Strongly Worded

Whirlpool

So within the next hour or so I will be co-habitating with a hot little number: 16 cubic feet of cool. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am getting a new fridge. I bought this puppy last weekend at Best Buy, after extensive Internet research and some comparison shopping. My new fridge has glass shelves and two separate crispers whose humidity I can (and plan to!) adjust. The freezer is frost free. And the design is European, with sleek set-in handles and a sleek finish. (It is white, and not bisque as I'd wanted, but you can't have everything). It is scheduled to arrive within the next few hours.

While this fridge will bring me joy (in large part because I will be able to store my food freely, without fear of it freezing or rotting, and because it will be quiet and energy-efficient), it was not so much an "owner elective"--meaning, it's a practical expense I wouldn't choose to incur if the existing fridge in my apartment didn't suck so much. Thus, I was talking to my friend E. last night, about how, while we are very lucky to have jobs and be financially secure (touch wood), it would still be nice if there were some philanthropist out there who made grants for life enhancement--grants of maybe $1,000-$3,000 or so, just for hardworking single women who do Good Work and don't earn exorbitant salaries. Such grants would afford us some comforts and joys that we cannot otherwise obtain.

I would buy a new queen-sized bed with a frame (to replace my "dwarf full sized" bed that is four inches narrower than my Guy's actual full sized bed). And I would buy new bedding (from Pottery Barn). I would buy some artwork for two of my walls (not any crazy original stuff, just some framed posters). And a portable dishwasher.

A girl can dream ...

Posted by Dori at 9:32 AM 0 comments

Core Competencies

So one of the central tenets of my graduate coursework was the idea of "core competencies." Essentially, successful organizations (and people) identify the unique ability they bring to the marketplace, and concentrate on that. So if you're Nike, for example, and you're really good at developing new models of athletic footwear, you spend most of your time, money, and energy on research and design, and you outsource the actual manufacturing of laces, uppers, and other shoe components. Or if you're Toys R Us, and you're really good at retail toy sales, you continue to capitalize on that, and you outsource your online presence to Amazon.com.

Of course, people have core competencies too, and the smartest and luckiest people are able to apply them professionally. Ideally, in any given organization, you'll have a mix of core competencies that complement one another. And same goes for romantic relationships. In a really effective couple, one person would be really great at planning, and the other would be great at spontaneous adventures. One person might be very handy, and the other one might be very good at cooking. You see where this is going.

Increasingly, I'm finding that me and my Guy have the same core competencies. (And conversely, the same weaknesses. I don't think there is any official MBA term for the opposite of a core competency.)

We just got off the phone, and my Guy described his ongoing assault on the insects that inhabit the "anteroom" to his apartment (I know. Poor baby. He's got bugs in his anteroom. Probably a byproduct of the pond in the adjacent Zen garden.) He's got Raid, and sticky bug tape, and an implement that emits anti-bug frequencies. He's made it very clear that he Doesn't Do Bugs.

Now, I am no fan of the bugs, but I can deal with them. Rodents, however, unhinge me. I have nightmares about mice. I have ludicrous, stereotypical, cliched reactions to scurrying creatures. In my old apartment, where we suspected mice living in the walls, I installed an implement that allegedly emitted anti-rodent frequencies, and I used to blast NPR in the bathroom so that any mouse contemplating a debut would think there were people around and change course. The landlord put traps out, just in case this occurred.

We just established that my Guy is no rodent fan either, but that if we lived together someday, he could deal with a dead mouse in a trap (I could not. My greatest fear in my old apartment was encountering a trapped mouse. I cringed every time I passed each trap. I absolutely could not face the removal of a mouse carcass. Thank God it never came to that.).

But my Guy would be unfazed. "Sweetie," he said, "I've seen plenty of dead people. I would have no compunctions dealing with a dead mouse."

OK, so I can deal with the bugs, and he can deal with the rodents, but what about the snakes? Snakes revolt me as much as mice (maybe even a little more). My Guy confessed he's of the same mind. But, really, he pointed out, what's the likelihood of coming across a snake in everyday urban life?

I agree the chances are slim, but I wish he'd be up for the challenge if it emerged. I also wish he had a better sense of direction than I do (mine is abysmal, and when we were arranging our first date, he confesssed: "a homing pigeon I'm not."). Neither of us are handy (at all). Neither of us are so strong on the driving front (although he grew up in the Midwest, so is by definition a more experienced driver, and I'm pretty sure he knows how to parallel park). Neither of us camp, hike, or bike very well. And our core competencies are mainly the same too. We're both good at kindness, kissing, being on time, using GRE vocabulary words, email, worrying, remembering details, sarcasm, and school.

How's that for a business proposition?

Posted by Dori at 11:06 PM 0 comments

Knowledge, Skills, Experience

I am writing to you as a proud graduate of the Neighborworks Institute, which is the massive training provider I mentioned earlier. This week, 1,200 community development practitioners from all across the country convened in our fair city of Boston, to enrich our minds and professionally develop.

