank you,
Erin Scott
This one time, I almost had a fight with someone over email, who was seriously insistent that I was fucking with her, and trying to get out of paying extra money for a second cat in the apartment. She got the Other Erin Scotts dad involved because he was a co-signer on the lease or something, and then he started getting all up in my e-face about lying and dealing with consequences. Sir, I think you have bigger problems than me. Such as the fact that your daughter is an apparent idiot, because a) she doesn't know what her email address is and/or b) she thought that she could get away giving out false information.
I have some messages to the Other Erin Scotts out there:
To the Erin Scott in the DC area, pay your freaking landlord already.
To the Erin Scott in California, your level of interest in fitness and gyms is sort of frightening.
To the Erin Scott in Colorado: Your dad wants to talk to you.
To the Erin Scott in Australia: I know waaaaay too much about you. You are a nurse, you live possibly in Adelaide, you like gyms, and you might have a small animal? Not sure on the last tidbit.
To all of the Other Erin Scotts: GET A CLUE.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Daily Photo: Forget Me Not
Family: Boraginaceae
Subfamily: Boraginoideae
Genus: Myosotis
Species: Not entirely sure.
Photo was taken on a pond in Northford, CT, early September of 2010.
"Research"
I've (more or less) decided to sing "I Wonder As I Wander" for the Christmas Mass prelude. I spent some time watching/listening to YouTube videos, to get a sense of what works and doesn't work with the song.
The first hit on YouTube is of Vanessa Williams, from a TV special called "Christmas is Coming: Rob Mathes and Very Special Friends." It's, well, Very Special.
Next up, an Irish singer named Maureen Hegarty.
The Cambridge Singers sing a nice arrangement, which continues the same theme of a slightly faster tempo, and features some very pretty, lush harmonies.
And then, I started laughing, because stuff got crazy.
I have no idea who this poor man is, but did no one tell him that it's of Appalachian/folk origin, not operatic?
I think the next hit has my favorite title: "I Wonder As I Wander Christian Christmas songs music Gospel classic popular famous carols." WHOA I had no idea that the real song title was such a mouthful! Good thing I have YouTube to help me learn.
It subsequently got freaking weird. You really only need to listen to the first 10 seconds to understand.
UM. What the HELL?!
For the record, I do recognize electronic music as its own (albeit strange) art form. It does take some skill to mix and manipulate sound through a program to result in something interesting. I just also happen to have some purist in me, which currently says "Aw HELL no" if you ask it about techno remixes of songs I like.
I'll be basing my phrasing off of Maureen Hegarty, obviously. And I've learned what NOT to do, which is equally important. For starters, I will not be inviting a techno-remix dude to help me out. I might, however, figure out how to play a dulcimer in 3 days, and accompany myself. Though I'll need to figure out how to get a lap dulcimer to stay upright while I stand.
Memo to self: call Mom. "MOM! Do we have something I can safely perch Dad's really expensive musical toy on?"
The first hit on YouTube is of Vanessa Williams, from a TV special called "Christmas is Coming: Rob Mathes and Very Special Friends." It's, well, Very Special.
*cringe* Can I get some pancakes to go with that syrup?
Barbara Streisand has something to say on the subject of syrup, also.
Maybe we should just get a bucket in which to collect all of the syrup. To be fair, I sort of can't stand her at all/wish she would STFU already, so my opinion is definitely biased.
Barbara Streisand has something to say on the subject of syrup, also.
Maybe we should just get a bucket in which to collect all of the syrup. To be fair, I sort of can't stand her at all/wish she would STFU already, so my opinion is definitely biased.
Next up, an Irish singer named Maureen Hegarty.
WOW. Totally different. Totally awesome. It's faster, and lighter, with an emphasis on phrasing that brings a whole new element to the song.
The Cambridge Singers sing a nice arrangement, which continues the same theme of a slightly faster tempo, and features some very pretty, lush harmonies.
Sadly, I'm not singing this with a choir, but if I were, I rather like this arrangement. I'm not sure who's it is, but it's nice.
And then, I started laughing, because stuff got crazy.
I have no idea who this poor man is, but did no one tell him that it's of Appalachian/folk origin, not operatic?
I think the next hit has my favorite title: "I Wonder As I Wander Christian Christmas songs music Gospel classic popular famous carols." WHOA I had no idea that the real song title was such a mouthful! Good thing I have YouTube to help me learn.
I can hear my choir director cringing. Seriously.
And then there's some non-traditional stuff...
OK, not what I was expecting, but you know. Whatever makes you happy.
And then there's some non-traditional stuff...
OK, not what I was expecting, but you know. Whatever makes you happy.
It subsequently got freaking weird. You really only need to listen to the first 10 seconds to understand.
UM. What the HELL?!
For the record, I do recognize electronic music as its own (albeit strange) art form. It does take some skill to mix and manipulate sound through a program to result in something interesting. I just also happen to have some purist in me, which currently says "Aw HELL no" if you ask it about techno remixes of songs I like.
I'll be basing my phrasing off of Maureen Hegarty, obviously. And I've learned what NOT to do, which is equally important. For starters, I will not be inviting a techno-remix dude to help me out. I might, however, figure out how to play a dulcimer in 3 days, and accompany myself. Though I'll need to figure out how to get a lap dulcimer to stay upright while I stand.
Memo to self: call Mom. "MOM! Do we have something I can safely perch Dad's really expensive musical toy on?"
Friday, December 17, 2010
Only at Yale
Some days, working in IT at Yale gives me very strange opportunities.
Today's was tuning a dulcimer for one of my coworkers, and then playing with it for a little while.
Worse things could happen, I guess!
Today's was tuning a dulcimer for one of my coworkers, and then playing with it for a little while.
Worse things could happen, I guess!
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Do you hear what I hear...?
It's the whole freaking Handel's Alleluia Chorus. In my head. Because hiring is done. And I'm sending out 33 emails as you read this (or maybe it's even done!).
