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August 29, 2006
Books I Read During the Sweltering Heat and Afterwards
New Total: 96
The Tomb of the Golden Bird
by Elizabeth Peters
From Publishers Weekly: The absorbing 18th entry in MWA Grand Master Peters's bestselling Amelia Peabody series (after 2005's The Serpent on the Crown) centers on one of the great real-life discoveries in Egyptology—the opening of Tutankhamon's tomb in the Valley of the Kings in 1922. Amelia's husband, Radcliffe Emerson (aka "the Father of Curses"), has been wooing Lord Carnavon and Howard Carter to let him excavate in the Valley of the Kings where they have digging rights, leading his competitors to think there must be something worth unearthing in the area. The eventual uncovering of King Tut's burial chamber and its magnificent contents attracts a host of museum curators, antiquities specialists, government officials, reporters and thieves. The arrival of Emerson's shady half-brother, Sethos, desperately ill and carrying a secret document, further complicates a plot involving attacks on the Emerson family, Middle East politics, conspiracies and love affairs. Once again Peters delivers an irresistible mix of archeology, action, humor and a mystery that only the redoubtable Amelia can solve.
My Review: After the doldrums of Empress Orchid, this was a breath of fresh Egyptian air. I *heart* the Emerson family and it makes me sad to know there are no more sequels waiting in my audiobook queue.
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Fury
by Salman Rushdie
From Publishers Weekly: The sea change has invigorated Rushdie. His new novel is very much an American book, a bitingly satiric, often wildly farcical picture of American society in the first years of the 21st century. The twice transplanted protagonist (Bombay born, Cambridge educated, now Manhattan resident) Prof. Malik Solanka is an unimaginably wealthy man, transformed from a philosophy professor into a BBC-TV star, then into the inventor of a wildly popular doll called Little Brain. Compelled to relinquish control of the doll when it metamorphoses into an industry, the furious Solanka flees London for an apartment on Manhattan's Upper West Side. His prose crackling with irony, Rushdie catches roiling undercurrents of incivility and inchoate anger: in cab drivers, moviegoers and sidewalk pedestrians; in ethnic antagonisms; in political confrontations; and in Solly himself, as he tries to surmount his guilt over having abandoned a loving wife and three-year-old son in England, and as he becomes involved with two new women. Rushdie's brilliantly observant portrait of "this money-mad burg" is mercilessly au courant, with references to George Gush and Al Bore, to Elian and Tony Soprano, and to "shawls made from the chin fluff of extinct mountain goats." The action is helter-skelter fast and refreshingly concise; this is a slender book for Rushdie, and his relatively narrow focus results in a crisper narrative; there are fewer puns and a deeper emotional involvement with his characters. Still, his tendency to go over the top leads to some incredulity for the reader; it's a bit much that short, unprepossessing Solly is a magnet for gorgeous, articulate women, who all tend to speak in the same didactic monologues. On the whole, however, readers will nod in acknowledgement of Rushdie's recognition that "the whole world was burning on a shorter fuse." Rushdie remains a master of satire that rings true with unsettling acuity and dark, comedic brilliance. Agent, Andrew Wylie. 8-city author tour. (Sept. 11)Forecast: Rushdie has never been so sharply observant of the American psyche and the contemporary scene, and thus so relevant to U.S. readers. His increasing visibility after the isolation of the fatwa years should create a buzz of interest in this novel.
My Review: I have never read anything by Rushdie, and truthfully speaking, had only vague notions of why he was an important writer. I can't recall specifically why I had chosen to read (or listen to, rather) Fury and halfway through the audiobook I was still wondering what the point was. Yes, he is witty-- perhaps even a master of satire, but lordy is the book short on coherent plot. It wends its way through incest, psychosis, feminism, September 11th repercussions, and religious intolerance before finally coalescing into a quite entertaining ditty of a story. While I wouldn't exactly recommend this book to my *normal* friends, it was worth the literary effort and made me want to go back and read his more famous works, especially The Satanic Verses.