The training was beautifully, smoothly run. Fresh coffee was served three times a day in silver urns warmed by flames. (You can see this made a big impression on me.) Also, the "continental breakfast" included fresh fruit served in melon shells carved into swan shapes.

As usual, I was amazed by how grown men and women, leaders of organizations, experts in their fields, reverted to first-grade behavior when planted for a week in front of a PowerPoint presentation and an empowered instructor. Our instructor was extraordinarily empowered, and liberally used the phrases "settle down now", "I can only hear one voice at a time", and "as I was saying ... before I was interrupted ..."

At first, we sat meekly at our tables (set with pink tablecloths, silver pitchers of ice water, and little dishes of candies), as we were asked to designate "table captains" to "keep us on track." After the first few hours of Lawrence's pompous, loud, and confrontational instruction, everyone at my table dissolved into sarcastic heckling, infused with anxiety. Betsy, a senior manager from Maine who manages multi-million dollar development deals, kept fumbling with the financial calculator that Lawrence demanded we buy. "Bankers have these," he boomed. "You've got to have these if you want your lenders to take you seriously. You NEED TO LEARN TO USE A FINANCIAL CALCULATOR. It's a key part of this work. Remember: lenders are looking for KNOWLEDGE, SKILLS, and EXPERIENCE." He talked a length about why knowledge, skills, and experience are important, and actually distributed an explanatory handout. It was a leitmotif throughout the course.

Everyone freaked about the financial calculators (which are expensive, unintuitive, and used by bankers and mortgage brokers to do long-term financial projections, calculate debt service, etc). Betsy, a senior manager from Maine, who had never, in her 33-year career, used a financial calculator, zipped out during the break to buy one, and then fretted throughout the day because she couldn't figure out how to accurately add. Everyone else was scrambling as well, and Lawrence was annoyed. "IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO USE YOUR CALCULATOR, GO HOME AND PRACTICE! AND IF YOU DON'T HAVE AN HP10b, or an HP20c, I CAN'T HELP YOU." All the people who had bought different models during lunch looked crestfallen. They looked down at their Casios or their Texas Instruments with faces full of shame.

I have to admit I bought one, too (an HP20C, I'm proud to say). My tough, this-is-ridiculous sensibility told me that I could never learn to use this instrument in three days, that I had never felt the need to use one before, and that I likely would never use it again. I knew that we would work together during the class and others would share their calculations. But somehow my striver self won out, and I sheepishly dropped $43 on a calculator, that, sure enough, gave me errors most of the time (because it has about fourteen different special settings that are hard to turn off). Error messages cause this soft beeping sound. This annoyed Lawrence. "STOP MAKING ERRORS!" he said. "THAT BEEPING IS DRIVING ME CRAZY." I turned off the calculator halfway through the second day and haven't turned it on sense. I may sell it on Ebay; it's two days old and has outlived its useful life.

On the second day, Mike from Providence joined our table. We filled him in before class started, again, four executives regressing to the second day of elementary school, briefing the new kid. "Lawrence is a renaissance man," we told him (as Lawrence had told us the day before). "He's a former athlete, plays several different instruments, and was a leader on his college's chess team." We snickered. "He told us he's divorced." Betsy snorted. "Shocking."

A certain camaraderie emerged over time. One day, Lawrence brought us cookies. It was Sarah's birthday the next day and she brought in Krispy Kremes to celebrate. Rob read USA Today surreptiously during the boring parts of the lecture. We got loopy during the breaks, showed off when we finished earlier than the other groups. Betsy passed me notes.

And then it was Friday, and we all got our certificates, exchanged business cards, and dispersed to our respective jobs and communities, grownups once again.

Posted by Dori at 8:56 AM 0 comments

Fools Rush In

So I'm doing another conference this week--a training, this time, with over 1,200 practitioners from all over the country. We're convening in this fancy downtown hotel. In the morning they serve coffee from decanters warmed by flames. If you work in the community development field, you'll understand that this is a welcome and radical departure from what we are used to: a Dunkin' Donuts "Box 'O Coffee" served in paper cups.

The conference is a week long, and it is poorly timed. I have a lot going on at the office; it's not the best week to be out. But out I am, and during the enraging hour-and-a-half lunch breaks (I would so, so much rather take half an hour for lunch and get out an hour earlier), I check email and voicemail, and return the messages when I get home in the evening.

I have this scrambling feeling about it, even though only one of the messages thus far has been time-sensitive. Today my course ended at around 3:00 (instead of 4:00). I was supposed to do a little bonus "economic development tour" starting at 4:30, but there was no way I was going to stick around and do nothing for yet another hour and a half before it started. So I ditched and went home, arriving about three hours earlier than I had expected.

