Le maudit Mo D.

Gooliboo

Honestly, I haven't felt like updating this dog in a few days. I've become preoccupied with something. Film at 11.

Do know that I am really sad about the passing of Wendy Wasserstein. She was at least partly responsible for my attending a women's college. It was "Uncommon Women and Others" that made me want to go to a college where the off-hour serving of desserts was a campus tradition and requirement. Thank you, Wendy.

perjury surgery

I am currently bitchstruck. I am a servant of my Smith class, serving as secretary solely for the privilege of writing the quarterly column in the back of the alumnae magazine. I really strive to put out a quality column and so four times a year, and only four times a year, I send a mass e-mail to members of the class who are not on our no-contact list asking if they'd like to contribute. I've been doing it for 2.5 years now, and this was the first time I have ever gotten a rude, nasty e-mail about it! I'm a bit taken aback! Rude!

I'm currently at a coffeehouse. There is a dude armslength away playing guitar. Bob's at a different table doing his shit, I'm doing mine. Earlier, there was a guy playing "Close to You" on the piano and we got up and slow-danced. And a guy came up to me and introduced himself as a Geegster fan.

I'm doing alright.

crises

I haven't yet laundered my new iBra because I fear it. I fear its seamless foam-constructed titty-shaped technology might explode when it hits the water. Also, I haven't purchased Woolite since college and the instructions, extremely explicit as they are, require me to use a designated, state-approved lingerie wash. I declined the nice Nordstrom lady's offer to allow me to pay $15 for a small bottle of soap I could get for $3 at the less posh supermarket. She sure was nice though.

My mom and I, once upon a time, discussed opening a mother-and-daughter bra shop, doing our part to end mammary oppression in our little corner of the world. I think at the time I was rooting for it to be in Portland. We could measure ladies chests and recommend nice, well-fitting brassieres to them, and with an 80-110% markup, we could make a tidy profit and invest in real estate. It's a sound business model.

But honestly, we're not retail folk. And we'd probably get on each other's nerves.

I've been edgy and grumpy lately. Blerg.

gah.

i'm seriously depressed again. time to get the old butt back to therapy.

busy busy

I haven't written all week because I've been busy in my non-work hours. I checked out the Chappelle DVDs from the UT library and became immediately obsessed. In fact, I am hosting a Chappelle-viewing party for white chicks in the library profession this evening. Homebrew and pizza, oh my.

I also became obsessed with kundalini yoga, after deciding last minute to take a kundalini class instead of hatha, where I usually get a nosebleed or my sciatica acts up. TRANSFORMATIVE EXPERIENCE ALERT! I felt so good after that class! My head was clear, my blood was oxygenated, and I felt light and fluffy and joyful after activating my chakras and meditating to gong sounds. I highly recommend it. It's not as aerobic as hatha, but I definitely felt like a million bucks afterwards.

That, and a last-minute pick-up improv show sponsored by the remaining Geegsters who aren't ill or out-of-town. Please note that I am supposed to be at the beach right now, with my girlies, but am at home because those women are all sick or out of town. The flu is illin' in A-town.

Yesterday, I was riding the bus downtown to meet Bob and some assorted friends for Happy Hour, and I was just sitting there minding my business when I looked out the window and spied two college-age persons in an adjacent vehicle pointing at me and laughing. I wasn't doing anything particularly humorous, and did not have a wad of bird poo in my hair or anything. Perhaps they recognized me from improv? Perhaps they are jackasses? At any rate, I felt badly after that. Pointing and laughing is hurtful.

what is this, friends, we rise and shake and not feel our souls bouncing?

Of recent note in my life: I told Bob that I would cease sexual relations with him if he were to get a tattoo of Alice Cooper anywhere on his body. I do not care for famous person tattoos, and finding Mr. Cooper's inked visage on the body of the man I love would break my heart, so I had to pull out the Big Gunz and make a threat. I wouldn't like it if Bob got my face tattooed on him. I just...don't like face tattoos. Tattoos in general are great, but not, um, a rock star's face. Ya know? I'm getting nauseous just thinking about it.