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The Memory Keeper's Daughter
by Kim Edwards
From Publishers Weekly: Edwards's assured but schematic debut novel (after her collection, The Secrets of a Fire King) hinges on the birth of fraternal twins, a healthy boy and a girl with Down syndrome, resulting in the father's disavowal of his newborn daughter. A snowstorm immobilizes Lexington, Ky., in 1964, and when young Norah Henry goes into labor, her husband, orthopedic surgeon Dr. David Henry, must deliver their babies himself, aided only by a nurse. Seeing his daughter's handicap, he instructs the nurse, Caroline Gill, to take her to a home and later tells Norah, who was drugged during labor, that their son Paul's twin died at birth. Instead of institutionalizing Phoebe, Caroline absconds with her to Pittsburgh. David's deception becomes the defining moment of the main characters' lives, and Phoebe's absence corrodes her birth family's core over the course of the next 25 years. David's undetected lie warps his marriage; he grapples with guilt; Norah mourns her lost child; and Paul not only deals with his parents' icy relationship but with his own yearnings for his sister as well. Though the impact of Phoebe's loss makes sense, Edwards's redundant handling of the trope robs it of credibility. This neatly structured story is a little too moist with compassion.
My Review: After rejecting this book for August's book club selection (and then being overruled), I have to admit that I was caught up in the story from the first page. Tearing through the book like it might vanish into thin air if I put it down, I nevertheless lost steam about halfway through the book. I wasn't sure exactly what changed until I read the Publishers Weekly review above, which hits the nail on the head: it's redundant. Examining the "handicapped daughter given away and believed dead except for the nurse who stole her away" story line from every angle made me truly feel for the characters, but still. By the end of the novel I was relieved to put the book down and step away into the friendlier, less conflicted reality of my own life.
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The 48 Laws of Power
by Robert Greene
From Publishers Weekly: Greene and Elffers have created an heir to Machiavelli's Prince, espousing principles such as, everyone wants more power; emotions, including love, are detrimental; deceit and manipulation are life's paramount tools. Anyone striving for psychological health will be put off at the start, but the authors counter, saying "honesty is indeed a power strategy," and "genuinely innocent people may still be playing for power." Amoral or immoral, this compendium aims to guide those who embrace power as a ruthless game, and will entertain the rest. Elffers's layout (he is identified as the co-conceiver and designer in the press release) is stylish, with short epigrams set in red at the margins. Each law, with such allusive titles as "Pose as a Friend, Work as a Spy," "Get Others to Do the Work for You, But Always Take the Credit," "Conceal Your Intentions," is demonstrated in four ways?using it correctly, failing to use it, key aspects of the law and when not to use it. Illustrations are drawn from the courts of modern and ancient Europe, Africa and Asia, and devious strategies culled from well-known personae: Machiavelli, Talleyrand, Bismarck, Catherine the Great, Mao, Kissinger, Haile Selassie, Lola Montes and various con artists of our century. These historical escapades make enjoyable reading, yet by the book's conclusion, some protagonists have appeared too many times and seem drained. Although gentler souls will find this book frightening, those whose moral compass is oriented solely to power will have a perfect vade mecum.
My Review: Fortunately, I'm not a *gentle soul* so this book was perfect for me. Yes, it got a teensy bit repetitive at times, but it was an eye opening look at the power dynamics of interpersonal relationships. In my life, there has been one big nemesis, and reading this book made me realize all the games that we played, the errors in judgment I made, and the ways I should deal with these situations in the future. Yes, dear reader, I even underlined the important parts. Beware crossing my path, and I will crush you completely.
