on my walk home from work tonight (and i say "tonight" because I worked almost 12 hours today and therefore didn't get out of work until after 7:00).
1. It doesn't take all THAT long--about an hour and 15 minutes, when taking what i think is the most direct (i.e., shortest) route.
2. There are a couple of stretches that aren't as well-lit as perhaps they could be, most notably the stretch that features the cemetery along one sidewalk and the train tracks (atop an embankment) on the other. There's enough traffic so that it's probably not a big issue, but it's still not great.
3. The most direct route (as opposed to the scenic route, I think) goes through a few somewhat unsavory bits. Even the unsavory bits seem pretty well-populated, but there were one or two places where groups of 20-something men were hanging around. It wasn't an issue, i.e., no one hassled me, because, despite today's warmth, I was still wearing my work pants and a down coat, rather than, say, summer clothing, and because these men had perhaps not ingested quite enough alcohol or other substances to have turned into complete assholes, and perhaps because (so I'm told) my style of walking is sufficiently quick and forthright that easier prey is likely to come along--but any of those things could change.
4. I really must do more yoga. I managed at least a few minutes of it a couple of days this week, but I can tell that my body is stiffer and I think I'm getting arthritis in my right hip, so I must make more effort, else the walking will have counterproductive effects as well as productive ones. The trick may be to alternate walking home and practicing some yoga when i get home.
All of this is predicated on working a few fewer hours per week. I got home at 8:15 tonight, and luckily had no intention of, say, making dinner or doing much of anything. It's already 9:00--I'm drinking some club soda, I'll soon pour myself a glass of wine, I may be able to find some television that isn't completely annoying, but on a school night, it would be nearly time for bed and I wouldn't have done my next-day prep yet. (Next-day prep includes putting out most of my clothes for the next day, packing real clothes if I'm going someplace after work, preparing my lunch, and pouring a bowl of cereal (leaving out the milk), which i then slip into a large plastic freezer bag.)
And not just that: I'm exhausted. I had dinner and a couple of beers with a friend last night, and he pointed out that I can set limits to the number of hours I'm willing to work (while acknowledging that that's easier recommended than done) and tried to get me to stop taking on even more crap at the bakery (the website; photography for the website; transitioning to Quickbooks). He's right, of course. I also had a revelation this week, sort of. For one thing, I think the own-my-own-bakery-or-coffee-shop dream is nearly dead. I don't see my way clear to doing it my myself, for sure, and there are so many issues involved that would take time and energy to solve; I don't think I have it in me to do it. I don't think I want it badly enough, is the thing, on top of being somewhat risk-averse these days and on top of feeling too old to do it. But I also realized that if I'm going to work 65 hours/week for an average of about $12/hour (I'm counting straight time, overtime, and editing time in the calculations, with appropriate remuneration for each), I'd rather do it all for me and be able to set my own schedule. And then I reminded myself that I have several things (doctor; eye doctor; divorce) with which I must deal before I attack the what-do-I-do-next issue.
Speaking of divorce, we did last night. Chuck had called to tell me that he finally got all his documentation, and it turns out he only owes about $300, so he's going to just go ahead and file separately without itemizing. He then suggested we get the divorce moving along so we don't have to go through this again, and I agreed. He noted that he was tired of "banging his head against a wall, and tired of begging," which rather took me by surprise. I managed to bite my tongue, but i was a little curious regarding exactly what begging he'd been doing. Trust me when i say that he hasn't begged me for anything, most certainly not for a reconciliation of any kind, and he absolutely hasn't done any of the things that I told him I needed to see in order to be able to trust him again; in general, he's done pretty much the opposite, all along. I'm not sure how this translates to "begging," but I really didn't feel like getting into it with him about it. In any case, we've started that process moving again, so I'm going to keep it moving. I want to be out of it. It breaks my heart in so very many ways, but it is over and I want it over in all of the legal ways as well.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
Found a Peanut Phone
Yesterday morning, in an alley. I've been trying to return it, but it turns out, of course, that there's no way to call the person to whom it belongs. I called the cellular provider (not least because the phone service has been disconnected to the phone) and left my number, but who knows whether the owner will actually call me.
The current Life Problem I'm trying to solve (the diddly one, not the serious one(s)) is how to get some exercise. The cheapest and simplest solution would be to walk home from work a few days a week, but, of course, this does not seem like an attractive solution after I've spent 10 to 12 hours on my feet. I'm reaching the conclusion that I must stop whining and just do it.
The more serious issues are around taxes. Chuck got a bunch of income last year out of which taxes hadn't been taken for various reasons, and, of course, he (a) has been living close-ish to the bone and (b) didn't plan for this eventuality. If he itemizes, then I must, too, which would be an issue for me, i.e., cost me money (which he has explicitly said he doesn't want to do). It may be financially better for him to itemize, though, which means we'd have to consider filing together--which, given the trust issues, isn't something I particularly want to do. The thing is, no matter what he does, he's going to owe money and he doesn't have enough to pay what he owes. And if we file together? Then WE owe it, and that will piss me off no end. What I'm hoping is that it doesn't make much difference whether he itemizes or not, which means he doesn't have a major reason for doing so, which means we can file separately and he can work out a payment plan with the nice people at the IRS.
We haven't discussed the divorce recently. We don't talk all that often--less than once/week, and that's usually for a very specific reason, like arranging for me to see his son or, recently, to open discussions about the taxes. We have managed amicability, though, which is an improvement. I can't help but not want to disturb that, but it must be done; I don't want to drag this out any longer than necessary, and I doubt he does, either. The thing that makes it difficult, at least for me, is that it's just . . . sad. Neither of us intended this result, and finalizing the divorce just serves as a reminder in the starkest possible terms of the things we did wrong. I can work up a good mad, on occasion, especially when I think about all of the money that I'd saved and that's just gone, but I don't want to think about that all the time, and, frankly, there's no way to get it back. Even if he does the right thing and starts paying me back, he doesn't make enough for it to be more than a token amount each month. It's like wishing to have my youth back; there's no benefit to wishing for something that can't be had.
The current Life Problem I'm trying to solve (the diddly one, not the serious one(s)) is how to get some exercise. The cheapest and simplest solution would be to walk home from work a few days a week, but, of course, this does not seem like an attractive solution after I've spent 10 to 12 hours on my feet. I'm reaching the conclusion that I must stop whining and just do it.
The more serious issues are around taxes. Chuck got a bunch of income last year out of which taxes hadn't been taken for various reasons, and, of course, he (a) has been living close-ish to the bone and (b) didn't plan for this eventuality. If he itemizes, then I must, too, which would be an issue for me, i.e., cost me money (which he has explicitly said he doesn't want to do). It may be financially better for him to itemize, though, which means we'd have to consider filing together--which, given the trust issues, isn't something I particularly want to do. The thing is, no matter what he does, he's going to owe money and he doesn't have enough to pay what he owes. And if we file together? Then WE owe it, and that will piss me off no end. What I'm hoping is that it doesn't make much difference whether he itemizes or not, which means he doesn't have a major reason for doing so, which means we can file separately and he can work out a payment plan with the nice people at the IRS.
We haven't discussed the divorce recently. We don't talk all that often--less than once/week, and that's usually for a very specific reason, like arranging for me to see his son or, recently, to open discussions about the taxes. We have managed amicability, though, which is an improvement. I can't help but not want to disturb that, but it must be done; I don't want to drag this out any longer than necessary, and I doubt he does, either. The thing that makes it difficult, at least for me, is that it's just . . . sad. Neither of us intended this result, and finalizing the divorce just serves as a reminder in the starkest possible terms of the things we did wrong. I can work up a good mad, on occasion, especially when I think about all of the money that I'd saved and that's just gone, but I don't want to think about that all the time, and, frankly, there's no way to get it back. Even if he does the right thing and starts paying me back, he doesn't make enough for it to be more than a token amount each month. It's like wishing to have my youth back; there's no benefit to wishing for something that can't be had.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Age
may not bring wisdom, but it does bring experience--like the experience required to get through an 11-hour day on less than four hours of sleep. I should feel WAY worse than I do; go figure. (Especially since, along with the beer, I inhaled about a half a pack of cigarettes worth of second-hand smoke; blegh.) And lots of intense conversations, last night and today.
But I'd rather bitch about NP. Yesterday I'm cutting up my dough into 12-pound pieces (usually with about 3 extra ounces per piece), and I came up 6 or 7 pounds short. NP had made that batch of dough on Monday (because I don't work on Mondays), so I asked her how much dead dough she'd used ("dead dough" being the scraps from a given day's production; about 3 or 4 pounds gets thrown into each night's 96-pound batch). Four pounds, she said, like Bossman had instructed. So I said, to her and Bossman simultaneously, I'm about 6 or 7 pounds short. Bossman asks if I'd tasted it; did it have sugar in it? I handed him a little taste and he said, yup, that's what's missing. NP had left out the 7 pounds of sugar. Bossman had me make a 24-pound batch, with the extra 7 pounds of sugar in it, and then mix in the batch that NP had made. It worked, more or less; it was ragged, but useable, and I wasn't completely screwed for the week's production.
However.
NP didn't ever apologize for fucking it up. She was completely uninterested in finding the solution or in doing anything about it. And she never once offered to lend me a hand, even though her fuckup added an extra hour to my day. I noted to Bossman, after NP had left, that it would have been the thing to do. He replied that he's running out of patience with her, that she's just not getting any better. I think he keeps hoping she'll quit, but I think he's going to have to cut her hours (such as they are) or fire her outright. It's his bakery, and he's got more experience with this shit than I do, but she's getting on my last goddamned nerve.
But I'd rather bitch about NP. Yesterday I'm cutting up my dough into 12-pound pieces (usually with about 3 extra ounces per piece), and I came up 6 or 7 pounds short. NP had made that batch of dough on Monday (because I don't work on Mondays), so I asked her how much dead dough she'd used ("dead dough" being the scraps from a given day's production; about 3 or 4 pounds gets thrown into each night's 96-pound batch). Four pounds, she said, like Bossman had instructed. So I said, to her and Bossman simultaneously, I'm about 6 or 7 pounds short. Bossman asks if I'd tasted it; did it have sugar in it? I handed him a little taste and he said, yup, that's what's missing. NP had left out the 7 pounds of sugar. Bossman had me make a 24-pound batch, with the extra 7 pounds of sugar in it, and then mix in the batch that NP had made. It worked, more or less; it was ragged, but useable, and I wasn't completely screwed for the week's production.
However.
NP didn't ever apologize for fucking it up. She was completely uninterested in finding the solution or in doing anything about it. And she never once offered to lend me a hand, even though her fuckup added an extra hour to my day. I noted to Bossman, after NP had left, that it would have been the thing to do. He replied that he's running out of patience with her, that she's just not getting any better. I think he keeps hoping she'll quit, but I think he's going to have to cut her hours (such as they are) or fire her outright. It's his bakery, and he's got more experience with this shit than I do, but she's getting on my last goddamned nerve.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Shiny Happy Teeth and Gums
Well, that could have gone worse. Although I spent $24 on a taxi (which I would not normally do, but the bus got caught in traffic and I was afraid I was going to be late--though the hygienist was late, so I could have stayed on the damned bus), and although the visit itself wasn't exactly cheap, there weren't any holes that needed repair. The hygienist also noted that there wasn't a lot of buildup, which surprised me, since I hadn't been there in about 18 months; I credit my semi-regular flossing and Tom's of Maine, even if Colgate bought them up last year. (I've been using Tom's products for nearly 30 years.) I bought a bunch of books for my older nephew (whose 10th birthday is Friday), plus Shulamith Firestone's The Dialectic of Sex, in preparation for the festival over at Twisty's place. I already have a bone to pick with her (Firestone, I mean), but that's the point of this exercise. I had lunch with Jane, which was great, of course, as well.
Now I wish I had another day off, but I pretty much always wish that.
The latest episode with Chuck has him asking me to consider filing a joint tax return this year: he's going to owe $2k, and of course he doesn't have it. I doubt very much that it's of any benefit to me to do that, but I told him to send me all his stuff and I'd take a look at it and run the numbers. He was appreciative, and also had the good grace to say that he doesn't want it to cost me anything more than it already would have done. The one way it may benefit me is that it would allow me to take the student loan interest deduction, but I doubt that will be enough of a benefit for me. We'll see. If nothing else, maybe I can help him figure out how to owe less, which I'm willing to do. It also occurs to me that, if it's a wash for me but benefits him, I can tell him I'll do it on the conditions that he (a) file the divorce papers and (b) sign the loan papers before April 15.
Now I wish I had another day off, but I pretty much always wish that.
The latest episode with Chuck has him asking me to consider filing a joint tax return this year: he's going to owe $2k, and of course he doesn't have it. I doubt very much that it's of any benefit to me to do that, but I told him to send me all his stuff and I'd take a look at it and run the numbers. He was appreciative, and also had the good grace to say that he doesn't want it to cost me anything more than it already would have done. The one way it may benefit me is that it would allow me to take the student loan interest deduction, but I doubt that will be enough of a benefit for me. We'll see. If nothing else, maybe I can help him figure out how to owe less, which I'm willing to do. It also occurs to me that, if it's a wash for me but benefits him, I can tell him I'll do it on the conditions that he (a) file the divorce papers and (b) sign the loan papers before April 15.
The Cure
You gotta love a condition (the duct issue) wherein the cure is apparently lots of hot sex. I'll still mention it when I see the doc in two weeks, but it's much improved. Go figure.
So we're standing around the work table on Saturday, and Bossman announces that he'd vote for Obama. I about fell over. He thinks Obama is pretty sharp--though he doesn't think much of Hill. (She's not my favorite either, as a politician--as a person, I think she's extremely smart, and I would very much enjoy the opportunity to have dinner with her.) (That's one of the ways I think about public figures: is s/he someone with whom it might be entertaining to have dinner?) Anyway, Bossman noted that he hadn't really paid attention to politics until the last election. So maybe he's more educable than I thought, or farther to the left than he thought. It also leads me to believe that I have a greater effect on him than I thought, i.e., that his opinions aren't necessarily fixed.
It also leads me to believe that the Democrats could continue to make serious gains in the political world, if they could only learn to shape their message better. As the last election showed, a lot of people are really tired of this war; they regard it as misguided, at best, and I suspect they'd be even more enraged if the media were doing their job properly. Does anyone even remember WMDs? Which, you may recall, is why we invaded. And torture and the like? Do most Americans really want to line up on behalf of torture? I don't think so (though, I suppose, I could be wrong).
I think someone like Jimmy Carter could be very powerful right now (powerful in the sense of moving or inspirational)--if only s/he could get a hearing. Thanks in part to the cynicism that drives the right wing and the military industrial complex behind the right wing, and thanks in part to the jaded cynicism that the media bring to the table (along with a desparate desire to be thought Cool and a concomitant reluctance to point out the emperor's nakedness), and thanks to the fact that the media companies are, at this point, a part of the capitalist overlords rather than a separate force, we tend to regard genuine passion as an act or a performance. We end up hearing about what Hillary is wearing, or where Obama went to school, or what lawsuits Edwards has brought, rather than what they believe, what they want to do, or the principles by which they live and the principles by which they would govern. And don't even get me started on that faith shit. If you believe in a deity or deities, hey, great, I hope that works out for you. But don't you dare insist that the only way a person can be moral is by fear of retribution from a punishing deity in an afterlife.
Okay, I could rant some more, but I need to take a shower, go to the dentist, etc.
So we're standing around the work table on Saturday, and Bossman announces that he'd vote for Obama. I about fell over. He thinks Obama is pretty sharp--though he doesn't think much of Hill. (She's not my favorite either, as a politician--as a person, I think she's extremely smart, and I would very much enjoy the opportunity to have dinner with her.) (That's one of the ways I think about public figures: is s/he someone with whom it might be entertaining to have dinner?) Anyway, Bossman noted that he hadn't really paid attention to politics until the last election. So maybe he's more educable than I thought, or farther to the left than he thought. It also leads me to believe that I have a greater effect on him than I thought, i.e., that his opinions aren't necessarily fixed.
It also leads me to believe that the Democrats could continue to make serious gains in the political world, if they could only learn to shape their message better. As the last election showed, a lot of people are really tired of this war; they regard it as misguided, at best, and I suspect they'd be even more enraged if the media were doing their job properly. Does anyone even remember WMDs? Which, you may recall, is why we invaded. And torture and the like? Do most Americans really want to line up on behalf of torture? I don't think so (though, I suppose, I could be wrong).
I think someone like Jimmy Carter could be very powerful right now (powerful in the sense of moving or inspirational)--if only s/he could get a hearing. Thanks in part to the cynicism that drives the right wing and the military industrial complex behind the right wing, and thanks in part to the jaded cynicism that the media bring to the table (along with a desparate desire to be thought Cool and a concomitant reluctance to point out the emperor's nakedness), and thanks to the fact that the media companies are, at this point, a part of the capitalist overlords rather than a separate force, we tend to regard genuine passion as an act or a performance. We end up hearing about what Hillary is wearing, or where Obama went to school, or what lawsuits Edwards has brought, rather than what they believe, what they want to do, or the principles by which they live and the principles by which they would govern. And don't even get me started on that faith shit. If you believe in a deity or deities, hey, great, I hope that works out for you. But don't you dare insist that the only way a person can be moral is by fear of retribution from a punishing deity in an afterlife.
Okay, I could rant some more, but I need to take a shower, go to the dentist, etc.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
I'm losing.
The war against despair, I mean, though I manage to win the occasional battle or two.
