My mom's response to my e-mail containing pictures of my brother and I in our Halloween costumes:"It was a very original costume. Next time if you want to be blond you should put makeup."
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
for one taste of them
Since I apparently lead a charmed life, a spot opened up at the end of the day yesterday to go to Teatro ZinZanni with this ad network. Even though it was my only time to look for critical components of my Halloween costume before this weekend, and I was supposed to meet Elaine later, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to go to the decadent dinner theater and drinks on someone else's tab - I'd been wanting to go for a while, but didn't think I'd do it anytime soon. Plus, I asked Elaine if I should flake on her and she said, "Zinzanni is one of those things everyone should do and not pay for. Like Cirque de Soleil."God, did we eat and drink. I thought it was a hundred times more impressive than the time I went to Supper Club on a publisher's tab - I've heard Supper Club is less impressive on weeknights, but I doubt the same can be said for ZinZanni. The circus tricks were much more impressive, and the food was better too.
I did make the mistake of sitting at the end of the table, most easily accessible by the cast when they come up in between acts to mess with you. Monsieur Verognier kept coming up to me and running his pointed index-finger thimble down my side to my waist, making my fork spin with the magnet in it, making the hairs on my arm stand up on end with it, giving me horrible chills with a giant vibrating monster hand on my head and making a small bird marionette dance on my table. The second time he came over, he concluded the mild harassment by sticking a folded-up note into my shirt, reading:
"Your lips
Are two rosepetAl rivers,
For one tAste of them,
I burn.
-V"
Friday, October 19, 2007
take your time
I've been going to SF MOMA a lot, and finally using that membership I got this time last year, mostly because I wanted to see the Olafur Eliasson exhibit again, and show it to other people. I went again last night with my friend, but we mostly talked and caught up and had more fun talking to each other than looking at the exhibit. I thought that I'd see something new, or that it would be as exciting as it was the first and second times I saw it, but there's something about seeing an exhibit for the first time that's magic and can't be duplicated. Just like how going to the museum by yourself is a totally different experience, or going to museums with Maya when she was visiting was unlike with anyone else (because she's so meticulously attentive, so great to go to museums with).
When I saw the exhibit last week I was by myself, and there were a lot of people there, and everybody was so animated and having so much fun with it. There was a line at one point to look over a ledge, and these two girls were at the ledge laughing hysterically and saying "Aaaauhhhhh. Oh!" and at one point even "Ew!," and everybody in line is just dying to see what it is and wondering what the hell it could possibly be, and then as it became each person in line's turn and they saw how mundane the thing was, they'd start giggling hysterically, like they were realizing how great it was because of the anticipation preceding it. It was so fantastic!
When I saw the exhibit last week I was by myself, and there were a lot of people there, and everybody was so animated and having so much fun with it. There was a line at one point to look over a ledge, and these two girls were at the ledge laughing hysterically and saying "Aaaauhhhhh. Oh!" and at one point even "Ew!," and everybody in line is just dying to see what it is and wondering what the hell it could possibly be, and then as it became each person in line's turn and they saw how mundane the thing was, they'd start giggling hysterically, like they were realizing how great it was because of the anticipation preceding it. It was so fantastic!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
workplace ambush
Web dev dude appears in my cube. We had talked at a drinks thing over a month ago, where I mentioned my boyfriend, staying over at my boyfriend's house, taking BART to work from my boyfriend's house, and my boyfriend at least a dozen times.
"Wow, I didn't know you ever made it to this side of the office."
"I came over here just to say hi to you."
Awkward.
S walks by and I engage him in accounting talk for a few minutes while he notices ominously hovering web dev dude and comes up with an excuse to vanish.
"You guys seem pretty busy."
"Yeah, I'm in a job transition."
Blah, blah, we talk about my internal transfer. Not sure why he would be coming over to my cube during the work day to talk to me a month after the last time we had an actual conversation, when he knows I have a boyfriend.
"So, what are you doing for lunch today?"
I go into some excuse based loosely on true facts about how I'm supposed to call some friend of a friend during my lunch hour.
"Okay, see you later," he says while walking away.
It feels rude that I blew him off and didn't suggest we do another time, because he might just be trying to be friends, and I would have made an effort with someone else, but I'm pretty sure I saw this scene in our sexual harassment training video, where module after module this woman leads the IT temp on until he's totally obsessed with her.
Not that that's realistic, but it would have been easier to say yes to a lunch invite if he was bringing friends, or if it was otherwise disguised it as something not totally inappropriate like trying to date your coworker who has a boyfriend.
"Wow, I didn't know you ever made it to this side of the office."
"I came over here just to say hi to you."
Awkward.
S walks by and I engage him in accounting talk for a few minutes while he notices ominously hovering web dev dude and comes up with an excuse to vanish.