If I didn't have SO MUCH work to do tomorrow, I would seriously consider playing hooky and go skiing as a celebratory reward to myself. But alas, I have a backlog of work that is absolument horrible. So I'll be spending Friday working on BMEC fines and fees instead of swoosh-ing down a snow-covered hill. But I'll live. Maybe.
In other news, I've been asked to sing the prelude to the Christmas Mass that my entire family is apparently cantoring. It's the Von Scott Family Singers/Players, here to amaze you with the multi-talented children and sheer variety of creative genius. I don't really want to get into the issue of "Erin + Religion = Dramatic Familial Conversations" - I'm thinking of this as an opportunity to perform a lovely song for a group of people who will think it's just that: lovely. I'm still undecided about what I'm going to sing, but I'm leaning towards the following choices:
If I didn't have SO MUCH work to do tomorrow, I would seriously consider playing hooky and go skiing as a celebratory reward to myself. But alas, I have a backlog of work that is absolument horrible. So I'll be spending Friday working on BMEC fines and fees instead of swoosh-ing down a snow-covered hill. But I'll live. Maybe.
In other news, I've been asked to sing the prelude to the Christmas Mass that my entire family is apparently cantoring. It's the Von Scott Family Singers/Players, here to amaze you with the multi-talented children and sheer variety of creative genius. I don't really want to get into the issue of "Erin + Religion = Dramatic Familial Conversations" - I'm thinking of this as an opportunity to perform a lovely song for a group of people who will think it's just that: lovely. I'm still undecided about what I'm going to sing, but I'm leaning towards the following choices:
- I Wonder As I Wander (American Appalachian)
- Still, Still, Still (German/Austrian)
- Entre le boeuf et l'âne gris (French)
- If I could find the sheet music/full lyrics, I would attempt "Third Carol for Christmas Morning/Ye sons of men with me rejoice" which appears to maybe be an Irish carol? Unfortunately, I can't find ANYTHING, ANYWHERE, other than this thread on some random discussion site. So, if any of the singers who happen to read my blog out there also happen to have a copy of "The New Oxford Book of Carols" or O'Muirithe's book on carols and wouldn't mind me making photocopies...
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
I can see the Finish Line...
...and it's waaaaaaaaay in the distance. Le sigh.
We've wrapped up the last official day of interviews as of 4:00 today. I was scheduled to have a 4:30 interview, but they didn't show. Their loss! I have a rescheduled interview for tomorrow at 2:00 for a student who showed up at the wrong time yesterday, and who was greeted with the Eyeballs Over The Glasses Look, while I stated "You are very late." I think I might have scared the shit out of him. I've decided to be nice and let him interview, seeing as he was very apologetic at the time. He did send me a follow up email profusely thanking me for the opportunity to interview despite his mistake. Unfortunately, what he doesn't know is that unless he proves to have some mad media skills, he's not getting hired.
You see, I've already chosen my ten new hires. :-)
Using that ranking system I mentioned in my previous post, we have the following break down of scores to the left. The only way I'm hiring the last student has far less to do with his mistaken time slot and far more to do with the fact that 30% of the applicants who interviewed are currently ranked above a 4. Not ranked a 4 or above (that would be 42%), but above a 4. With stats like that, I know who I'm hiring. (There are currently 7 students who did not interview, either because they didn't show up, or didn't fill out a place on the interview schedule.)
Given what the numbers look like, I'm probably going to hire just that top 30%. I said between 10 and 12 - if I want to hire 12, I'd have to deliberate between four 4s, and I'mlazy efficient.
So tomorrow will not be spent deliberating painfully over a wealth of 3.5s and 4s - tomorrow will be spent catching on all million emails that I've gotten over the past few days and haven't answered because I've been interviewing students for the past 5 days/16 hours. Oh yeah, and I'm helping run a phon-a-thon, too. Did I mention that? No? Well, maybe that's a discussion for another day, seeing as it's 10:30pm, I haven't eaten dinner despite the fact that I've been cooking all evening (ParkerPants food, crock potting for tomorrow, just now getting to actual dinner).
Mmm, red sauce, cannellini beans and broccoli... tasty dindin!
We've wrapped up the last official day of interviews as of 4:00 today. I was scheduled to have a 4:30 interview, but they didn't show. Their loss! I have a rescheduled interview for tomorrow at 2:00 for a student who showed up at the wrong time yesterday, and who was greeted with the Eyeballs Over The Glasses Look, while I stated "You are very late." I think I might have scared the shit out of him. I've decided to be nice and let him interview, seeing as he was very apologetic at the time. He did send me a follow up email profusely thanking me for the opportunity to interview despite his mistake. Unfortunately, what he doesn't know is that unless he proves to have some mad media skills, he's not getting hired.
You see, I've already chosen my ten new hires. :-)
Using that ranking system I mentioned in my previous post, we have the following break down of scores to the left. The only way I'm hiring the last student has far less to do with his mistaken time slot and far more to do with the fact that 30% of the applicants who interviewed are currently ranked above a 4. Not ranked a 4 or above (that would be 42%), but above a 4. With stats like that, I know who I'm hiring. (There are currently 7 students who did not interview, either because they didn't show up, or didn't fill out a place on the interview schedule.)Given what the numbers look like, I'm probably going to hire just that top 30%. I said between 10 and 12 - if I want to hire 12, I'd have to deliberate between four 4s, and I'm
So tomorrow will not be spent deliberating painfully over a wealth of 3.5s and 4s - tomorrow will be spent catching on all million emails that I've gotten over the past few days and haven't answered because I've been interviewing students for the past 5 days/16 hours. Oh yeah, and I'm helping run a phon-a-thon, too. Did I mention that? No? Well, maybe that's a discussion for another day, seeing as it's 10:30pm, I haven't eaten dinner despite the fact that I've been cooking all evening (ParkerPants food, crock potting for tomorrow, just now getting to actual dinner).
Mmm, red sauce, cannellini beans and broccoli... tasty dindin!
Monday, December 13, 2010
Break ups according to xkcd
Apparently, I should have made a line graph. Only I would have included axes. So that we could become exes. (OH LOOK I MADES A PUNNY!)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Bass Media Techs: Now Hiring!