I ate a snack and returned the calls and emails from work (again, none of them time-sensitive). And then I felt this terrible rush of anxiety. I scampered around my apartment. I had nothing to do. If I were a super striver, I told myself, I would drive into the office and deal with the mail and some other things. But I just didn't feel any of these things merited a special trip. Suddenly I was faced with an unexpectedly empty evening, and I felt guilty and strange. I furtively took a nap, flouting my inner "striver police", whose message was : you're supposed to be professionally developing! Or at work! What makes you think you can take a nap at 5 p.m. on a Tuesday night? After you skipped out on the tour? Where's your work ethic? Don't you have anything better to do with your time?

I couldn't relax. I cooked a frittata and prepared lunch for tomorrow, and I paid bills and did some other life maintenance things. I went to the gym. The whole time, I was moving fast and trying to infuse my tasks with purpose.

I kept thinking of the wise, wise writer Sy Syfransky, who wrote once:

"I’ve been rushing all day, as if it made a difference whether I arrived at the end of my life an hour sooner. What’s the rush? I couldn’t miss that deadline if I tried."

Posted by Dori at 10:25 PM 3 comments

So you think this is comforting?

My Guy and I are going through a rough patch. It's no mystery that it's very hard to build a relationship when one of the people (him) is just perpetually swamped with work. We had a very hard conversation yesterday about what that that means now, and what our future together might be like. It was very scary and I had several heart-sinking, everything-is -unraveling moments. Ultimately, we decided we're just not ready to give up. We had a really good (very long) and radically honest conversation and I feel proud of that. But of course, being me, I am still paralyzed in the face of ambiguity. Maybe things will work out; maybe they won't. So what I do when I'm stuck in a spiral of fear and desperate for feedback, comfort, and validation (and my mom is away, and key friends are unavailable)? Where do I turn? The women's forum of Craigslist, that's where!

This anonymous forum provides me with instant gratification: as soon as I post, I find that somewhere out there, several people are paying attention to my crisis du jour and care enough to comment on it. I have asked some very prickly questions on that forum with complete anonymity, and that is fabulous.

So behold my post:
Have any of you successfully dated a doctor? I'm about 4 mos into a relationship with my amazing boyfriend, I really love and respect him, but he's a first year resident, incredibly driven, and so we see each other once (sometimes twice) a week. I feel very shut out when he goes into "dr. mode" (obsessing about all the work he has to do, how tired he is ...) and this is exacerbated because his years of hard training have not allowed him much time to develop relationship skills, and his only "models" for relationships are his crazy co-workers who see their spouses very occasionally. We've both acknowledged how hard it is (mainly for me) and that there is not a lot that can change in the forseeble future given his (non-negotiable) demanding schedule. We've decided we want to keep at this, but my heart is heavy. It's so clear to me that I WILL balance life and work, and so unclear to him whether he even wants to. Has anyone gone through this? Advice for me?

Behold these thoughtful and constructive responses:

"Stick with him, you'll be rich someday ..."

" ... on the other hand, if you enjoy spending time with him more than you enjoy his money, it may not work out. I would definitely give up some of my husband's money to have more time with him."

"Doctors are #2 for rates of divorce. Pilots are #1."

"I have two friends who married doctors and it was extremely difficult. You have to have your own outside interests to occupy you when he is obsessing so he does not drag you down with him."

"You date a doctor precisely for his potential -- his potential to earn money and his potential to work so hard he let's you enjoy life with the cabana boys (which his money affords). If you want a doctor who "balances" life and work, then why not date just any shmoe who works at Walgreen's? They balance their life and work just fine."

"You have to figure out what you want out of this. Are you in this for the long haul? If so, then yes, it will be hard, just like it's hard for people dating anyone who is driven in their career. But it's not always like this. You need to make sure that you and he have different lives, because he'll be gone a lot. If you truly think this is something that could be "it", then I say stick it out. My SO, while not a doctor, is gone a lot, and it's really tough, but I'm totally used to it now. I have my own life, and my life with him, and he has the same. "

"Sigh. this is one of those areas where someone who's not in that career or a similar one (I'm a corporate litigator--we work virtually the same types of hours at times) has no clue what it's like. It's not that he's not putting in the effort to be with you, it's that he literally can't. In other words, it's not about you and him ... it's about whether you can have a relationship with anyone who has a high-demand career ... if you can't that's fine ... but you can't take it personally. If he's actually seeing you once a week that's really good for someone in his position. You're starting to sound kind of selfish."

"Yes, I dated a doctor once. Ten years into his career as a specialist surgeon, he still worked 100+ hours a week, including EVERY weekend, holiday etc. (He owns his own office, with operating privileges at three hospitals.) He left the house at 5.30 a.m., came home at 10 p.m. or later, and barely managed to stay awake for another 10 minutes. That was one of the nails to the coffin we finally buried our relationship in. Dating doctors is overrated."