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The Bowl Is Already Broken
by Mary Kay Zuravleff
From Booklist: Promise is having a bad summer. She is unexpectedly and uncomfortably pregnant with her third child. Her affable, activist husband smokes too much pot. Her house is falling apart. Her babysitter is trying to indoctrinate her already neurotic children. To top it all off, Promise has just been named acting director of the Museum of Asian Art, a museum the administration is trying to close. When her best friend, and fellow curator, breaks a porcelain bowl once owned by Thomas Jefferson, it may be the end of all of them, or their saving grace. This enjoyable novel touches on subjects from Asian art and philosophy to cancer and infertility. Although there are a few too many subplots involving characters the author doesn't have time to flesh out, Promise Whittaker is so realistically written she makes those around her look good.
My Review: I loved this book. Partly for its setting in Washington, D.C. (the driving directions were so realistic it could describe my route to the National Mall from Bethesda), partly for its rambling subplots (terrorists in the desert! priceless porcelain bowls broken! embezzlement for fertility treatments! pot-smoking husbands who delight in their fattening pregnant wives!), and partly for its philosophical message--I would recommend this for anyone needing a mix of Buddhist thought and chick lit, in the nicest possible combination.
Posted by madchen at 12:44 AM | Comments (0)August 28, 2006
A Postcard from Seattle
Dear Loyal Readers,
I'm back in Seattle, having survived 4 days in the Northern Cascade Mountains with 8 of my very favorite people and approimately 22 million mosquitos. I'm totally inspired by the work that my former classmates are doing and itchy as hell. Pictures showcasing the glorious Mt. Baker and its surrounding campgrounds and glacier-fed lake will be forthcoming--for now, I'm catching up on the Big Idea from a chaise lounge strategically placed on the backyard deck of Ms. Ann's house in the lovely suburb of Ballard. The weather is a perfect 70 degrees, there isn't a cloud in the sky, and there is a plump cat perched at my feet. Every few minutes I pause and marvel at my good fortune to be living a life that allows me such amazing afternoons.
Yours in blissful repose,
Ms. Write Again Soon
PS - Did you know that there are 20,000 mosquitos for every person on the planet? That fact, courtesy of Mr. Bastish--who is, at this very moment, mid-air on his way to visit family in Michigan--was little solace when comtemplating my mumps-like appearance.
Posted by madchen at 08:37 PM | Comments (1)August 24, 2006
Off to the Races
And by races, I mean off to camping in the Northern Cascade mountains of Washington State. Seattle has been beautiful--with attractive men, delicious food, good friends, and great boutique shopping (which I have yet to partake of, thank you very much). I want to move here immediately--but I realize that I tend to have these feelings every place I go. It's something about the *newness* of a place that always gets me. This time last year I was ready to pack my bags and move to Istanbul.
Our car is packed and we're ready to go. Can I survive 4 days in the mountains with only one long-sleeve shirt? Only time will tell--fortunately, Mr. Bastish is here and a newly minted wilderness emergency responder. I have a feeling he's secretly hoping I will catch hypothermia so he can put his new skills to the test. (Incidentally, he is a lovely golden color and I can't tell if it's from spending so much time in the sun or just the dirt he's collected from living in the woods. My bet is on a solid mix of both.)
Posted by madchen at 03:48 PM | Comments (1)August 22, 2006
Bang Up Job
We lost our softball game tonight in a heartbreaker. We're the number one team in our league, playing the number one team in the other league. We were close right up to the seventh inning, when two of our players slammed into each other in the outfield, drawing spurts of blood from both guys, a couple loose teeth, and a sprained ankle. Lucky for us, the other team was a bunch of EMT's who were able to assess the situation quickly, rule out a concussion, and direct everyone to the emergency room for clean-up. I breathed a sigh of relief and came back home to prepare for my trip.
I've been doing a lot of Big Idea thinking lately. I've been in business for a year now, and while I'm not exactly making money hand over fist, I'm at least solvent (albeit living with my family) and feel like I'm making a difference. But moving forward, that's not going to be enough. Looking to the next 18 months and beyond, I have some hard questions to ponder...How do I measure success? How will I know if I'm on the right track? How will I *know* that I've made the right decision to go out on my own?