I just read RDC's blog and her final paragraph was so lovely, and yet it is something I cannot seem to realize in my own life. I cannot count the number of bus rides home from work that I have spent mentally beating the shit out of myself for the choices I have made in my adult life. It is staggering. And today I was particularly hard on myself, as I was reading a book (Second Book of the Year: The Little Chapel on the River by G. Bounds) and the author, not too many years older than I, stated that she's felt her whole life that her life had to be some grand sweeping measure of accomplishment. Me, I just need (desperately) a career change. But still, I had 1999-present to make what I wanted happen and instead I made this other boring, stoopid thing happen, and I keep getting rewarded for being bored and slacky. It's weird. Of course my life is good. So much love, so much comfy bed and happy fun improv. But this career thing has me in ribbons and I cry every night and I need to change it up before I go nuts.

I took out both seasons of the Chappelle show out of the university library and am gorging, since they both have to be back on Thursday. They are funny, but I'm sure you already knew that.

My "bad cholesterol" is too high and I've been instructed to step up the exercise and cut down the animal food. I've considered getting a bike, but I'm a total traffic chickenshit and can only imagine that I'd end up under a truck. I was on the verge of acquiring a bicycle when I decided to leave Northampton back in '99. Had I stayed, I would own a bicycle. But not so much here, in A-town, now. Bob has a bike that he rarely rides. Newport, 2001, me and a Cadillac. Hmmm...

Still can't decide how to celebrate the b-day. Bay Area w/Cass 'n Coco, weeklong writer thing in Austin w/the faboo L. Barry (yes, that L. Barry), back to Durham for a weekend radio thingydoodle, Portland, staying here and ignoring it, so many decisions and what, only 53 days? Shit!

I put way too much pressure on myself. I need to stop.

asshole sandwich

I have made a promise to myself to chronicle every GGG show here in my blerg. I know I won't lose it here. Last night, GGG kicked off the 2006 season with:

SUBWAY SCHOOL, THE MUSICAL!

Gerald (me) is burned out on teaching young Subway employees how to make a sandwich. Maggie (Julie), is his assistant, as well as an ex-Dallas Cowboys cheerleader, who tries to help him "feel the magic" of sandwich pedagogy again. Song: "It's Like Magic!" complete with spinning.

Evil Health Inspector (Jen) swears to destroy Subway. Cackling, over-the-top bad guy character.

Jared (Shana) put on weight again and was released from his Subway contract and is teaching math at high school. His student, Randy (Andrea), feels that school isn't right for him, so Jared suggests a career in sandwiches.

Randy attends Subway School. Gerald gives lackluster pep talk to students, including the EHI, who is posing as a teenager. Randy is clearly the start student, giving an eloquent description of what Subway means. "Sandwiches? asked Shana's character. "Uh, I was looking for 'customers' but 'sandwiches' will do.--Me" Randy is allowed to approach the sandwich assembly counter for the first time, feeling unworthy of the privilege. In song, Randy assembles a sandwich, which is then held up and sang about. Randy takes a slo-mo bite of the sandwich as all gather around him. But then...THE EHI STRIKES and shuts down the school because servers aren't allowed to eat behind the counter!

EHI explains in song that the Subway training facility is where her favorite childhood place once stood, where she could go and ride ponies. Song: "I hate subway sandwiches"

EHI is confronted by Gerald and Maggie, who have weapons (turns out they were a plastic fork and a bagel). Maggie exclaims, "Yeah, we're gonna have a new sandwich flavor now!" And I add, "Yeah. ASSHOLE." EHI says, "Well, nobody is going to order an asshole sandwich!"

EHI and Gerald went to elementary school together, and remembers that she was a sad, friendless little girl. (real name: Nancy Garbagiola) Subway is like a family, where Nancy/EHI will be loved and have friends. And that's all it takes for her to quit trying to take down Subway.