"You guys seem pretty busy."
"Yeah, I'm in a job transition."
Blah, blah, we talk about my internal transfer. Not sure why he would be coming over to my cube during the work day to talk to me a month after the last time we had an actual conversation, when he knows I have a boyfriend.
"So, what are you doing for lunch today?"
I go into some excuse based loosely on true facts about how I'm supposed to call some friend of a friend during my lunch hour.
"Okay, see you later," he says while walking away.
It feels rude that I blew him off and didn't suggest we do another time, because he might just be trying to be friends, and I would have made an effort with someone else, but I'm pretty sure I saw this scene in our sexual harassment training video, where module after module this woman leads the IT temp on until he's totally obsessed with her.
Not that that's realistic, but it would have been easier to say yes to a lunch invite if he was bringing friends, or if it was otherwise disguised it as something not totally inappropriate like trying to date your coworker who has a boyfriend.
Friday, September 14, 2007
when work is slow
Monday, September 10, 2007
L: I want to be perfect.
E: peh, i want to be me
L: I don't. I want to be perfect. fake-me.
E: why- thats no fun
L: it would be fun if I were
E: i'd rather be exactly what i am and live in that, and find people who make me feel ok with it and who complement it
E: then i can stop worrying and just be
L: I'm working towards achieving ideal me.
E: hm
E: i gave up on that
E: its working out really well
L: because I think I'll never find anyone who complements needy-me
E: thats a lie
E: every pot has a lid
L: I wish I believed that
L: I think you can find a makeshift lid for every pot but you're always at a yard sale
L: um. nevermind
E: peh, i want to be me
L: I don't. I want to be perfect. fake-me.
E: why- thats no fun
L: it would be fun if I were
E: i'd rather be exactly what i am and live in that, and find people who make me feel ok with it and who complement it
E: then i can stop worrying and just be
L: I'm working towards achieving ideal me.
E: hm
E: i gave up on that
E: its working out really well
L: because I think I'll never find anyone who complements needy-me
E: thats a lie
E: every pot has a lid
L: I wish I believed that
L: I think you can find a makeshift lid for every pot but you're always at a yard sale
L: um. nevermind
Thursday, August 30, 2007
effortlessly fashionable
Being into fashion never seemed to me like a great way to spend one's time. It's not directly correlated with looking good, it demands a lot of time and money to be into, and it's often totally arbitrary, and by that I mean not directly correlated with looking good, and sometimes even correlated with looking bad, yet fashionable.
Also, I think it's important to do things you excel at, and I've never excelled at reading fashion magazines or spending a lot of money.
But it seems like I'm still sort of expected to keep up appearances and stay moderately fashionable, because even before middle school mean fashionable girls learn to talk trash about girls that aren't fashionable, and even some of the nice, fashionable girls notice when you aren't, and might even talk to the mean ones in the bathroom about your unfashionability at an event. And what's so funny is how something that's supposed come down to subjective taste can turn into some universal discussion of how obviously wrong something is by being last season or a trend you shouldn't follow that says something about you. And the fear is the talk is never just about what you're wearing. It's like a license to trash talk you up and down as if looking good and appropriate and staying current are your only face values.
Even though I love dressing up, It's hard to get into when you actually have hips and waist and thighs, and fashion looks like this:
I'm sorry. I don't look good in maternity wear. You can argue that everyone looks good in these dresses, and I've seen girls successfully rock them, but the ones that are long enough to cover my legs just make me look like I tied a potato sack around my ribs (or am hiding baby weight), and the short ones make those of us who aren't leggy just look as stocky as a dodgeball.
I don't know about you, but I'm sitting this one out.
Also, I think it's important to do things you excel at, and I've never excelled at reading fashion magazines or spending a lot of money.
But it seems like I'm still sort of expected to keep up appearances and stay moderately fashionable, because even before middle school mean fashionable girls learn to talk trash about girls that aren't fashionable, and even some of the nice, fashionable girls notice when you aren't, and might even talk to the mean ones in the bathroom about your unfashionability at an event. And what's so funny is how something that's supposed come down to subjective taste can turn into some universal discussion of how obviously wrong something is by being last season or a trend you shouldn't follow that says something about you. And the fear is the talk is never just about what you're wearing. It's like a license to trash talk you up and down as if looking good and appropriate and staying current are your only face values.
Even though I love dressing up, It's hard to get into when you actually have hips and waist and thighs, and fashion looks like this:
I'm sorry. I don't look good in maternity wear. You can argue that everyone looks good in these dresses, and I've seen girls successfully rock them, but the ones that are long enough to cover my legs just make me look like I tied a potato sack around my ribs (or am hiding baby weight), and the short ones make those of us who aren't leggy just look as stocky as a dodgeball.