Some criteria for consideration:
1. What is an appropriate salary to aim for? Setting aside what's realistic for the next 12 months (and the very, very sad reality of the last 12 months's income), how much would I have to make in order to feel secure? Working backward and taking into account my business overhead, profits for reinvestment, and other necessities, how much would I need to make in sales to make that salary a reality? (Salary answer: $70,000, Sales answer: $100,000)
2. How many clients should I work with over the next year? This is a bigger question than it seems--since I'm at a crossroads with the Big Idea. Personally, I would prefer to work with clients on short-term projects of 2-3 months, with the option to do follow-up projects every year. That format requires a LOT of business development--especially at first--and "biz dev" isn't exactly my passion. On the other hand, I'm not keen on going after the really big clients for lots of money and long-term projects. For one thing, I don't have the necessary skills for in-depth Big Idea services, and if my previous work is any indication, trying to do something I'm not passionate about is a bad, bad idea. So that leaves me with the question: how many clients should I aim for in the next year? (Client Answer: 3 small clients (1-3 month projects), 2 big clients (3+ month projects))
3. How much time should I work every week? Here comes the work/life balance issue...I think that I need a more consistent schedule, both for the Big Idea and for my own sanity. While obviously there are times when I'll have unexpected 80-hour weeks (or the opposite), a better, more rigorous schedule will definitely help me get more done *and* still manage to have a social life. So what's the magic number? (Work/Life Balance: 50 hours/week--including evening networking activities)
Does that seem reasonable? Does it even make sense to set goals for something I have so little control over at the moment? These and other "boring to my readers" questions will be pondered in the next week. 'Cause I'm off to Seattle baby, where I'm sure many thoughtful and inspiring conversations will take place over potluck dinners, campfires, and on the hiking trail of Mt. Baker.
August 20, 2006
All SoaP'ed Up
This weekend I indulged my cravings for bad cinema with a trip to Snakes on a Plane with some of my best "drunken movie" friends. We met up on Saturday for lunch at a favorite Mexican watering hole, then meandered over to the theatre where our group of 5 doubled the size of the movie audience. While I was a little disappointed (the WaPo review said that half the fun was enjoying the action in a packed house), fun was still had by all.
Other items of note:
1. I had a delightful time with Ms. ADA and Ms. Beau on Friday night, when we partook of Sushi-Go-Round and the Mystics playoffs game. Sadly they lost, but I got to catch up with two of my best girlfriends AND have a late night Starbucks, one of my most favorite indulgences.
2. Guess who's back in the picture? I got a text message from Mr. FWB last night--we haven't actually connected yet, so details will have to be forthcoming...
3. I'm off to Seattle on Tuesday to see Mr. Bastish!! After two months of survival training, he probably won't smell too sweet, but I'm willing to overlook it for the sheer joy of seeing him demonstrate his fire-making skills. Of course, I'll also be meeting up with 7 other Sweden classmates, and I'm eager to hear what they've been up to in the last 14 months.
And in a random, yet "I'm too outraged to let this pass" moment, how racist is the movie Live and Let Die? I watched the last 20 minutes this afternoon with my jaw hanging open. Was it purposefully over the top, so overtly prejudicial that it conveyed some sort of irony? I would love to think so, but I Highly Doubt It. The voodoo ceremony when Jane Seymour (the virgin-psychic-until-deflowered-by-Mr.-Bond) is about to be sacrified to a painted, writing giant black guy is just too, too terrible.
Posted by madchen at 05:45 PM | Comments (0)August 16, 2006
That Time of the Month
I've been watching a lot of television lately. Between the amazing tennis on ESPN2, the long nights sans 5-year old (she and the grandparents are on holiday somewhere in West Virginia), and editing work that can be done with TV in the background, I've done a full review of the commercials on rotation. For the most part, they are the standard fare—yawn inducing, mildly irritating, overwhelmingly conducive to a life of consumerism. Nothing special.