The training center reopens, with Jared cutting the ribbon, providing a solo dance. The song "It's Like Magic" is reprised.

Fin

My Mom

My mom got hit on a few days ago. Like, flirted with. By a man. A black man. A younger black man. In a mall parking lot. In San Diego. In a parking lot. My mom, who is 58, is so hot that a younger black man tried to get with her, in a parking lot, in San Diego. This is especially hot news, because these are not normal occurences in the lives of me and my mom. Getting hit on? Yeah, I suppose I've been hit on a few times in my day, most notably by that drunk sorry freshly-divorced guy in S. F. who couldn't believe I was only 24 at the time and backed away after learning of my extreme youth. While I must have looked like the 30-year-old hag I am today six years ago, my mom, at 58, looks to be a young and spirited 47! Also, we are not ones to seek the romantic company of African-Americans. This is not a racist thing. It's just a fact. We've hit most of the other racial groups, but not that one. Remember, my mother once sought the romantic company of a man 36 years her senior. And succeeded, and yielded me.

And apparently, the whole being married thing, it don't matter when a younger black man is hitting on you in a parking lot. Because when my mom shot back with, "sorry, man, I'm MARRIED," he came back with, "but are you happy?" Oooh...

And the whole parking lot thing. Who hits on a woman in a parking lot, at a mall, on a weekday afternoon? I think this is what cinched it for my mom. Any man my mom would smack it with would be at his job at 3:30 on a Tuesday. So there you go: mom got hit on in a parking lot at a mall in San Diego by a younger man of African heritage.

I certainly hope I look as good as my mom does at 58 to command this sort of attention.

RezoomAway

I'm putting on my Hiring Hat again. It is a red fez. It makes you want to work with me.

I'm reviewing resumes again for an opening at my worky-work. I'll say this again: nothing makes me feel like more of a winner than hiring for the low-level positions at work. For one, I can write a cover letter that does not make me look like a complete retard. As a public service, I'd like to remind my readers just what a good cover letter looks like.

1) IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU. I got a letter that started out with a few sentences of self-aggrandizing hooey: "I am about to change my life for the better. Determination, hard work, and positivity make results happen. I am in charge of my future, and nobody can stand in my way." Uh... yeah, we're not hiring someone to be positive and confident. We're hiring a library worker who knows a thing or two about cataloging. Which you don't, obviously. Maybe if you're applying to work for Oprah, that shit flies, but not here, not with me.

2) IF YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT EXPERIENCE, DON'T APPLY. The requirements for this position are, to me or anyone else that has worked in special collections, clearly specialized, but to those who don't know what it is we do, the requirements might seem pretty simple. So people who have filed things in an office think they have processed manuscript collections. And they haven't. And they are lying to me on their cover letters, saying they do, but then the resume tells a different story. My friends, if you have never worked in a library, or at least not enough to know what the behind-the-scenes folks do, don't say you have and then let your resume be the truthteller that gets you shunned.

3) SPEAK THE LANGUAGE. In archives, there is a specific language to describe what we do. If you know the language, use it. It makes you look like you know what you're talking about, and you care.

4) VOLUNTEER. I keep getting people with either no experience at all, because they're just out of school, saying they have archival processing experience but their resume just says SERVER AT CHILI'S, or people with tons of experience, but the wrong kind. I think it's great you were in the Army Corps of Engineers for 15 years, but honestly, if you were an engineer for the army, why are you applying for a $25K library assistant job when you know how to design bridges? Between the two, you know which one I'd hire?

I'd hire either one of them, if they had on their resume three months of verifiable special collections VOLUNTEER WORK. Even better, volunteer work under SOMEONE I OR MY COWORKERS KNOW, which in this town is pretty easy. Volunteer work says to me, "hey, this guy is interested in what we do, to the point that he'd do it for no pay." I'm happy to give that opportunity to ANYONE SHOWING INTEREST, be them 22 and straight out of school, or 52 and seeking a career change after years of being a veterinarian or whatever.

Without previous knowledge of what an archivist does, I'm really not interested in you as a candidate. Sorry.