I know that the Friday/Saturday nexus is particularly difficult, because I'm usually so exhausted. I know the physical ills (latest: what i suspect is a blocked Skene's gland or a cyst; yes, it's every bit as annoying and uncomfortable as you might imagine) can be addressed, and my insurance might even cover some of the cost (though I'm still worried about a couple of things, and I'll continue to worry until I've actually seen a doctor and found out what's going on, which won't be for two more weeks). I suspect that, given my age, my hormones are a little volatile right now, which may be affecting my moods in subtle ways (I've never been particularly prone to PMS or anything like that, but who can tell). I know that winter is always difficult, especially when, as with this year, I'm not getting much sunlight. I know that I can't help but think about Last Year At This Time, which was when my life was exploding in a million shards. I know that, objectively, the past two years would be difficult for anyone. I know that I don't have to make any long-term decisions just now. I know all of these things.
But I also know that I can't do this work forever; it's too taxing and pays too little money. I know that the longer I work outside an office, the more difficult it will be to find a job, any job, in an office--I'm already going to have problems. Though I occasionally apply to something that seems particularly well-suited to me, I have never received a single response from anyone at any place, which serves to confirm my worst fears. I know that the plans I had two years ago, the ones that included a partner, the ones that predicated this major life change on having some (financial, emotional, day-to-day) assistance, are worthless. Given that I've been through this before--spent a lot of money, effort, time, and love on something that explodes into nothingness, leaving me years older, with no career and no money, plus some debt--it's hard to have any confidence at all that I can figure out anything that will work and will provide a platform for happiness for me. (I regard happiness as something that's relatively self-generated, but I think there are some basic requirements that need to be met before that's possible. Constant anxiety and tiredness are not conducive, for example.)
I'm sure this all sounds self-pitying, and that annoys the shit out of me too (I don't like my own whining any more than I like anyone else's). And believe me when I say that I'm not looking for validation, or encouragement, or anything like that. But the fact is, I'm working a dead-end job, for very little money and for long hours, and, even though I generally like the work quite a bit, I don't get days off and I don't see a path out of it to anything that's even remotely fulfilling, interesting, or moderately financially beneficial. My retirement plan is "win the lottery," and even I know that's not a very good plan.
----
Between now (nearly 11 pm) and when I wrote the above (around 7 am), I talked to Jane and to my old boss, both of whom confirmed that I'm not imagining the crappiness of the situation. Which, oddly enough, is comforting. It doesn't change anything, of course, and it doesn't solve any of the problems, but it does help to have people I know and love (and who, presumably, know and love me) say, Yeah, your situation IS a difficult one. It's not uniquely difficult, of course--Jane and Peter both have their own difficulties, as does everyone else--but it's still helpful to have someone acknowledge the crap rather than try to jolly me out of it.
Plus, I got some writing done for Peter, and had a lovely early dinner with a friend, followed by a viewing of "Animal House." My laundry is done, too, so tomorrow I can go to the dentist and then to the library and maybe hang out somewhere for awhile and do a little nothing with a pile of books in front of me.
I know that the Friday/Saturday nexus is particularly difficult, because I'm usually so exhausted. I know the physical ills (latest: what i suspect is a blocked Skene's gland or a cyst; yes, it's every bit as annoying and uncomfortable as you might imagine) can be addressed, and my insurance might even cover some of the cost (though I'm still worried about a couple of things, and I'll continue to worry until I've actually seen a doctor and found out what's going on, which won't be for two more weeks). I suspect that, given my age, my hormones are a little volatile right now, which may be affecting my moods in subtle ways (I've never been particularly prone to PMS or anything like that, but who can tell). I know that winter is always difficult, especially when, as with this year, I'm not getting much sunlight. I know that I can't help but think about Last Year At This Time, which was when my life was exploding in a million shards. I know that, objectively, the past two years would be difficult for anyone. I know that I don't have to make any long-term decisions just now. I know all of these things.
But I also know that I can't do this work forever; it's too taxing and pays too little money. I know that the longer I work outside an office, the more difficult it will be to find a job, any job, in an office--I'm already going to have problems. Though I occasionally apply to something that seems particularly well-suited to me, I have never received a single response from anyone at any place, which serves to confirm my worst fears. I know that the plans I had two years ago, the ones that included a partner, the ones that predicated this major life change on having some (financial, emotional, day-to-day) assistance, are worthless. Given that I've been through this before--spent a lot of money, effort, time, and love on something that explodes into nothingness, leaving me years older, with no career and no money, plus some debt--it's hard to have any confidence at all that I can figure out anything that will work and will provide a platform for happiness for me. (I regard happiness as something that's relatively self-generated, but I think there are some basic requirements that need to be met before that's possible. Constant anxiety and tiredness are not conducive, for example.)
I'm sure this all sounds self-pitying, and that annoys the shit out of me too (I don't like my own whining any more than I like anyone else's). And believe me when I say that I'm not looking for validation, or encouragement, or anything like that. But the fact is, I'm working a dead-end job, for very little money and for long hours, and, even though I generally like the work quite a bit, I don't get days off and I don't see a path out of it to anything that's even remotely fulfilling, interesting, or moderately financially beneficial. My retirement plan is "win the lottery," and even I know that's not a very good plan.
----
Between now (nearly 11 pm) and when I wrote the above (around 7 am), I talked to Jane and to my old boss, both of whom confirmed that I'm not imagining the crappiness of the situation. Which, oddly enough, is comforting. It doesn't change anything, of course, and it doesn't solve any of the problems, but it does help to have people I know and love (and who, presumably, know and love me) say, Yeah, your situation IS a difficult one. It's not uniquely difficult, of course--Jane and Peter both have their own difficulties, as does everyone else--but it's still helpful to have someone acknowledge the crap rather than try to jolly me out of it.
Plus, I got some writing done for Peter, and had a lovely early dinner with a friend, followed by a viewing of "Animal House." My laundry is done, too, so tomorrow I can go to the dentist and then to the library and maybe hang out somewhere for awhile and do a little nothing with a pile of books in front of me.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Yes, I'm Complaining
but at least it's a post.
I haven't been writing in part because I've been too busy, but also because I don't have anything new to say. I go to work; I come home and maybe work a little more; I vegetate a little; I go to bed; I get up and do it again. It's true I've been rather social over the past week--dinner last Thursday, breakfast AND dinner on Sunday, breakfast on Monday, and beer and food on Tuesday after work, and only the first and last occasion included the same person--but it's really that I'm just kind of boring right now.
We have been insanely busy at the bakery. Tuesday was Packzi day, given that it was Fat Tuesday, and we sold a gazillion of them, plus a gazillion king cakes. You'd think that the rest of the week would be slower, it being Lent and all, but you would be wrong if you thought that. We've been selling out of croissants lately, apparently partly because people come in and buy a dozen so they can share them with coworkers to whom they've been raving. Which is nice, though I've been having an overfermentation problem that i can't seem to solve, which means they're not as nice as they should be. It's getting on my last damned nerve.
Today was particularly insane. After I punched in, Bossman asked me whether I wanted the bad news or the other bad news first; I told him to start with the worst news and work his way up. Basically, we had an order for today for a bunch of mini pastries, including a bunch of mini fruit tarts and a bunch of chocolate truffles (diamonds of brownie, dipped in chocolate), and an order for tomorrow for a bunch more mini pastries (crescents of brownie, dipped in chocolate) and about 200 3-inch fruit tarts. No problem. Except the place that ordered the stuff for tomorrow called and wanted it today, and we didn't have enough 3-inch shells, and so on. Bossman got NP working on the shells (which she would have had to do anyway), I cut the crescents (I had cut the diamonds yesterday) and dipped everything, the fruit showed up (and we supplemented it with some canned and frozen things), and we got it done.
Two things: I was completely screwed, in that I didn't get to laminate until, oh, 2:00? I usually do that around 10:00. I made almost none of the croissants scheduled for production today; I just left the laminated pieces in the freezer, and I'll do them tomorrow. That's complicated in part by the fact that I didn't get to slice the ham and cheese today, though I'd planned to do that before I left; it just got too late. Thus, I have to do that chore, which is easily an hour and a half of standing there slicing away, plus I have to make some funeral cakes, because we have an order for one. On top of tomorrow's croissants and today's croissants. Whatever; it'll get done, tomorrow or Saturday. I suppose I could even go in on Sunday and do some shaping; I could just take the dough out of the freezer and then go work on Quickbooks while it thaws. I'd rather not, so we'll see how it goes.
The second thing is that around noon or so? Maybe a little before? Johnnie and Artie and I are all assembling the 3-inch tarts; Bossman had been doing it, too, but he had to go take care of something else, and I jumped in after I finished the minis. Artie is slicing strawberries, Johnnie and i are assembling. NP doesn't help, however; she gets her cup of coffee and takes off for her break without even asking if she can help. (She's also going to have a cigarette, which I think she thinks we don't know, but I can smell the smoke sometimes, and the Febreeze.) When she got back, Bossman put her to work attaching the tarts to little round circles--but not because she volunteered to help or anything. She annoys the shit out of me; everyone else gets more done in a day than she accomplishes in a week, and it's not just because she's new-ish and still learning and whatever. I find it interesting, as well, that when Phil needs a hand, he'll ask me if I've got a minute (and I always find a way to help him). NP is around, but doesn't seem to get asked.
Eh; whatever. Bossman will get rid of her eventually, I suspect; she just doesn't get enough done to justify keeping her, and she requires too much watching. (He had to go over the making of pastry cream AGAIN with her, because her last two batches were both lumpy and watery, which are not qualities you want in your pastry cream.) I suspect he's keeping her around now because it means he doesn't have to look for someone else, plus we've got two other new people--one an intern, the other a current student at my pastry school--who're working with us on Saturdays. At least one and possibly both of them may end up with us for more hours/days.
I haven't been writing in part because I've been too busy, but also because I don't have anything new to say. I go to work; I come home and maybe work a little more; I vegetate a little; I go to bed; I get up and do it again. It's true I've been rather social over the past week--dinner last Thursday, breakfast AND dinner on Sunday, breakfast on Monday, and beer and food on Tuesday after work, and only the first and last occasion included the same person--but it's really that I'm just kind of boring right now.
We have been insanely busy at the bakery. Tuesday was Packzi day, given that it was Fat Tuesday, and we sold a gazillion of them, plus a gazillion king cakes. You'd think that the rest of the week would be slower, it being Lent and all, but you would be wrong if you thought that. We've been selling out of croissants lately, apparently partly because people come in and buy a dozen so they can share them with coworkers to whom they've been raving. Which is nice, though I've been having an overfermentation problem that i can't seem to solve, which means they're not as nice as they should be. It's getting on my last damned nerve.
Today was particularly insane. After I punched in, Bossman asked me whether I wanted the bad news or the other bad news first; I told him to start with the worst news and work his way up. Basically, we had an order for today for a bunch of mini pastries, including a bunch of mini fruit tarts and a bunch of chocolate truffles (diamonds of brownie, dipped in chocolate), and an order for tomorrow for a bunch more mini pastries (crescents of brownie, dipped in chocolate) and about 200 3-inch fruit tarts. No problem. Except the place that ordered the stuff for tomorrow called and wanted it today, and we didn't have enough 3-inch shells, and so on. Bossman got NP working on the shells (which she would have had to do anyway), I cut the crescents (I had cut the diamonds yesterday) and dipped everything, the fruit showed up (and we supplemented it with some canned and frozen things), and we got it done.
Two things: I was completely screwed, in that I didn't get to laminate until, oh, 2:00? I usually do that around 10:00. I made almost none of the croissants scheduled for production today; I just left the laminated pieces in the freezer, and I'll do them tomorrow. That's complicated in part by the fact that I didn't get to slice the ham and cheese today, though I'd planned to do that before I left; it just got too late. Thus, I have to do that chore, which is easily an hour and a half of standing there slicing away, plus I have to make some funeral cakes, because we have an order for one. On top of tomorrow's croissants and today's croissants. Whatever; it'll get done, tomorrow or Saturday. I suppose I could even go in on Sunday and do some shaping; I could just take the dough out of the freezer and then go work on Quickbooks while it thaws. I'd rather not, so we'll see how it goes.
The second thing is that around noon or so? Maybe a little before? Johnnie and Artie and I are all assembling the 3-inch tarts; Bossman had been doing it, too, but he had to go take care of something else, and I jumped in after I finished the minis. Artie is slicing strawberries, Johnnie and i are assembling. NP doesn't help, however; she gets her cup of coffee and takes off for her break without even asking if she can help. (She's also going to have a cigarette, which I think she thinks we don't know, but I can smell the smoke sometimes, and the Febreeze.) When she got back, Bossman put her to work attaching the tarts to little round circles--but not because she volunteered to help or anything. She annoys the shit out of me; everyone else gets more done in a day than she accomplishes in a week, and it's not just because she's new-ish and still learning and whatever. I find it interesting, as well, that when Phil needs a hand, he'll ask me if I've got a minute (and I always find a way to help him). NP is around, but doesn't seem to get asked.
Eh; whatever. Bossman will get rid of her eventually, I suspect; she just doesn't get enough done to justify keeping her, and she requires too much watching. (He had to go over the making of pastry cream AGAIN with her, because her last two batches were both lumpy and watery, which are not qualities you want in your pastry cream.) I suspect he's keeping her around now because it means he doesn't have to look for someone else, plus we've got two other new people--one an intern, the other a current student at my pastry school--who're working with us on Saturdays. At least one and possibly both of them may end up with us for more hours/days.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Earning the Comma
Whew. I ended up working more than 36 hours in the past three days--hey, maybe another comma next week!
Yesterday was nuts, and it wasn't as crazed for me as it was for Bossman. I got there a little before 6:30. I pounded my butter; made two signs for the store regarding our Valentine's Day cakes; wrote up two invoices for orders; assembled and boxed 220 mini fruit tarts (a quarter of a strawberry (sliced), a mandarin orange slice, and a half a blackberry, on top of a squirt of pastry cream); cut up my dough and found eight slots in the reach-in freezer for it (the latter being an exercise in rearrangement and space management); smeared chocolate on 220 mini rum balls so they could be coated in sprinkles; laminated my dough (beginning a little after noon; usually I start around 9:30); shaped two small pieces of dough into mini chocolate and mini plain, for BT's place; put tomorrow's croissants on sheet pans for baking (to clear out space in the freezers for the new croissants I had to shape); and then shaped the rest of the laminated dough, which included three pieces of chocolate (54 croissants per piece), three pieces of plain (74 croissants per piece), another piece of mini chocolate, and two pieces of curved croissants, which are laminated with this margarine shit rather than butter (64 croissants per piece--and we don't sell these in these in the store; they're for a wholesale customer who wants something soft enough to use for sandwiches).
I also made Bossman take pictures of the mini wedding cakes that Andi decorated (I've really been harassing him to take more pics of stuff). Bossman was just happy that Andie came in today (as was I): she was working with us in the fall, and now she just comes in on Saturday to do cakes with Johnnie, but Bossman thought she was working a chocolate event today and not coming in. The cakes took her several hours to do--and she's pretty fast as well as quite good--and Bossman couldn't have done it a lot quicker. Meanwhile, he had to do a wedding cake and all kinds of other shit. He got in well before I did and he was getting ready to leave about when I was--and he ended up missing the picture-taking for his youngest daughter's formal dance tonight, not least because someone's kid's birthday cake got screwed up--twice! The first time he had to fix it because the wrong picture was on top. Ten minutes later, the cake is back--it had slid in the box and smushed against the side. He redid the whole thing, the most time-consuming part of which was printing out the picture for the top on the photo-cake fondant.
Tomorrow he has to make a three-hour round trip to deliver the mini wedding cakes and the red velvet cakes he was doing near the end of the day. So he doesn't have to do all the driving and so he doesn't have to worry as much about falling asleep in the van, he's taking this guy with him, let's call him Larry. Larry used to come into the bakery once in awhile--I think he painted some signs for Bossman at some point. In any case, at this point Larry is apparently homeless, so, given the weather, has been staying in shelters. He also makes the occasional delivery for Bossman, and he fixes things sometimes, too.
However.
Larry creeps me out on some gut level (and may I say that I've worked with ex-convicts and such, so the facts about him wouldn't necessarily be a problem for me). He mentions a "caseworker" and Bossman says that Larry is trying to get some kind of disability because of a bad back and maybe some psychological something, too (no one really has details). Even that, not necessarily a problem. Except, Bossman apparently told Larry he could use the computers downstairs, which he did on an occasional basis. The past week or so, it's more than occasional--he's down there every morning when I come in, for example--and, apparently, Larry's trying to find a date on yahoo or wherever. First off, if you're unemployed and homeless and always have your hand out, then perhaps you have more pressing issues than finding a date, and your situation might improve more rapidly were you to focus on those more pressing issues. Second, today I ended up having to throw Larry off of two different computers, because I needed to use them (in succession, because of where the color printer is). When I sat down at the first one, right after Larry got up, on a whim I looked at the browser history, and it turns out that Larry had been visiting a site called [ethnic group][age group][sexual practice] dot com. After I went upstairs I asked Bossman how secure his computer is, with regard to viruses and the like, and, of course, he takes others' word for it. So I told him about this website in the history, noting that I did NOT click on it, but there it was.
Later this afternoon, Bossman's wife was downstairs, and when she comes up, she's telling Bossman to throw the guy off the computers, that it's "inappropriate." I have no idea whether she was objecting to him being there at all or objecting to something she saw him viewing, but it doesn't really matter. She also pointed out, correctly, that their whole lives are down there on the various computers, meaning he could steal their identities, say. (She's not technologically sophisticated enough to use that phrase, but she's correct that all of their personal and business stuff is around down there, and accessible to someone who wanted to go through it.) Bossman got rid of Larry without any explanation at the time, but then later asked me what he should tell Larry.