But this one commercial has me especially irate. It begins in a very mojito-ish way. Bass thumping, hot pink leather couches, scantily-clad nubile women—you know the scene. One of these hotties leans over, pouty-lipped, and says to her friends:
"My doctor just told me about a new kind of birth control."
Holla! There is nothing I like better, dear reader, than going out with my girls and talking about family planning. The only way to make this night more fun is to have the know-it-all friend jump in with a 3-minute list of side effects. Did you know you shouldn't take this pill if you're dying of liver cancer?
There is a moment of hope when the next socialite on the couch leans in (showing plenty of cleavage) and says "you certainly know a lot about this topic". But then the smart babe replies (tresses shining and bouncing about her shoulders), "well, I didn't go to medical school for nothing!" and the entire group bursts into orgasm-like fits of laughter.
Ok, up until this point the commercial has been slightly ridiculous. I imagine the PR firm pitching the idea to the pharmaceutical company with the following breathless wonder:
These women are powerful, smart, educated, single, and looking for a good time. They could have their pick of men in this classy, swank joint—but they are happy just kickin' back with their friends and talking about their favorite contraceptives. And the potentially lethal side effects of that contraception, of course.
Fine. But let's return to the commercial, which is still in progress. The "lady doctor" (viewers can practically see the young bucks lining up for her proctology exam) casually adds:
"And the pill can help with that time of the month."
WTF? Here is a woman who has rattled off thirty different medical conditions in a single stream of consciousness (all while crossing her very shapely legs and tossing her hair from side to side). She's been to medical school and is clearly the go-to girl for her circle's uterus-related queries. And the term she chooses to use is that time of the month?
People, please. That PR firm, the pharmaceutical company, the actresses, and anyone else associated with the filming of this commercial should be dragged into the streets and shot. Or perhaps required to sit through an entire semester of 8th grade health class.
Incidentally, the medication in question is Yaz, the very naming of which should have tipped me off to the obnoxious nature of the commercial to come. And if you haven't seen the commercial, check out the website to see these babes continue the discussion of their menstrual cycles. Oops, I mean, that time of the month.
Posted by madchen at 12:01 AM | Comments (0)August 13, 2006
Movies I've Seen Recently
A couple of week's ago I went with Ms. Secret Blog's Boy for dinner and a movie. She was out of town, he is always delightful company, and the fajitas at Rio Grande Cafe are my favorite. We saw You, Me, and Dupree, which was better than The Wedding Crashers, but not as good as Old School. And that about sums it up.
About that time I went with Ms. ADA to see A Scanner Darkly. It was, to quote the best review I've read: a complete mindfuck.
That is, most of the time you're not sure what's going on, and, even when you do, you're not sure whether the events are real. As a result, you tend to sequester everything you see into a a little mental cubbyhole marked "Conditional," ready to purge it if a subsequent revelation reveals this particular scene to be false, or take it out and stamp it "authentic" if it is later verified as real. Unfortunately, you never really get any confirmation one way or the other in Scanner, so you walk out of the film with a head full of loose puzzle pieces instead of a complete picture. And we all know what happens to loose pieces over time: you lose them, one by one. I saw the film last week and already can only remember half of it.
Amen, brother. I liked it (and it made me want to read the book), but I can't honestly say what exactly I liked about it. Not so for Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, a movie that came out several years ago but which I only saw last weekend during my last, fateful date with The Octopus. Aside from being totally tense during the v-e-r-y long movie (with The Octopus trying to make a move every 2 minutes, that's 69 chances to cop a feel), I did enjoy it. Yes, there were moments when the roiling seas gave me a touch of nausea, but the men in jodphurs and fancy hats quite made up for it.
