Pulling the Plug
Comcast was supposed to come between 11-1 today, to give the last rites to my Cable. I was surprised that I needed a visit from Comcast at all; what does
uninstallation entail? But I had made an appointment and so I waited all morning for the Comcast Grim Reaper.
At 12:30, there was still no sign of Comcast, so I sat down in front of the tube for a final infusion of cable television. I rubbed my hands in anticipation, like a death-row prisoner before his last meal. Maybe I'd tune in to a re-run of the completely disappointing
Top Design. Or perhaps a little drama-and-slut-filled episode of
The Real World: Denver. Or
an infusion of Clinton and Stacey on their perennial quest to show America
What Not to Wear. I dared not even hope for a last glimpse of
My Super Sweet Sixteen or
The Girls Next Door.
Alas, my friends. It was only
12:30, and yet I turned on the TV and faced a rush of gray static. The cable departed had quietly, its last breath unfelt.
I know I will absolutely get used to this, and become a more interesting person, and learn to soothe and entertain myself in new and healthy ways. I know I'm saving $69 a month and many brain cells. But just a few hours ago, I made some Annie's mac and cheese (the microwavable kind, which, for some reason, is much less tastier than the stovetop kind--anyone know why?), and I found myself heading over to the couch, ready to fire up the remote control ...
... and I felt a pang of longing as I remembered my loss ...
Posted by Dori at 9:20 PM
Money Changes Everything
I've become quite obsessed with my finances lately. I think it's a mix of post-vacation clarity, owing taxes, and teaching my zillionth money management class.
I have been teaching variations of Personal Finance for Low Income People since 2002. The content is pretty basic: your typical stuff on making a budget, choosing a bank, building credit. I learn something every time I teach, and I find that "students" of all backgrounds (from people in shelters to those buying real estate) get hooked into the topics, and enjoy exchanging strategies for tracking expenses and saving money.
My latest batch of students are immigrants, and last week I tried to impart the significance of "Money talks", "Put your money where your mouth is" and "Money doesn't grow on trees". These profoundly cultural expressions were very hard to translate. We reviewed a bunch of vocabulary and I asked if anyone had questions about other money-related words. One woman asked me to define "working class". I explained that "working class" is a little better than "poor", but the language barrier prevented a more nuanced explanation. Maybe next week.
Anyway. One essential part of the lesson is called "little things add up". Participants identify a recurring expense and calculate its cost over a year and the five years. I always use myself as an example. I buy a cup of ghetto Dunkin' Donuts coffee every workday. That's $1.45 x 5 days a week x 49 weeks a year (I have other coffee during my three weeks of vacation) = $355.25. This does not account for the higher cost of iced coffee in the summer. But you get the idea. This is no chump change--if I keep up the habit, I'll spend $1,776 on coffee over the next five years.
My students--even the rich ones--are always stunned by how much they unknowingly spend. And I always say (truthfully) that I feel OK about my annual $355.25 coffee investment. I like my mid-morning break; it makes me more productive and happier and you can't put a price on that. But if I hadn't done the math, I wouldn't know what it cost--or was worth--to me.
However. It is becoming apparent that I need to do some short-term economizing in order to facilitate longer-term happiness. And thus I have been scrutinizing my finances. I haven't given up the Dunkin' Donuts (although that may come next). BUT. Today I canceled my cable. Without
Project Runway or
Top Chef, I simply cannot
justify the $69. On Saturday they're coming to pull the plug. Which means no more
Friends reruns or trashy reality TV; no more
My Super Sweet Sixteen. I feel panicky.
I am also determined to stop shopping, which shouldn't be hard because I hate shopping. BUT. I have a (truly) rich family friend who is constantly losing weight and giving me her fancy brand-name clothes. The latest infusion of free stuff includes a contender for the Cutest Skirt of All Time, but it doesn't really go with any top I currently own. I keep thinking about that skirt and how I'd like to wear it on Passover with my most adorable shoes and ... a bra? Because
I'm not buying a top?
This really sucks.