From "Lola" who herself is a medical resident: "I think the problem is not his profession necessarily, but his drive and inability to balance things, at least at this stage. If you can be patient, it may get better. First year residency is a HUGE adjustment. But if you press him for more time now he may flee. If you show you are understanding and not needy, hopefully he will come around. Residency is very difficult physically, mentally and emotionally. This stage of his life will pass and then hopefully he will be better able to prioritize work and family. Seeing you once per week IS very good for a resident.

I dated a guy in med school, a teacher, who told me I didn't have my priorities straight and didn't put enough energy into our relationship. I liked medicine, but I didn't like how demanding it was; however, there was nothing I could do about it! I got rid of him; if a guy couldn't be supportive of my career and its demands, then fuck him. I have since dated nice guys that were understanding of my schedule and I have been more than happy to make time for them. I think in general females are better at balancing work and relationships."

Posted by Dori at 9:08 PM 0 comments

CARma

So a few weeks ago I was driving my merry self to work, and stopped at a crosswalk to let a woman pass. She indicated that I roll down the window, and, instead of asking for directions, she asked me for a ride.

"I have terrible arthritis," she said. "Can you give me a ride to the bank?"

I assessed her. She wasn't elderly, but she had definitely seen better days. She was kind of hobbling, and her hair was matted, and there was something off about the way she looked that suggested that she had far bigger problems than getting to the bank.

I didn't want to give her a ride. I didn't get a scary vibe from her, but that didn't mean she couldn't have a knife tucked in her handbag, and that she wasn't some violent woman attempting to carjack me (and my ten-year-old foster car). I knew it would be dumb to give her a ride. But I have a heart. And I've lived for most of my adult life schlepping around on public transit, and mooching rides off of friends, so it seemed like I owed at least one ride to the universe.

She got in the car, and kept saying again and again how grateful she was, and then she unloaded a litany of marital, economic, and emotional problems on me, and concluded by setting up a prayer exchange, by which she would pray for me (since I had given her a ride) and I would pray for her (since she had the aforementioned litany of problems). She asked about my religion, and when I said I was Jewish, and we passed by the Masonic Lodge, she asked if that was where I prayed.

I dropped her off at the bank, unharmed, feeling good that I helped someone, and also good because I hadn't been shredded into ribbons and left for detectives on the side of the road.

There was something particularly satisfying about doing this particular good (albeit somewhat risky) deed, because, last year, I was the recipient of a similar act. I was in the process of moving, and it was August, about ten billion degrees, and I had no car. I was trying to carry about ten cardboard boxes (for packing) from the liquor store to my house, and I kept stumbling every few paces because the boxes were so plentiful and so awkwardly shaped. A guy pulled up next to me in a station wagon. He said, "I swear I'm not a psychopath. I live up the street, I can see that you're struggling. Would you like a ride?" It was so hot. I was so tired. I didn't get any scary vibes from him. It was broad daylight. I was so close to my house. I got in the car.

He didn't assault, rob, or rape me. I thanked him profusely and unloaded my boxes.

So I "paid it forward" with this arthritic lady, and already, my good has come back to me.

I had physical therapy at 8:30 a.m. on Friday morning (downtown). I got on the subway at 7:55 and learned that the trains were running with serious delays. I aborted the mission and leaped off the train, with the intention of taking a cab. When I emerged from underground, I realized I did not have enough cash for a cab ride. I went to the ATM. Looked for a cab. Found none. Called a cab; no answer. Finally I spotted one outside of a restaurant. I approached and asked the driver whether there was any hope of getting me downtown in the 20 minutes remaining before my appointment. She said there was, but that her cab was designated for another subway refugee, who appeared at that moment. We established that my destination was on his way. He invited me to get in the cab, and when I was dropped off, he refused my money: "it's on me." Turned out also that he works in my same field and we spent the whole ride name-dropping. I got to my appointment on time. If I had had cash, left the house earlier, or gotten an answer from the cab company, I would not have gotten a free ride to PT, nor would
I be infused with good will to pass on.

Posted by Dori at 11:38 AM 0 comments

Not My Finest Hours

So today I attended this work-related conference, and I behaved badly. I always consider these events as learning opportunities, and also as opportunities to present myself as impressive and articulate to other attendees, who may one day want to hire me/fund me/date me.

I doubt any of these things will result from my snarky behavior today. Words just shot out of my mouth; my inner censor was on time delay, as if I were singing in a stadium or something (apparently when you sing in a stadium, the amplification creates a sound delay of several seconds). About halfway through one of my statements, the censor would kick in: Don't say that! Why are you saying that? Stop! And alas, it would be too late.

Some details, for your amusement:

Upon my arrival, two other attendees recognized my organization (which appeared on my name tag). They oohed and aahed because they'd heard about some partnership work we're doing. And instead of just oohing and aahing agreeably, I said: "In fact, we are getting funded for an "exploration of ways we can most effectively collaborate"."