And then, of course there have been the Netflix movies. I suffered through another viewing of Pirates of the Caribbean (my dad INSISTED)--which just gets worse every time I see it. But the independent movies, Aimee and Jaguar, Before Night Falls, and The Sea Inside more than made up for it. Although about totally different topics--lesbianism during the Holocaust, Cuban writer Reinaldo Arenas' story, and euthanasia--they were powerful in conveying a time and place so specific and detailed that they stayed with me for days after I popped each happy little red envelope back in the mail.
Posted by madchen at 03:22 PM | Comments (0)August 11, 2006
Seattle Is Only Halfway There
Given my recent success traveling with Mr. Bad Apologies, I've decided to tag along on his upcoming trip to Hawaii. That's right, ma peeps. During the second week of September, we'll be taking the island by storm. If a tsunami hits the western seaboard, you'll know who to blame.
In preparation for this trip, I met with a personal trainer yesterday. I've decided to try surfing (after watching Shark Week on Discovery Channel, I've learned that while sharks are in fact dangerous, they aren't actually hunting us...whew!) and I thought it might be wise to build a couple ounces of arm muscle to aid in the frantic paddling motions sure to ensue.
While I thought the whole personal trainer idea was an excellent one, I had my reservations. Mr. Bad Apologies (who seems to be slowly taking over this blog) threw up during his first meeting with a trainer. After further reflection, I remembered that he was being encouraged to do jumping jacks. full body lunges, and the like--whereas I was just looking for someone to help with bicep curls.
Fifty yoga-ball sit-ups later and I had to rethink my strategy. While I'm happy to report, dear reader, that I managed to keep my cereal down, I had a few moments when I seriously thought I might vomit on that fresh-faced young man so keen to help me achieve my fitness goals.
Posted by madchen at 12:13 AM | Comments (1)August 08, 2006
My Men
Over the past month my experiences with new "gentlemen callers" has run the gamut from ambivalent to irritating to OH MY GOD DO IT AGAIN. If you can't tell, I prefer the latter of the three options.
First, there was Mr. Just Not That Into Me, who I met for the shortest date EVER. I met him at a local coffee joint, drank an iced latte, engaged in polite chatter, and was back in my car in a mere 40 minutes. Thankfully, I was Ms. Just Not That Into Him, so no one's feelings were hurt.
Also that weekend was my first date with The Octopus, so called because a mere hour into our first date he was holding my hand, gently caressing it in a very "making love to your appendages" sort of way. I was a little weirded out, but decided to roll with it. At some point when I'm in a relationship (and WHEN WILL THAT BE?) I'd like to be with a guy who isn't afraid to show a little PDA. On the other hand, I don't need a clinger, which is apparently what I got. I turned into Ms. Frigid, totally cold and even rather rude in an attempt to make him lay off the affectionate touching.
None of it was overtly over the line—just arm around the shoulder, holding hands, etc. variety—but it made me REALLY uncomfortable. Four dates over four weeks resulted in a frank discussion in which I laid out for him my reservations, namely that while there were moments when I found him attractive and rather delightful, his attitude of "I deserve to touch you now" repulsed me. I did not mince words and spelled it out directly: he had a much better chance of getting me into bed if he would just BACK THE HELL OFF because otherwise I was going to have to break his arm. Or other appendages.
At this point in the discussion, I truly believe that The Octopus had a legitimate chance of recovering. And then, he did it. And I quote:
"I'm a guy. We think it's a good first date if we get a blow job at the end of the night."
This was his defense. He claimed that he was just "testing the waters" with the hand-holding, and wasn't trying to create a false sense of intimacy (my main problem). Instead, he was trying to get me into bed in the shortest amount of time possible.
On the one hand, I respect a guy who knows what he wants (scroll down for more); on the other I have to say that The Octopus could not have tried a worse tactic. If I want a "sex first" relationship, I certainly don't want to cloudy the waters with obnoxious clingy behavior. I tried to convey this—and even tried REALLY hard to get into the mood, figuring that at least a nice physical diversion would be better than going home alone—but it just wasn't working. An hour of ultimately unsatisfying groping later, and I mercifully escaped to my car and the long drive back from VA. As he let his front door slam shut behind me (I think he was irritated I wasn't spending the night), I knew I would never be going out with him again, and it was like a breath of fresh air.