Posted by Dori at 9:26 PM
Tidbits
Tidbit #1: You may know that Dunkin' Donuts offered free iced coffee on the first day of spring. I encouraged my virtuous co-worker to partake. He doesn't patronize Dunkin' Donuts, not just because it is ghetto coffee, but because he believes it is part of the (admittedly hateful) fast food industry. But, I protested,
this coffee is free! Your hard-earned dollars are not supporting what you consider an evil empire! He declined, equating drinking free fast food coffee to eating free meat (he's a vegetarian). Apparently there's a "free-gan" movement afoot; its members eat meat but don't buy it. Is crunchy co-worker right? Please comment if you have thoughts on this.
Tidbit #2: So last week I was planning to make some version of this
antipasto salad with cauliflower and celery. I had a change of heart, and ended up with a rejected cauliflower haunting my fridge. So: I made a very lovely frittata. A small head of steamed cauliflower + sauteed minced shallots + grated low-fat cheddar cheese + 8 cage-free eggs + salt, pepper, and nutmeg = an attractive mixture that, when poured into a pyrex and baked at 350 degrees, became the centerpiece of four days of lunch.
Tidbit #3: NPR is fundraising again, and they're raffling off a Prius and a handmade rug (seems I can't escape references to handmade rugs these days) that the winner acquires on an all-expense paid trip to India. My co-workers and I talked at length about which prize we'd prefer and I am
so all over the Prius.
Tidbit #4: If you've already been horrified by
Jesus Camp and want another installment of outrage, you should check out
This Film is Not Yet Rated, which is all about the arbitrary and opaque MPAA (movie ratings association). It's interesting and also includes some very hot previously censored clips.
Posted by Dori at 1:28 PM
Offshore Life Maintenance
I've been reflecting upon my latest to-do list. I have a dry-erase board affixed to my fridge, and periodically I'll drum up a batch of Odious Tasks to put up there. Only time-consuming and/or really hateful stuff makes the list. Run-of-the-mill, one-stop stuff (aka cleaning or shopping) doesn’t count.
Right now the list includes: "health insurance research", "car service contract follow-up", "car repair", "Passover planning", and "finish taxes". (The last iteration of the list included: "
transfer car service contract" and “
start taxes”). I take great joy in crossing off things (and then looking at them with satisfaction), so nothing gets erased until I've completed all the tasks on the list.
My friends and I have discussed, at length, what we would outsource if we could. R. and K. would outsource various cleaning/household chores, (which I generally don't mind--I love the smell of Lysol). We all agreed that we'd outsource anything car-related (including but not limited to snow removal, registrations, parking stickers, repairs, visitor passes, excise tax, etc.). We are also sick of Internet research—trying to find the best/cheapest/most convenient options for pretty much everything.
I’d add:
- Calling customer service (for anything, but especially billing issues)
- Dry cleaning drop-off and pick-up
- Computer-related issues (virus updates, repairs, back-ups, everything)
- Grocery shopping
- Financial management (checkbook balancing, bills, taxes, etc.)
- Project management for things that need to be repaired, installed, or assembled
You should definitely comment if you’d like to add to the fantasy outsource list!
I’ve been musing over this and imagining a system in which you’d call 1-800-ODIOUS-TASK and be connected to a call center in India, where guys named Balveer and Vagish would introduce themselves as Bill and Steve, ask for your contact info about 14 times, and verify the nature of your request. Then, after about 45 minutes in call center limbo, you’d get a ticket/confirmation number, and then you’d resume normal activities. Then, a few days later, you’d find a perfectly assembled IKEA coffee table on your doorstep, or your cable box would begin to function, or TurboTax would confirm that your tax return has been filed and processed.
Anyone interested in a start-up venture?
Posted by Dori at 1:38 PM
Hear Me Roar!
I am stunned to report that I may become known as
Professor Dori within the next few months. My wonderful friend K., who is a doctoral candidate at State University, recently forwarded me an announcement about a gig: teaching an
online class on women's leadership. I couldn't fathom the possibility that an institution of higher learning would actually hire me to teach said course, because I live in New England, where the streets seethe with Ph.Ds. But I thought, what the hell? It's a boring day at work. I'm a woman. I'm a
director.
I emailed my resume to the department chair, with nary a cover letter. I just wrote: "I'm writing to express my interest in the teaching job, and if you think my experience is relevant, I'll be glad to send you a formal application." She responded quickly and we set up a phone interview (this University is far from here--more than an hour away). I researched online learning and prepared to talk about why she should hire me despite my nonexistent experience with web-based instruction, women's studies, and teaching at the college level.