I said, well, you could just say that you thought it was an occasional thing, that you feel like he's taken advantage of you ("And I do feel that way," Bossman noted), and you don't want to have to monitor what he's doing, so he needs to just go to the library. Which is probably more or less what he'll say.
/rant zone
At one point yesterday, Andi is standing to my left at the work table and Bossman is to her left (I forget what we were all doing), and Andi asks if I've seen "An Inconvenient Truth," saying how much it disturbed her. I say no, but I know what it's about; I note that it was made about Al Gore, and she says, wasn't he, like, a politician? I say, "Yeah, he ran for President a few years ago . . . and won." Bossman kind of chuckled at that, but didn't comment; he's claimed to like Republican Faux News commentators and the like, so we studiously avoid talking about politics per se (though he has mentioned he thinks the war is a disaster), but I sometimes wonder if I don't have some subtle effects on him in that regard. I'm as lefty as they come--more than most, perhaps--but i doubt I fit the Faux News stereotype of bleeding-heart liberal (especially with my remarks yesterday about Larry). Plus, he'll ask me oddball questions (yesterday, "American Pie" was on the radio, so we chatted a bit about how old we were when it came out, then he turns around and says, "What's that song about?" And I say, "Buddy Holly; when he died.") and be entertained by the fact that I know something about whatever he asked. Earlier yesterday: he mentioned something about a man's reach should exceed his grasp, and noted that Bruce Willis said that in some movie he was in with Paul Newman. I said, that's from "Nobody's Fool," which is based on one of my favorite books of all time, and it's actually a quote from a poet (though i guessed wrong about the poet--I found the right cite for it and reported back later).
The point is, one of the things I love about working there, and working with him in particular, is that I have once again gotten lucky in terms of a boss: I work for someone who likes it that I'm smart, who uses it, and who isn't threatened by it or afraid of it. Which, really, rather rocks.
Today, however, I have already made my tea for the week, plus a mug of it to sip (actually I'm on my second mug), and taken a shower. I'm about to repair to the couch, where I'm going to work on needlepoint for a few hours and then get a massage. I figure, since I'm not spending the money on anything else, and there's room in the budget for it, I'm going to do it when I can.
Yesterday was nuts, and it wasn't as crazed for me as it was for Bossman. I got there a little before 6:30. I pounded my butter; made two signs for the store regarding our Valentine's Day cakes; wrote up two invoices for orders; assembled and boxed 220 mini fruit tarts (a quarter of a strawberry (sliced), a mandarin orange slice, and a half a blackberry, on top of a squirt of pastry cream); cut up my dough and found eight slots in the reach-in freezer for it (the latter being an exercise in rearrangement and space management); smeared chocolate on 220 mini rum balls so they could be coated in sprinkles; laminated my dough (beginning a little after noon; usually I start around 9:30); shaped two small pieces of dough into mini chocolate and mini plain, for BT's place; put tomorrow's croissants on sheet pans for baking (to clear out space in the freezers for the new croissants I had to shape); and then shaped the rest of the laminated dough, which included three pieces of chocolate (54 croissants per piece), three pieces of plain (74 croissants per piece), another piece of mini chocolate, and two pieces of curved croissants, which are laminated with this margarine shit rather than butter (64 croissants per piece--and we don't sell these in these in the store; they're for a wholesale customer who wants something soft enough to use for sandwiches).
I also made Bossman take pictures of the mini wedding cakes that Andi decorated (I've really been harassing him to take more pics of stuff). Bossman was just happy that Andie came in today (as was I): she was working with us in the fall, and now she just comes in on Saturday to do cakes with Johnnie, but Bossman thought she was working a chocolate event today and not coming in. The cakes took her several hours to do--and she's pretty fast as well as quite good--and Bossman couldn't have done it a lot quicker. Meanwhile, he had to do a wedding cake and all kinds of other shit. He got in well before I did and he was getting ready to leave about when I was--and he ended up missing the picture-taking for his youngest daughter's formal dance tonight, not least because someone's kid's birthday cake got screwed up--twice! The first time he had to fix it because the wrong picture was on top. Ten minutes later, the cake is back--it had slid in the box and smushed against the side. He redid the whole thing, the most time-consuming part of which was printing out the picture for the top on the photo-cake fondant.
Tomorrow he has to make a three-hour round trip to deliver the mini wedding cakes and the red velvet cakes he was doing near the end of the day. So he doesn't have to do all the driving and so he doesn't have to worry as much about falling asleep in the van, he's taking this guy with him, let's call him Larry. Larry used to come into the bakery once in awhile--I think he painted some signs for Bossman at some point. In any case, at this point Larry is apparently homeless, so, given the weather, has been staying in shelters. He also makes the occasional delivery for Bossman, and he fixes things sometimes, too.
However.
Larry creeps me out on some gut level (and may I say that I've worked with ex-convicts and such, so the facts about him wouldn't necessarily be a problem for me). He mentions a "caseworker" and Bossman says that Larry is trying to get some kind of disability because of a bad back and maybe some psychological something, too (no one really has details). Even that, not necessarily a problem. Except, Bossman apparently told Larry he could use the computers downstairs, which he did on an occasional basis. The past week or so, it's more than occasional--he's down there every morning when I come in, for example--and, apparently, Larry's trying to find a date on yahoo or wherever. First off, if you're unemployed and homeless and always have your hand out, then perhaps you have more pressing issues than finding a date, and your situation might improve more rapidly were you to focus on those more pressing issues. Second, today I ended up having to throw Larry off of two different computers, because I needed to use them (in succession, because of where the color printer is). When I sat down at the first one, right after Larry got up, on a whim I looked at the browser history, and it turns out that Larry had been visiting a site called [ethnic group][age group][sexual practice] dot com. After I went upstairs I asked Bossman how secure his computer is, with regard to viruses and the like, and, of course, he takes others' word for it. So I told him about this website in the history, noting that I did NOT click on it, but there it was.
Later this afternoon, Bossman's wife was downstairs, and when she comes up, she's telling Bossman to throw the guy off the computers, that it's "inappropriate." I have no idea whether she was objecting to him being there at all or objecting to something she saw him viewing, but it doesn't really matter. She also pointed out, correctly, that their whole lives are down there on the various computers, meaning he could steal their identities, say. (She's not technologically sophisticated enough to use that phrase, but she's correct that all of their personal and business stuff is around down there, and accessible to someone who wanted to go through it.) Bossman got rid of Larry without any explanation at the time, but then later asked me what he should tell Larry.
I said, well, you could just say that you thought it was an occasional thing, that you feel like he's taken advantage of you ("And I do feel that way," Bossman noted), and you don't want to have to monitor what he's doing, so he needs to just go to the library. Which is probably more or less what he'll say.
/rant zone
At one point yesterday, Andi is standing to my left at the work table and Bossman is to her left (I forget what we were all doing), and Andi asks if I've seen "An Inconvenient Truth," saying how much it disturbed her. I say no, but I know what it's about; I note that it was made about Al Gore, and she says, wasn't he, like, a politician? I say, "Yeah, he ran for President a few years ago . . . and won." Bossman kind of chuckled at that, but didn't comment; he's claimed to like Republican Faux News commentators and the like, so we studiously avoid talking about politics per se (though he has mentioned he thinks the war is a disaster), but I sometimes wonder if I don't have some subtle effects on him in that regard. I'm as lefty as they come--more than most, perhaps--but i doubt I fit the Faux News stereotype of bleeding-heart liberal (especially with my remarks yesterday about Larry). Plus, he'll ask me oddball questions (yesterday, "American Pie" was on the radio, so we chatted a bit about how old we were when it came out, then he turns around and says, "What's that song about?" And I say, "Buddy Holly; when he died.") and be entertained by the fact that I know something about whatever he asked. Earlier yesterday: he mentioned something about a man's reach should exceed his grasp, and noted that Bruce Willis said that in some movie he was in with Paul Newman. I said, that's from "Nobody's Fool," which is based on one of my favorite books of all time, and it's actually a quote from a poet (though i guessed wrong about the poet--I found the right cite for it and reported back later).
The point is, one of the things I love about working there, and working with him in particular, is that I have once again gotten lucky in terms of a boss: I work for someone who likes it that I'm smart, who uses it, and who isn't threatened by it or afraid of it. Which, really, rather rocks.
Today, however, I have already made my tea for the week, plus a mug of it to sip (actually I'm on my second mug), and taken a shower. I'm about to repair to the couch, where I'm going to work on needlepoint for a few hours and then get a massage. I figure, since I'm not spending the money on anything else, and there's room in the budget for it, I'm going to do it when I can.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
In: 6:27. Out: 6:47.
AM and PM, respectively.
I made somewhere around 800 croissants today. The night guys had already punched in and begun work by the time I left. I told Bossman, hey, I don't want to whine, but I can't do this by myself. I need help, especially with the markets only 96 days away.
He, being a smart person, knew I was right. He even asked what I thought we should do about it. After thinking about it for a few minutes, and deferring to his ultimate judgment (he having been in the business a lot longer than I have), I suggested we get someone who can help Phil in the mornings--that's when a lot of the bread mixing and shaping goes on--and help me in the afternoon. I can handle the lamination, but having someone doing the shaping with me, and who can mix the occasional batch of almond filling or slice the ham and cheese, would really go a long way. it also would ease things a little, so I can actually help in the office.
Plus this doesn't take into account the things that aren't on the regular production schedule but that show up on a regular basis. For example: on Saturday we have to make a bunch of mini wedding cakes (they've been being baked over the past couple of days; Artie will enrobe them, probably tomorrow; Bossman will decorate them on Saturday), 200 mini rum balls (which Johnnie will do), and 200 mini fruit tarts. Yours truly gets to do the fruit tarts. Which is fine--although that's probably a two-hour job, and I have 10 pieces to laminate and shape on Saturday. I'm not complaining; that's the job. But we have to have enough hands on deck to complete these jobs, and we're currently running at close to maximum volume. And did I mention that the farmers' markets start in 96 days?
Anyway, I had some crackers and a glass of wine for dinner. Plus, my toilet didn't overflow this morning.
-------------------------
One of the teasers for the local news (which I never watch, because, if I watch anything, it's The Daily Show) promised "Rocket science making high heels more comfortable!" Um, how about if you just throw out the high heels? Wouldn't that be most comfortable of all?
I made somewhere around 800 croissants today. The night guys had already punched in and begun work by the time I left. I told Bossman, hey, I don't want to whine, but I can't do this by myself. I need help, especially with the markets only 96 days away.
He, being a smart person, knew I was right. He even asked what I thought we should do about it. After thinking about it for a few minutes, and deferring to his ultimate judgment (he having been in the business a lot longer than I have), I suggested we get someone who can help Phil in the mornings--that's when a lot of the bread mixing and shaping goes on--and help me in the afternoon. I can handle the lamination, but having someone doing the shaping with me, and who can mix the occasional batch of almond filling or slice the ham and cheese, would really go a long way. it also would ease things a little, so I can actually help in the office.
Plus this doesn't take into account the things that aren't on the regular production schedule but that show up on a regular basis. For example: on Saturday we have to make a bunch of mini wedding cakes (they've been being baked over the past couple of days; Artie will enrobe them, probably tomorrow; Bossman will decorate them on Saturday), 200 mini rum balls (which Johnnie will do), and 200 mini fruit tarts. Yours truly gets to do the fruit tarts. Which is fine--although that's probably a two-hour job, and I have 10 pieces to laminate and shape on Saturday. I'm not complaining; that's the job. But we have to have enough hands on deck to complete these jobs, and we're currently running at close to maximum volume. And did I mention that the farmers' markets start in 96 days?
Anyway, I had some crackers and a glass of wine for dinner. Plus, my toilet didn't overflow this morning.
-------------------------
One of the teasers for the local news (which I never watch, because, if I watch anything, it's The Daily Show) promised "Rocket science making high heels more comfortable!" Um, how about if you just throw out the high heels? Wouldn't that be most comfortable of all?
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Skip That Step
While I don't particularly mind cleaning the bathroom floor, and while I suppose it would be better if I did that task a little more often, I would prefer that the next time I clean the bathroom floor not be occasioned by a toilet overflowing all over it. We can skip that "toilet overflows" step, if you don't mind.
I ended up washing my hands a lot more than usual today--though not necessarily because of the events described in the above paragraph--which, in combination with the cold air, has sucked the life out of them. I will grease them up again before bed, though I am lacking white cotton gloves to put on over the grease. Perhaps I should use honey instead . . . in which case the gloves would be a necessity. I mention honey because a friend called me Monday night with the information (gleaned from the History Channel program he was watching) that the ancient Egyptians used honey as an antibiotic ointment. I wandered over to PubMed and searched honey plus antibiotic, and, sure enough, there seems to be some recent research showing that honey is helpful in that way, even (or perhaps especially) with regard to wounds that aren't healing and antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Honey is one of my favorite substances, and one of the major reasons I couldn't be a vegan. Other reasons: cheese, butter, milk for my cereal, eggs. And meat, too, while we're at it, though I don't eat a lot of it, and I go to some lengths to get meat that wasn't completely mass produced.
I worked my ass off again today. Bossman had to go to a meeting, so I did the orders (for once . . .), which would have been fine, except (a) the crappy computer on which the order system is still lodged, until we get Quickbooks working, decided to flake out, requiring fussing, rebooting, and a bunch more of my time than it should have required and (b) I had a ton of croissants to shape today. I ended up leaving more for tomorrow than I had originally planned, which means tomorrow is going to be a big wad of adventure as well. I don't know what I'm going to do when the markets start (in 97 days, according to Bossman). I get kind of depressed sometimes, not least because I'd really like an actual day off in addition to my weekend days--hell, I don't even get the weekend days completely off, given that I'm usually doing editing and/or going in to the bakery to work on the website. Then I remind myself that this is a no-whining zone, and I have a few sips of STFU and move on. And even though I still want a day off, I'll settle for another paycheck with a comma and another massage.
Bossman ordered a new little case--for macaroons. He got it into his head a couple of weeks ago that he wanted to start making them, and he's been fussing with them off and on since then (when he's not grinding linzes). I'm completely excited about it, too. I told him he needs to make a hazelnut macaroon with a chocolate filling (so he promptly found a hazelnut macaroon formula), and I suggested some fruit ones, and I'm trying to figure felicitous combos of honey, lemon, ginger, and peach (and I suspect BT snorted knowingly at that).
I ended up washing my hands a lot more than usual today--though not necessarily because of the events described in the above paragraph--which, in combination with the cold air, has sucked the life out of them. I will grease them up again before bed, though I am lacking white cotton gloves to put on over the grease. Perhaps I should use honey instead . . . in which case the gloves would be a necessity. I mention honey because a friend called me Monday night with the information (gleaned from the History Channel program he was watching) that the ancient Egyptians used honey as an antibiotic ointment. I wandered over to PubMed and searched honey plus antibiotic, and, sure enough, there seems to be some recent research showing that honey is helpful in that way, even (or perhaps especially) with regard to wounds that aren't healing and antibiotic-resistant bacteria. Honey is one of my favorite substances, and one of the major reasons I couldn't be a vegan. Other reasons: cheese, butter, milk for my cereal, eggs. And meat, too, while we're at it, though I don't eat a lot of it, and I go to some lengths to get meat that wasn't completely mass produced.
I worked my ass off again today. Bossman had to go to a meeting, so I did the orders (for once . . .), which would have been fine, except (a) the crappy computer on which the order system is still lodged, until we get Quickbooks working, decided to flake out, requiring fussing, rebooting, and a bunch more of my time than it should have required and (b) I had a ton of croissants to shape today. I ended up leaving more for tomorrow than I had originally planned, which means tomorrow is going to be a big wad of adventure as well. I don't know what I'm going to do when the markets start (in 97 days, according to Bossman). I get kind of depressed sometimes, not least because I'd really like an actual day off in addition to my weekend days--hell, I don't even get the weekend days completely off, given that I'm usually doing editing and/or going in to the bakery to work on the website. Then I remind myself that this is a no-whining zone, and I have a few sips of STFU and move on. And even though I still want a day off, I'll settle for another paycheck with a comma and another massage.
Bossman ordered a new little case--for macaroons. He got it into his head a couple of weeks ago that he wanted to start making them, and he's been fussing with them off and on since then (when he's not grinding linzes). I'm completely excited about it, too. I told him he needs to make a hazelnut macaroon with a chocolate filling (so he promptly found a hazelnut macaroon formula), and I suggested some fruit ones, and I'm trying to figure felicitous combos of honey, lemon, ginger, and peach (and I suspect BT snorted knowingly at that).
Monday, February 5, 2007
Brrrr
Yeah, I know, trite title, but indeed it WAS cold here yesterday and today. I delayed going out in it as long as I could, but my laundry was at home, unwashed, and I was not, so I eventually had to motivate. A friend came and fetched me yesterday, and, when we got back to his place, he eventually realized that the hot water pipes in both the kitchen sink and the upstairs bathroom sink had frozen. He fussed around with them off and on for awhile--taking time out to light a fire for me, watch the football game, and order a pizza--and, when things weren't really improving, finally going out around 11 pm to get a hairdryer. I went to sleep around 11:30, I think. When I awoke this morning, he had managed to get the kitchen pipe thawed out before stumbling to bed around 2, but the bathroom remained frozen. Between filling the hot tub (the same hot water pipe feeds the sink, he thinks), aiming a hairdryer at the pipe, and heating the hall closet behind the sink with a space heater--all starting around 8:00 this morning--he eventually had running water by about 3:00 this afternoon. It does not appear that any pipes actually broke, which is a very good thing. It does appear that when the previous owners put in the big hot tub/jacuzzi thing in the upstairs bathroom they did not bother to insulate that room very much or very well. The willingness of people to be penny wise and pound foolish constantly amazes me.
