"news" items of
little or no interest to anyone -- except possibly my mother, if she's
still reading, or that guy in Vancouver who always wants to know what
I'm wearing -- cobbled together in a clumsy and wholly obvious attempt
to fashion a legitimate journal entry out of thin air:
#1: I'm on V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N.
requested this time
off from The Dirt Company several months ago: a couple of extra days,
book-ending either side of Memorial Day, turning it into a lovely
six-day holiday *weekend.*
David and I
were planning to use this weekend to go off on a romantic getaway ...
possibly to Monterey or Sacramento, to ride bikes and sit in a jacuzzi
and eat potato chips in bed ... but then finances and family
obligations and work crap rendered the idea impossible, and now it's
going to be more like a sitting-around-the-apartment,
getting-caught-up-on-housework, goofing-around-on-the-Internet kind of
that's OK. I still
don't have to wear underwear for six days.
#2: I survived my Annual Performance Review this week.
sweating this year's Performance Review: not because I was afraid
JoAnne wouldn't give me a mostly-glowing evaluation (she did), or
because I was afraid I wouldn't be rewarded with a salary increase at
the end of the ordeal (I was) ... but because I always
sweat stuff like this. It's the principal's office all over again, and
JoAnne knows it. In fact, she approached me late Wednesday
afternoon and gave me a choice. "Do you want to get your review over
with this afternoon," she asked, "or do you want to wait until you come
back from vacation next week?"
depends," I said.
"Is it going to be good news or bad news?"
told me that it was
going to be 'mostly good news' -- "There are a couple of things I need
to go over with you," she said [uh oh]
-- but other than that, there weren't likely to be any big surprises.
So of course I opted to do the review right then and there -- why spoil
a perfectly good six-day weekend, sweating over work-related nonsense?
-- and we went into her office and closed the door and nailed the
entire review in just under ten minutes.
The good news is that I got my
raise. A teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy,
going-to-need-a-microscope-to-see-it-on-the-paystub raise -- barely
enough to cover the cost of our Saturday night pizza -- but it's still
The bad news, if there is any bad news, is that one of my
co-workers has complained that I'm occasionally 'difficult to
approach.' "On two occasions," JoAnne said, "he has come to me and said
he's afraid to ask for your help because you look so stressed."
Naturally, she said, she wasn't permitted to tell me exactly who
complained. Naturally, I asked her to tell me anyway. And naturally,
she broke down and admitted that it was The Main Nerdy Geotech Guy. I
considered pointing out that most of these requests for 'help' come at
4:59 p.m., as I'm putting on my coat and heading out the door for home.
I considered pointing out that I am probably no more or no less
'stressed' than anyone else in the office, but that since I'm sitting
at the front desk, in front of God and everybody, I have nowhere to
hide when the occasional *Boo Hoo Moment* blows through. I even
considered pointing out that if they want someone perky and bubbly and
happy-doodle-all-the-day, sitting at their front desk, a premenopausal
forty-five year old woman with authority issues probably isn't their
But in the end I merely
said thank you for the raise, and I promised to try a little harder,
and I got the heck out of her office and left for my vacation.
#3: Could somebody please explain Ruben Studdard to me?
was a Kimberley Locke
fan for most of the season: her smoky, elegant voice was the best thing
about American Idol 2. When she got booted off the show, I easily
switched my allegiance to Clay Aiken, who had that endearing Alfred E.
Neumann goof factor going for him. But I've never really understood
this whole Ruuuuuuuuuben
phenomenon. He seems like a very pleasant, very sincere young man, with
a nice mom and a modest amount of talent -- plus it's encouraging to
see that the show isn't afraid to embrace the nonstereotypical
performer as its 'idol' -- but vocally, I don't think that The Velvet
Teddy Bear holds a candle to either Kimberley or Clay. Plus everything
he sings sounds exactly the same to me. Does it seem that way to
am I just getting
#4: On the other hand ...
Kirsten person didn't win "The Bachelor." There IS justice in the
reality TV universe.
they've announced that they're bringing back Funny Bob -- the best
thing about "The Bachelorette" -- to be the next "Bachelor." I've
already submitted both of my daughters' names, e-mail addresses and
vital statistics to ABC for consideration.)