I don't know about you, but I'm sitting this one out.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
if you could see me now
you'd see me in the absurdly nice Hotel 1000 in downtown Seattle, where instead of one very large bed, I have two queen-sized beds. What a waste. And a shame I'm only here one night, by myself, and due to a delayed flight can't enjoy the very large bathtub alongside a glass wall (designed so you can watch television in the bathtub!). I love the decadence that could only be conceived of by the hospitality industry.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
coit tower is red
I have no idea why. I just saw it on the way down to the laundry room.
I love my apartment. Even when it's too foggy to see the whole view.
I am exhausted beyond comprehension for no discernable reason. Almost everyone else I've talked to is too, which leads me to believe it's the entre-saison, even though it's only the beginning of August, and feels like November.
My life makes no sense to the point that everything feels like an absurdist joke. Not bad, just hilarious.
Last night Elaine invited me out to North Beach Lobster Shack, but when Natalie and I got there the benches were stacked on the tables and the woman said they were closing because no one had come in in the last hour. Which was surprising, because the place actually got very good reviews, and other restaurants in the area weren't empty either. I called Elaine asking her if she wanted to go somewhere else, but she said she and Mark had been looking forward to it all week! We asked them if they could stay open and they said yes, but they were no longer selling alcohol. But we could bring our own. So Elaine sends Mark to the liquor store, and he comes back with Tecate, so we're drinking our own Tecate on the side of our lobster rolls at an empty restaurant, which is funny for so many reasons I can't even begin. Elaine is like me, and finds everything even slightly unusual to be inanely hilarious, which is one of the best reasons why we get along.
On the way out Mark straggles in the doorway of the bar next door watching the Giants game and we caught Bond's record home run, which seems like it must be important.
Not that now is the time, because I'm too tired to be coherent right now, but I really want to start blogging frequently and in quality again, and not just blogging poorly when I've been out drinking and needing to take down the posts because they're that terrible.
I love my apartment. Even when it's too foggy to see the whole view.
I am exhausted beyond comprehension for no discernable reason. Almost everyone else I've talked to is too, which leads me to believe it's the entre-saison, even though it's only the beginning of August, and feels like November.
My life makes no sense to the point that everything feels like an absurdist joke. Not bad, just hilarious.
Last night Elaine invited me out to North Beach Lobster Shack, but when Natalie and I got there the benches were stacked on the tables and the woman said they were closing because no one had come in in the last hour. Which was surprising, because the place actually got very good reviews, and other restaurants in the area weren't empty either. I called Elaine asking her if she wanted to go somewhere else, but she said she and Mark had been looking forward to it all week! We asked them if they could stay open and they said yes, but they were no longer selling alcohol. But we could bring our own. So Elaine sends Mark to the liquor store, and he comes back with Tecate, so we're drinking our own Tecate on the side of our lobster rolls at an empty restaurant, which is funny for so many reasons I can't even begin. Elaine is like me, and finds everything even slightly unusual to be inanely hilarious, which is one of the best reasons why we get along.
On the way out Mark straggles in the doorway of the bar next door watching the Giants game and we caught Bond's record home run, which seems like it must be important.
Not that now is the time, because I'm too tired to be coherent right now, but I really want to start blogging frequently and in quality again, and not just blogging poorly when I've been out drinking and needing to take down the posts because they're that terrible.
Monday, July 02, 2007
layover land
I am in Frankfurt at a sort-of-French-themed cafe. It is maybe the cutest cafe ever. There are tiny boxes of tea and chocolates, tiny Victorian furniture, a harp, a painting of cakes and tarts, and embroidered blue fabric wallpaper. I would take pictures but my camera is in my checked luggage and I doubt my Razr would really capture it. Also, I still haven't overcome my guilty American tourist awkwardness that I never shook off in a year in Europe. I ordered a slice of quiche and forgot that small pieces of ham go without saying, and ordered a water and forgot that glass bottled goes without saying (ahhh...Europe), so now I am drinking Perrier from a wine glass next to a plate of uneaten pieces of ham. It is Monday, so all of the museums are closed. I still have five hours to kill before my flight, so now I'm debating where and when to drink beer and eat dinner.
Though I have the itinerary from hell with 3 stopovers, it's still been mostly pleasant, besides being hit on by a TSA employee at SFO (it's hard to say no to a lunch date when the guy inviting you is holding you up at baggage inspection). Air Canada runs a tight ship, and on my flight from Toronto to London I was placed in seat 3A, which is a window seat in what would usually be first or business class - they were assigning coach passengers to extra seats in the front, which was kind of like winning a lottery I didn't know I entered. Heathrow was a zoo because of the thwarted bombings two days ago, extra fun with my Benadryl and jetlag hangover.