In other news, apparently I'm going to get to see Chuck's son again, which pleases me, even though it means continuing to deal with Chuck. How did I find this out? Because Chuck sent me a snotty email earlier this week questioning my desire to see his son--I hadn't asked to do so, even though the Christmas visit went just fine, so, really, he was sitting there wondering whether I really wanted to see his son, blah, blah, blah. I pointed out that I had no way of knowing that the ban had been lifted and that I thought the Christmas visit was a one-time exception, but that I would be quite pleased to see his son. I also noted that his son was welcome to call or email me any time, if he wondered how I was.
Of course, Chuck also had to note that seeing me was not really his top priority. Yes, Chuck, you've made that abundantly clear; I'm also not excited about seeing you, but I manage to restrain myself and not continue to tell you that. Similarly, he manages to mention his current girlfriend quite frequently. I don't provide any details about my own life, however, not least because even a casual mention of my friend has provoked outrageous outbursts, but also because I know that, on some level, NOT knowing drives him even crazier (yes, I know that's bad of me, and I feel properly guilty about it, insofar as I feel guilt about anything). He apparently couldn't get his car started yesterday, which meant he couldn't watch the game with his son. Why couldn't his ex-wife bring his son into the city, you ask? That would be my question, too, but don't expect an answer; because, as I've documented elsewhere, the mother isn't someone who's likely to make gestures like that. According to today's email, Chuck was hoping the girlfriend gets back into town so she can take him to get a new battery, and didn't he just get one three years ago? I refrained from asking whether she'd pay for it, the way I likely did.
I really wish I could snap my fingers and be divorced. What I'd like even better is to be divorced and to have the money he owes me, in one lump sum.
In other news, apparently I'm going to get to see Chuck's son again, which pleases me, even though it means continuing to deal with Chuck. How did I find this out? Because Chuck sent me a snotty email earlier this week questioning my desire to see his son--I hadn't asked to do so, even though the Christmas visit went just fine, so, really, he was sitting there wondering whether I really wanted to see his son, blah, blah, blah. I pointed out that I had no way of knowing that the ban had been lifted and that I thought the Christmas visit was a one-time exception, but that I would be quite pleased to see his son. I also noted that his son was welcome to call or email me any time, if he wondered how I was.
Of course, Chuck also had to note that seeing me was not really his top priority. Yes, Chuck, you've made that abundantly clear; I'm also not excited about seeing you, but I manage to restrain myself and not continue to tell you that. Similarly, he manages to mention his current girlfriend quite frequently. I don't provide any details about my own life, however, not least because even a casual mention of my friend has provoked outrageous outbursts, but also because I know that, on some level, NOT knowing drives him even crazier (yes, I know that's bad of me, and I feel properly guilty about it, insofar as I feel guilt about anything). He apparently couldn't get his car started yesterday, which meant he couldn't watch the game with his son. Why couldn't his ex-wife bring his son into the city, you ask? That would be my question, too, but don't expect an answer; because, as I've documented elsewhere, the mother isn't someone who's likely to make gestures like that. According to today's email, Chuck was hoping the girlfriend gets back into town so she can take him to get a new battery, and didn't he just get one three years ago? I refrained from asking whether she'd pay for it, the way I likely did.
I really wish I could snap my fingers and be divorced. What I'd like even better is to be divorced and to have the money he owes me, in one lump sum.
Saturday, February 3, 2007
The Comma, Revisited
Except this comma was--get ready for it; drumroll please--in my paycheck! You read that correctly: for the first time in nearly 18 months, i received a paycheck with a comma. Yes, I know I had to work nearly 120 hours over the past two weeks to get that, but nevertheless: a comma!
Second, I got a wonderful phone call last night, from one of my best friends from grad school. He was thinking of me, he said, because of Molly Ivins' death--because I'd turned him on to Molly. I didn't remember that I did that, but I was touched. And, of course, he turned others on to Molly, so the karmic circle--spiral, really--continues.
Third, our anniversary special for the month of February is Linzer torte. One of the store kids--the one who is unbelievably flaky, and who is capable of driving me batshit--came into the back at around 3:30 wanting to know what it was. Bossman pointed out that, if he didn't know what it was, he should have asked at 7:00 am when he came in, rather than, oh, at the end of the day. "So what is it?" Remy wanted to know.
"Linzer torte," says Bossman.
"What's in it?"
"Ground linzes."
"Oh. Okay." And back out to the store he goes, carrying said torte. By that time, I was practically rolling on the floor with laughter, and, really, I'm sitting here giggling now just thinking about it.
Update: This made my day.
Second, I got a wonderful phone call last night, from one of my best friends from grad school. He was thinking of me, he said, because of Molly Ivins' death--because I'd turned him on to Molly. I didn't remember that I did that, but I was touched. And, of course, he turned others on to Molly, so the karmic circle--spiral, really--continues.
Third, our anniversary special for the month of February is Linzer torte. One of the store kids--the one who is unbelievably flaky, and who is capable of driving me batshit--came into the back at around 3:30 wanting to know what it was. Bossman pointed out that, if he didn't know what it was, he should have asked at 7:00 am when he came in, rather than, oh, at the end of the day. "So what is it?" Remy wanted to know.
"Linzer torte," says Bossman.
"What's in it?"
"Ground linzes."
"Oh. Okay." And back out to the store he goes, carrying said torte. By that time, I was practically rolling on the floor with laughter, and, really, I'm sitting here giggling now just thinking about it.
Update: This made my day.
Thursday, February 1, 2007
Plus and Minus
Punched in at 6:30, punched out at 5:30, or thereabouts. I'm running faster just to keep up, and it's taking a toll. I'm guessing at least 55 hours this week. I've also realized--and pointed out to Bossman--that I'm making a little more than twice the number of croissants I was making last year at this time, plus we've added five new products (mini plain, mini chocolate, mini raisin, large cinnamon raisin, and pecan rolls).
I went through yet another damned mental crisis this week, ostensibly caused by surfing over to an old place of employment (the substance abuse treatment agency) and discovering they have a contract management position open. Since I wrote the database they're still using to manage contracts, and since I did a fair amount of contract management for them before, and since I left on good terms, I'm guessing I'd have some shot at actually getting that job, were I to attempt to do so. The pluses would be at least as much as I'm making now--probably half again as much, maybe twice as much--paid health insurance, paid vacation, fewer hours, and i could still do the proofreading and such on the side. I know the organization, I like their work. In short, I could make more money and work fewer hours, and, though there are always issues in any organizational structure, I wouldn't have to sell my soul.
The negatives? I wouldn't be baking. I wouldn't be tasting something and saying, "Hmm, that could use some orange zest, and more raspberry (linzer torte is the anniversary special for the month of February), and, if I had time, I could candy some orange peel, which would make a beautiful garnish," and have Bossman agree all the way. Or have Bossman bring over a sample of the third round of macaroons, and tell him an orange filling would go nice with them and have him say a little while later he's going to fill them with an orange ganache tomorrow. Or seeing beautifully laminated croissants, gleaming on the sheet pans when I come in in the morning. Hell, I even like the office work I'll be doing. (I'm not really doing orders these days; Bossman is doing them until we get Quickbooks up and running. On the other hand, I am putting together the website, so I don't feel too bad, plus I'm helping him think about ways he can use Quickbooks to get a different/better handle on the business.) I like the place I work, in short. What I don't like is the very low pay. I wouldn't even mind the really long hours quite as much if I were making more money.
So I had a crisis about it for awhile, and then I reminded myself (for, oh, the 4,732nd time) that I don't have to solve any of this now. If I decide in a year that I really can't or don't want to do this any more, then I can stop. Meanwhile, it doesn't hurt to learn how to use Quickbooks or to put together a website--and have someone pay me to do those things. If I did decide i wanted to start some business of my own, all of this would be extremely valuable experience. And if I don't want to start my own business, the experience will still help, no matter what I want to do next. My worry, of course, is that the longer I'm out of an office environment, the more difficult it would be to reenter that world, should I want to do that. And, let's face it, there are days when paid vacation, and paid health insurance, and sick days, and not shlepping 50-pound bags of flour, and having time to play handball and practice yoga, and being able to afford to do those things . . . well, it all sounds pretty attractive.
I suspect the other three things that are going on--all of which are contributing to my state of mind earlier this week--are hormonal fluctuations (more from age-related changes than from cyclic fluctuations), plus lack of exercise, plus the impending end of my ill-fated marriage, plus not looking forward to dealing with the crap that will be necessary to make that happen, plus just general tiredness, plus not getting nearly enough sunlight, plus worry about my parents. I think that's more than three. No one of them is all that dire, but all piled up on top of each other gets to me sometimes, and I have to remind myself that it would be peculiar if that stuff didn't get to me sometimes.
And, you know, this reinventing myself takes a lot of energy. I've done this four or five times already, depending on how you count, and it's really fucking difficult--and this time around, my plans blew up on me, seeing as how my marriage imploded, and that partnership was one of the cornerstones of this reinvention. Kind of a double whammy there, eh?
Anyway, I'm better today. Tired, and wishing it weren't 8:20 already, because I have to go to bed soon and I feel like I just got home, but better. I really wish I'd found the energy for some yoga--my back is a fucking board tonight--but it just wasn't happening. But I think I have time for a little needlepoint, so maybe I'll take the first stitches on the new canvas and call it a success.
I went through yet another damned mental crisis this week, ostensibly caused by surfing over to an old place of employment (the substance abuse treatment agency) and discovering they have a contract management position open. Since I wrote the database they're still using to manage contracts, and since I did a fair amount of contract management for them before, and since I left on good terms, I'm guessing I'd have some shot at actually getting that job, were I to attempt to do so. The pluses would be at least as much as I'm making now--probably half again as much, maybe twice as much--paid health insurance, paid vacation, fewer hours, and i could still do the proofreading and such on the side. I know the organization, I like their work. In short, I could make more money and work fewer hours, and, though there are always issues in any organizational structure, I wouldn't have to sell my soul.
The negatives? I wouldn't be baking. I wouldn't be tasting something and saying, "Hmm, that could use some orange zest, and more raspberry (linzer torte is the anniversary special for the month of February), and, if I had time, I could candy some orange peel, which would make a beautiful garnish," and have Bossman agree all the way. Or have Bossman bring over a sample of the third round of macaroons, and tell him an orange filling would go nice with them and have him say a little while later he's going to fill them with an orange ganache tomorrow. Or seeing beautifully laminated croissants, gleaming on the sheet pans when I come in in the morning. Hell, I even like the office work I'll be doing. (I'm not really doing orders these days; Bossman is doing them until we get Quickbooks up and running. On the other hand, I am putting together the website, so I don't feel too bad, plus I'm helping him think about ways he can use Quickbooks to get a different/better handle on the business.) I like the place I work, in short. What I don't like is the very low pay. I wouldn't even mind the really long hours quite as much if I were making more money.
So I had a crisis about it for awhile, and then I reminded myself (for, oh, the 4,732nd time) that I don't have to solve any of this now. If I decide in a year that I really can't or don't want to do this any more, then I can stop. Meanwhile, it doesn't hurt to learn how to use Quickbooks or to put together a website--and have someone pay me to do those things. If I did decide i wanted to start some business of my own, all of this would be extremely valuable experience. And if I don't want to start my own business, the experience will still help, no matter what I want to do next. My worry, of course, is that the longer I'm out of an office environment, the more difficult it would be to reenter that world, should I want to do that. And, let's face it, there are days when paid vacation, and paid health insurance, and sick days, and not shlepping 50-pound bags of flour, and having time to play handball and practice yoga, and being able to afford to do those things . . . well, it all sounds pretty attractive.
I suspect the other three things that are going on--all of which are contributing to my state of mind earlier this week--are hormonal fluctuations (more from age-related changes than from cyclic fluctuations), plus lack of exercise, plus the impending end of my ill-fated marriage, plus not looking forward to dealing with the crap that will be necessary to make that happen, plus just general tiredness, plus not getting nearly enough sunlight, plus worry about my parents. I think that's more than three. No one of them is all that dire, but all piled up on top of each other gets to me sometimes, and I have to remind myself that it would be peculiar if that stuff didn't get to me sometimes.
And, you know, this reinventing myself takes a lot of energy. I've done this four or five times already, depending on how you count, and it's really fucking difficult--and this time around, my plans blew up on me, seeing as how my marriage imploded, and that partnership was one of the cornerstones of this reinvention. Kind of a double whammy there, eh?
Anyway, I'm better today. Tired, and wishing it weren't 8:20 already, because I have to go to bed soon and I feel like I just got home, but better. I really wish I'd found the energy for some yoga--my back is a fucking board tonight--but it just wasn't happening. But I think I have time for a little needlepoint, so maybe I'll take the first stitches on the new canvas and call it a success.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Fortunate Daughter
The fortune cookie I got tonight said, "You are direct, and others often appreciate this quality in you." Musta got someone else's cookie, I guess.
Are you sitting down? Because, kstyle's comment that one doesn't know when one is having good luck notwithstanding, I think I got some actual good news today.
First off, the doc doesn't think my dad's cancer is aggressive. He wants to go back in again in three weeks, to check on things, make sure they got everything, etc., and I don't know whether they'll want to do any other treatment, but everyone's guardedly optimistic. I talked to my dad yesterday, and, though he's by no means a complainer, he commented that catheterization isn't much fun, especially when they use a catheter that's apparently the diameter of a sewer pipe, and especially when they remove said catheter. He noted, "When they tell you to hold your breath, you're not going to like whatever comes next."
Second, mom talked with their accountant today on my behalf. Apparently, since (a) I cannot get health insurance through the bakery, and (b) I'm self-employed, and (c) I made a profit, I can (d) write off my health expenses, including insurance, up to the amount of profit. And I made more than the health expenses cost me, so yay. That could reduce the amount I have to shell out for 2006, which would be nice.
I worked for about four hours at the bakery today, on the website. It's coming along, but I think I'm going to end up doing more of the design than I originally thought, and, of course, I'm doing all of the writing. I'm also trying to set things up so that the product lists, especially for the holidays, can be reviewed easily; anything that Bossman can't do won't survive me leaving. Luckily, I've been there long enough to see how he works and to judge his computer capabilities. He'll tell you he's happy when he can open his email, but he's really much better than that. I set up a workbook for him to record his cash payouts, and he uses it just fine, including hiding and unhiding sheets. (He had a workbook, sort of, but he had a new one each month, and things didn't necessarily total properly, and a second cash-related worksheet was in a different workbook, and so on. I put together one that will work for the whole fiscal year and that enables him to email the stuff to his accountant each month.)
When I got out of there, I shelpped down to my old neighborhood and went to the thread store and got the scrim and the first batch of thread for the new needlepoint. They even had some extra-wide 18-count scrim, which saved me the trouble of ordering it online. Now all I have to do is draw the picture and then draw it onto the scrim. I had an entertaining interchange with one of the russian ladies who owns/runs the place. She's old and grandmotherly and has a thick accent, but also a sparkle in her eye. I think she kind of remembered me from previous visits.
I still wish I had another day off tomorrow, but, alas, not; tomorrow it's back to the croissant grindstone. Still, Bossman made it a point to tell me that the minis for BT's place looked really nice this morning, and the full-size ones looked pretty good, too. Which won't stop me from playing the lottery.
Are you sitting down? Because, kstyle's comment that one doesn't know when one is having good luck notwithstanding, I think I got some actual good news today.
First off, the doc doesn't think my dad's cancer is aggressive. He wants to go back in again in three weeks, to check on things, make sure they got everything, etc., and I don't know whether they'll want to do any other treatment, but everyone's guardedly optimistic. I talked to my dad yesterday, and, though he's by no means a complainer, he commented that catheterization isn't much fun, especially when they use a catheter that's apparently the diameter of a sewer pipe, and especially when they remove said catheter. He noted, "When they tell you to hold your breath, you're not going to like whatever comes next."
Second, mom talked with their accountant today on my behalf. Apparently, since (a) I cannot get health insurance through the bakery, and (b) I'm self-employed, and (c) I made a profit, I can (d) write off my health expenses, including insurance, up to the amount of profit. And I made more than the health expenses cost me, so yay. That could reduce the amount I have to shell out for 2006, which would be nice.
I worked for about four hours at the bakery today, on the website. It's coming along, but I think I'm going to end up doing more of the design than I originally thought, and, of course, I'm doing all of the writing. I'm also trying to set things up so that the product lists, especially for the holidays, can be reviewed easily; anything that Bossman can't do won't survive me leaving. Luckily, I've been there long enough to see how he works and to judge his computer capabilities. He'll tell you he's happy when he can open his email, but he's really much better than that. I set up a workbook for him to record his cash payouts, and he uses it just fine, including hiding and unhiding sheets. (He had a workbook, sort of, but he had a new one each month, and things didn't necessarily total properly, and a second cash-related worksheet was in a different workbook, and so on. I put together one that will work for the whole fiscal year and that enables him to email the stuff to his accountant each month.)