And I made that "quotation marks in the air" gesture. My tone was snarky. It was snarky because:
- "most effectively collaborate" is a euphemism for "merger";
- it was 8 a.m.; and
- I've just been feeling snarky lately.

The admirers at the table were taken aback and made a funny remark about my quotations in the air, at which point my inner censor kicked in and I quickly rushed to explain that my dismissive tone had only to do with the management-speak, not the process itself, which is (of course) really illuminating and valuable.

Then I bumped into a funder in the hallway, who greeted me warmly. I was genuinely impressed that she remembered me, because we've only met once, when I was photographed with her while she presented me with a giant check (to clarify: it was a physically giant check, and not at all financially giant).

I have shame associated with this woman because:
- On the day the picture was taken, I was wearing a very casual outfit, given blizzard conditions and (OK, I'll admit it) the fact that I had completely forgotten about the photo op until I was already at work;
- When I wrote a thank you letter for the aforementioned check, I mail-merged poorly, such that the wrong amount appeared in the first line, and she actually (very graciously) had to request that I redo it (for tax documentation); and
- She declined my invitation to an event which we insensitively scheduled for some holiday she observed but I didn't know about.

So, anyway, back to today's humiliation--I gushed about how she remembered my name, and we had a mini love-chat, and then I realized I was wearing a fucking name tag.

Ladies and gentlemen--the fun doesn't end there.

I bumped into a woman in the ladies room who I had hoped to avoid--we worked together once, and she was instrumental in my being laid off, and handled the whole thing in a cowardly and underhanded way.

HER: Dori, wow! So great to see you! I hear you're a director now! Wow! Congratulations! So many great opportunities where you're working.
ME: [snark] Actually, there's not a lot of opportunity--it's a really small community where there is a lot of opposition to our work.
HER: But such a dynamic, small-town environment!
ME: [double snark]: Yes ... it's very parochial ... I'm just now learning to navigate it .... [inner censor kicks in] but it's a great learning experience!

Then, when the first conference session ended, I said to a colleague that it was "a waste of time", in a kind of catty "aren't-we-all-on-the-same-page" tone, after which he indicated that my assessment was a little too harsh. And then during lunch I tried to answer a question while eating a rapidly unwrapping wrap, which spilled unattractively everywhere, and I felt a deep sense of relvusion with myself that I am just now overcoming.

Posted by Dori at 9:23 PM 0 comments

The Heat of the Night

OK, so if you've been reading this blog for any length of time you've heard me complain and complain and complain about how cold and rainy it's been.

Well, get ready, kids, because today is the fourth day in a row of temperatures in the upper 80s.

Last night I actually made the terrifying drive from my house to my Guy's house. I have been putting off this drive for about three months, because I am so afraid of the bridge that separates Cambridge and Brighton, and its proximity to the Source of All Terror in My Heart (aka Storrow Drive). It is a true testament to the oppression of the heat that the lure of sleeping coolly and comfortably amidst his central A/C banished the fear from my soul. I executed the drive in about 24 minutes, less than half the time it takes to get there via public transportation. As I told him, this may revolutionize our relationship.

Today I awoke (somewhat) refereshed. I drove (somewhat less directly--there was some lostness and swearing) to my office, and my Monday morning angst was exacerbated when I tried to copy a document (muttering under my breath, as I am wont to do, that I have my master's degree, dammit), and as I turned on the machine there was this deafening silence. I learned (empirically) on my first day on the job that when the copier and the air conditioner are turned on at the same time, they short circuit, creating a situation in which the office swelters and no copies can be made.

The memory of my first day on the job flashed through my mind, and again, I started swearing, passionately. I entreated help from my co-worker, called two different volunteers who know the office well, checked with the people in the upstairs office. I bumbled around the revolting basement where none of the circuit breakers "tripped." I called property management, who called the electrician, who arrived at 4:58 (about EIGHT hours after "tripping" occurred) and mercifully addressed the problem. I called him a genius.

There was heinous traffic all the way home, and I did some more swearing as I entered my infernal apartment. But now I am sitting here in relative comfort, because K and her boyfriend, who deserve a Nobel Prize for Friendship, volunteered to come by and bring my air conditioner up from the basement. (I totally would have done this myself, but I have a lower-back issue for which I am doing physical therapy, and my Guy has ongoing all-back issues). We had ice cream on the porch and it felt very urban-chic, gentrification in action!

So now I am cool, and must adjust my mood accordingly.

Posted by Dori at 9:12 PM 0 comments

Tech Talents: An Open Letter to a Magazine

A friend of a friend (FOF) has a job I rather covet: he's a writer for a hip tech magazine, and in the past he has written for the Improper Bostonian.