This middle-aged German man just asked me in German if (I presume) this was an iBook or a Powerbook, and I said Macbook. I think he told me he has a Powerbook at home, but I'm not certain.
It's so strange to be in Europe again, seeing yet another 14th century cathedral, wandering with a heavy backpack trying to decide which cafe to sit at, and tiptoeing around languages I don't understand. I never quite acclimated to being a tourist.
Though I have the itinerary from hell with 3 stopovers, it's still been mostly pleasant, besides being hit on by a TSA employee at SFO (it's hard to say no to a lunch date when the guy inviting you is holding you up at baggage inspection). Air Canada runs a tight ship, and on my flight from Toronto to London I was placed in seat 3A, which is a window seat in what would usually be first or business class - they were assigning coach passengers to extra seats in the front, which was kind of like winning a lottery I didn't know I entered. Heathrow was a zoo because of the thwarted bombings two days ago, extra fun with my Benadryl and jetlag hangover.
This middle-aged German man just asked me in German if (I presume) this was an iBook or a Powerbook, and I said Macbook. I think he told me he has a Powerbook at home, but I'm not certain.
It's so strange to be in Europe again, seeing yet another 14th century cathedral, wandering with a heavy backpack trying to decide which cafe to sit at, and tiptoeing around languages I don't understand. I never quite acclimated to being a tourist.
Monday, June 25, 2007
the summer of Lee
I proclaim this to be the summer of Lee.
That is, this last year has been lovely but felt so unstable and in flux and on the way there but not there, and I thought I'd be somewhere that I'm still on the way to, and I never make time for the projects I say I want to work on and I never blog anymore and haven't revolutionized my industry, and how am I 24 in 3 weeks and I still haven't written a novel?
It must be delusions of grandeur, because I was sure by now I would be this accomplished superhero rather than this normal almost 24-year-old still getting it together. How long can you really get it together for?
My friend Elaine says my heart is always in the right place, but 10 steps ahead of my head, and that is how I end up overextending myself, getting stressed out and being hard on myself. Not untrue. Okay. Very true.
Last spring I turned my life around from broken elbow and unsatisfying social life to awesome in the matter of a month. Maybe it's something about summer.
Life is really good, even in addition to the whole living every 13-year-old girl's dream of riding public transportation to my job at an advertising agency in the City, attending numerous social events and dating someone great.
My new apartment makes me happy on a regular basis. I love walking up the hills to it, I love walking up the three flights of stairs with my legs burning and seeing the bridge and downtown and the bay at the top, and I love having space to stretch out. My roommate is super cool. She is five years older. I am lucky she picked me. I feel like I won the lottery.
I feel like I can't waste my situation in decadent relaxation, casual work, excessive drinking and idle chitchat. I need to earn and deserve it by working really hard, being inspiringly creative and intensely productive and generally become an amazing person. After my vacation, I guess. If nothing else, this is a great place to gorge myself with scenery and luxury and indulgent enjoyment. I could be really good at that.
That is, this last year has been lovely but felt so unstable and in flux and on the way there but not there, and I thought I'd be somewhere that I'm still on the way to, and I never make time for the projects I say I want to work on and I never blog anymore and haven't revolutionized my industry, and how am I 24 in 3 weeks and I still haven't written a novel?
It must be delusions of grandeur, because I was sure by now I would be this accomplished superhero rather than this normal almost 24-year-old still getting it together. How long can you really get it together for?
My friend Elaine says my heart is always in the right place, but 10 steps ahead of my head, and that is how I end up overextending myself, getting stressed out and being hard on myself. Not untrue. Okay. Very true.
Last spring I turned my life around from broken elbow and unsatisfying social life to awesome in the matter of a month. Maybe it's something about summer.
Life is really good, even in addition to the whole living every 13-year-old girl's dream of riding public transportation to my job at an advertising agency in the City, attending numerous social events and dating someone great.
My new apartment makes me happy on a regular basis. I love walking up the hills to it, I love walking up the three flights of stairs with my legs burning and seeing the bridge and downtown and the bay at the top, and I love having space to stretch out. My roommate is super cool. She is five years older. I am lucky she picked me. I feel like I won the lottery.