When I got out of there, I shelpped down to my old neighborhood and went to the thread store and got the scrim and the first batch of thread for the new needlepoint. They even had some extra-wide 18-count scrim, which saved me the trouble of ordering it online. Now all I have to do is draw the picture and then draw it onto the scrim. I had an entertaining interchange with one of the russian ladies who owns/runs the place. She's old and grandmotherly and has a thick accent, but also a sparkle in her eye. I think she kind of remembered me from previous visits.
I still wish I had another day off tomorrow, but, alas, not; tomorrow it's back to the croissant grindstone. Still, Bossman made it a point to tell me that the minis for BT's place looked really nice this morning, and the full-size ones looked pretty good, too. Which won't stop me from playing the lottery.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Work Work Work
Do television appearances that don't involve acting count in a game of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon?
I should be going to bed. I was on the clock for 60 hours this week (lots of overtime in THAT count, yessirree bob) (no, not Hi Bob), and I want to get up tomorrow and do the editing so I can (a) spend the afternoon lounging on the couch and (b) go in to the bakery on Monday and work on the website. But! The alarm will not go off at 5:02 am, so I'm staying up BECAUSE I CAN. I'll probably sleep late tomorrow--until 6 am, even!
Meanwhile, I don't think NP is going to last. I had a stagiaire today from my pastry school, and she was pretty good. Young (26) and enthusiastic, but still pretty good. She wants to come back, and Bossman is okay with it, so I'll find something for her to do on Saturdays. Anyway, after nearly everyone had left, Bossman was finishing something up and I was Still! Making! Croissants!, and we discussed NP. I told him that the guy who was here Monday and Tuesday commented, on Monday, about NP's lack of motivation. Apparently he and Bossman spoke as well. I told Bossman, hey, it's your business, and I'll work with anyone, but she kind of stands around a lot, and we're (supposedly) SLOW now; what's she going to be like when we're actually busy? He said he'd give her until February 1 and then tell her that, hey, she's been here a month and it isn't working out. He also said, sort of in passing, that someone needs to tell her that she's not cut out for this work. I'm glad to hear that, too. Both my stage today and the woman who's been in the past two weeks from another culinary institution are much better, much quicker, etc. I'd reached the same conclusion as Bossman, in any case.
This is not an easy business. I'm not suggesting that office work is a walk in the park, but, having done all kinds of office work (including temp work and secretarial work as well as administrative and managerial work), I can tell you that the biggest difference, in my experience, is that, in this business, there's no room for slacking. Remember when I started the other blog? I wrote a bunch of those posts while at work. Yes, I didn't have much actual work to do, and, yes, I wasn't getting paid, and, yes, the company was going out of business (and my working hard or not would have made not a whit of difference), but the point is, I could slack at work. I didn't like it much, either; I started blogging in part because it felt more productive than any of the potential "work" tasks with which I could have busied myself. But now? Shit; I "slack" maybe ten minutes a day, total. Ten minutes out of 600 minutes isn't many. And I get a 20-minute lunch break.
I am not telling you this so I can get some sympathy or something; I'm merely pointing out that standing around is just not something you can do in this business, at least not in the corner of it in which I work. And NP isn't going to make it, because she hasn't the foggiest notion how to multi-task, and she has even less notion of how to work hard. Bossman told me that she had something on the mixer the other day (why are things ON rather than IN the mixer? dunno.) and she stood there looking at the timer in her hand. Bossman suggested she do something else, meanwhile, but his point was that she just stood there, looking at the timer. Meanwhile, yesterday I was mixing two batches of croissant dough simultaneously, in two different mixers [one has eggs and is used only for the mini raisin croissants at BT's restaurant and was thus a very small batch being done in the 20-quart Hobart; the other was half my usual batch of dough and was thus about 50 pounds of dough, in the big spiral mixer], which meant, in addition to the scaling and then mixing, finding boxes for the resultant dough, and putting away the ingredients, and, some days, putting some more croissants on pans, or whatever. Occasionally i sort of stand around, because mixing the dough is usually my last thing, but I've managed to do that task in such a way as to minimize the amount of time it takes.
It's interesting to me how much this stuff shows in this job, though. I'm not telling you what I do so you can all admire my prowess or something; I may be good, even better than good, but Phil and Artie and Johnnie and Bossman all work every bit as steadily and as hard. NP, not so much. And it's just . . . obvious. I wish I could speak Spanish, so I could ask Phil about her; he'd probably give me an honest opinion.
Here's another funny Phil story to take to bed with you. The Monday/Tuesday guy made some jalapeno cheddar bread. It apparently tasted pretty good, but it was kinda ugly. Wednesday Phil and Bossman were discussing its ugliness, and Bossman said, "When's the last time you saw ugly bread at Bossman's Bakery?" To which Phil replied (in Spanish, so I had to get a translation), "The rye you made last week." Which was actually true: Bossman's been making the rye, and it's been splitting open. But he's been making palmiers with all-butter puff dough and incorporating sugar into the folds, and, were there any deities, I would see them when I eat the palmiers.
I should be going to bed. I was on the clock for 60 hours this week (lots of overtime in THAT count, yessirree bob) (no, not Hi Bob), and I want to get up tomorrow and do the editing so I can (a) spend the afternoon lounging on the couch and (b) go in to the bakery on Monday and work on the website. But! The alarm will not go off at 5:02 am, so I'm staying up BECAUSE I CAN. I'll probably sleep late tomorrow--until 6 am, even!
Meanwhile, I don't think NP is going to last. I had a stagiaire today from my pastry school, and she was pretty good. Young (26) and enthusiastic, but still pretty good. She wants to come back, and Bossman is okay with it, so I'll find something for her to do on Saturdays. Anyway, after nearly everyone had left, Bossman was finishing something up and I was Still! Making! Croissants!, and we discussed NP. I told him that the guy who was here Monday and Tuesday commented, on Monday, about NP's lack of motivation. Apparently he and Bossman spoke as well. I told Bossman, hey, it's your business, and I'll work with anyone, but she kind of stands around a lot, and we're (supposedly) SLOW now; what's she going to be like when we're actually busy? He said he'd give her until February 1 and then tell her that, hey, she's been here a month and it isn't working out. He also said, sort of in passing, that someone needs to tell her that she's not cut out for this work. I'm glad to hear that, too. Both my stage today and the woman who's been in the past two weeks from another culinary institution are much better, much quicker, etc. I'd reached the same conclusion as Bossman, in any case.
This is not an easy business. I'm not suggesting that office work is a walk in the park, but, having done all kinds of office work (including temp work and secretarial work as well as administrative and managerial work), I can tell you that the biggest difference, in my experience, is that, in this business, there's no room for slacking. Remember when I started the other blog? I wrote a bunch of those posts while at work. Yes, I didn't have much actual work to do, and, yes, I wasn't getting paid, and, yes, the company was going out of business (and my working hard or not would have made not a whit of difference), but the point is, I could slack at work. I didn't like it much, either; I started blogging in part because it felt more productive than any of the potential "work" tasks with which I could have busied myself. But now? Shit; I "slack" maybe ten minutes a day, total. Ten minutes out of 600 minutes isn't many. And I get a 20-minute lunch break.
I am not telling you this so I can get some sympathy or something; I'm merely pointing out that standing around is just not something you can do in this business, at least not in the corner of it in which I work. And NP isn't going to make it, because she hasn't the foggiest notion how to multi-task, and she has even less notion of how to work hard. Bossman told me that she had something on the mixer the other day (why are things ON rather than IN the mixer? dunno.) and she stood there looking at the timer in her hand. Bossman suggested she do something else, meanwhile, but his point was that she just stood there, looking at the timer. Meanwhile, yesterday I was mixing two batches of croissant dough simultaneously, in two different mixers [one has eggs and is used only for the mini raisin croissants at BT's restaurant and was thus a very small batch being done in the 20-quart Hobart; the other was half my usual batch of dough and was thus about 50 pounds of dough, in the big spiral mixer], which meant, in addition to the scaling and then mixing, finding boxes for the resultant dough, and putting away the ingredients, and, some days, putting some more croissants on pans, or whatever. Occasionally i sort of stand around, because mixing the dough is usually my last thing, but I've managed to do that task in such a way as to minimize the amount of time it takes.
It's interesting to me how much this stuff shows in this job, though. I'm not telling you what I do so you can all admire my prowess or something; I may be good, even better than good, but Phil and Artie and Johnnie and Bossman all work every bit as steadily and as hard. NP, not so much. And it's just . . . obvious. I wish I could speak Spanish, so I could ask Phil about her; he'd probably give me an honest opinion.
Here's another funny Phil story to take to bed with you. The Monday/Tuesday guy made some jalapeno cheddar bread. It apparently tasted pretty good, but it was kinda ugly. Wednesday Phil and Bossman were discussing its ugliness, and Bossman said, "When's the last time you saw ugly bread at Bossman's Bakery?" To which Phil replied (in Spanish, so I had to get a translation), "The rye you made last week." Which was actually true: Bossman's been making the rye, and it's been splitting open. But he's been making palmiers with all-butter puff dough and incorporating sugar into the folds, and, were there any deities, I would see them when I eat the palmiers.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
*Yawn*
So yesterday the doctors took seven tumors out of my dad's bladder, including one that was apparently about the size of a golf ball (!). There's some concern that that one (or, I suppose, any of the others) is an aggressive tumor, which likely means they'd want to remove the whole bladder, up for which my dad may not be. I talked to my mom a little while ago and he came home from the hospital today; in pain, but feeling much better after taking a shower. Basically, other than that, nobody knows nothin' until they see the doctor on Monday, when, presumably, a pathology report will be available to provide more information.
I haven't been sleeping all that well lately, either, which I suppose isn't much of a surprise. I get to sleep okay, but then I wake up in the middle of the night and can't really get back to sleep. It could be worse, in that I don't toss and turn and freak out; I doze a little, and I can usually get into a quasi-meditative state, but it's not sleep.
And I've been working like a dog, so that's not a good combo. One of our customers opened a new location, in the building where my gynecologist is located. In addition to many physicians' offices, the building boasts luxury condos, a supermarket, a video rental place, etc., and apparently business boomed so much upon opening that they have more than doubled their croissant order from what it was the first day. Which is great and all, except I'm now making nearly farmers' market numbers of croissants, and the markets don't start for another 100 days or so. I don't know what I'm going to do come summer; for sure I'm going to need some reliable assistance, and NP isn't the person to provide it. I'm also trying to get the website up and going--we have pictures, but not much text yet--and Bossman and I are trying to get QuickBooks to do tricks for us. He's having a consultant come in in two weeks, and we're getting the next higher version of it (Premier, or something, rather than the basic version we have), and so on, but it's just one more thing.
I've really been enjoying working with him, which makes it a little easier. One day last week he got to talking (because I asked) about how the space used to be configured. It was pretty entertaining, but I'm too tired to reproduce any of it now. I'm going to make some dinner and go to bed early.
I haven't been sleeping all that well lately, either, which I suppose isn't much of a surprise. I get to sleep okay, but then I wake up in the middle of the night and can't really get back to sleep. It could be worse, in that I don't toss and turn and freak out; I doze a little, and I can usually get into a quasi-meditative state, but it's not sleep.
And I've been working like a dog, so that's not a good combo. One of our customers opened a new location, in the building where my gynecologist is located. In addition to many physicians' offices, the building boasts luxury condos, a supermarket, a video rental place, etc., and apparently business boomed so much upon opening that they have more than doubled their croissant order from what it was the first day. Which is great and all, except I'm now making nearly farmers' market numbers of croissants, and the markets don't start for another 100 days or so. I don't know what I'm going to do come summer; for sure I'm going to need some reliable assistance, and NP isn't the person to provide it. I'm also trying to get the website up and going--we have pictures, but not much text yet--and Bossman and I are trying to get QuickBooks to do tricks for us. He's having a consultant come in in two weeks, and we're getting the next higher version of it (Premier, or something, rather than the basic version we have), and so on, but it's just one more thing.
I've really been enjoying working with him, which makes it a little easier. One day last week he got to talking (because I asked) about how the space used to be configured. It was pretty entertaining, but I'm too tired to reproduce any of it now. I'm going to make some dinner and go to bed early.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
Bear Down
One of the entertaining things about today's football game--the one in Chicago--is that there's snow, and it's obviously cold. (And I've been outside twice today; it IS cold.) So many sporting events, including the Stupid Bowl, are encased in domes and/or played in warm areas of the country, such that weather isn't often a part of whatever game is being played. I was mid-massage when the Bears scored the first time, and, because the massage room is over a bar/restaurant, the masseur and I could hear the cheers from downstairs. It was pretty amusing. While I don't care greatly about who wins (not least because football doesn't do that much for me), I can't quite get on board with the notion that everyone should root for the Saints because of Katrina. I'm glad the citizens of that fair city have found some solace in their football team's season, of course, but I do, after all, live in the other city, and, more to the point, the proportions of the disaster in New Orleans were the product of the current administration's incompetence and cruelty. The residents of New Orleans would not have suffered nearly as much if the federal government had done its job at any of several points along the way. That simple fact has gotten lost, somehow; we're supposed to think that the extent of the damage was purely and solely the result of the hurricane, and golly, isn't it great that the People survived. Yes, I'm glad they have survived, but let's not forget that it's no thanks to the administration.
If you watch the crowd, that's pretty entertaining, too. I assure you that those people cannot even feel the cold. I also guarantee that Chuck is about jumping out of his skin. (I tried to make sure he could watch the games when we were together, not least because his last wife apparently managed to schedule family outings during games, but I often could not be around while he was watching.) He typically has the game on the television AND the radio, so he can get the local play-by-play, and he has more pieces of clothing with the Bears' logo on it than I could count. You may be able to hear the Bears' fight song after they score; I actually know some of the words to it, thanks to extensive exposure (not all from Chuck, either). The Bears have scored several times since I sat down and started writing, putting the game out of reach; this town is going to be insane for the next two weeks. Luckily for me, Bossman doesn't really care about football at all, and neither do the other guys at the bakery, so I don't have to hear about it all day every day.
And, yes, you read that correctly: I did, in fact, treat myself to a massage. There's a guy in the neighborhood--two blocks away--who has a lot of interesting massage experience and who is about to become certified in acupuncture as well, and he offered me 25% off the first massage. It was a very good massage, made even better by the fact that, by the time I wandered over there, I had finished all of the editing in my inbox and done my laundry and made my tea, so this afternoon is an exercise in relaxation. Which is good, because Bossman wants me to work tomorrow, to teach a friend of his from Michigan how to laminate. I wasn't all that enthused about giving up a day off, if you want to know, but I've decided that this year is about working my ass off even more and trying to save some money. (It's also about getting to the dentist, the eye doctor, and the gynecologist, all of which will suck a couple of grand out of my pocket, but you gotta do what you gotta do.)
I also realized in the past week that I am not going to join the Y. There were joining deals during January, including at the place a block from the bakery--and I couldn't even manage to get to one of them to check out the places for free. That doesn't bode well for my actually going once I'm paying for it, so I decided to bail on that (though I may try to find a used rowing machine, or even get a collapsable new one; I've realized, from running for a few trains this week, that I have no aerobic capacity whatsoever). On the other hand, lots of work means (a) lots of money (relatively speaking) and (b) not a lot of time for going out and spending it, so I'm going to try to get a massage once a month. I do have a "play" category in the budget, and if I'm not using that money for going out, might as well use it for some good bodywork.
One more task today: make my lunches for the week. I'm making a mushroom wheatberry pilaf from the Moosewood Low-Fat Cookbook. Jane made it for Christmas and I liked it so much I made it for New Year's. (Of course, I changed it a little--added some carrots and black-eyed peas to make it more meal-like.) It works really well as a lunch, too, and, with the addition of the beans and such, the recipe makes a huge wad of food. I don't mind eating the same lunch every day, and I've rediscovered the fact that eating lunch helps keep me from snarfing down various bits of less-healthy stuff around the bakery. (I've put back on a few pounds, and I want to reverse that trend, if possible.) And then, to complete my relaxation program, I think I'm going to let the friendly people at the hippy-dippy restaurant down the street make dinner for me.
If you watch the crowd, that's pretty entertaining, too. I assure you that those people cannot even feel the cold. I also guarantee that Chuck is about jumping out of his skin. (I tried to make sure he could watch the games when we were together, not least because his last wife apparently managed to schedule family outings during games, but I often could not be around while he was watching.) He typically has the game on the television AND the radio, so he can get the local play-by-play, and he has more pieces of clothing with the Bears' logo on it than I could count. You may be able to hear the Bears' fight song after they score; I actually know some of the words to it, thanks to extensive exposure (not all from Chuck, either). The Bears have scored several times since I sat down and started writing, putting the game out of reach; this town is going to be insane for the next two weeks. Luckily for me, Bossman doesn't really care about football at all, and neither do the other guys at the bakery, so I don't have to hear about it all day every day.
And, yes, you read that correctly: I did, in fact, treat myself to a massage. There's a guy in the neighborhood--two blocks away--who has a lot of interesting massage experience and who is about to become certified in acupuncture as well, and he offered me 25% off the first massage. It was a very good massage, made even better by the fact that, by the time I wandered over there, I had finished all of the editing in my inbox and done my laundry and made my tea, so this afternoon is an exercise in relaxation. Which is good, because Bossman wants me to work tomorrow, to teach a friend of his from Michigan how to laminate. I wasn't all that enthused about giving up a day off, if you want to know, but I've decided that this year is about working my ass off even more and trying to save some money. (It's also about getting to the dentist, the eye doctor, and the gynecologist, all of which will suck a couple of grand out of my pocket, but you gotta do what you gotta do.)