Thankfully, that disaster of a date was Friday night and on Saturday I embarked on a new adventure with Mr. Bad Apologies: my friend's wedding in Charlottesville. While I had originally hoped to bring Mr. Friends With Benefits (who has since faded into oblivion—not really gone, but no longer in "active" status), I decided that Mr. Bad Apologies was the next best bet. He's a fun date, good dancer, excellent dresser, and can distract the other single women at the party and thus reduce my competition for the available men.
Well, let me tell you that he paid off—in spades. I identified my man of choice during the ceremony itself. A quick interview with the bride during the subsequent cocktail hour determined that he was "dangerous", which further intrigued me. Several glasses of wine and I was thoroughly enjoying myself at my designated reception table (at the opposite end of the room from Mr. Dangerous). Nonetheless, I managed to finagle a dance, exchanged a few witticisms (that sounded MUCH better in my head than on tape, as I came to realize when I reviewed the video footage), and ultimately ended up making out with him next to the pool where Mr. Bad Apologies took a 2 a.m. plunge in only his underwear.
I'll skip The Next SEVERAL Hours (which blew my mind in many, MANY different ways). When we rejoin the story in progress it's 9 a.m. and Mr. Bad Apologies has graciously packed up our hotel room and rejoined me back at the reception location (where Mr. Dangerous has a room). Mr. Bad Apologies sneaks me a fresh dress (but no toothbrush) and I am able to rejoin the morning-after brunch with only a hint of shame. And in a truly heroic gesture, he drives the entire way back to D.C., allowing me to nurse my post-sex, post-alcohol, post-other-questionable-behavior hangover in peace.
To sum up: BEST WEDDING EVER.
Posted by madchen at 01:07 AM | Comments (2)August 05, 2006
A Cancerous Spot
I woke up this morning and noticed that I had an brown irregular spot on my arm. Clearly, it's cancer I thought. Further inspection revealed that it was a melted bit of chocolate, apparently a leftover from the snack I consumed at 3 a.m. before stumbling to bed. I'm not sure if I should be relieved or appalled that I'm now wearing my dessert like pajamas.
Anyway, I'm off for the weekend to Charlottesville. Mr. Bad Apologies and I are going to a wedding of a dear friend of mine. We're being seated at a table with three of the groom's friends, so at least one of us should be getting lucky.
Back on Sunday, dear reader.
August 03, 2006
In Lieu of Vomiting, A Review of Fiona Apple At Wolf-Trap
Just now I was snacking on left-over ratatouille and flipping through the channels on the new and fabulous hi-def television. Before I knew it, my gag reflex activated and I only narrowly averted throwing up all over myself. Yes, I had managed to stumble upon CSI during the 2 minutes where they do a CGI tour of the ubiquitous mangled body. Let me tell you, the corpse of an old man suffering from lead poisoning does not go well with roasted eggplant.
So now that I've put aside the ratatouille I will graciously provide a counterpoint to the Washington Post's review of Fiona Apple's concert at Wolf-Trap on Monday night.
(Ugh, the CSI autopsy guy just sawed the man's head in half and peeled the skin back to expose the brain. Yuck. And NOW they are holding his bloody brain and admiring the temporal lobe. Double yuck.)
But I digress. Mr. Foster of the Washington Post has quite harsh words for Ms. Apple, calling her performance "a set that was simply difficult to enjoy, her music sadly relegated to moody backdrop for personal catharsis." Ouch. I, for one, thought it was great. I liked the raw edge that is missing from her more polished (and yet still fabulous) Extraordinary Machine. Yeah, it was a little weird how she thrashed about on the stage, and how she didn't address the audience until well into the second hour. But who am I to complain? I left feeling very riot grrl, if you know what I mean.