I feel like I can't waste my situation in decadent relaxation, casual work, excessive drinking and idle chitchat. I need to earn and deserve it by working really hard, being inspiringly creative and intensely productive and generally become an amazing person. After my vacation, I guess. If nothing else, this is a great place to gorge myself with scenery and luxury and indulgent enjoyment. I could be really good at that.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
you didn't really think
somehow it's midnight and I have a 9 am client call I'm not ready for and I went out way too late with coworkers thinking it was a good idea because it's 2007 and I think it's going to be the blogging generation I could sleep through unless I stay up drinking it all up now, anyway somehow I can't turn down a free drinks party hosted by a publisher at 7:30 pm when I've worked till 7:30 pm, a publisher who coincidentally acquired us and may or may not pass through FTC approval, and I stayed at work late doing media analytics pretending like I can write a novel and still succeed at business without really trying and do it all, I always hate people who can do it all but then I wonder if I can be one of those people despite being someone who makes it despite all odds because if I'm nothing else I am hard working.
so I didn't turn down a drink in the Mission with two friends from work, and one asked another if he liked boys which is something I could never do but she was right, and here I was thinking he was just east coast, and anyway, it's not even about knowing the right people in this industry, it's just about the right place. The right people can only help you get to the right place. How is it the internet boom of 2006 and no one told us - we've all been bracing for recession but maybe systems work differently now and you just have to bend your mind the right way or be left behind.
I am moving soon.
To a place with a view.
Where hopefully my boyfriend will actually visit me.
I keep thinking these big thoughts like I could finish that half-written novel or I could live in New York or Seattle or some other great American success City.
I want to start blogging regularly again, and finishing that half-written novel.
It's just so easy to let life eat you. Or think work is enough. Or anything else is.
And God knows my friends from work drink enough to keep themselves busy outside of work.
But I have to start living life like it has a time limit. Otherwise, that's just how people end up 40 without accomplishments that don't fit on their family tree or resume.
Because everyone knows love isn't enough, or that big love, or that perfect resume.
so I didn't turn down a drink in the Mission with two friends from work, and one asked another if he liked boys which is something I could never do but she was right, and here I was thinking he was just east coast, and anyway, it's not even about knowing the right people in this industry, it's just about the right place. The right people can only help you get to the right place. How is it the internet boom of 2006 and no one told us - we've all been bracing for recession but maybe systems work differently now and you just have to bend your mind the right way or be left behind.
I am moving soon.
To a place with a view.
Where hopefully my boyfriend will actually visit me.
I keep thinking these big thoughts like I could finish that half-written novel or I could live in New York or Seattle or some other great American success City.
I want to start blogging regularly again, and finishing that half-written novel.
It's just so easy to let life eat you. Or think work is enough. Or anything else is.
And God knows my friends from work drink enough to keep themselves busy outside of work.
But I have to start living life like it has a time limit. Otherwise, that's just how people end up 40 without accomplishments that don't fit on their family tree or resume.
Because everyone knows love isn't enough, or that big love, or that perfect resume.
Friday, May 18, 2007
microserf?
How is it that I went to bed and woke up a Microsoft employee?
And how long before my department gets sold again?
And how long before my department gets sold again?
Monday, April 30, 2007
why I am canceling my united mileage plus visa card after I redeem my miles
I am on hold trying to redeem my United miles for a trip to visit my relatives. This is the 7th time I've called. My average hold times have ranged from 30 to 50 minutes. I've reached new levels of stunned annoyance I had never thought possible. And it just keeps getting worse.
1. The Hold Music
It is a one-minute long muzak/classical piece that repeats over and over again. A portion of this piece is frequently used in television commercials. It's not so much the repetition of this song 50 to 70 times in a call that is the problem - it's the abrasive, deafening static that accompanies it. There is nothing quite like a horrible, screeching, static-filled, repetition of the same song that you can't turn on too low of a volume because the intermittent informational recording could be mistaken for the reservations agent to make you feel like an appreciated, loyal customer.
2. The Reservations Agents
I believe I am speaking to a woman in India. In fact, I believe every time I call I am speaking to the same woman in India, or maybe one of two women, because they have the exact same voice, but two different temperaments. One sounds mostly unsympathetic without being bitter, and actually tries hard to help me find a reservation that works, and says you're welcome when I say thank you. The other is totally apathetic, annoyed and embittered at my unreasonable requests to know of any return flight at all in the month of July. There may be other women, and I believe this only because each follows a slightly different process of asking me for the details of my account and reservation options - some asking for my mileage plus number first, some selecting a departing flight before searching for a return flight. They are all trained well to tell me they will be silent while searching for flight options, and to apologize for not being able to meet all of my travel needs.
3. The System
Maybe the problem is not the fact that the reservations agents are in India, or that they neglected to tell me it was possible to place a courtesy hold on a partial reservation until my 5th call, or that she (/they?) sounds annoyed at the horrible misfortune of having to assist a moronic American nimrod like myself in redeeming 75,000 miles.