I also realized in the past week that I am not going to join the Y. There were joining deals during January, including at the place a block from the bakery--and I couldn't even manage to get to one of them to check out the places for free. That doesn't bode well for my actually going once I'm paying for it, so I decided to bail on that (though I may try to find a used rowing machine, or even get a collapsable new one; I've realized, from running for a few trains this week, that I have no aerobic capacity whatsoever). On the other hand, lots of work means (a) lots of money (relatively speaking) and (b) not a lot of time for going out and spending it, so I'm going to try to get a massage once a month. I do have a "play" category in the budget, and if I'm not using that money for going out, might as well use it for some good bodywork.
One more task today: make my lunches for the week. I'm making a mushroom wheatberry pilaf from the Moosewood Low-Fat Cookbook. Jane made it for Christmas and I liked it so much I made it for New Year's. (Of course, I changed it a little--added some carrots and black-eyed peas to make it more meal-like.) It works really well as a lunch, too, and, with the addition of the beans and such, the recipe makes a huge wad of food. I don't mind eating the same lunch every day, and I've rediscovered the fact that eating lunch helps keep me from snarfing down various bits of less-healthy stuff around the bakery. (I've put back on a few pounds, and I want to reverse that trend, if possible.) And then, to complete my relaxation program, I think I'm going to let the friendly people at the hippy-dippy restaurant down the street make dinner for me.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Still in the Weeds
I've been in the weeds since I walked in the door of the bakery Tuesday. Tuesday I had to make 12 dozen mini fruit tarts (each tart shell had a dab of pastry cream, a quarter of a strawberry--sliced--a mandarin orange slice, and half a blackberry). Yesterday I had to make, proof, and bake 250 mini croissants by noon. Both were special orders, and both came out just fine, but each put me way behind on my croissant-making on the given day. Second thing I have to do this morning is count the croissants I have on hand to figure out where I am and what I need to make. I pointed out to Bossman yesterday that, in terms of number, I'm making nearly as many as I did during farmers' market season, and, that come market season, I'm going to need some help, especially if BT's restaurant's order stays where it is or increases. Both Phil and I pointed out yesterday the eventual need for more refrigeration space--the walk-in is nearly as full these days as it is during market season--and we need more reach-in freezer space, too. I don't know that he's going to actually purchase this equipment, but we're going to be in trouble if he doesn't. (What's entertaining about my comment and Phil's is that they came within seconds of each other, but I didn't realize what Phil had said because he said it in Spanish.)
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Variation on a Game
You may be aware of the drinking game known as Hi Bob! If you watch sports on television, may I suggest a variation? Every time an announcer says "He's the kinda guy who" or "They're the kinda team who" or "He's the kinda coach who" does X, everybody takes a drink. Yes, you can play it alone, and you can even drink a good beer or wine instead of swill. I won't tell anyone.
Passive constructions can die . . .
but let the serial comma live! I know that at least Orange and kstyle will appreciate this.
Added: hat tip to James Wolcott.
Added: hat tip to James Wolcott.
Gimme a C
The amount of delusion of which some people are capable is a little disturbing. Take, for example, cheerleading. Either it's a sport on its own (which some people claim, pointing to the more gymnastic examples of the activity, even though such examples aren't typical of most cheerleading squads), which raises questions of its own, or it's not a sport, but a means of cheering on the school's athletic teams. If the latter, then why should only boys' teams get cheers? (And why should only girls be cheerleaders, our current president notwithstanding?) And why can't the writer of the article, or, apparently, most of the people in the article, see that? If the point is to cheer on the school's athletic teams, then they should all get cheered on. How difficult a point is that to understand?
But, of course, no one can come right out and say that the cheerleaders are supporting the boys, that they're practicing to be sexbots, and cheering for girls gets in the way of that sexbot role. The cheerleaders themselves don't want to cheer for icky girls; they want to cheer (and display their wares) for boys, or what's the point of being a cheerleader? The most unintentionally entertaining comment was the last one of the article, where the cheerleader lamented the "extra work" involved and declared that interest would keep dropping, "until there's no cheerleading any more." And why, exactly, would that be a bad thing?
I also like the inherent philosophical dilemma in declaring that cheerleading is a sport all on its own. That is, people who make that claim frequently point to the competitive cheerleading squads, the ones you see on ESPN2 when they're short of programming. But do those squads actually cheer for teams? Are they ever on the sidelines? If not--and I truly don't know--then that's just ridiculous in a whole other way.
But, of course, no one can come right out and say that the cheerleaders are supporting the boys, that they're practicing to be sexbots, and cheering for girls gets in the way of that sexbot role. The cheerleaders themselves don't want to cheer for icky girls; they want to cheer (and display their wares) for boys, or what's the point of being a cheerleader? The most unintentionally entertaining comment was the last one of the article, where the cheerleader lamented the "extra work" involved and declared that interest would keep dropping, "until there's no cheerleading any more." And why, exactly, would that be a bad thing?
I also like the inherent philosophical dilemma in declaring that cheerleading is a sport all on its own. That is, people who make that claim frequently point to the competitive cheerleading squads, the ones you see on ESPN2 when they're short of programming. But do those squads actually cheer for teams? Are they ever on the sidelines? If not--and I truly don't know--then that's just ridiculous in a whole other way.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
This Product's for You
Just for Larry, here's the shoe. None of these colors is quite the one; mine are a brownish greenish greyish thing. Actually, at the moment, they're flour-colored, and that's the color they'll stay. I also have these in the periwinkle/mango combination (my summer bakery shoes), these in a grey-blue color (actually, I'm not sure it's this style exactly), and a style that they apparently no longer offer that's sort of a high-top version of this, except without the canvas inset, without the stitching, and with those little hook things for the top two lace spots. (Warning: their shoes are great, but their website sucks; pages take forever to load.)
Our intern from the late fall has returned; she's going to be there every Saturday to help Johnnie with cakes, I think--plus, since she's from Puerto Rico, she can translate the exam materials for him. Part of the reason for this whole thing is that Bossman is tired of having people take (and, apparently, pass) the exam who aren't very good. The only thing holding Johnnie back is the language thing, but otherwise he can do everything; Bossman said that when he took the exam, he took it with some instructors from the Culinary Institute of America, not all of whom passed it. You have to make 8 or so products in 12 hours; you get the formulas for 2 or 3 of the products ahead of time, so you can practice them, but you don't know the quantity you'll have to make until the day of the test. That last part means you have to be able to do the math, and, according to Bossman, he's seen people take an hour and a half for that. It should take, oh, 15 minutes. You take an hour and a half, you're already in the weeds. You get the formulas for the other products the day of the test. Bossman said that he could get Phil ready to take the exam in a couple of weeks, except for decorating the cake, and the same is probably true for me as well. The cake decorating you just have to practice piping a lot, and for the Certified Baker exam (one level below) you only have to frost a cake, not decorate it. I think it's pretty cool that Bossman wants to support the guys who work for him this way and encourage them.
I made focaccia today for lunch, and it didn't come out all that well. Okay, I take that back, sort of: it tasted pretty good, but, as Bossman pointed out, it needed more water and it should have had bigger holes. That's one of the things I love about working with and for him. At this point, he'll grab a product I've made, especially one I'm just trying out, and just critique it, which is extremely helpful. I told Phil to take a bunch home, and he did; I grabbed a chunk, too, to throw in the freezer (and eventually use for sandwiches).
I also did an experiment yesterday: I laminated one 12-pound piece of dough with the regular "European-style" (i.e., high-fat) butter we've been using, and I laminated another 12-pound piece with Plugra. The genesis of this experiment is that I made some plain croissants last week that were spectacular, and I was suspecting that it was because they happened to have Plugra. (We don't normally have it on hand, because it's way more expensive, but we had to get a case because we were out of the cheaper stuff and the dairy that was delivering carried Plugra.) I proofed and baked them this morning, so we could see them side by side, and, indeed, the Plugra croissants were a little better, but only a little, and, frankly, very few people would notice. It would cost about four cents per plain croissant to use Plugra instead of the other stuff; Bossman has to figure out whether it's worth it for him to do that. (We wouldn't use Plugra for the filled croissants.) Another thing I like about him: even though few people would notice, he's still considering doing it.
I'm also going to try developing a new product this week. I'm going to take our standard funeral cake (a sour cream coffee cake with layers of cinnamon streusel) and (a) use chocolate creme cake mix instead of white; (b) put some toffee crunch in the streusel for the center, at least; and (c) put some chocolate streusel on top. Bossman is thinking of chocolate drizzle of some kind, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, I'm going to clean up some crap around this apartment and then take a bath. It's not a complete disaster area, but it ain't too clean, neither. I figure if I clean now for awhile, i won't have to do it tomorrow or Monday and can just edit away to my heart's content. It'd be nice to finish with the batch of stuff I have by the end of the day on Monday.
Our intern from the late fall has returned; she's going to be there every Saturday to help Johnnie with cakes, I think--plus, since she's from Puerto Rico, she can translate the exam materials for him. Part of the reason for this whole thing is that Bossman is tired of having people take (and, apparently, pass) the exam who aren't very good. The only thing holding Johnnie back is the language thing, but otherwise he can do everything; Bossman said that when he took the exam, he took it with some instructors from the Culinary Institute of America, not all of whom passed it. You have to make 8 or so products in 12 hours; you get the formulas for 2 or 3 of the products ahead of time, so you can practice them, but you don't know the quantity you'll have to make until the day of the test. That last part means you have to be able to do the math, and, according to Bossman, he's seen people take an hour and a half for that. It should take, oh, 15 minutes. You take an hour and a half, you're already in the weeds. You get the formulas for the other products the day of the test. Bossman said that he could get Phil ready to take the exam in a couple of weeks, except for decorating the cake, and the same is probably true for me as well. The cake decorating you just have to practice piping a lot, and for the Certified Baker exam (one level below) you only have to frost a cake, not decorate it. I think it's pretty cool that Bossman wants to support the guys who work for him this way and encourage them.
I made focaccia today for lunch, and it didn't come out all that well. Okay, I take that back, sort of: it tasted pretty good, but, as Bossman pointed out, it needed more water and it should have had bigger holes. That's one of the things I love about working with and for him. At this point, he'll grab a product I've made, especially one I'm just trying out, and just critique it, which is extremely helpful. I told Phil to take a bunch home, and he did; I grabbed a chunk, too, to throw in the freezer (and eventually use for sandwiches).
I also did an experiment yesterday: I laminated one 12-pound piece of dough with the regular "European-style" (i.e., high-fat) butter we've been using, and I laminated another 12-pound piece with Plugra. The genesis of this experiment is that I made some plain croissants last week that were spectacular, and I was suspecting that it was because they happened to have Plugra. (We don't normally have it on hand, because it's way more expensive, but we had to get a case because we were out of the cheaper stuff and the dairy that was delivering carried Plugra.) I proofed and baked them this morning, so we could see them side by side, and, indeed, the Plugra croissants were a little better, but only a little, and, frankly, very few people would notice. It would cost about four cents per plain croissant to use Plugra instead of the other stuff; Bossman has to figure out whether it's worth it for him to do that. (We wouldn't use Plugra for the filled croissants.) Another thing I like about him: even though few people would notice, he's still considering doing it.
I'm also going to try developing a new product this week. I'm going to take our standard funeral cake (a sour cream coffee cake with layers of cinnamon streusel) and (a) use chocolate creme cake mix instead of white; (b) put some toffee crunch in the streusel for the center, at least; and (c) put some chocolate streusel on top. Bossman is thinking of chocolate drizzle of some kind, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, I'm going to clean up some crap around this apartment and then take a bath. It's not a complete disaster area, but it ain't too clean, neither. I figure if I clean now for awhile, i won't have to do it tomorrow or Monday and can just edit away to my heart's content. It'd be nice to finish with the batch of stuff I have by the end of the day on Monday.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Feet First
The new shoes rock, in case anyone wondered. They cannot completely overcome the effects of 9 to 10 hours a day on my feet, and they cannot fix my poor little hammer toes (my toes, except for the big ones, all curl under a little bit, which means I get calluses in odd spots on my toes, and the nails split sometimes), but they rock. I also have my Ott light, although I have not yet assembled it. And! I have two grocery bags full of cans--tomatos (Muir Glen, which I particularly like and which were on sale) and beans--and I didn't have to shlep them on the el, thanks to a friend with a vehicle. I also might have health insurance. I got a letter from BigCompany today, and they're willing to insure me, for $337 a month, as long as they don't have to cover anything having to do with the fibroids ever, any "dysfunctional uterine bleeding" for two years, or anything having to do with HPV, ever. I need to get some specificity on that, because I need regular pap smears, like every woman on the fucking planet, and they had better be covered or my health care costs are still going to be outrageous, and I'm completely fucked if I ever get cervical cancer, which, given the HPV, is not out of the question.
I'm still not completely taken with the New Person at work. Bossman thinks she can be trained, and she's capable of doing things, but she still has an unfortunate tendency to stand around. She said today that she doesn't want to force herself on the guys, because she's afraid she'll slow them down, but I encouraged her to keep bugging them for something to do and pointed out that once she knows how to do the things they teach her, then she'll be a help rather than an impediment. This was said while she was helping out with the plain mini croissants for BT's restaurant. Though NP had stood around watching me roll full-size croissants (until Bossman came back upstairs and suggested she help me), she asked if we wanted help with the minis as we were about to start them. I said sure, if you want to. She stuck it out for the two pieces of dough destined for plain croissants, but there was a brief lull before we got to the chocolate--Bossman had to run downstairs for something--and she took off. It's like she doesn't want to work past 3 or so, and she'd rather just leave. Okay, honey, go ahead, but that means you're kind of useless when it gets busy around here.
I spent a bunch of time with the website guy today. I'm determined to get our website up by the end of the month. I've also noodged Bossman enough such that we're going to have an anniversary special each month--it's 40 years since his dad bought the place, and I suggested he revive one old product each month. He's pricing the stuff with X dollars and 40 cents, which I thought was a nice touch. I'm going to spend tomorrow writing web copy (I'm caught up on croissants) to get things moving along. I also lit a fire under Johnnie today. We need some cake pictures, and I told Johnnie to go ahead and make up some dummy cakes, anything he wanted to do. I can't wait to see what he comes up with. I also offered to help him prepare for the CMB (certified master baker) exam in March--turns out the materials are all in English, of course, but his English isn't great. I offered to loan him my Spanish-English dictionary, but he said his sister was getting one for him, he thought.
Oh--and I was interviewed yesterday, at some length. Turns out a journalism student from the nearby university had contacted Bossman about coming in to the bakery, because she had to write about someone or interview someone at his or her job. She'd thought she was going to be interviewing Phil, and, indeed, was talking to him when I came in yesterday, but after chatting with me a little apparently decided I was either more interesting or easier to talk with than Phil (I suspect the latter more than the former; I don't think she speaks Spanish). It was entertaining in its way. I doubt it'll be published anywhere; it's just a class assignment. Telling my story--or a chunk of it, anyway--to someone all at once is an interesting exercise; it certainly helped remind me just how wild last year really was (as though I'd forgotten somehow . . .). I asked her to send it to me once it's done, and I hope she does that.
I'm still not completely taken with the New Person at work. Bossman thinks she can be trained, and she's capable of doing things, but she still has an unfortunate tendency to stand around. She said today that she doesn't want to force herself on the guys, because she's afraid she'll slow them down, but I encouraged her to keep bugging them for something to do and pointed out that once she knows how to do the things they teach her, then she'll be a help rather than an impediment. This was said while she was helping out with the plain mini croissants for BT's restaurant. Though NP had stood around watching me roll full-size croissants (until Bossman came back upstairs and suggested she help me), she asked if we wanted help with the minis as we were about to start them. I said sure, if you want to. She stuck it out for the two pieces of dough destined for plain croissants, but there was a brief lull before we got to the chocolate--Bossman had to run downstairs for something--and she took off. It's like she doesn't want to work past 3 or so, and she'd rather just leave. Okay, honey, go ahead, but that means you're kind of useless when it gets busy around here.
I spent a bunch of time with the website guy today. I'm determined to get our website up by the end of the month. I've also noodged Bossman enough such that we're going to have an anniversary special each month--it's 40 years since his dad bought the place, and I suggested he revive one old product each month. He's pricing the stuff with X dollars and 40 cents, which I thought was a nice touch. I'm going to spend tomorrow writing web copy (I'm caught up on croissants) to get things moving along. I also lit a fire under Johnnie today. We need some cake pictures, and I told Johnnie to go ahead and make up some dummy cakes, anything he wanted to do. I can't wait to see what he comes up with. I also offered to help him prepare for the CMB (certified master baker) exam in March--turns out the materials are all in English, of course, but his English isn't great. I offered to loan him my Spanish-English dictionary, but he said his sister was getting one for him, he thought.