These topics never came up, and she seemed satisfied with my credentials despite the fact that we've never met. She apologized for the paltry compensation (admittedly not a lot of money for the work involved, but hey, it's college teaching experience! This could open doors! Seriously, I'd have done it for free!). Before even calling my reference, she asked me to develop a flier publicizing the class.
Beacuse the class will be cancelled if fewer than 9 students enroll, I spent a long time on this flier. I'm trying to attract the slothful, cell-phone-toting, MySpace-ing members of Generation Y (or are we on Gen Z by now?), described in unflattering terms both by K. and
Teacher Lady. I was rocking Google Images for pictures of women leaders, and found nothing appropriate, so I
sucked it up and trolled the tacky-fest that is
Microsoft Clip Art. When you search for "leader", you get a whole slew of images (including pictures of the Pope, the Founding Fathers, and the Sphinx). No women other than Susan B. Anthony and Cleopatra appear. Same for "business". When I typed it in I got all these pictures of briefcases, conference tables, and MEN at podiums, MEN at the helms of ships, and MEN shaking hands with one another.
The chicks were either completely absent, following men in disempowering ways (see picture), or dating their co-workers (see other picture).
I finally found a somewhat acceptable image (still a little too sexy-secretary looking, but whatever), and slapped it on the flier with the words ONLINE COURSE in big huge bold letters, trying to convey that students should definitely register for the class because they won't have to leave the air-conditioned comfort of their homes.
I really hope they sign up (and now I check enrollment multiple times a day; it's like waiting for a boy to call), because maybe at least one of them will become a graphic design mogul, and shake up the deplorably sexist world of clip art.
Posted by Dori at 6:57 PM
A Small (?) Price to Pay
Last night I dreamt that I received an offer from a new-agey enterprise. For $500, they'd make me balanced and permanently joyful (and they'd throw in a hand-woven rug as well). In my dream, this was all very legitimate, and I debated whether to go for it, given that $500 is kind of a lot, and I probably owe taxes this year, and also the rug didn't fit with my decor concept. In the end I coughed up the funds (and tried to negotiate a replacement rug). Then the enterprise staged an intervention in which all my loved ones came together and transferred their healing and happy energy unto me. Before the effects became known, I woke up.
I think I dreamt this because I have been devouring the book
Eat, Pray, Love, a (lovely if sometimes overwritten) memoir of a woman who suffers a devastating divorce and then spends a year (successfully) seeking various forms of enlightenment by traveling to Italy, India, and Indonesia.
When I was in Mexico, and felt happy for ten consecutive days, I tried to stock up on the joy. When I lay in the hammock outside the cooking school, I soaked up the sunshine and the sound of the birds and the smell of the flowers, to use later in frantic attempts to relax. While peeling roasted cocoa beans (for grinding--see photo) on the sunny patio floor, I actively noticed the pleasure. And when I observed Susanna (the chef/cooking teacher/culinary school owner), in her fulfillment of her professional and personal calling, I thought:
all this is possible.
Both Susanna and the author of
Eat, Pray, Love led unfulfilling lives in the U.S., and then dropped everything to live in sunnier, happier places. I don't think I'm up for that, but if you have any suggestions on how to capture such bliss in an American, run-of-the-mill existence (without paying $500 or procuring an ugly hand-woven rug), I hope you will let me know.
Posted by Dori at 12:39 PM
!Hola!
I just got back from
my ten-day Mexican vacation. And I didn't fight with my mom, I didn't get sick, I didn't get robbed, and I didn't eat grasshoppers (considered a tasty Oaxacan snack--they're flavored with salt, lime, and chili powder).
I did, however, consume iguana (smothered in a delicious sauce that rendered it very normal-tasting); climb the Teotihucan pyramid (248 steps, the equivalent of a 21-story building--this puppy weighs three million tons and is the third largest pyramid in the world); swim in mineral waters that rise up through the earth--and then 6,000 feet of mountain--to create a tranquil in oasis in the middle of absolutely nowhere (see photo); and "make"
Mexican chocolate bread pudding, limes filled with cinnamon and coconut, and a potato dish that originated in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.