Maybe it's the fact that researching travel options is impossible on the site (it shows an error message indicating that travel to that airport s not available at all for redemption of miles) and that upon finally reaching a reservation agent, they have no way of checking for any available dates, and instead have to check day by day through multiple airlines for any availability of any kind, and you could be on the phone for 20 minutes looking for return trips when there are none available for two months. Sometimes when I call their system is updating certain airlines, and so they cannot tell me what the availability is, and cannot tell me when it will complete updating. One agent says at midnight the system is updated, another tells me it constantly gets updated. Each time I call, even an hour later, completely different flight options are available. And so it's not hard to imagine why hold times can be over an hour.
I realize trying to book a transatlantic flight 2 months in advance during peak season means maybe I should anticipate some inconvenience. But it's taken me a long time to accumulate 75,000 miles - that was a lot of United flights and dollars spent on the United card. And when flights are $1600+ and I have the miles, it would be stupid of me not to try to use them if I can find anything that works. I've never heard of anyone having an experience like this with Continental. And it's not the Bangalorean ladies I blame either. Somewhere on this side of the Atlantic there are people whose job it is to make a tedious process less painful for the customers it is tasked with serving in order to keep them loyal - which is the whole point of frequent flyer programs. And somewhere, somebody's not doing their job.
1. The Hold Music
It is a one-minute long muzak/classical piece that repeats over and over again. A portion of this piece is frequently used in television commercials. It's not so much the repetition of this song 50 to 70 times in a call that is the problem - it's the abrasive, deafening static that accompanies it. There is nothing quite like a horrible, screeching, static-filled, repetition of the same song that you can't turn on too low of a volume because the intermittent informational recording could be mistaken for the reservations agent to make you feel like an appreciated, loyal customer.
2. The Reservations Agents
I believe I am speaking to a woman in India. In fact, I believe every time I call I am speaking to the same woman in India, or maybe one of two women, because they have the exact same voice, but two different temperaments. One sounds mostly unsympathetic without being bitter, and actually tries hard to help me find a reservation that works, and says you're welcome when I say thank you. The other is totally apathetic, annoyed and embittered at my unreasonable requests to know of any return flight at all in the month of July. There may be other women, and I believe this only because each follows a slightly different process of asking me for the details of my account and reservation options - some asking for my mileage plus number first, some selecting a departing flight before searching for a return flight. They are all trained well to tell me they will be silent while searching for flight options, and to apologize for not being able to meet all of my travel needs.
3. The System
Maybe the problem is not the fact that the reservations agents are in India, or that they neglected to tell me it was possible to place a courtesy hold on a partial reservation until my 5th call, or that she (/they?) sounds annoyed at the horrible misfortune of having to assist a moronic American nimrod like myself in redeeming 75,000 miles.
Maybe it's the fact that researching travel options is impossible on the site (it shows an error message indicating that travel to that airport s not available at all for redemption of miles) and that upon finally reaching a reservation agent, they have no way of checking for any available dates, and instead have to check day by day through multiple airlines for any availability of any kind, and you could be on the phone for 20 minutes looking for return trips when there are none available for two months. Sometimes when I call their system is updating certain airlines, and so they cannot tell me what the availability is, and cannot tell me when it will complete updating. One agent says at midnight the system is updated, another tells me it constantly gets updated. Each time I call, even an hour later, completely different flight options are available. And so it's not hard to imagine why hold times can be over an hour.
I realize trying to book a transatlantic flight 2 months in advance during peak season means maybe I should anticipate some inconvenience. But it's taken me a long time to accumulate 75,000 miles - that was a lot of United flights and dollars spent on the United card. And when flights are $1600+ and I have the miles, it would be stupid of me not to try to use them if I can find anything that works. I've never heard of anyone having an experience like this with Continental. And it's not the Bangalorean ladies I blame either. Somewhere on this side of the Atlantic there are people whose job it is to make a tedious process less painful for the customers it is tasked with serving in order to keep them loyal - which is the whole point of frequent flyer programs. And somewhere, somebody's not doing their job.
Friday, April 20, 2007
so over the laundromat
I loathe doing laundry so much that I put it off until the situation is abominable and it is the night before I go away for the weekend.
So I'm there by myself at Brainwash and there's a few dozen people there for spoken word night, which is not as great there as you might think, but getting a great turnout for Brainwash. I go about my business in the room where the machines are, and I notice this guy is getting awfully close to me at the change machines, but I figure it's just a coincidence. He smiles at me and I half-smile back and look busy. He looks like a decent guy, he's black and probably in his 20s, and when he whisper-mumbles something to me which turns out to be could I watch his laptop I said no problem. As I take my clothes out of the machine he asks me in the same half-coherent whisper-mumble how many times a week I go to the gym, and I look at him perplexed as if I can't tell he's hitting on me and say, usually three, and walk away as he says something presumably about my figure that I can't hear and ignore. He keeps trying to talk to me and asks where I'm from, and I say San Jose and look busy, and wonder when it would be appropriate to tell him I have a boyfriend, and he says "I'm glad you're here now with us in the West Bay," and he's hard to hear and very confusing (West bay?), so I figure I will avoid him, but he keeps somehow showing up near where I am.