One of my responsibilities at the end of the Fall semester is to hire new student workers. We hire for the Spring, because in my previous department, we found that seniors often "checked out" for several days, if not weeks. Massive projects, senoritis, melt-downs - you name it, they had it. By having students begin their work in the Spring semester, it not only allows us to have a corp of reserves at hand for the inevitable, but we're also able to spend more time in training. By covering more material over a more relaxed period of time than say, 3 days, the students learn more, and I don't go crazy.
There are several parts to actually getting a job with my department. First, it helps to know someone that works for me. Or works for my previous department. Or know the student workers at the desk because someone is constantly using our resources. We do advertise with creative posters around campus as well, but word of mouth is consistently the main method of recruitment. I know this because on the application, I ask who told them about the job/how they found out about it. Currently, 87% of the applicants were referred to the application by another student worker. The second half of networking is recommendations: All of my current student workers and all of the students in my previous department were instructed that I would love to get feedback on the applicants they talked to. And I've gotten a decent amount of it. Personal recommendations from current student workers is, in a nutshell, a way to get on the "definitely pay attention to this application" list.
Next, they should fill out the application before its due date. I'm sitting up until midnight on a Saturday night so that I can close my application exactly when I've committed to do so. Not only do I take due dates VERY seriously, it shows me that they're willing, eager, and responsible. They probably don't procrastinate as much as other students. While this won't single-handedly land them a job, it is a plus.
Part of the application includes a weeding-out process. After I receive the applications, I email the students in batches (bcc'ing them to protect privacy), with a message that thanks them for their application and with a series of Doodle links from which they can choose their interview day/time. If they choose not to pick a time, that's their problem. With almost 40 applicants for 10-12 positions, I refuse to hold hands. Reading directions, communicating in an effective and timely manner and common courtesy are a large part of the job.
Once a timeslot is chosen, I expect the students to show up for their interviews on time. They should be dressed nicely, shake my hand before and after the interview, and make eye contact. We're not strict about dress code at the desk, but I do expect an effort to be made. Remember: ~40 applications, 10 positions. I want to be impressed, and first impressions are just as important as everyone says. Look the part, act the part, be the part.
During the interview, the best thing they can do is remain calm. If I see a student getting flustered, I'll often reassure them as best I can. I try to start the interview off with some chitchat: how are your papers/finals/projects going, when are you finished, where are you going for break; things of that nature. The second best thing that a student can do while in the interview is be honest. If they don't know the answer, that's OK. The reasons I ask all these questions is so that I know where I need to start training levels. If everyone knows the mechanics of a SLR and what the symbols mean, we're not going to spend an hour talking about physics and mechanical engineering. We'll move on to something else. The third best thing that someone can do in an interview is ask questions. (Actually, I'm tempted to move that to #1, but so many students here are scared witless by their first official job interview that I'd rather them remain calm.) Questions show me that they like to learn, and also give me some insight into how they think. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also hired the new Bass Media Tech!
I keep notes during the interview: what are their answers to my stock questions, where did the conversation go, did they just mention keywords or did they understand what they were saying, where they lie in the hierarchy (freshman, sophomore, etc.). I like to hire younger students because they have no preconceived expectations about how they are going to interact with a job/boss and they tend to stick around longer. I like students who will not disrespect me or challenge my policies on a weekly basis, and I like students who will work for me for 2+ years. Good ROI and all that. After the interview is finished, I look over my notes, briefly discuss things with the student worker that's sitting in on the interview with me, and we rank the student on a 1 to 5 scale, with 1 being "oh dear god no" and "If I could offer them the job this very second, I would." It's capitulating on my gut reaction, because I've learned that my gut reaction is usually pretty spot on when it comes to hiring students who are engaged and self-motivated. I don't want slackers, and if I can avoid them in the first place, I will.
Interviews eventually wrap up, and then I take the rankings and lay them out. Everyone with a 5 usually gets hired. I say "usually" because I've never had more 5s than positions, but I'm only 1/3 of the way through interviews, and it could happen. After the 5s go into the "hire" pot, then come the 4s. Then the 3s. Pretty much anyone with a 1 or 2 isn't going to get hired, especially given the odds this year. Generally, about 10-15% of the applicant pool is rated with a 5. There are more 3s and 4s, which is why we do split things into a decimal categories if needed: I do have applicants rated with 3.5 and 4.25 on occasion. Usually this happens when we average the interviewers' scores out, but sometimes it's because they're right on those weird lines of uncertainty.
Emails finally go out, jobs are accepted, and non-jobbed students are politely told that we don't have space for them in the program this year (but they are welcome to apply again next year).
Finally, I sit back for 10 minutes and toast myself on a job well done! And then freak out because I've just hired 10-12 new students and there's a crap ton of work to get done before our first training day in January.
There are several parts to actually getting a job with my department. First, it helps to know someone that works for me. Or works for my previous department. Or know the student workers at the desk because someone is constantly using our resources. We do advertise with creative posters around campus as well, but word of mouth is consistently the main method of recruitment. I know this because on the application, I ask who told them about the job/how they found out about it. Currently, 87% of the applicants were referred to the application by another student worker. The second half of networking is recommendations: All of my current student workers and all of the students in my previous department were instructed that I would love to get feedback on the applicants they talked to. And I've gotten a decent amount of it. Personal recommendations from current student workers is, in a nutshell, a way to get on the "definitely pay attention to this application" list.
Next, they should fill out the application before its due date. I'm sitting up until midnight on a Saturday night so that I can close my application exactly when I've committed to do so. Not only do I take due dates VERY seriously, it shows me that they're willing, eager, and responsible. They probably don't procrastinate as much as other students. While this won't single-handedly land them a job, it is a plus.
Part of the application includes a weeding-out process. After I receive the applications, I email the students in batches (bcc'ing them to protect privacy), with a message that thanks them for their application and with a series of Doodle links from which they can choose their interview day/time. If they choose not to pick a time, that's their problem. With almost 40 applicants for 10-12 positions, I refuse to hold hands. Reading directions, communicating in an effective and timely manner and common courtesy are a large part of the job.