So anyway, FOF is writing an article and begging for help. He pleads, "we are writing about "tech talents" that would make a guy more or less attractive to women (like yourselves). I would especially appreciate any thoughts you have on nerdy traits you have observed in real-life boyfriends, lovers, stalkers, etc., that you found either endearing or revolting."

I am intrigued by this question, because it highlights the fact that I have only once dated someone with serious "tech talents", and that I should have taken more advantage of that. Regardless, here are my only semi-informed perspectives:

Endearing Tech Talents

1. Definitely, definitely the ability to vanquish spyware, adware, malware etc. This is so very hot--on par with beating up ex-boyfriends or fending off muggers.
2. Patience in imparting Tech Talent--for example, step-by-step instruction on Access, or the sharing of little tricks to make computing quicker and lovelier. A strong hand on a mouse pad ... dexterity on a keyboard ... this all bodes well ...
   
3. Fluency with system restoration, and a calm demeanor in the face of impending crashes. Understanding that said crashes may occur during stressful times (aka 2 a.m. before a paper is due) and that a request for help may not be infused with tenderness.
   
4. Empathy with the frustration of calling India and talking to 14 "customer service specialists" before discovering that the computer won't turn on because the power cable has become dislodged.
5. Ability to use email in a manner that is sexy, affectionate, and yet appropriate for reading at work. Judicious use of emoticons and abbreviations (my Guy always signs emails with "ttyl" (Talk to You Later) which is absolutely no substitute for "love.")
   
6. Huge bonus: ability to go beyond the sphere of computing and install DVD players, program VCRs, and fix other electronic devices. Without being all macho about it.
   

Revolting Tech Talents

1. Impatience with emerging Tech Talent, aka "I told you to check the power cable." Or "It's so obvious! All you need to do to make the Access report is to link all seven tables to the query!"
2. Inability to disconnect and walk away from the flashing VCR light or the very vexing and mysterious technological glitch. Whatever is wrong with your thing, there is a time and place to deal with it, and it's unlikely to be in my company. Similarly, it's important to let go and come to terms with the fact that the virus-ridden computer you found on the sidewalk is junk, even though you've made heroic efforts to revive it.
3. These are some revolting potential side effects of tech talents: lack of social skills (MIT offers a real live charm school for this reason); a vocabulary peppered with incomprehensible terms (I wish I could think of some examples); the snubbing of DreamWeaver and other "dumbed down" applications (which some of us worked very hard to master, thank you very much); and use of email/instant messaging as a substitute for prolonged human contact.

Because several of my very close friends are or will be married to highly talented techies, I look forward to their insight on this.

Posted by Dori at 5:48 PM 0 comments

Girlyman

Girlyman is a band with a horrible, horrible name. It evokes (at least to me) a word some homophobic third-grader would use to taunt a gender-ambiguous classmate.

Regardless, this (emerging) band rocks, and I went to see them play on Friday night with my friend R. (who introduced me to Girlyman and many other wonderful musicians including Deb Talan and Kris Delmhorst).

I am billing this concert the best concert I have ever attended, for a number of reasons.

1) The show was 1.5 hours long, with no opening act. I always hate opening acts, because I simultaneously feel sorry for whatever struggling artist is performing, and also huge impatience because I paid money to see somebody else.
2) There was no intermission. I hate intermission, because there is never any way to actually get a drink or go to the bathroom, since every other individual in the room is trying to accomplish these same goals. And as I mentioned before, I paid money to see a specific performance, not to sit around awkwardly while people push and crowd me to get to the bathroom/the lobby/bar.
3) I did not attempt to eat dinner at the show. In the case of the particular venue frequented by me and my fellow fans of singer-songwriters, prolonged concerts suck especially because of the deplorable service concept. The space is tiny, and the seating consists mainly of folding chairs. Dinner is served, however, such that the waitstaff obscure the performance for a lot of the show, and this is only exacerbated by the pillars that also block the sightlines. Said dinner is actually quite delicious, but unless you order "dinner seating" far in advance, you're stuck eating it on a tray in your lap. Also the service is remarkably slow.
4) The group was hilarious. Hilarious. They sang a cover of "Amadeus" (remember? from the '80s? My parents used to say that Mozart would turn over in his grave if he ever heard that song). They also did a bluegrass interpretation of George Michael's "Father Figure." And they told original jokes throughout: while discussing shopping at Costco, one of the singers described feeling like a giant doing her regular shopping. "Those huge cases of cereal? Snack packs!"
5) They sang their beautiful songs really well, and clearly enjoyed performing, in stark contrast to many angsty singer-songwriters who hide behind their long hair and impart angst into the mic.