I go over to the other table and sit and read my book Jon let me borrow about a microlending bank in Bangladesh while waiting for the dryer, and this other guy asks me what I'm reading, which reminds me of a bad come-on at this same laundromat that resulted in one very bad date, but he says, "Oh, that's by the guy who won the nobel prize, right?" and he seems like a nice enough person who actually was interested in the book and he is keeping that other guy from talking to me, he's probably in his late 30s with semi-gray hair and doesn't seem too creepy, but I don't really want to start a full-on conversation with him, especially not when he replies, "So are you going to Bangladesh to do the same thing?" and I try to cut it short, and it is at about this point that I notice he is folding an awful lot of washcloths, and at first I think he must be really into using washcloths in the shower until I see that he is folding like, 400 of these. At this point I figure it can't hurt to ask, "So what's with the towels?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um, I'm curious."
"Well, you could guess."
"Do you run a giant car wash?"
"Ha ha, no."
"A homeless shelter?"
"No, but that's a good guess."
"Um, a massage parlor?"
"That's kind of in the same realm. You're close."
I'm really over this guessing game but by now I am pretty curious, and what could it possibly be? So I finally just ask him to tell me.
He says, "Did you read the article in SF Weekly last week?"
"No, I think I missed it."
"I'm part of a group just down a few blocks from here that does orgasmic meditation and massage, usually involving a male stroking the female on her genitals, and we use these towels because we practice safe sex. So we wash them after each use. Each one of these towels is going to touch a person."
Whoa.
Although it's going through my head that that's not meditation, it's foreplay, and a towel does not the safe sex make, and these women expose their genitals to towels he's just laying out on the semi-clean table at the laundromat, and it's creepy that he's going into so much detail about this, all I can do is nod, and say "interesting" and try to go back to reading.
"So this is my job," he says.
"You guys take turns?" (I'm not sure why in the hell I asked that)
"This is the job I wanted. I want to touch every person who comes to the center, so I get to touch all of these towels, which are going to be used."
Holy shit.
"I'm Chris. You don't have to tell me what your name is. It's nice to meet you."
Yikes.
"Do you like massage?"
I need out of this conversation.
"Sure...uh-huh."
He tells me they are running a course to teach back massages at the center, and that for only $25 I can have a free massage from one of the students.
"Cool."
He puts all of the little towels into a giant, not particularly hygienic-looking straw bag and tells me to enjoy the book, and to come by the center if I'd like a massage. I wish him luck (what else can you say?) and he leaves.
The mumbling guy comes up to me again.
On the other side of my cart I hear "You whwooo shmooo."
"I'm sorry?"
"You look smooth."
"I have a boyfriend," I say.
"I said, you looked spooked, what did he say to you?"
I feel like a jackass.
"He told me he did some crazy erotic massage with the towels."
"I heard that," he said, and took his clothes and left.
My next apartment is going to have laundry in the building, I swear.
So I'm there by myself at Brainwash and there's a few dozen people there for spoken word night, which is not as great there as you might think, but getting a great turnout for Brainwash. I go about my business in the room where the machines are, and I notice this guy is getting awfully close to me at the change machines, but I figure it's just a coincidence. He smiles at me and I half-smile back and look busy. He looks like a decent guy, he's black and probably in his 20s, and when he whisper-mumbles something to me which turns out to be could I watch his laptop I said no problem. As I take my clothes out of the machine he asks me in the same half-coherent whisper-mumble how many times a week I go to the gym, and I look at him perplexed as if I can't tell he's hitting on me and say, usually three, and walk away as he says something presumably about my figure that I can't hear and ignore. He keeps trying to talk to me and asks where I'm from, and I say San Jose and look busy, and wonder when it would be appropriate to tell him I have a boyfriend, and he says "I'm glad you're here now with us in the West Bay," and he's hard to hear and very confusing (West bay?), so I figure I will avoid him, but he keeps somehow showing up near where I am.
I go over to the other table and sit and read my book Jon let me borrow about a microlending bank in Bangladesh while waiting for the dryer, and this other guy asks me what I'm reading, which reminds me of a bad come-on at this same laundromat that resulted in one very bad date, but he says, "Oh, that's by the guy who won the nobel prize, right?" and he seems like a nice enough person who actually was interested in the book and he is keeping that other guy from talking to me, he's probably in his late 30s with semi-gray hair and doesn't seem too creepy, but I don't really want to start a full-on conversation with him, especially not when he replies, "So are you going to Bangladesh to do the same thing?" and I try to cut it short, and it is at about this point that I notice he is folding an awful lot of washcloths, and at first I think he must be really into using washcloths in the shower until I see that he is folding like, 400 of these. At this point I figure it can't hurt to ask, "So what's with the towels?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Um, I'm curious."