Once a timeslot is chosen, I expect the students to show up for their interviews on time. They should be dressed nicely, shake my hand before and after the interview, and make eye contact. We're not strict about dress code at the desk, but I do expect an effort to be made. Remember: ~40 applications, 10 positions. I want to be impressed, and first impressions are just as important as everyone says. Look the part, act the part, be the part.
During the interview, the best thing they can do is remain calm. If I see a student getting flustered, I'll often reassure them as best I can. I try to start the interview off with some chitchat: how are your papers/finals/projects going, when are you finished, where are you going for break; things of that nature. The second best thing that a student can do while in the interview is be honest. If they don't know the answer, that's OK. The reasons I ask all these questions is so that I know where I need to start training levels. If everyone knows the mechanics of a SLR and what the symbols mean, we're not going to spend an hour talking about physics and mechanical engineering. We'll move on to something else. The third best thing that someone can do in an interview is ask questions. (Actually, I'm tempted to move that to #1, but so many students here are scared witless by their first official job interview that I'd rather them remain calm.) Questions show me that they like to learn, and also give me some insight into how they think. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it also hired the new Bass Media Tech!
I keep notes during the interview: what are their answers to my stock questions, where did the conversation go, did they just mention keywords or did they understand what they were saying, where they lie in the hierarchy (freshman, sophomore, etc.). I like to hire younger students because they have no preconceived expectations about how they are going to interact with a job/boss and they tend to stick around longer. I like students who will not disrespect me or challenge my policies on a weekly basis, and I like students who will work for me for 2+ years. Good ROI and all that. After the interview is finished, I look over my notes, briefly discuss things with the student worker that's sitting in on the interview with me, and we rank the student on a 1 to 5 scale, with 1 being "oh dear god no" and "If I could offer them the job this very second, I would." It's capitulating on my gut reaction, because I've learned that my gut reaction is usually pretty spot on when it comes to hiring students who are engaged and self-motivated. I don't want slackers, and if I can avoid them in the first place, I will.
Interviews eventually wrap up, and then I take the rankings and lay them out. Everyone with a 5 usually gets hired. I say "usually" because I've never had more 5s than positions, but I'm only 1/3 of the way through interviews, and it could happen. After the 5s go into the "hire" pot, then come the 4s. Then the 3s. Pretty much anyone with a 1 or 2 isn't going to get hired, especially given the odds this year. Generally, about 10-15% of the applicant pool is rated with a 5. There are more 3s and 4s, which is why we do split things into a decimal categories if needed: I do have applicants rated with 3.5 and 4.25 on occasion. Usually this happens when we average the interviewers' scores out, but sometimes it's because they're right on those weird lines of uncertainty.
Emails finally go out, jobs are accepted, and non-jobbed students are politely told that we don't have space for them in the program this year (but they are welcome to apply again next year).
Finally, I sit back for 10 minutes and toast myself on a job well done! And then freak out because I've just hired 10-12 new students and there's a crap ton of work to get done before our first training day in January.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Thursday, December 2, 2010
An Open Letter to My Ex
Dear John,
Over the past month, I've had a lot of things put on my plate. My grandfather was hospitalized and subsequently passed away. You had what you continually refer to as "The Incident," and what I refer to as "The Catalyst." We broke up. I drove over 1600 miles in 10 days, and 99% of that was by myself. I gained an inbox of 700+ emails. I generally consider myself a strong, capable person who is able to keep a civil tongue in her head through most situations.
We are now at the point where I no longer care about that civil tongue.
When we broke up on Nov. 1, I told you that I needed time and space. I had to tell you multiple times, in multiple ways, that this was it. That we were done. That you needed to go away. That you needed to go away right now. And if you didn't want to go away right now, I would stay the night at a friend's because I was incapable of sleeping in the same bed as you without doing you bodily harm. For the record, when someone says "You really don't want to have this conversation right now, because you will not like it" what they're really saying is "Shut up and leave me alone because if you don't, you won't like the results." Which, frankly, is pretty clear from the original statement.
You finally took the hint, because when I returned from dinner with my friends, you were gone. Two days later, I found an email in my inbox, that spouted such inane, defensive and pseudo-rationalizing drivel that I'm fairly certain a half-dozen of your beloved writers rolled over in their graves. I did not immediately reply, as I was now dealing with the knowledge that my grandfather had a broken pelvic bone, and that I should maybe start thinking about coming home.
The following day, I found a rather offensive email via facebook from your charming sister. While I completely understand the need to vent and talk to family and friends during a time of crisis, what I don't understand is how certain information failed to make its way to your sister, such as the fact that the relationship had essentially been on probation for a month, that my family has been personally affected by our own version of "The Incident," and that your poor decision making abilities were the reason for "The Incident"/"The Catalyst" and our subsequent breakup. Not only do you blame an innocuous inanimate third party for "The Incident," but you somehow gave your sister the impression that you were in, and I quote,"[a] devastating, heartbreaking dark place full of fear," to which she empathizes.
To which I would like to reply, very simply: Bullshit. First of all, the issues your sister is facing stem from some serious psychological and medical problems. She is getting help, though it took some serious scares and consequences to get her where she needed to be. You, on the other hand, are just an idiot. There is no excuse imaginable for what you did, and what you continue to do.
You have claimed that you wish to pursue friendship after the dust has settled. I cannot understand, then, why you continue to antagonize me to the point where I feel that I must issue deadlines, ultimatums and cold words of refusal to help you. I am indeed neutral with several exes, friends with one of them, and I helped another get a summer job mere months after we stopped dating: I am proud of these facts. I, and they, cooled off enough after the initial anger and hurt to realize that we were not meant to be, for whatever reason. We may say spiteful things in the heat of the moment, but in the end, we did not wish each other ill because we were adults.
But I am currently not inspired to cool down and look back fondly, and with a sigh, state "Well, there were good parts and bad parts, but I learned something and we're OK now." Instead, I'm prone to disparaging comments and rhetorical questioning of your judgment, both concerning "The Incident" and all of your actions following.