Oh--and I was interviewed yesterday, at some length. Turns out a journalism student from the nearby university had contacted Bossman about coming in to the bakery, because she had to write about someone or interview someone at his or her job. She'd thought she was going to be interviewing Phil, and, indeed, was talking to him when I came in yesterday, but after chatting with me a little apparently decided I was either more interesting or easier to talk with than Phil (I suspect the latter more than the former; I don't think she speaks Spanish). It was entertaining in its way. I doubt it'll be published anywhere; it's just a class assignment. Telling my story--or a chunk of it, anyway--to someone all at once is an interesting exercise; it certainly helped remind me just how wild last year really was (as though I'd forgotten somehow . . .). I asked her to send it to me once it's done, and I hope she does that.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Spendthrifty
So I wandered over to Whole Paycheck to get some stuff today; it's amazing how easy it is to spend a bunch of money and still be able to carry it easily. Real parmesan is the secret; it costs an arm and a leg; but it's worth it. (I have managed to break many of my friends--but, alas, not my mother--of buying grated cheese in a can.) On the way back to the el station, I saw that the little shoe store had a sale goin' on, so I popped in--and found a pair of Keen's for $60 instead of $80. I live in Keen shoes, pretty much, except when I'm in bed or wearing Birkenstocks or cowboy boots; today's purchase marks my fifth pair, including my third pair for work. (I had a pair of sandal-y ones for the summer, and I have a pair of clogs I got on sale online at REI that don't really fit well; today's purchase will replace them.) They have great traction in the bakery--apparently they were designed by/for sailors--and they're durable and comfortable, all of which are essential features for my particular workplace. And did I mention they were on sale?
Tomorrow's big expenditure is an Ott light. Again, not cheap. BUT! I have a 30% off coupon at a store that has them, so, score. And then I can do needlepoint when the sun's not shining in my windows. Yeah; like I have time for needlepoint these days.
I'm feeling kind of stressed today, largely because of the pile of work I have to do. I'm finding that one of the things I like about the contract work, though, is that each job has an endpoint (and a paycheck) associated with it, which makes a nice contrast to the everydayness of the bakery. I wish the website writing would happen, though. My old boss keeps saying I'm going to hear from his boss, but I haven't yet, so it feels like it's hanging over my head. The other two jobs are chugging along more or less predictably, but the uncertainty of the other one is kind of bothersome. I still don't have a real idea just how much work they will want me to do, which makes it hard to allocate the time and also makes me unwilling to turn down other work. If I knew it was going to be 20 hours or 30 hours, well, sure, okay, I'll turn down other stuff if need be. If it's going to be 4 or 5 hours, then, no, I'm not turning down other things. I wonder how people who do this freelance stuff full-time manage that part--it's got to be a challenge.
Tomorrow's big expenditure is an Ott light. Again, not cheap. BUT! I have a 30% off coupon at a store that has them, so, score. And then I can do needlepoint when the sun's not shining in my windows. Yeah; like I have time for needlepoint these days.
I'm feeling kind of stressed today, largely because of the pile of work I have to do. I'm finding that one of the things I like about the contract work, though, is that each job has an endpoint (and a paycheck) associated with it, which makes a nice contrast to the everydayness of the bakery. I wish the website writing would happen, though. My old boss keeps saying I'm going to hear from his boss, but I haven't yet, so it feels like it's hanging over my head. The other two jobs are chugging along more or less predictably, but the uncertainty of the other one is kind of bothersome. I still don't have a real idea just how much work they will want me to do, which makes it hard to allocate the time and also makes me unwilling to turn down other work. If I knew it was going to be 20 hours or 30 hours, well, sure, okay, I'll turn down other stuff if need be. If it's going to be 4 or 5 hours, then, no, I'm not turning down other things. I wonder how people who do this freelance stuff full-time manage that part--it's got to be a challenge.
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
And now . . .
I mentioned a few posts ago that my parents weren't doing so well. Mom is getting better, albeit slowly; I've been encouraging her to get a little exercise to get some strength back, but she's not quite up to that yet. Dad, on the other hand, although he feels just fine, after a CAT scan and some kind of scoping exam, has found out that he has polyps in his bladder. Malignant? Don't know yet. I suppose it's possible that the polyps are benign or that if it is, in fact, bladder cancer, it's at an early enough stage to be treated easily. Both my uncle--my mom's brother, with whom my dad worked for several decades--and his wife have dealt with bladder cancer; my uncle had his bladder removed, but my aunt's cancer was treated without that. It's what made my aunt stop smoking--there's a strong link between smoking and bladder cancer.
The rational part of me knows that my parents are getting on in years and that things fall apart. My dad is 76 and has had a quadruple bypass and his carotid arteries cleaned out, plus he has high cholesterol. His occupation was such that he was on his feet all day, plus he walks religiously since his surgery, so he could be in much worse shape than he is. My mom is about to be 71, but she's had a raft of issues. Her kidneys function at about 18% of normal, which means she's on a transplant list and will need dialysis soon. A few years ago, she had seven (I think) of her vertebrae fused, because they had degenerated so much, and caused so much pain, that she couldn't walk or stand for more than about five minutes at a time. She had her gall bladder removed. She has arthritis, especially in her hands and wrists. She had her thyroid removed a zillion years ago. She has what I think is a motility disorder (I won't bore you with its symptoms), though that recurs only unpredictably. Still, they both chug along, more or less; neither is really a complainer, so I can't tell for sure. They eat well--my mother has had them eating a low-fat diet for years--and they exercise pretty regularly, especially my dad, so they're doing what they can, but . . . things fall apart.
Just not yet, I hope.
The rational part of me knows that my parents are getting on in years and that things fall apart. My dad is 76 and has had a quadruple bypass and his carotid arteries cleaned out, plus he has high cholesterol. His occupation was such that he was on his feet all day, plus he walks religiously since his surgery, so he could be in much worse shape than he is. My mom is about to be 71, but she's had a raft of issues. Her kidneys function at about 18% of normal, which means she's on a transplant list and will need dialysis soon. A few years ago, she had seven (I think) of her vertebrae fused, because they had degenerated so much, and caused so much pain, that she couldn't walk or stand for more than about five minutes at a time. She had her gall bladder removed. She has arthritis, especially in her hands and wrists. She had her thyroid removed a zillion years ago. She has what I think is a motility disorder (I won't bore you with its symptoms), though that recurs only unpredictably. Still, they both chug along, more or less; neither is really a complainer, so I can't tell for sure. They eat well--my mother has had them eating a low-fat diet for years--and they exercise pretty regularly, especially my dad, so they're doing what they can, but . . . things fall apart.
Just not yet, I hope.
Monday, January 8, 2007
How Narya Blames
Here's the thing.
Patriarchy isn't something to which we can choose to respond; it's there, whether we recognize its manifestations or not. And we can't get away from it, mostly. It's part of the air we breathe. I think what Twisty tries to do is point out the manifestations, as she sees them, on the principle that, to quote her, "There can be no liberation if women cannot become aware of the ways in which they are enjoined to participate in their own oppression." I don't necessarily agree with her with regard to particular manifestations, but her commentary always makes me think. Why do we do the things we do? I regard sociobiological explanations as just-so stories, not least because, as part of my research, for one thing, I've seen biology "explain" completely contradictory things. After awhile, you start to see patterns--or I did, anyway--in these explanations.
I eventually concluded that biology (or genes, or sex, or genitalia) does not "determine" anything. We are born with a set of capacities, a kind of limiting boundary of what's possible (e.g., men will not become pregnant). In my mind, though, it's a boundary condition, rather than a determination, and the boundary conditions in place for any given person aren't always apparent. (For another pregnancy example, I never tried to get pregnant and I took decided measures to prevent pregnancy, so I have no idea whether I could have become pregnant; thus, using "pregnancy potential" as some kind of determining factor fails.) As an example of how boundary conditions work, anyone can develop heart disease or an addiction or breast cancer or depression. Some people are more likely to do so than other people, in part, but only in part, because of their particular genetic makeup. Others would have to work much harder to develop that particular affliction or be exposed to particular carcinogens in the environment. In every case, it's a combination of a person's particular genetic makeup in combination with his or her particular life circumstances. (For example, someone who has an alcoholic parent may minimize his or her use of alcohol--I know several people for whom this is true. That reduces the chances he or she will become an alcoholic, but it might also be the case that the genetic markers that would have made alcoholism more likely are absent. Thus, neither the genetic nor the environmental conditions for alcoholism were met.)
I think sex is very similar. Our genitalia do not "determine" much of anything. (I saw a book yesterday called "The Female Brain" or something like that, and I wanted to set it on fire.) Our current popular notion that men and women are "opposite" kinds of things/bodies is actually a product of late Victorian thought; before that, men and women were regarded as somewhat different manifestations of the same kind of thing/body. The notion that men and women are "opposites" is destructive (and vile) in a vast number of ways, into which I will not go at the moment, but the most important one is that many people end up having the notion that men are in this bell curve over here and women are in that bell curve over there, and rarely will the twain meet, they being on different planets and all. It's simply not the case, first of all, and, second, it's not at all clear what effect environment has on any of the things that we use to designate male or female. (Treating male babies and female babies differently might affect how their brains grow, for example--and numerous studies have shown that people talk to and handle babies differently depending on the sex they think the baby is.)
Thus, I am profoundly suspicious when someone says "men do X" or "women do Y." Really? Why is that so? Do you have reliable data, or is it just the men and women you happen to know? And, frankly, many data sets are unreliable, in my opinion: what is coded as "aggression" in a woman might be coded as "assertiveness" in a man, to use a commonplace example. Thus, one must ask which behaviors were observed, who did the observing, how much coding took place, etc. And don't even get me started on the leaps from this or that species to humans (go read Donna Haraway's Primate Visions first, and then we can talk). So, Larry, when you say that women comment on other women more than men comment on other men, I need an explanation--one that takes into account an assortment of possible factors--if you want me to take that statement as meaning something other than "I know a lot of women who seem to talk about how other women look." That statement says more about the women and men you know than about men or women in general, and it's often a mistake to generalize from the people we know.
As for feminism, I see a lot of people--including some of you, gentle readers--reading Twisty and then kind of apologizing for not being a "good enough" feminist. Stop it! It's not a test! In my opinion, a "good" feminist is one who examines his or her practices and thought patterns as closely as he or she is able to do, and continues to do so over the course of his or her life. Just because I recognize marriage as an instrument of the patriarchy doesn't necessarily mean that I am going to eschew marriage or criticize married people; it means I recognize the limitations the patriarchy has imposed, or some of them, and I am choosing my actions from within that set of limitations. It might also mean that I fight, in some way, to change the notions of what a marriage can be--for example, arguing for gay/lesbian marriage rights. The truly important part is the willingness to examine, to think about, to recognize the patriarchy's influences, and, to the best of my ability, to imagine and live alternatives and provide opportunities for others to do likewise. (It's precisely in that arena that I find Twisty so useful: She makes me think.)
I also think our ability to examine our lives changes over our lifetimes. Gloria Steinem once said that women get more radical with age, and I think that's right. It's true I started out at a relatively radical spot on this continuum, but I've only moved more to the radical side (and I'm not anywhere near as radical as many of the commentariat at Twisty's). I am fascinated by Twisty's suggestion that we give up gender, for example; I like thinking about what would happen if we didn't classify human beings in that way (and, really, that's long been a fantasy of mine). It's not as though sexual desire or sexual reproduction would suddenly become impossible, it just changes the scope of possible relationships between and among humans. Here's the other thing, too: I'm sufficiently old that I remember the 1960s and, even more, the 1970s. Part of the reason I claim the label of feminist is precisely because of the way that term has been used to vilify women (and men) who want simple human rights for everyone. So, yes: I am a feminist.
And, last, part of what that label means to me is that I think everyone should assume that he or she will have to support and care for himself or herself. We should know how to feed and clothe ourselves; we should be able to manage our resources; we should expect to earn our own resources. I see way too many women who expect they'll marry and their husbands will support them; I see way too many men who expect some woman will take over the "mother" functions and manage their laundry and cooking and so on; I see way too many couples saying they want kids without thinking about who, exactly, is going to do the work of raising them. (Not my friends, in general--my friends are a motley assortment, not surprisingly, and include several men who have spent time as the at-home parent, for example.) If everyone makes those assumptions, learns those skills, then I think everyone is in a stronger position when it comes to arranging partnerships of various sorts--overall, everyone is better off, in my opinion, and better prepared to face a wider range of circumstances. John Adams thought it was the obligation of each of us to work to become the best person each of us can be, and, at the same time, to do what we can to make sure others have that opportunity as well. (It's the difference between a boss who recognizes and utilizes your strengths and a boss who is threatened by your strengths.) I think feminism is directly related to that goal.
Thus, I find it entertaining, over at Twisty's when she points out an aspect of the patriarchy and is greeted with shouts of condemnation and accusations of men-hating and so on. (It's also worth pointing out that blaming the patriarchy isn't the same as blaming men, even though men benefit from the patriarchy.) To me, it seems that she's often posing a thought experiment of some kind and asking her readers to do likewise; our analyses may differ, as may our proposed solutions or our preferences with regard to possible solutions, but that makes things more interesting. And if someone thinks I'm not a "good enough" feminist? Hell, I'll go find a dozen men and women who think I'm "too" feminist, and I'll let them fight it out among themselves while I go have a beer.
Patriarchy isn't something to which we can choose to respond; it's there, whether we recognize its manifestations or not. And we can't get away from it, mostly. It's part of the air we breathe. I think what Twisty tries to do is point out the manifestations, as she sees them, on the principle that, to quote her, "There can be no liberation if women cannot become aware of the ways in which they are enjoined to participate in their own oppression." I don't necessarily agree with her with regard to particular manifestations, but her commentary always makes me think. Why do we do the things we do? I regard sociobiological explanations as just-so stories, not least because, as part of my research, for one thing, I've seen biology "explain" completely contradictory things. After awhile, you start to see patterns--or I did, anyway--in these explanations.
I eventually concluded that biology (or genes, or sex, or genitalia) does not "determine" anything. We are born with a set of capacities, a kind of limiting boundary of what's possible (e.g., men will not become pregnant). In my mind, though, it's a boundary condition, rather than a determination, and the boundary conditions in place for any given person aren't always apparent. (For another pregnancy example, I never tried to get pregnant and I took decided measures to prevent pregnancy, so I have no idea whether I could have become pregnant; thus, using "pregnancy potential" as some kind of determining factor fails.) As an example of how boundary conditions work, anyone can develop heart disease or an addiction or breast cancer or depression. Some people are more likely to do so than other people, in part, but only in part, because of their particular genetic makeup. Others would have to work much harder to develop that particular affliction or be exposed to particular carcinogens in the environment. In every case, it's a combination of a person's particular genetic makeup in combination with his or her particular life circumstances. (For example, someone who has an alcoholic parent may minimize his or her use of alcohol--I know several people for whom this is true. That reduces the chances he or she will become an alcoholic, but it might also be the case that the genetic markers that would have made alcoholism more likely are absent. Thus, neither the genetic nor the environmental conditions for alcoholism were met.)
I think sex is very similar. Our genitalia do not "determine" much of anything. (I saw a book yesterday called "The Female Brain" or something like that, and I wanted to set it on fire.) Our current popular notion that men and women are "opposite" kinds of things/bodies is actually a product of late Victorian thought; before that, men and women were regarded as somewhat different manifestations of the same kind of thing/body. The notion that men and women are "opposites" is destructive (and vile) in a vast number of ways, into which I will not go at the moment, but the most important one is that many people end up having the notion that men are in this bell curve over here and women are in that bell curve over there, and rarely will the twain meet, they being on different planets and all. It's simply not the case, first of all, and, second, it's not at all clear what effect environment has on any of the things that we use to designate male or female. (Treating male babies and female babies differently might affect how their brains grow, for example--and numerous studies have shown that people talk to and handle babies differently depending on the sex they think the baby is.)
Thus, I am profoundly suspicious when someone says "men do X" or "women do Y." Really? Why is that so? Do you have reliable data, or is it just the men and women you happen to know? And, frankly, many data sets are unreliable, in my opinion: what is coded as "aggression" in a woman might be coded as "assertiveness" in a man, to use a commonplace example. Thus, one must ask which behaviors were observed, who did the observing, how much coding took place, etc. And don't even get me started on the leaps from this or that species to humans (go read Donna Haraway's Primate Visions first, and then we can talk). So, Larry, when you say that women comment on other women more than men comment on other men, I need an explanation--one that takes into account an assortment of possible factors--if you want me to take that statement as meaning something other than "I know a lot of women who seem to talk about how other women look." That statement says more about the women and men you know than about men or women in general, and it's often a mistake to generalize from the people we know.
As for feminism, I see a lot of people--including some of you, gentle readers--reading Twisty and then kind of apologizing for not being a "good enough" feminist. Stop it! It's not a test! In my opinion, a "good" feminist is one who examines his or her practices and thought patterns as closely as he or she is able to do, and continues to do so over the course of his or her life. Just because I recognize marriage as an instrument of the patriarchy doesn't necessarily mean that I am going to eschew marriage or criticize married people; it means I recognize the limitations the patriarchy has imposed, or some of them, and I am choosing my actions from within that set of limitations. It might also mean that I fight, in some way, to change the notions of what a marriage can be--for example, arguing for gay/lesbian marriage rights. The truly important part is the willingness to examine, to think about, to recognize the patriarchy's influences, and, to the best of my ability, to imagine and live alternatives and provide opportunities for others to do likewise. (It's precisely in that arena that I find Twisty so useful: She makes me think.)
I also think our ability to examine our lives changes over our lifetimes. Gloria Steinem once said that women get more radical with age, and I think that's right. It's true I started out at a relatively radical spot on this continuum, but I've only moved more to the radical side (and I'm not anywhere near as radical as many of the commentariat at Twisty's). I am fascinated by Twisty's suggestion that we give up gender, for example; I like thinking about what would happen if we didn't classify human beings in that way (and, really, that's long been a fantasy of mine). It's not as though sexual desire or sexual reproduction would suddenly become impossible, it just changes the scope of possible relationships between and among humans. Here's the other thing, too: I'm sufficiently old that I remember the 1960s and, even more, the 1970s. Part of the reason I claim the label of feminist is precisely because of the way that term has been used to vilify women (and men) who want simple human rights for everyone. So, yes: I am a feminist.