My trip was amazing and enriching. I had fun, I pigged out, I relaxed, but I also had authentic interactions with people and learned about the contemporary and ancient history of Mexico (and if any of you are descendants of the Aztecs, Mixtecs, or Zapotecas; let me tell you I had no idea how
incredibly smart your people are--what with discovering the number zero, performing brain surgery, and making all those astronomical observations).
The first part of the vacation was cooking school interspersed with culinary/cultural excursions. We visited remote villages and learned pre-Hispanic cooking techniques. Our teachers were indigenous women who make stone-ground tortillas using actual stones. They cook on wood-burning comals without the benefit of running water or electricity. And they don't do it for show--while these encounters may sound like some hateful touristy exploitation, the women were all personal friends of Susana (the chef/owner of the
Seasons of My Heart Cooking School). They opened their homes to us with genuine hospitality. We felt like--and were treated like--guests, not tourists.
Our group was small. Me, my mom, a woman who can only be described as a Berkeley cliché (a very kind and earnest anthropologist/expert in Cuban lesbianism/promoter of cultural learning through food), and what the tour coordinator referred to as a "young couple". In addition to worrying about fighting with my mom, getting sick, and getting robbed, I worried that the young couple would be googly-eyed and have loud sex in an adjacent hotel room, thus filling me with shame and self-pity. In fact, the couple didn't even stay in our same hotel, and I doubt they had much sex (and if they did, it was probably rather quiet), because they had their two-year-old in tow. Plus, the wife (a brilliant think tank person) is pregnant. The husband is a hilarious writer. They went on cooking school vacations for their honeymoon, 5-year, and now 10-year anniversary. I want to be them.
When we were not at the homes of weavers, artisans or cooks; or at a market, bakery, paper factory, or archaeological site; we were at the cooking school. When I was not worrying about fighting with my mom, getting sick, getting robbed, or trying to tune out the lustful moans of fellow
travelers, I worried about being a cooking school special ed student. I imagined a mean chef disparaging my (admittedly awful) knife skills in front of crazily critical gourmands. I imagined food spewing uncontrollably from scary equipment.
I could
never have imagined such awesomeness. The school is lovely and cozy (see photo) and the kitchen is covered in blue tile, with a mosaic portraying the Virgin Mary over the stove. Before preparing each meal, our "class" sat around a big tile table while sipping fresh-squeezed juice and eating snacks. It was like coming home from the best day of school ever. After claiming desired menu items (I chose low-stress options, but Ms. Berkeley was wicked ambitious and made mole one day and a pork loin roulade the next), we commenced "cooking".
By which I mean assembling pre-measured, pre-chopped, pre-cleaned ingredients that had been beautifully laid out in baskets by
the staff. (Note that there were five students, one teacher, and
three staff members.) Jesus, Norma, and Lorenza did the vast majority of the prep work, and then coached us through the recipes. Most importantly, they whisked away (and washed) every pot, pan, and cooking implement the instant we were through with it. After we students were finished "cooking", we'd sit back down at the tile table (which had been set with flatware and flowers), and the staff would plate and serve the food we'd "prepared". After which they whisked away these dishes as well. Nightly, we complimented one another on our culinary "prowess", and then stumbled home in a self-congratulatory food coma.
I could go on and on. I probably
will go on and on. And I will subject you to photos (My mom was worried about losing or breaking her digital camera, so we used a stone-age 35mm. I will scan in more images).
But I'll conclude with two big things. First: this trip taught me
how I love to travel. I'm OK with museums and churches (although living in Spain for two years has kind of churched me out), and it's cool to climb towers and see ruins and do city tours and lie on beaches and all that. But what I love? What I really truly
love? Is just what I did the last ten days. EAT. Have meaningful conversations. (I learned so much from our hosts and guides--fodder for another post.). Visit geological things. And observe the creation of local foods, crafts, and products.
The second thing is bigger and perhaps more obvious. If you look extremely closely, you might discern from my swimming photo that I look
happy. I
looked forward to each of the ten consecutive vacation days. I had
fun. A
lot of fun. And because this was so novel and so noteworthy,
it has become clear to me that there are elements of my ordinary life that need to change, pronto.
Posted by Dori at 9:45 PM