Most people, upon breaking up, vacate the premises and disseminate the bonds as quickly as they can. I prefer to also do it with with a modicum of tact, restraint and some goodwill thrown in for good measure. I even conveniently removed myself from my home for 20 days in the month of November. Granted, this was not because I'm that nice of a person. I am blessed to have good friends who held me when I needed it most, who asked me to stay with them so that I would not be quite so alone. One of them was recovering from a fairly serious surgery, and still had the capacity of heart to simply ask in the moments after I found out about my grandfather's passing, "Do you need to come stay the night?" It was asked without a second thought to her own physical discomfort. If that is not true friendship, I don't know what it is. On my trips to and from Indiana, the kindly parents of family friends let me stay in their spare room, to ease my burden. If that is not true charity, I don't know what that is, either.
Perhaps then, you can imagine my surprise when I came home in the middle of the month, after being completely gone from the region (much less my home) for almost 2 weeks, and I find that nothing much more, other than the bare bones you took with you on Nov. 1, is gone from the apartment. Your dirty clothing in my hamper, your shoes still jumbled up with mine, shirts still hanging in my armoire and your DVDs still in the living room. Your excuse? That you did not feel comfortable removing your belongings from the apartment while I was not there.
What did you think would happen? That I would accuse you of stealing something? Yes, you've shown poor judgment but you don't have a penchant for larceny. If you had questions about what was mine and what was yours, a compiled, emailed list would have sufficed. I was busy with my family and being in mourning while I was home in Indiana, but I still answered several emails about personal and work issues. I was actively updating facebook, so you cannot claim that you thought I was completely out of reach. We live in a very connected world, and everyone who knows me also knows that my iPhone is quite literally attached at my hip, usually in the right back pocket.
I then vacated my home for another week to pet sit for some of those wonderful friends I mentioned earlier. I'm not sure that I expressly told you that I would be hanging out with two dogs at someone else's home for a week, but again, social networking clues left behind by these mutual friends of ours would have told you that if they're in Miami, someone else is with their dog. A phone call, text or email would have also easily given you the information that I was not going to be around. I'm sure that you were busy for part of that week with all of the travel and family things that happen with Thanksgiving, as was I, but that still left you with Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at your disposal, easily.
You did come get some of your things, albeit while I was between absences. Your reasoning of not wanting to be there alone is the complete opposite of mine. I do not wish to interact with you right now. I had thought that I had made that clear during the break up. Perhaps you're just unusually dense. Or perhaps, more disturbingly, you don't care about what I need and want right now. We all deal with grief and anger and hurt in different ways. My method includes avoiding that which hurt me for a while. That you so blatantly disregard my feelings and needs after everything I've been through in the past 33 days is proof that you do not actually want to be friends. Friends listen and offer what is needed, even if it's not completely understood.
What made that first interaction after the break up even more special was that you tried to talk to me. No, I don't mean the pleasant banalities that were politely exchanged. You ignored my refusal to "talk about things." ("Then don't.") You attempted to do a post-mortem on the relationship, as I stood there in my kitchen with a bleach bottle in one hand and a green scrubbie in the other. At first I couldn't believe that you were actually doing this while I stood holding a bottle of chemicals that could easily blind you; then, realizing that if I let this continue, we would end up in an unholy argument that would only serve to scare the wits out of my already thoroughly confused dog. And if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is the thought of causing my dog pain. So I cut you off. I told you, curtly and angrily, that you do not get a project review of relationships, and that if you wanted to do that with someone, to go see a therapist. Yes, the words were cruel and intended to hurt you. They were also intended to get you to shut the hell up.
Since then, the communications and interactions have continued to disintegrate. A month after the breakup, with two boxes of stuff still hanging out in my living room, I finally issued an ultimatum. Out by Thursday. What you don't know is that I also emailed the landlord, who offered and was fully prepared to change the locks at a moment's notice for me. I said thanks but no thanks; I only wanted him to be aware of the situation, and to help me figure out what my next legal steps were as a tenant with stuff I didn't want.
You, in turn, have issued your own ultimatum: that the couch that your father has been graciously storing for me needs to be out by Dec. 18. I can understand his/your desire to have it removed, but please note that you offered me pictures to post on craigslist, at the beginning of November. They never appeared. Now, I have an ultimatum (complete with words like "verdict" and "responsibility" that I find highly ironic) to deal with in addition to the list of crap in my life that I didn't ask for, but am dealing with as best I can.
The situation, though similar on the surface, is actually quite different and in my opinion, not quite fair. You had a month, for most of which I was not home, to remove your life from mine. I, on the other hand, went home to deal with my grandfather's death. I arranged a memorial service. I sang at my grandfather's interment. I read a poem for his friends and family at the retirement home. I reconnected with family. I held hands, I gripped a steering wheel, I asked for thoughts and prayers to be offered up on behalf of my family. I came home, sang in a concert, cooked for the concert, and have worked for my choir extensively as we work to solve serious issues. I walked dogs, taught a child to cook and played with trains and Legos. I have made Christmas gifts, cosigned on a loan for my sister, and advanced her some money to get through a rough patch right now. My life right now is consumed with the care and needs of others, in addition to my own weighty issues. What have you done in the last month? I will not sit with bated breath, because seeing Trans-Siberian Orchestra with your friend doesn't really count as a volunteer activity or a service to others.
What it all comes down to, John, is that you have always been a person who doesn't know how to look beyond your own immediate needs and comforts. You didn't volunteer anywhere until I encouraged to join the Peabody Volunteer corp with me. You didn't think to learn to cook until I practically demanded that you buy "Cooking for Dummies." You didn't know how to paint a wall or hang kitchen hardware until we did it together. You'd never been to an opera before I snagged free tickets to Live at the Met, and listening to Baroque music wasn't something you'd thought about on your own until I asked you to come to my concerts. You live a life that is incredibly stagnant and devoid of exploration outside of your comfort zone. I had to call your mother for you, to get your Passport finally completed with her address and phone number, for heaven's sake. This doesn't mean you're a terrible person. It just means that you're content to live in a small circle of experiences.