#6: I've been nominated for a Diarist Award for 'Most Romantic Entry'
... which manages to be
both flattering and
ironic, since one
of the entries I'm competing against is an entry I helped nominate.
(And because the other nominee in this category wrote a lovely, lyrical
about one of my favorite subjects in the world -- pre-nuptial jitters
-- turning me into an instant and permanent fan.)
The other irony here
is that "Walking Across Plasma Fire" very nearly wound up on the trash
heap, along with all the other aborted *FootNotes* entries that never
seem to make it all the way out of my head and onto the Internet
lately. I thought it was geeky and bloated and filled with entirely too
many Star Trek references to make it palatable to the *FN* audience.
(Cranky Denver Lady: "All you
ever write about is Jean luc Picard!")
So as honored as I am to be nominated -- and I really am, even after
all this time -- I think I'm just as pleased to know that "Plasma"
wasn't the big stinkeroo I was afraid it might be. Thank you for that
little bit of validation.
nominated entries ... if you haven't seen this
yet, I suggest you give it a read. And bring Kleenex with you. It's
quite possibly the best thing I've ever read in an Internet journal,
and it rips my guts out every time I re-re-re-read it.)
#6: Attention all licensed automobile drivers in TicTac, Washington:
son is now one of you. Please drive with extra caution.
(Unless you see
him heading for Make-Out Point on a Friday night, with a teenage girl
in a low-cut sweater sitting entirely too close to him in the front
seat ... in which case, please run him off the road for me.)
#7: It's a proven scientific fact: the chocolate chip cookie
eaten at midnight -- standing alone in your kitchen, under cover of
darkness, while your Dieting Partner/Significant Other snoozes in
peaceful, trusting oblivion in the next room -- tastes better than the
don't know why this is
so. I only know that it is.
#8: We've set our riding goal for 2003.
I know: the year is
half over already, and we're only now getting around to setting our
riding goal for 2003. And yes, I know: I said I didn't want
to have a riding goal this year, after last year's mammoth 2,002
just about did me in. But the further we get into 2003 -- especially
now that the rainy season appears to be over, and all of my weird
physical maladies have disappeared, and we're back on the bikes on a
semi-regular basis -- the more I realize that having a goal is more
than just a motivation to get out of bed on the weekends or a
gimmicky way of increasing hit counter stats.
important to David.
He's lost without his charts and his calculators.
because I love him
so much, and because what's important to him is important to me, I'm
giving in and going along with the *new* goal for 2003, which is this:
a sixty-mile ride, completed in one day, before the end of the summer,
followed by an eighty-mile/one day ride before the end of the year. I
know it's not as impressive-sounding a goal as last year -- it doesn't
roll trippingly off the tongue, the way "Two
thousand two in two thousand two"
did -- but trust me when I tell you that it's going to be every bit as
tough, and it's going to be every bit as painful, and I'm going to
bitch and moan and cry and complain and threaten to quit every bit as
I'm going to be
every bit as proud and relieved when the whole &%*# thing is over.
#9: I'm on V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N redux.
this time I'm
talking about a vacation from *FootNotes.*
always feel guilty
when I go off on one of these self-imposed journaling breaks of mine --
I barely write enough as it is, so how can I justify a hiatus? -- but
every once in a while I've just got to shut things down and walk away
and regroup for a little while, or else I start to hate it more than I
love it. (And lately, it seems, hating it more than I love it is
becoming a real issue.) So I'm going to take some time off, and I'm
going to catch up on some of the non-*FootNotes*-related stuff in my
life, and I'm going to give myself a chance to relax and goof off and
recharge the ol' creative batteries before they poop out completely.
Which is pretty much the point of any
don't know how long
I'll be gone. I don't think it will be permanent. I'll try to send a
postcard once in awhile. (Insert obligatory reminder to join the Notify
the meantime, though,
thank you very much for reading *FootNotes* these past five years. It's
been almost as much fun to write as it's been to live ... and I'm glad
to know that you're out there, enjoying the ride along with me.
a great Memorial
Day weekend, everybody! See you soon.
to throw a rock?