And, last, part of what that label means to me is that I think everyone should assume that he or she will have to support and care for himself or herself. We should know how to feed and clothe ourselves; we should be able to manage our resources; we should expect to earn our own resources. I see way too many women who expect they'll marry and their husbands will support them; I see way too many men who expect some woman will take over the "mother" functions and manage their laundry and cooking and so on; I see way too many couples saying they want kids without thinking about who, exactly, is going to do the work of raising them. (Not my friends, in general--my friends are a motley assortment, not surprisingly, and include several men who have spent time as the at-home parent, for example.) If everyone makes those assumptions, learns those skills, then I think everyone is in a stronger position when it comes to arranging partnerships of various sorts--overall, everyone is better off, in my opinion, and better prepared to face a wider range of circumstances. John Adams thought it was the obligation of each of us to work to become the best person each of us can be, and, at the same time, to do what we can to make sure others have that opportunity as well. (It's the difference between a boss who recognizes and utilizes your strengths and a boss who is threatened by your strengths.) I think feminism is directly related to that goal.
Thus, I find it entertaining, over at Twisty's when she points out an aspect of the patriarchy and is greeted with shouts of condemnation and accusations of men-hating and so on. (It's also worth pointing out that blaming the patriarchy isn't the same as blaming men, even though men benefit from the patriarchy.) To me, it seems that she's often posing a thought experiment of some kind and asking her readers to do likewise; our analyses may differ, as may our proposed solutions or our preferences with regard to possible solutions, but that makes things more interesting. And if someone thinks I'm not a "good enough" feminist? Hell, I'll go find a dozen men and women who think I'm "too" feminist, and I'll let them fight it out among themselves while I go have a beer.
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Lipstick, Again
I should be editing, but I simply cannot face it tonight. After ten hours at work (excuse me; that should be 10 hours), I shlepped around to two 2 bookstores in search of (a) 2 calendars a friend wanted and couldn't find downtown and (b) a good guide to Quickbooks. I managed to find one of the two calendars and the guide, plus I scored some Far Side calendars (one for me, one for the friend--who said he'd had it in his hand about three times but never committed; I made the decision for him). It was pouring rain, so by the time I got home, I managed to finish editing one chapter and eat some crackers, and then I gave up. The wine called, and I answered.
I've been thinking about makeup a lot lately. A few cosmetics-related brawls have broken out over at Twisty's over the past year, and a huge number of women have defended (for lack of a better verb) the use of cosmetics rather vehemently, primarily on three grounds: (1) they're mostly harmless decoration, used in a spirit of fun and play, and humans have used them that way for a long time, so what's the big deal; (2) I feel better when I wear them--which might be patriarchally induced, but so what; (3) I work in a field/office/environment where I really must fit in, else I'll be denied promotions, etc., and makeup is part of what is expected of women. No one at Twisty's seems to argue that all women should wear makeup, however, and there are different degrees of all of the above defenses. What's also fascinating to me is the stories behind the defenses: my personal favorite is the commenter who grew up in a very patriarchal, old-fashioned-religion household, such that makeup is actually a subversion of the patriarchy that raised her, even if it's directly in keeping with the patriarchy of the rest of society. The other thing about makeup is that it doesn't necessarily damage anything--spike heels, for example, will cause bunions and foot problems and possibly shorten your calf muscles, if you wear them all the time, and you'd better not have to move quickly in them at any time. But makeup doesn't do that.
My personal history on this is sort of odd, too (there's a shock). I wore some in high school, but it wasn't an approved item around my house, so not a lot. I didn't in college--didn't own any, if I remember correctly--and also stopped shaving my body hair then. When I was working in Philadelphia, one of the women with whom I worked encouraged/badgered me to wear it, and I did. It seemed pretty harmless, and it served as a counter-signal to the hairy legs. (That is, in a patriarchy, women have to provide some signals that they're . . . I don't know. Acceptable? Not feminists? Not shrill? Not uncompromising? Whatever the fuck the insult of the day is.) I think I wore some in grad school, but not a whole lot. Once I was working after grad school, I wore it pretty consistently: mascara, eye shadow, blush, lipstick. I pretty much only put it on in the morning--constant touchups were never my thing--but I did wear it daily during the week, and I'd put on a little if Chuck and I went out on Sunday night, say. Since I changed professions again, however, I almost never wear it. I certainly don't wear it to work--it would be bizarre in this environment. If I'm going out to dinner, say, I might wear some, but I bet it doesn't happen more than three or four times a month, if that, and I've gone out without it.
In other words, I don't really have strong feelings about it one way or the other. i recognize the usefulness of it, if I want to (appear to) fit in in particular ways, but I don't feel naked without it, either. I'd probably feel a little strange working in a professional environment, especially if I had a visible or middle/upper management position, if I didn't wear any at all, but probably no stranger than I'd feel wearing it at my current job. A lot of other women seem to have much stronger feelings about it, though, and I wonder why. I also suspect that, were all makeup to disappear overnight, a number of people would go about reinventing it, and I don't think all of that has to do with patriarchy. That is, I think we do have a decorative urge. What we think "looks good" may be socially and patriarchally constructed (and I think aesthetic taste is, in many ways, constructed/learned), but the decorative urge is still there. That is, we all want to decorate (ourselves, our environments), but the choices for decoration are constructed for us and learned by us in our societies.
So I wouldn't really mind if all makeup disappeared overnight. It's not like patriarchy would disappear with it. And, really, that's the important part here: the fact that women's looks are assessed so thoroughly and so consistently, and that how women look is regarded as a topic for discussion. We're supposed to care about it and spend time and money on it, in ways and to a degree that differ from the expectations placed on men. In other words, whether I wear lipstick is regarded as important, in multiple arenas, and for multiple reasons. I'm sure I could say this all more clearly, but I'm tired, so you all are going to have to figure it out your own selves.
I've been thinking about makeup a lot lately. A few cosmetics-related brawls have broken out over at Twisty's over the past year, and a huge number of women have defended (for lack of a better verb) the use of cosmetics rather vehemently, primarily on three grounds: (1) they're mostly harmless decoration, used in a spirit of fun and play, and humans have used them that way for a long time, so what's the big deal; (2) I feel better when I wear them--which might be patriarchally induced, but so what; (3) I work in a field/office/environment where I really must fit in, else I'll be denied promotions, etc., and makeup is part of what is expected of women. No one at Twisty's seems to argue that all women should wear makeup, however, and there are different degrees of all of the above defenses. What's also fascinating to me is the stories behind the defenses: my personal favorite is the commenter who grew up in a very patriarchal, old-fashioned-religion household, such that makeup is actually a subversion of the patriarchy that raised her, even if it's directly in keeping with the patriarchy of the rest of society. The other thing about makeup is that it doesn't necessarily damage anything--spike heels, for example, will cause bunions and foot problems and possibly shorten your calf muscles, if you wear them all the time, and you'd better not have to move quickly in them at any time. But makeup doesn't do that.
My personal history on this is sort of odd, too (there's a shock). I wore some in high school, but it wasn't an approved item around my house, so not a lot. I didn't in college--didn't own any, if I remember correctly--and also stopped shaving my body hair then. When I was working in Philadelphia, one of the women with whom I worked encouraged/badgered me to wear it, and I did. It seemed pretty harmless, and it served as a counter-signal to the hairy legs. (That is, in a patriarchy, women have to provide some signals that they're . . . I don't know. Acceptable? Not feminists? Not shrill? Not uncompromising? Whatever the fuck the insult of the day is.) I think I wore some in grad school, but not a whole lot. Once I was working after grad school, I wore it pretty consistently: mascara, eye shadow, blush, lipstick. I pretty much only put it on in the morning--constant touchups were never my thing--but I did wear it daily during the week, and I'd put on a little if Chuck and I went out on Sunday night, say. Since I changed professions again, however, I almost never wear it. I certainly don't wear it to work--it would be bizarre in this environment. If I'm going out to dinner, say, I might wear some, but I bet it doesn't happen more than three or four times a month, if that, and I've gone out without it.
In other words, I don't really have strong feelings about it one way or the other. i recognize the usefulness of it, if I want to (appear to) fit in in particular ways, but I don't feel naked without it, either. I'd probably feel a little strange working in a professional environment, especially if I had a visible or middle/upper management position, if I didn't wear any at all, but probably no stranger than I'd feel wearing it at my current job. A lot of other women seem to have much stronger feelings about it, though, and I wonder why. I also suspect that, were all makeup to disappear overnight, a number of people would go about reinventing it, and I don't think all of that has to do with patriarchy. That is, I think we do have a decorative urge. What we think "looks good" may be socially and patriarchally constructed (and I think aesthetic taste is, in many ways, constructed/learned), but the decorative urge is still there. That is, we all want to decorate (ourselves, our environments), but the choices for decoration are constructed for us and learned by us in our societies.
So I wouldn't really mind if all makeup disappeared overnight. It's not like patriarchy would disappear with it. And, really, that's the important part here: the fact that women's looks are assessed so thoroughly and so consistently, and that how women look is regarded as a topic for discussion. We're supposed to care about it and spend time and money on it, in ways and to a degree that differ from the expectations placed on men. In other words, whether I wear lipstick is regarded as important, in multiple arenas, and for multiple reasons. I'm sure I could say this all more clearly, but I'm tired, so you all are going to have to figure it out your own selves.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
DTPC*
Have I mentioned that passive constructions annoy the shit out of me? Because they do.
The new year was rung in (see? Doesn't that sound much worse than "We rung in the new year . . . ") quietly, with guacamole, chips, champagne, wine, champagne, wine, ham, pilaf-stuffed squash, and gingerbread with whipped cream and poached pears. And football; lots and lots of football.
It's now back to the grindstone, and boy howdy, I'm grinding away: two editing jobs, a writing job, and more hours at the bakery mean I'm a little, um, busy, but it's okay. The fact that one of the editing jobs is rather challenging (so far) is counterbalanced by the fact that the other editing job is pretty easy. The writing job was kind of off and on--more the former than the latter--but I think it's about to pick up again; given that it pays way better than anything else, I'll find the time, thanks so much, even if it means losing sleep. I'd done some work on it (website copy, basically), but the person who was my contact wasn't exactly taking my suggestions and I kind of hesitated to push any harder. I don't want to step on toes, and I don't want to waste my time and their money; if they just want tweaking, that's fine, but if they want me to actually write stuff and have ideas and such, I want everyone on the same page. My old boss (who hired me to do this writing) has gotten back into the fray, however, and it sounds like his boss (the director of the organization) is going to be the person with whom I'm working.
We have a new person at the bakery (and no more Brad! did I mention there was great rejoicing?), and she hasn't impressed me all that much so far. We were chatting about school yesterday--she just finished the same program I completed--and she said that her class was all women, and some of them were "loudmouths," so she asked the chef to find her a placement where there was some testosterone. This did not exactly endear her to me: Is estrogen some kind of magic evil-producing drug? Is testosterone known for producing calm and quiet? Not to mention, I find sex-based essentialism to be annoying in the extreme. I didn't press her on it, but if she's looking for an environment that isn't full of loudmouthed people, she's in the wrong place. I mentioned this in passing to Bossman today, who said he thought she'd have trouble with the swearing--apparently he asked her if she spoke Polish (her background) and she said the only Polish she remembers is her prayers. Bossman and I laughed at this (the trouble with the swearing; I don't care whether she prays or in what language she does it), and thought perhaps it wasn't the right place for her if she's opposed to swearing. Hell, it's not the right industry for her, if you ask me.
I can't tell if she's any good; Bossman thinks she's trainable. I've seen her with a deer-in-the-headlights look a couple of times, and she doesn't exactly run around finding things to do when she finishes a task--she kind of stands around looking vacant. Bossman also said she was near tears this morning, because she isn't sure she should have gone to pastry school after all, because Phil's bread comes out perfectly, but hers doesn't. Ahem; Phil's been doing this 6 days a week for, oh, about 15 years. I know, I know, these are small things, but my gut doesn't think much of her at the moment. Maybe she'll surprise me, which would be nice; we're going to need the help.
My current missions, at the bakery, are to transfer everything into Quickbooks, which task I have not even begun (because I have to learn Quickbooks to do it), and to get our website up and running, on which task I have spent even less time of late. I'd like to be able to go in on Mondays to do that crap, but that won't work until the writing and editing jobs are complete. Eh; whatever. One of my two mottos is "First this; then that."
My parents, however, aren't doing so well. My dad had blood in his urine the other day, so they trotted off to the ER, and left with a CAT scan scheduled for tomorrow and some other test scheduled for next Thursday. While they were at the ER, my mother managed to pick up a cold--a severe enough cold that she's been in bed for four days, which isn't really like her at all (and she sounded like shit when I talked to her earlier). Given that she's on a kidney transplant list, severe colds aren't really a good thing, in a number of dimensions. My dad is convinced that his issue is merely a side effect of the cholesterol-lowering drug he was taking (he feels fine), so he stopped taking it a couple of days ago. He might well be right, too; if there's an obscure side effect, he'll manifest it, and apparently blood in the urine is one of the side effects of the current med. (For example: he can't use any of the glaucoma-preventing eye drops, because they all give him back pain. He had to stop taking his previous cholesterol med because it gave him stomach pain; the doctor claimed the med wasn't the cause of the pain, but when my dad stopped taking it, the pain went away.) Get healthy, mom and dad . . .
_________
*Death to Passive Constructions
The new year was rung in (see? Doesn't that sound much worse than "We rung in the new year . . . ") quietly, with guacamole, chips, champagne, wine, champagne, wine, ham, pilaf-stuffed squash, and gingerbread with whipped cream and poached pears. And football; lots and lots of football.
It's now back to the grindstone, and boy howdy, I'm grinding away: two editing jobs, a writing job, and more hours at the bakery mean I'm a little, um, busy, but it's okay. The fact that one of the editing jobs is rather challenging (so far) is counterbalanced by the fact that the other editing job is pretty easy. The writing job was kind of off and on--more the former than the latter--but I think it's about to pick up again; given that it pays way better than anything else, I'll find the time, thanks so much, even if it means losing sleep. I'd done some work on it (website copy, basically), but the person who was my contact wasn't exactly taking my suggestions and I kind of hesitated to push any harder. I don't want to step on toes, and I don't want to waste my time and their money; if they just want tweaking, that's fine, but if they want me to actually write stuff and have ideas and such, I want everyone on the same page. My old boss (who hired me to do this writing) has gotten back into the fray, however, and it sounds like his boss (the director of the organization) is going to be the person with whom I'm working.
We have a new person at the bakery (and no more Brad! did I mention there was great rejoicing?), and she hasn't impressed me all that much so far. We were chatting about school yesterday--she just finished the same program I completed--and she said that her class was all women, and some of them were "loudmouths," so she asked the chef to find her a placement where there was some testosterone. This did not exactly endear her to me: Is estrogen some kind of magic evil-producing drug? Is testosterone known for producing calm and quiet? Not to mention, I find sex-based essentialism to be annoying in the extreme. I didn't press her on it, but if she's looking for an environment that isn't full of loudmouthed people, she's in the wrong place. I mentioned this in passing to Bossman today, who said he thought she'd have trouble with the swearing--apparently he asked her if she spoke Polish (her background) and she said the only Polish she remembers is her prayers. Bossman and I laughed at this (the trouble with the swearing; I don't care whether she prays or in what language she does it), and thought perhaps it wasn't the right place for her if she's opposed to swearing. Hell, it's not the right industry for her, if you ask me.
I can't tell if she's any good; Bossman thinks she's trainable. I've seen her with a deer-in-the-headlights look a couple of times, and she doesn't exactly run around finding things to do when she finishes a task--she kind of stands around looking vacant. Bossman also said she was near tears this morning, because she isn't sure she should have gone to pastry school after all, because Phil's bread comes out perfectly, but hers doesn't. Ahem; Phil's been doing this 6 days a week for, oh, about 15 years. I know, I know, these are small things, but my gut doesn't think much of her at the moment. Maybe she'll surprise me, which would be nice; we're going to need the help.
My current missions, at the bakery, are to transfer everything into Quickbooks, which task I have not even begun (because I have to learn Quickbooks to do it), and to get our website up and running, on which task I have spent even less time of late. I'd like to be able to go in on Mondays to do that crap, but that won't work until the writing and editing jobs are complete. Eh; whatever. One of my two mottos is "First this; then that."
My parents, however, aren't doing so well. My dad had blood in his urine the other day, so they trotted off to the ER, and left with a CAT scan scheduled for tomorrow and some other test scheduled for next Thursday. While they were at the ER, my mother managed to pick up a cold--a severe enough cold that she's been in bed for four days, which isn't really like her at all (and she sounded like shit when I talked to her earlier). Given that she's on a kidney transplant list, severe colds aren't really a good thing, in a number of dimensions. My dad is convinced that his issue is merely a side effect of the cholesterol-lowering drug he was taking (he feels fine), so he stopped taking it a couple of days ago. He might well be right, too; if there's an obscure side effect, he'll manifest it, and apparently blood in the urine is one of the side effects of the current med. (For example: he can't use any of the glaucoma-preventing eye drops, because they all give him back pain. He had to stop taking his previous cholesterol med because it gave him stomach pain; the doctor claimed the med wasn't the cause of the pain, but when my dad stopped taking it, the pain went away.) Get healthy, mom and dad . . .
_________
*Death to Passive Constructions
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