I am not like that. I never have been, and I never will be. That's why it didn't work out. "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, I want it more than I can stand," was sung by a brunette heroine in one of my favorite fairy tales. Like Belle, it's not that I'm dissatisfied with everything all the time; it's that I refuse to settle for mediocre when I know that fantastic exists. We were not fantastic. We were nice, and cute, and.... that's about it. We learned things from each other, and unfortunately, we've also managed to learn how to hurt each other quite a bit. I'm sorry that I've said mean things and that you've felt the need to retaliate. But I'm not sorry it's over. It would have ended eventually, it just ended a lot more explosively than I ever wanted or needed it to. Catalysts tend to cause serious flash-bang chemical reactions, and that's what happened.
I write this with the knowledge that as an open letter, many, many people will have access to read and review my thoughts and words. I therefore choose my words carefully, as my potential audience includes my parents, siblings, other family members, coworkers, friends old and new, professors, and student workers.
This isn't a contest. It's a statement. It's a request for at least a temporary truce while I work on getting my life back into some semblance of order. I'm not asking for or expecting a reply. This is after all, a form of therapy for me.
I don't expect us to be friends someday in the future. I'm ok with that. I do wish you health, luck and love in your life, and your friends and family be as supportive to you in your times of need as mine have been for me.
Erin
Over the past month, I've had a lot of things put on my plate. My grandfather was hospitalized and subsequently passed away. You had what you continually refer to as "The Incident," and what I refer to as "The Catalyst." We broke up. I drove over 1600 miles in 10 days, and 99% of that was by myself. I gained an inbox of 700+ emails. I generally consider myself a strong, capable person who is able to keep a civil tongue in her head through most situations.
We are now at the point where I no longer care about that civil tongue.
When we broke up on Nov. 1, I told you that I needed time and space. I had to tell you multiple times, in multiple ways, that this was it. That we were done. That you needed to go away. That you needed to go away right now. And if you didn't want to go away right now, I would stay the night at a friend's because I was incapable of sleeping in the same bed as you without doing you bodily harm. For the record, when someone says "You really don't want to have this conversation right now, because you will not like it" what they're really saying is "Shut up and leave me alone because if you don't, you won't like the results." Which, frankly, is pretty clear from the original statement.
You finally took the hint, because when I returned from dinner with my friends, you were gone. Two days later, I found an email in my inbox, that spouted such inane, defensive and pseudo-rationalizing drivel that I'm fairly certain a half-dozen of your beloved writers rolled over in their graves. I did not immediately reply, as I was now dealing with the knowledge that my grandfather had a broken pelvic bone, and that I should maybe start thinking about coming home.
The following day, I found a rather offensive email via facebook from your charming sister. While I completely understand the need to vent and talk to family and friends during a time of crisis, what I don't understand is how certain information failed to make its way to your sister, such as the fact that the relationship had essentially been on probation for a month, that my family has been personally affected by our own version of "The Incident," and that your poor decision making abilities were the reason for "The Incident"/"The Catalyst" and our subsequent breakup. Not only do you blame an innocuous inanimate third party for "The Incident," but you somehow gave your sister the impression that you were in, and I quote,"[a] devastating, heartbreaking dark place full of fear," to which she empathizes.
To which I would like to reply, very simply: Bullshit. First of all, the issues your sister is facing stem from some serious psychological and medical problems. She is getting help, though it took some serious scares and consequences to get her where she needed to be. You, on the other hand, are just an idiot. There is no excuse imaginable for what you did, and what you continue to do.
You have claimed that you wish to pursue friendship after the dust has settled. I cannot understand, then, why you continue to antagonize me to the point where I feel that I must issue deadlines, ultimatums and cold words of refusal to help you. I am indeed neutral with several exes, friends with one of them, and I helped another get a summer job mere months after we stopped dating: I am proud of these facts. I, and they, cooled off enough after the initial anger and hurt to realize that we were not meant to be, for whatever reason. We may say spiteful things in the heat of the moment, but in the end, we did not wish each other ill because we were adults.
But I am currently not inspired to cool down and look back fondly, and with a sigh, state "Well, there were good parts and bad parts, but I learned something and we're OK now." Instead, I'm prone to disparaging comments and rhetorical questioning of your judgment, both concerning "The Incident" and all of your actions following.
Most people, upon breaking up, vacate the premises and disseminate the bonds as quickly as they can. I prefer to also do it with with a modicum of tact, restraint and some goodwill thrown in for good measure. I even conveniently removed myself from my home for 20 days in the month of November. Granted, this was not because I'm that nice of a person. I am blessed to have good friends who held me when I needed it most, who asked me to stay with them so that I would not be quite so alone. One of them was recovering from a fairly serious surgery, and still had the capacity of heart to simply ask in the moments after I found out about my grandfather's passing, "Do you need to come stay the night?" It was asked without a second thought to her own physical discomfort. If that is not true friendship, I don't know what it is. On my trips to and from Indiana, the kindly parents of family friends let me stay in their spare room, to ease my burden. If that is not true charity, I don't know what that is, either.
Perhaps then, you can imagine my surprise when I came home in the middle of the month, after being completely gone from the region (much less my home) for almost 2 weeks, and I find that nothing much more, other than the bare bones you took with you on Nov. 1, is gone from the apartment. Your dirty clothing in my hamper, your shoes still jumbled up with mine, shirts still hanging in my armoire and your DVDs still in the living room. Your excuse? That you did not feel comfortable removing your belongings from the apartment while I was not there.
What did you think would happen? That I would accuse you of stealing something? Yes, you've shown poor judgment but you don't have a penchant for larceny. If you had questions about what was mine and what was yours, a compiled, emailed list would have sufficed. I was busy with my family and being in mourning while I was home in Indiana, but I still answered several emails about personal and work issues. I was actively updating facebook, so you cannot claim that you thought I was completely out of reach. We live in a very connected world, and everyone who knows me also knows that my iPhone is quite literally attached at my hip, usually in the right back pocket.