"Well, you could guess."
"Do you run a giant car wash?"
"Ha ha, no."
"A homeless shelter?"
"No, but that's a good guess."
"Um, a massage parlor?"
"That's kind of in the same realm. You're close."
I'm really over this guessing game but by now I am pretty curious, and what could it possibly be? So I finally just ask him to tell me.
He says, "Did you read the article in SF Weekly last week?"
"No, I think I missed it."
"I'm part of a group just down a few blocks from here that does orgasmic meditation and massage, usually involving a male stroking the female on her genitals, and we use these towels because we practice safe sex. So we wash them after each use. Each one of these towels is going to touch a person."
Whoa.
Although it's going through my head that that's not meditation, it's foreplay, and a towel does not the safe sex make, and these women expose their genitals to towels he's just laying out on the semi-clean table at the laundromat, and it's creepy that he's going into so much detail about this, all I can do is nod, and say "interesting" and try to go back to reading.
"So this is my job," he says.
"You guys take turns?" (I'm not sure why in the hell I asked that)
"This is the job I wanted. I want to touch every person who comes to the center, so I get to touch all of these towels, which are going to be used."
Holy shit.
"I'm Chris. You don't have to tell me what your name is. It's nice to meet you."
Yikes.
"Do you like massage?"
I need out of this conversation.
"Sure...uh-huh."
He tells me they are running a course to teach back massages at the center, and that for only $25 I can have a free massage from one of the students.
"Cool."
He puts all of the little towels into a giant, not particularly hygienic-looking straw bag and tells me to enjoy the book, and to come by the center if I'd like a massage. I wish him luck (what else can you say?) and he leaves.
The mumbling guy comes up to me again.
On the other side of my cart I hear "You whwooo shmooo."
"I'm sorry?"
"You look smooth."
"I have a boyfriend," I say.
"I said, you looked spooked, what did he say to you?"
I feel like a jackass.
"He told me he did some crazy erotic massage with the towels."
"I heard that," he said, and took his clothes and left.
My next apartment is going to have laundry in the building, I swear.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
they call this geekery.
All of the sudden I wish I were nerdier.
HTML HEAD Sterling Silver Earrings
"While we cannot ensure that Google will properly index the contents of your brain, these earrings could help."
Also:
Circuit Board Drop Dangle Earrings
"All the style of a circuit board with none of the pesky lead poisoning!"
HTML HEAD Sterling Silver Earrings
"While we cannot ensure that Google will properly index the contents of your brain, these earrings could help."
Also:
Circuit Board Drop Dangle Earrings
"All the style of a circuit board with none of the pesky lead poisoning!"
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
time-capsule
Since I am still oddly "jetlagged" from going staying out dancing until 5 AM all weekend, I couldn't sleep and so I screwed around on the internet and googled myself (oh come on, you know you do it too, and should - regularly) and found all new stuff. Wonder if Google just tweaked their organic search algorithm. Anyway, among other lost items in the negligible time-capsule were my first letter to the editor to my community college newspaper when I was 17 (which had never been digitized as far as I knew) and this, which I can only assume is Melinda from the Daily Bruin's blog from when I was a senior in college. I had totally forgotten about that weirdo Iowan kid who somehow ended up on the hotel bed we were all sharing at the conference and went for it while I was trying to sleep by so-seductively rubbing my arm until I actually asked him to leave. Sometimes I don't miss college at all. I just wonder if she thought I was reading it then - I mean she did use my full name. And it was funny. I imagine she didn't expect I'd be reading it 2 years later.
Monday, March 05, 2007
After returning from Las Vegas
My Coworker:
link
- Have you seen that?
OH MY GOD
the last thing i need is being scanned in the nude by a bunch of highschool drop outs
god i HATE TSA
link
- Have you seen that?
OH MY GOD
the last thing i need is being scanned in the nude by a bunch of highschool drop outs
god i HATE TSA
Thursday, March 01, 2007
poisson.
Coming along at the last minute to lunch with a publisher, it occurred to me that
A lobster potsticker, some ahi sashimi with caviar and a butterfish later (butterfish is so cool, it’s like it serves you as you eat it, like - would you like another bite? and another light layer gently peels down before you) I was experiencing fish-protein overload.
I was worried I might have a stomachache, but I really just feel kind of fuzzy, like there’s water in my ears or somehow otherwise part of my brain is submerged in water. I’ve heard about these protein highs, that people get when they eat meat after being vegetarian for a while.
So now it’s 3:00, I’m behind after a 2-hour lunch, sitting in my office chair feeling like I’m floating-
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