OK, so the concert was fabulous, and it was enhanced by the attendance of my Guy, who arrived on time despite a mishap with the #66 bus, on which a guy with no pants caused a pretty serious stir. It was the first time my Guy has met my friend R., and I was full of anxiety about that, but they clicked, and bonded over their shared love of baseball and Peter, Paul, and Mary (PPM!). The best part: when my Guy went to replenish his pizza, R. leaned over and whispered that she likes him and he seems perfect for me. And that means SO MUCH, especially when prior boyfriends have not gone over so well, and also because THIS particular boyfriend I happen to love very much. So I got to spend a great evening with two of my very best friends, AND, if this isn't enough joy for one Friday night, my Guy held my hand in a sweet but not annoying-PDA-manner, and he bought Gatorade for us to share instead of his preferred Diet Coke, because he knows I like it (this is a strange, strange quirk of mine).

We walked home afterwards, and it was a lovely night after about a whole month of hideous weather, and even though my feet hurt unbearably from my beautiful-but-not-yet-broken-in sandals, all I could do was sigh.

Posted by Dori at 1:04 PM 0 comments

Amendment: I Know Netflix is Old News

A few people have commented on the fact that while I purportedly promote new and breakthrough products, Netflix is old news. I am absolutely aware of that--it's new to me, and therefore I am spreading the gospel to those who may not (yet) have considered its virtues.

Posted by Dori at 1:02 PM 0 comments

My Score

FYI, I myself counted 27 names ... 28 if you're willing to subsitute "Tulchin" for "Turchin" and 29 if you're willing to combine "Gruber" and "Farber" and give me credit for "Garber." And 31 if I can count "Townes" for "Townsend" and "Shen" for "Chen." But I could go on and on ...

Posted by Dori at 4:44 PM 0 comments

Shameless Product Promotion

If you've ever read The Tipping Point, you'll know what I mean when I venture to say I am about to conduct myself as a "salesman." According to Malcolm Gladwell, the author, trends and social movements are shaped and perpetuated by three classes of people: mavens, connectors, and salesmen. He argues that "mavens are data banks. They provide the message. Connectors are social glue: they spread it. But there is also a select group of people—Salesmen—with the skills to persuade us." This may sound esoteric if you haven't read the book, which I highly recommend.

Anyway, I'm not going to get the connector or maven pieces too much, because I'm more of a salesman. But in case you want to diagnose yourself, here's how. Gladwell randomly picked 250 surnames from the NYC phone book, and asked subjects to count the number of people they knew with these names. You "know" as someone if you could greet him/her by name if (s)he were seated next to you on a bus.

So count away:
Algazi, Alvarez, Alpern, Ametrano, Andrews, Aran, Arnstein, Ashford, Bailey Ballout, Bamberger, Baptista, Barr, Barrows, Baskerville, Bassiri, Bell, Bokgese, Brandao, Bravo, Brooke, Brightman, Billy, Blau, Bohen, Bohn, Borsuk, Brendle, Butler, Calle, Cantwell, Carrell, Chinlund, Cirker, Cohen, Collas, Couch, Callegher, Calcaterra, Cook, Carey, Cassell, Chen, Chung, Clarke, Cohn, Carton, Crowley, Curbelo, Dellamanna, Diaz, Dirar, Duncan, Dagostino, Delakas, Dillon, Donaghey, Daly, Dawson, Edery, Ellis, Elliott, Eastman, Easton, Famous, Fermin, Fialco, Finklestein, Farber, Falkin, Feinman, Friedman, Gardner, Gelpi, Glascock, Grandfield, Greenbaum Greenwood, Gruber, Garil, Goff, Gladwell, Greenup, Gannon, Ganshaw, Garcia, Gennis, Gerard, Gericke, Gilbert, Glassman, Glazer, Gomendio, Gonzalez, Greenstein, Guglielmo, Gurman, Haberkorn, Hoskins, Hussein, Hamm, Hardwick, Harrell, Hauptman, Hawkins, Henderson, Hayman, Hibara, Hehmann, Herbst, Hedges, Hogan, Hoffman, Horowitz, Hsu, Huber, Ikiz, Jaroschy, Johann, Jacobs, Jara, Johnson, Kassel, Keegan, Kuroda, Kavanau, Keller, Kevill, Kiew, Kimbrough, Kline, Kossoff, Kotzitzky, Kahn, Kiesler, Kosser, Korte, Leibowitz, Lin, Liu, Lowrance, Lundh, Laux, Leifer, Leung, Levine, Leiw, Lockwood, Logrono, Lohnes, Lowet, Laber, Leonardi, Marten, McLean, Michaels, Miranda, Moy, Marin, Muir, Murphy, Marodon, Matos, Mendoza, Muraki, Neck, Needham, Noboa, Null, O'Flynn, O'Neill, Orlowski, Perkins, Pieper, Pierre, Pons, Pruska, Paulino, Popper, Potter, Purpura, Palma, Perez, Portocarrero, Punwasi, Rader, Rankin, Ray, Reyes, Richardson, Ritter, Roos, Rose, Rosenfeld, Roth, Rutherford, Rustin, Ramos, Regan, Reisman, Renkert, Roberts, Rowan, Rene, Rosario, Rothbart, Saperstein, Schoenbrod, Schwed, Sears, Statosky, Sutphen, Sheehy, Silverton, Silverman, Silverstein, Sklar, Slotkin, Speros, Stollman, Sadowski, Schles, Shapiro, Sigdel, Snow, Spencer, Steinkol, Stewart, Stires, Stopnik, Stonehill, Tayss, Tilney, Temple, Torfield, Townsend, Trimpin, Turchin, Villa, Vasillov, Voda, Waring, Weber, Weinstein, Wang, Wegimont, Weed, Weishaus.