SAMPLE COVER LETTER:

Dear Lady,

I am applying for the position of Archive Slave at the S. P. Morrissey Archives and Library. Having spent the last three months as a volunteer in the archives department at Fart College's library, I have the right combination of skills and interest that would make me a good candidate for this position.

In the archives at Fart College, I arranged and described a portion of the Butt Chowder Business Papers under the direction of Erin Mookles, the head archivist. My previous position as a server at Chili's taught me to be a good listener and very organized.

Blah blah blah.

Sincerely yours,

Candidata Notretardo

Clearly, this sample cover letter is a lazy, half-assed effort and you should not cut and paste it and send it to any HR department in hopes of landing a job.

Just sayin'.

books i read

I really need to do a better job keeping track of this:

Assassination Vacation by S. Vowell
Hypocrite in a Pouffy White Dress by S. J. Gilman
The Last Playboy: something something Porfirio Rubirosa
Suze Orman's Money Guide for the Young, Fabulous and Broke
Unmarried to Each Other: the cohabitating book for unmarried people
Don't Get Too Comfortable by D. Rakoff
Above Us Only Sky by M. Winik
Inconsolable by M. Ingman
Soup Peddler's book
"the mick napier book" (an improv legend 'round these parts)
Beauty Tips from Moose Jaw by W. Ferguson
Guru: My Life With Del Close by J. Griggs
Making Bread (a women's financial book)
Job Hopper and No Touch Monkey by A. Halliday
That book about being in the first co-ed class at Dartmouth...?
The Time-Travelers Wife by A. Niffenegger (a Zerd Pick!)
Persepolis I and II
Mamaphonic
Interviewing for Radio
Dress Your Family in Corduroy & Denim by Mr. Sedaris
started out the year with Eleanor Rigby by D. Coupland

1 January, 2 January, 3 January...

First of all, to get things started, I took an online test that revealed that I have more masculine attributes than feminine. Which is fine. I've always felt like more of one of the guys anyway.

I also apparently look like someone's 1950s tv dad.

Masculine You scored 60 masculinity and 46 femininity!

You scored high on masculinity and low on femininity. You have a traditionally masculine personality.

Second of all, I am about to fix up some tasty "rainbow chard."

Third, my CD burner is a piece of crap.

TRAVEL PLANS 2006:
Berfday trip in March
Chicago in April
Northampton in September

I've been noticing lately that many of the young ladies who attend high school or local undergraduate-serving institutions often have the appearance of looking, uh, not very smart. Matching pink lipstick, earrings, long hair tied back in ponytail, midriff exposing t-shirt, yes, they are costumed for girly male-gaze consumption, don't seem to be particularly concerned with anything as far as I can tell, and are often seen eating small portions of diet-controled food. And diet soda.

I say "not very smart" because I don't have a way to say "not like me, " so I use not very smart. I look at them and think, "what the hell are they gonna do with their lives?" But really, it's also, "never a moment in your young life did you consider attending a women's college."

They just don't seem as worried or preoccupied as I always have been. Boys, sex, drinking, clothes, appearance: always been anathema to me, so I must admit, I do not understand other females who participate in or have mastered this American youth phenomenon. Also, I have always, at the end of the day, believed my mom when she told me that I am an exceptional individual. It is a legacy of gifted education, I suppose, where teachers and other adults would look upon my precociousness and early mastery of reading and language and lavish me with praise, while my peers thought me to be some sort of wart upon the social fabric of our shared educational institution.

Sure, Smith had girls who would be considered "cute" by local standards, but everyone there always put ambition and success first. Ambition and success as I define it. Not, apparently, how other women define it.

I must look like six feet of granny schlub. At least Bob loves me.

And as for the above test thing, apparently all the personal qualities of confidence are "masculine" and all the ones that are about caring and nurturing are "feminine." I am not a nurturing person. I am pretty confident most of the time, though.

Hmmmm.... Mental masturbation to start out the new year.

Days left of my twenties: 64