I then vacated my home for another week to pet sit for some of those wonderful friends I mentioned earlier. I'm not sure that I expressly told you that I would be hanging out with two dogs at someone else's home for a week, but again, social networking clues left behind by these mutual friends of ours would have told you that if they're in Miami, someone else is with their dog. A phone call, text or email would have also easily given you the information that I was not going to be around. I'm sure that you were busy for part of that week with all of the travel and family things that happen with Thanksgiving, as was I, but that still left you with Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday at your disposal, easily.
You did come get some of your things, albeit while I was between absences. Your reasoning of not wanting to be there alone is the complete opposite of mine. I do not wish to interact with you right now. I had thought that I had made that clear during the break up. Perhaps you're just unusually dense. Or perhaps, more disturbingly, you don't care about what I need and want right now. We all deal with grief and anger and hurt in different ways. My method includes avoiding that which hurt me for a while. That you so blatantly disregard my feelings and needs after everything I've been through in the past 33 days is proof that you do not actually want to be friends. Friends listen and offer what is needed, even if it's not completely understood.
What made that first interaction after the break up even more special was that you tried to talk to me. No, I don't mean the pleasant banalities that were politely exchanged. You ignored my refusal to "talk about things." ("Then don't.") You attempted to do a post-mortem on the relationship, as I stood there in my kitchen with a bleach bottle in one hand and a green scrubbie in the other. At first I couldn't believe that you were actually doing this while I stood holding a bottle of chemicals that could easily blind you; then, realizing that if I let this continue, we would end up in an unholy argument that would only serve to scare the wits out of my already thoroughly confused dog. And if there is one thing I cannot stand, it is the thought of causing my dog pain. So I cut you off. I told you, curtly and angrily, that you do not get a project review of relationships, and that if you wanted to do that with someone, to go see a therapist. Yes, the words were cruel and intended to hurt you. They were also intended to get you to shut the hell up.
Since then, the communications and interactions have continued to disintegrate. A month after the breakup, with two boxes of stuff still hanging out in my living room, I finally issued an ultimatum. Out by Thursday. What you don't know is that I also emailed the landlord, who offered and was fully prepared to change the locks at a moment's notice for me. I said thanks but no thanks; I only wanted him to be aware of the situation, and to help me figure out what my next legal steps were as a tenant with stuff I didn't want.
You, in turn, have issued your own ultimatum: that the couch that your father has been graciously storing for me needs to be out by Dec. 18. I can understand his/your desire to have it removed, but please note that you offered me pictures to post on craigslist, at the beginning of November. They never appeared. Now, I have an ultimatum (complete with words like "verdict" and "responsibility" that I find highly ironic) to deal with in addition to the list of crap in my life that I didn't ask for, but am dealing with as best I can.
The situation, though similar on the surface, is actually quite different and in my opinion, not quite fair. You had a month, for most of which I was not home, to remove your life from mine. I, on the other hand, went home to deal with my grandfather's death. I arranged a memorial service. I sang at my grandfather's interment. I read a poem for his friends and family at the retirement home. I reconnected with family. I held hands, I gripped a steering wheel, I asked for thoughts and prayers to be offered up on behalf of my family. I came home, sang in a concert, cooked for the concert, and have worked for my choir extensively as we work to solve serious issues. I walked dogs, taught a child to cook and played with trains and Legos. I have made Christmas gifts, cosigned on a loan for my sister, and advanced her some money to get through a rough patch right now. My life right now is consumed with the care and needs of others, in addition to my own weighty issues. What have you done in the last month? I will not sit with bated breath, because seeing Trans-Siberian Orchestra with your friend doesn't really count as a volunteer activity or a service to others.
What it all comes down to, John, is that you have always been a person who doesn't know how to look beyond your own immediate needs and comforts. You didn't volunteer anywhere until I encouraged to join the Peabody Volunteer corp with me. You didn't think to learn to cook until I practically demanded that you buy "Cooking for Dummies." You didn't know how to paint a wall or hang kitchen hardware until we did it together. You'd never been to an opera before I snagged free tickets to Live at the Met, and listening to Baroque music wasn't something you'd thought about on your own until I asked you to come to my concerts. You live a life that is incredibly stagnant and devoid of exploration outside of your comfort zone. I had to call your mother for you, to get your Passport finally completed with her address and phone number, for heaven's sake. This doesn't mean you're a terrible person. It just means that you're content to live in a small circle of experiences.
I am not like that. I never have been, and I never will be. That's why it didn't work out. "I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, I want it more than I can stand," was sung by a brunette heroine in one of my favorite fairy tales. Like Belle, it's not that I'm dissatisfied with everything all the time; it's that I refuse to settle for mediocre when I know that fantastic exists. We were not fantastic. We were nice, and cute, and.... that's about it. We learned things from each other, and unfortunately, we've also managed to learn how to hurt each other quite a bit. I'm sorry that I've said mean things and that you've felt the need to retaliate. But I'm not sorry it's over. It would have ended eventually, it just ended a lot more explosively than I ever wanted or needed it to. Catalysts tend to cause serious flash-bang chemical reactions, and that's what happened.
I write this with the knowledge that as an open letter, many, many people will have access to read and review my thoughts and words. I therefore choose my words carefully, as my potential audience includes my parents, siblings, other family members, coworkers, friends old and new, professors, and student workers.
This isn't a contest. It's a statement. It's a request for at least a temporary truce while I work on getting my life back into some semblance of order. I'm not asking for or expecting a reply. This is after all, a form of therapy for me.
I don't expect us to be friends someday in the future. I'm ok with that. I do wish you health, luck and love in your life, and your friends and family be as supportive to you in your times of need as mine have been for me.
Erin
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A plea to enjoy the awkwardness
There's something to be said about the awkwardness that follows a breakup. Mostly, that it sucks. And that the only thing I can do at this point to keep myself from crying all the time is to laugh at it.
There are some people to whom the explanations come easy: best friends, parents and siblings, mentors, bosses, some coworkers with parental leanings - the people who you see or talk to on a near-daily basis. They understand all of the layers, because they've been around for a lot of them as they developed. They understand your need to vent, and generally are awesome for you. They just get it.
