exciting upcomings:
1. after upcoming final day, complete tenure at current uninspiring, meaningless job
2. no longer have to commute daily to Palo Alto, which while I love the Caltrain segment of said commute, there have been 4 disasters in the last month that significantly delayed my journey and left all passengers trapped aboard, a first-ever Caltrain fare citation for the charge of "misuse of fare media," and the final leg of said commute being the worst free shuttle service in the galaxy because drivers are so unreliable and uninspired they will sometimes drive off with no passengers even as you are waving your hands wildly and running after said shuttle because the bullet train was 2 minutes late.
3. start brand new job I am lucky to have landed at awesome company in just over two weeks, meet new coworkers and work 8 blocks (albeit long, SOMA blocks) from my apartment
4. go to Hawaii with boyfriend for 5 days
5. have 4 weekdays off with zero responsibilities in between final days at current job and Hawaii trip to pursue current nerdy projects
reservations:
* I will miss lovely current coworkers, a number of whom have said sweet things about how they will miss me, and talking to current train friend, a married Irish man in his 40s with whom I talk historical politics and who lends me Nicholson Baker books about stalking and perverse sexual fantasies (!), as well as sparkling conversations with other train acquaintances
* I will fuck everything up because I am not as awesome as I talk and mean clients take my confidence down instantly
* I will fuck everything up and my boyfriend will tire of me and/or dislike me after spending 5 days with me
* I will fuck everything up by being generally shy in all areas of life and not be able to be myself because I am worried about fucking everything up
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Thursday, September 21, 2006
notice.
Almost as nervous as before an interview, I went into my boss's office to tell him I had received another job offer I couldn't pass up, and I would be taking it once two weeks were up. I chose my words carefully off a selection of HR websites to be as diplomatic as possible.
He probably couldn't have guessed how good the offer was with an industry-leading agency in the City, only 8 blocks from my apartment. Honestly, would anyone in their right mind turn down a more interesting job with a more prestigious company, more money, better benefits and no commute?
And luckily, enough time had passed so that I was over any spiteful impulse to say what did you expect after the way your partner treated me, because I am burning no bridges here.
The office is buzzing with rumors about my leaving, and I've been assigned very little to do so I'm still doing very little.
I couldn't tell if they were surprised or saw it coming, and I can't suppress a smile at the fact that even they might be surprised at how well I've done, when they look me up and down and I don't look as put-together as I should. When it came down to it I even surprised myself at how tough I can talk. I keep playing diplomat and smiling sweetly, half-beaming about my awesome new job, and life - is looking pretty good.
He probably couldn't have guessed how good the offer was with an industry-leading agency in the City, only 8 blocks from my apartment. Honestly, would anyone in their right mind turn down a more interesting job with a more prestigious company, more money, better benefits and no commute?
And luckily, enough time had passed so that I was over any spiteful impulse to say what did you expect after the way your partner treated me, because I am burning no bridges here.
The office is buzzing with rumors about my leaving, and I've been assigned very little to do so I'm still doing very little.
I couldn't tell if they were surprised or saw it coming, and I can't suppress a smile at the fact that even they might be surprised at how well I've done, when they look me up and down and I don't look as put-together as I should. When it came down to it I even surprised myself at how tough I can talk. I keep playing diplomat and smiling sweetly, half-beaming about my awesome new job, and life - is looking pretty good.
Friday, September 08, 2006
Palo Alto explorer
I went to see the birthplace of Menlo Park on a walk during my lunch break the other day, from my work's new Palo Alto wasteland-area office. The city of Palo Alto was born near downtown, by my work's former office, when a passing Spanish explorer camped by the creek at a tree they called El Palo Alto. Spaniards soon decided against settling there and abandoned it for the Presidio. But Menlo Park was born in 1850 when Irish sea captain John Greer sailed into Palo Alto harbor, just a 5-minute walk from my work. He and his brother-in-law fell in love with the landscape and built homes and a gate that read "Menlo Park."
"The men named their new homes after their old, in Menlough on Lough Corib, County Galway, Ireland. No one knows whether they abbreviated the name to "Menlo" because the space on the arch precluded the longer version, because it was their way of Americanizing the name or because they just couldn't spell."
San Franciscan aristocrats began building vacation homes in the area, attracting then more aristocrats, who attracted more aristocrats who make up the present-day demographic of Palo Alto and Menlo Park. The area by the former harbor, past 101, remains the desolate and depressing home of soulless gray business parks, the Municipal golf course, the Palo Alto airport and the semi-restored wetlands.
I started walking past the airport. The sidewalk disappeared and left me to walk in the bike lane while cars crawled back from the bayside road. The marsh was surrounded with that yellow grass that grows everywhere in the South Bay in summer months. An egret and some seagulls were standing in the stagnant water. The sound of loud, small planes taking off was constant. It smelled of fennel, except when the wind blew a certain way smelling vaguely of sulfur, probably from the nearby recycling center. There were dull green reeds everywhere, the occasional green shrub. I followed the path past the abandoned harbor building, now surrounded with dirt and reeds grown over the carved wetlands. Around the bend was a duck pond, and a sign that read Duck Pond, where sad gray geese and ducks were dragging their feet, looking stupidly at this awful fountain that looked like an upside-down pyramid throwing slaps onto the surface of the gray-blue water. Everything had that gray, humid-looking color that parks in the South Bay suburbs have, which you have to be completely numb to in order to live there without becoming inordinately depressed. The benches along the trail where no one sat, the industrial towers in the distance by the bay, the electricity pylons and the rows of masts on the hill all colored by a clear film of dull, the kind that tells you you have to get out someday and do something big to keep from wasting away here.
I totally mythologize the Silicon Valley, its engineers and dreams and bright ideas. But it makes more sense than anything - this is how the Silicon Valley was born.
"The men named their new homes after their old, in Menlough on Lough Corib, County Galway, Ireland. No one knows whether they abbreviated the name to "Menlo" because the space on the arch precluded the longer version, because it was their way of Americanizing the name or because they just couldn't spell."
San Franciscan aristocrats began building vacation homes in the area, attracting then more aristocrats, who attracted more aristocrats who make up the present-day demographic of Palo Alto and Menlo Park. The area by the former harbor, past 101, remains the desolate and depressing home of soulless gray business parks, the Municipal golf course, the Palo Alto airport and the semi-restored wetlands.
I started walking past the airport. The sidewalk disappeared and left me to walk in the bike lane while cars crawled back from the bayside road. The marsh was surrounded with that yellow grass that grows everywhere in the South Bay in summer months. An egret and some seagulls were standing in the stagnant water. The sound of loud, small planes taking off was constant. It smelled of fennel, except when the wind blew a certain way smelling vaguely of sulfur, probably from the nearby recycling center. There were dull green reeds everywhere, the occasional green shrub. I followed the path past the abandoned harbor building, now surrounded with dirt and reeds grown over the carved wetlands. Around the bend was a duck pond, and a sign that read Duck Pond, where sad gray geese and ducks were dragging their feet, looking stupidly at this awful fountain that looked like an upside-down pyramid throwing slaps onto the surface of the gray-blue water. Everything had that gray, humid-looking color that parks in the South Bay suburbs have, which you have to be completely numb to in order to live there without becoming inordinately depressed. The benches along the trail where no one sat, the industrial towers in the distance by the bay, the electricity pylons and the rows of masts on the hill all colored by a clear film of dull, the kind that tells you you have to get out someday and do something big to keep from wasting away here.
I totally mythologize the Silicon Valley, its engineers and dreams and bright ideas. But it makes more sense than anything - this is how the Silicon Valley was born.
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