OK, how many people do you know? Gladwell's research shows that scores typically range between 16-108. He bills those among the top echelons "connectors"--the kind of people who are powerful networkers, who throw amazing parties, who have potential to do massive matchmaking, who can win elections. My friend E. is a hardcore connector. Enter any social or professional setting with her, and, guaranteed, she'll recognize at least one person.

So on to me, me, me, and the point of this post. I'm not sure if I'm more of a maven or a sales(wo)man, but I do tend to spread the word about new products, such as the Swiffer (revolutionary floor-cleaner), immersion blenders (making soup will never be the same), laser levels (who said you can't draw a straight line?), and other things I hear or read about. I have actually bought all of the aforementioned products for loved ones over the years, and talked up their virtues. So, allow me to introduce you to ...

NETFLIX!

I love movies, and have recently lamented that I rarely rent DVDs because of the tight timeline involved, and because the cost (though small) makes it hard to take a risk on a new genre. Picking a DVD becomes this whole endeavor, and therefore I don't do it unless I'm behind on the L-Word, Six Feet Under, or Sex and the City. Which is to say, my Guy, aka Patron Saint of Thoughtfulness, has recently bestowed upon me a THREE MONTH SUBSCRIPTION to Netflix.

Netflix is this completely brilliant concept, in which you set up a queue of flicks (online), and they send you 3 DVDs at a time in sequential order. There is no deadline to return the DVDs, and once you return one, the next DVD in your queue is automatically shipped to your home. So, for example, I could get Say Anything which is a classic my Guy has yet to see, and it could potentially stay at my house for weeks and weeks, until he'd have two consecutive free hours in which to watch it (ouch! am I sounding bitter?). The cool thing is that Netflix, like Amazon, strives to "get to know you", so when you register, you rate a whole slew of movies and your preferences generate a list of "recommendations" that welcome you every time you log in. It's really very sophisticated, and has thus far brought me substantial joy, and therefore I highly recommend: get thee to Netflix!

Posted by Dori at 10:06 AM 1 comments

What's Cookin'

In my family, we shared an evening meal every weeknight. I have huge admiration for my mom, who served (primarily) homecooked meals on such a regular basis, even despite our lack of appreciation. She'd make our favorite meals on our birthdays, and buy treats we noticed on TV or ate at friends' houses. I never thought much about this--never thought it was anything remarkable, until I mentioned it offhandedly to my Guy, who was stunned. During what he calls his "loathsome" childhood, dinner was procured by a harried parent on the way home from work, deposited on the kitchen counter, and divvied up, to be eaten by each family member in discrete corners of the house. Nobody ever cooked anything for anyone.

This may explain why my Guy doesn't eat very much, and very rarely cooks (although he is actually very competent when he actually does it). It also makes me incredibly sad, because I consider sharing a meal a very loving and nurturing experience, and even though I may not have time to make a homecooked meal for my future family the way my mom did, I definitely want to do it as often as possible.

So I am making dinner for us tonight, and I think I will make this very simple chicken dish my Guy sampled once and loved. When I suggested this yesterday, he was delighted. "You're such a good cook," he said.

This fills me with joy. First, because getting praise from someone as brilliant and accomplished as my Guy makes me feel good (and don't even get into that whole "Dori, you're smart and accomplished too" thing, because whatever unique value I bring to this relationship, it's not brilliance or accomplishment). And second, because, as I read somewhere once, cooking is the only art that nurtures. It's not just creating something delicious (and hopefully visually appealing), but also about fortifying someone physically, which is hard to do in any other way. Knowing and catering (ha) to someone's tastes is also a wonderful way to care for him or her. I first understood this in high school, when I made this very gooey dessert for my boyfriend, and he loved it so much it became a staple of our celebrations.

There is also something proprietary about cooking for others. While it's easy to share or adapt recipes, a dish tastes different when it's prepared by different people. Nobody can touch my aunt's potato salad (not even my mom, with their shared DNA and recipe). My friend A's salads (with their minced dried apricots), are unreplicable, and A.P. makes this artichoke-lemon pasta sauce (a key element of his seduction technique), that is peerless.

I'm hoping I can come up with a signature dish like these, because it is so fun to feed my friends and loved ones. I can't wait to go home and fire up the oven.

Posted by Dori at 2:30 PM 0 comments