Then there's the next level - people who hear that you've been out for near two weeks because your grandfather died, people who want to wish you well. Choir members, people on facebook, people you see at work every so often because you work in the same dept. "How've you been?" is a constant question. "The short answer is 'not so awesome.' The longer answer requires bribery in the form of sugar or alcohol," is the constant answer.
The really special conversations happen with general acquaintances. Explaining to one of the Peabody Museum volunteer coordinators, for example, that I'd no longer be taking the community kits out with le ex because, well, he's le ex. And someday we might be able to do it together again, but for now, I'd really appreciate some time and space sans le ex. Or, talking with the downstairs neighbors. Via email. Because they're borrowing some of the equipment you manage. And then they wish you, the ex and your dog a Merry Christmas (I decided to just respond with "Merry Christmas to you, too!"). Awkward turtle, much?
Another memorable moment was explaining to my younger brother why I broke up with le ex. He asked what happened, so I told him. I'm not going to lie to my brother (actually, I'd rather him learn from le ex's mistakes so that HE doesn't pull stupid shit on some unsuspecting significant other in the future). "I don't hate him, Andrew, but I'm very, very angry and hurt. I'll probably be angry for a while. Sometimes, you just can't deal with someone hurting you any more, and you have to call it quits. He made a really big mistake that I couldn't deal with then, and I can't help him with now. It doesn't make him a bad person. ...It does make him an idiot, though." Luckily, my almost-13 year-old brother seemed to have a fairly decent grasp of everything. Or maybe that's most 13-year-olds. I don't know; I try to keep my interactions with pre-teens to a minimum.
Actually, I think my favorite exchange was with my coworker, Bryan. He does magic things with Active Directory, LabStats, and Windows machines. Also, we argue. A lot. All the time, about everything. Good-naturedly, of course.
Wednesday, Nov. 3
Bryan: So what happened?
Erin: Well, I found out that my grandfather is in the hospital and then 20 minutes later I learned that le ex [insert really stupid shit that le ex pulled]. I broke up with him on Monday.
Bryan: ....Wow. I'm sorry.
Erin: I'm not.
Bryan: *stares, and then starts laughing* Wow, I guess that's one way to react.
What else can I do at this point, but laugh? I've cried so much I've given myself hiccups and headaches. I've driven so much that I get twitchy when I think about driving anything over 30 minutes. I've taken over the bed so much that.... wait, no, I like having the whole bed to myself. Nevermind that.
My point is, that even though I have these incredibly flippant answers and attitudes towards things right now - especially my breakup - is that I'm not trying to make fun of le ex (ok, well maybe a little). This is how I'm coping. When I stress, I either watch funny things to make myself laugh or try to make others laugh. Because if I'm laughing, I'm not crying. And if I'm making others laugh, they aren't feeling sorry for me. Just for that one instant, we're all OK, like nothing ever happened. And it's those little moments of OK-ness that keep me going every day.
So, just let me laugh, and laugh with me. Please. It's all I've got right now.
There are some people to whom the explanations come easy: best friends, parents and siblings, mentors, bosses, some coworkers with parental leanings - the people who you see or talk to on a near-daily basis. They understand all of the layers, because they've been around for a lot of them as they developed. They understand your need to vent, and generally are awesome for you. They just get it.
Then there's the next level - people who hear that you've been out for near two weeks because your grandfather died, people who want to wish you well. Choir members, people on facebook, people you see at work every so often because you work in the same dept. "How've you been?" is a constant question. "The short answer is 'not so awesome.' The longer answer requires bribery in the form of sugar or alcohol," is the constant answer.
The really special conversations happen with general acquaintances. Explaining to one of the Peabody Museum volunteer coordinators, for example, that I'd no longer be taking the community kits out with le ex because, well, he's le ex. And someday we might be able to do it together again, but for now, I'd really appreciate some time and space sans le ex. Or, talking with the downstairs neighbors. Via email. Because they're borrowing some of the equipment you manage. And then they wish you, the ex and your dog a Merry Christmas (I decided to just respond with "Merry Christmas to you, too!"). Awkward turtle, much?
Another memorable moment was explaining to my younger brother why I broke up with le ex. He asked what happened, so I told him. I'm not going to lie to my brother (actually, I'd rather him learn from le ex's mistakes so that HE doesn't pull stupid shit on some unsuspecting significant other in the future). "I don't hate him, Andrew, but I'm very, very angry and hurt. I'll probably be angry for a while. Sometimes, you just can't deal with someone hurting you any more, and you have to call it quits. He made a really big mistake that I couldn't deal with then, and I can't help him with now. It doesn't make him a bad person. ...It does make him an idiot, though." Luckily, my almost-13 year-old brother seemed to have a fairly decent grasp of everything. Or maybe that's most 13-year-olds. I don't know; I try to keep my interactions with pre-teens to a minimum.
Actually, I think my favorite exchange was with my coworker, Bryan. He does magic things with Active Directory, LabStats, and Windows machines. Also, we argue. A lot. All the time, about everything. Good-naturedly, of course.
Wednesday, Nov. 3
Bryan: So what happened?
Erin: Well, I found out that my grandfather is in the hospital and then 20 minutes later I learned that le ex [insert really stupid shit that le ex pulled]. I broke up with him on Monday.
Bryan: ....Wow. I'm sorry.
Erin: I'm not.
Bryan: *stares, and then starts laughing* Wow, I guess that's one way to react.
What else can I do at this point, but laugh? I've cried so much I've given myself hiccups and headaches. I've driven so much that I get twitchy when I think about driving anything over 30 minutes. I've taken over the bed so much that.... wait, no, I like having the whole bed to myself. Nevermind that.
My point is, that even though I have these incredibly flippant answers and attitudes towards things right now - especially my breakup - is that I'm not trying to make fun of le ex (ok, well maybe a little). This is how I'm coping. When I stress, I either watch funny things to make myself laugh or try to make others laugh. Because if I'm laughing, I'm not crying. And if I'm making others laugh, they aren't feeling sorry for me. Just for that one instant, we're all OK, like nothing ever happened. And it's those little moments of OK-ness that keep me going every day.
So, just let me laugh, and laugh with me. Please. It's all I've got right now.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)