And of course, spending hours in the sweltering summer heat with good friends and cheap rose wine was an added bonus. It's times like this that make me appreciate July in D.C.--sweat and all.
Posted by madchen at 12:17 AM | Comments (2)August 01, 2006
A Tale of Two Emails
Sigh--I spend an awful lot of my time these days helping people out with getting into The Big Idea Industry. Contrary to what my bank account says, it is an exceedingly popular career path--and I meet at least once or twice a week with prospective entrants to the field.
Up until now I've approached the whole thing as a "pay it forward" initiative. I help scores of young (and not so young) people who ultimately want to have my job, and, in return, I build up local credibility and get to keep an eye on the competition.
On the other hand, it's exhausting work--and time that might be better spend actually looking for paid work rather than giving advice to others about how to look for the abovementioned paid work. And sometimes it's downright ridiculous. Here's an example:
Email I got this morning (verbatim, except where indicated by brackets--misspelled words and other problems also noted in bold):
***
From: XXXXXXXXXX
Sent: Tuesday, August 01, 2006 11:23 AM
To: XXXXXXXXX
Subject: inernship
To whom it may concern
I read your website and am particularly interested in learning more about Corporare Security Consulting.
I have 4 years of work expereince in [The Big Idea Industry], working with leading consulting firms in developing markets and am applying for an internship.
Please see attached my resume.
Look forward to hearing from you.
Regards,
[Careless Person]
***
Now, I get at least a handful of these (and probably a dozen) every week--some poor student who wants an internship, or someone who has just finished their MBA and is looking for work. But it's never been quite this bad. At first I chalked it up to English-as-a-second-language issues, and so I replied:
***
Dear [Careless Person],
Thanks for your interest in [The Big Idea]. Unfortunately, I don't believe that you are a good fit with our organization. If I may offer a suggestion, I would recommend proof-reading your emails before sending them. We not a "Corporate Security Consulting" firm, and there are several spelling errors in your message.
Best wishes,
Ms. Write Again Soon
***
To the point, right? And yet, still kind. But does Careless Person let it drop? Oh no. Several hours later I get THIS response (again, verbatim except for the brackets and "bolded" errors):
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Dear [Misspelled First Name],
Sorry for the errors. The mail was meant for another organization. However I had checked your website and thought that given my educational background and professional work experience as well as my keen interest in [The Big Idea Industry] and [Related Industry], my profile would match. Its unfortunate that you think otherwise. In future I shall keep your advise in mind. In case you can advise me about another organization where I might be a good fight I would be most grateful.
Thanking you,
Careless-and-Now-Downright-Irritating Person
***
Dude, spell my name correctly. And--even excusing the tricky English grammar (who among us hasn't screwed up the its/it's distinction), "a good fight"? Really now. So I replied:
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Dear [Careless-and-Now-Downright-Irritating Person],
Thanks for your reply. It’s true that your background and interest are a good fit with [The Big Idea Industry] and [Related Industry] work—however, I remain concerned about your basic writing skills. Your reply below has several grammatical and spelling errors ([Misspelled Name], its/it’s, advise/advice, fight/fit), and attention to details like these are essential for demonstrating competency. No matter how experienced you are in [The Big Idea Industry], strong written English is a prerequisite for working with us—and I would suppose most other organizations. I highly recommend that you carefully proofread all emails search before sending them out.
Best wishes,
Ms. Write Again Soon
***
Sigh--we'll see if I get a further response. On the other hand, after meeting with another "pay it forward" guy this evening, I got this message:
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Ms. [Write Again Soon],
I will take but a moment of your time to say thank you for meeting me last night. You are dynamite, and I left being ultra-refreshed on marketing oneself. I will go forward using EVERYTHING I can remember from our meeting.
You ROCK!!
Sincerely,
[Guy Who Gets It]
***
Now that's what I like to hear.
Posted by madchen at 09:57 PM | Comments (5)
