Tomorrow I start a new job, so my latest stint on unemployment has finally come to an end. And I'm nervous and excited and relieved. The strange thing is I also feel a bit guilty. That sort of makes sense in these economic times. There are so many people out there still looking for work, and those many who are just now losing their jobs. And as long as it took to get to this point (I actually had to go into my extended unemployment benefits) I suffered relatively little. I had my family to fall back on. There wasn't much I had to give up. I was careful enough with money, but I could've been more careful. The biggest thing was having no place to go. Being stuck in the house, with no job to go to, while it gave me lots of time to do little projects I'd been putting off, it also allowed plenty of time for me feel depressed, unproductive, unsuccessful.
Then there was the fact that to most people not having a paying job meant I wasn't doing any work whatsoever. I made a great effort to keep structure in my days by doing job searches, applications and letters in the mornings before noon. Sometimes I was done quickly. I did have a lot of time, but I had no intention of shuttling my grandmother around or doing stuff no one else wanted to do just because I didn't have formal employment obligations. I allowed myself "work time" when I was unavailable to anyone else for the periods when I was doing my searches or another project, reading or writing. It didn't always work, but I kept to it as much as possible.
For all those months I tried to keep good humor while the people around me shared their sympathies and wished me better luck soon. And people were great. I mean, it's hardly unusual to be out of work in this recession. It isn't the mark of shame it used to be. But in the back of my mind, and those of my family members too I'm sure, there was this nagging feeling that it shouldn't be me in this situation. I'm highly educated, so I should have the accomplishments to go along with my promised potential. It was hard not to compare myself to people I grew up with, and went to school with, and see how far behind them I am in so many ways. Even my little brother, who had long had difficulty living up to expectations, went out and got a career for himself as a police officer. We're so proud of him, but for me, it's always been expected. So anything less is a disappointment.
And now it's time to hit the ground running again. I have a great opportunity, and a chance to make up for lost earnings and contribute more to the family and just get out of the house and feel better about myself. There's a part of me though that's afraid. I've been worried that my skills may have atrophied. What if I'm not as sharp and capable as I once was? Will I even be able to hack it? Getting up early, a long commute, a long and stressful work day. Am I still fit?
And now I won't have time to do anything else. All that time I had over the last 6 months, why didn't I do more? It was always difficult to plan when I never knew what the next week would bring. My resources were limited, and the time I had, it wasn't always my own. But it still seems like I did nothing! I know that's not the case, but the feeling is there. Where did all that time go?
So back to work tomorrow, hopefully for a longer and more stable period than before. But I can never let my guard down again. I can't be blindsided like I was when I lost my job at Upper Deck nearly a year ago. I can't let my life be defined by what I do either. I have to be more adaptable. And I have to make time for myself, no matter what I am doing for a living, so that I can live and not just survive.
26 April 2009
20 April 2009
Precious Things
I’ve been thinking about this issue for a while. But I didn’t quite know how to file it. Is it about art or commerce? Is it about relationships or lack thereof? Is it about money, health, or self-esteem? Is it trivial or fanciful?
I’m not sure. But I’ll start from where I left off. It was Barbara who made me consider it most recently. Whether it meant I was shallow. That first night I met her, she was saying something down at Paddy’s about how women who walk around with designer handbags are the worst kind of people because they care about status, or showing off wealth, or pretending to be something they are not, or whichever of the usual stereotypes people like to assign to people according to this one random criteria. I tucked my Marc by Marc Jacobs messenger bag under my hoodie on a chair. It was already nerve wracking enough being there with them all. Much less inadvertently getting in the way of a drunken tirade. And besides, she didn’t know me. The fact that I carried a particular accessory didn’t make me despicable any more than it made me superior. I resolved not to make mention of my most self-indulgent of hobbies, in Barbara’s or any one else’s presence.
It never came up again, though not for a good reason. By the end of that year, Barbara was gone. And I knew so little about her, just as she did about me. In March I attended a show and performance of some of her work, paintings and plays mostly, hosted in the place where Barbara had lived. When I stepped into the place, I couldn’t help but notice its condition. Was it even fit for habitation? It was definitely not a place you lived if you were worried about security. It was definitely not a place to keep family heirlooms or anything of value. Or perhaps I should say any “thing.” This was not a place of things, it was a place of ideas and expression and love and spirit and feeling and all those things that really weren’t things at all. And suddenly I felt a twinge of envy. If only I could live like that, free from attachment to things, fulfilled entirely from the inside.
It was sort of a communal place, but I don’t think it was devoid of personal spaces or places to keep personal things. I’m sure there were many things of sentimental value tucked away in corners or on tables next to the bed. But it definitely wasn’t like my house. I share a house with 4 other members of my family now, but for many years, I lived alone. And either way, I had the same arrangement. A highly organized collection of things, my things in my space, in fact it was my things that defined my space.
I can see them now from where I sit writing this. Neat shelves of books, and action figures, and toy cars; Tidy closet full of clothes and accessories, a desk full of assorted useful, or potentially useful items. Things I needed, need now, or might need in the future. Things and Needs. The two go together. It’s basic really. All people need things like food, shelter and clothes. After that, need is relative. That’s why it’s tricky to even use the word need for some things.
One might say that many of the economic troubles in the world today have been caused by the fact that most people believed they needed things they didn’t.
I don’t pretend to be any different. I would feel lost without the computer that I’m typing this on right now. Years ago it was unheard of to have a computer in a private home. And in this house we have several, including three in this room alone.
When you can’t afford to buy the things you need, there are hopefully social services willing and able to help you. There are food pantries and soup kitchens and goodwill collections and shelters for those most basic of needs. But beyond that, you have to earn the things you feel you need, or those you want.
I worked until I saved up enough money to buy this computer. I was happy when I got it because I paid for it in cash. I wasn’t overextending myself. I made due with my old computer until I could afford this one. But I haven’t always operated that way. I am no stranger to the world of poorly managed credit. I’ve made mistakes and purchased things I couldn’t afford. I worked to make it right as much as I could. I’ve resolved to be smarter about it in the future. Sure.
The book series and the film “Confessions of a Shopaholic” tell the story of Rebecca Bloomwood, a woman with these common and relatable problems. She shopped herself underwater. She bought so many things she couldn’t afford and barely had room for, and it ruined her relationships as well as her credit rating. Sophie Kinsella, the author of the books and Isla Fisher, the actress who played Rebecca, played it for laughs. It is funny watching someone go so out of control. But at the same time, there were serious issues in the background. Her parents scrimped and saved their every penny. Coming from a background like that can teach you to be frugal, or how to practice moderation, but in Rebecca’s case it made her feel like she was trapped. She felt she needed to spend, needed to acquire things to make herself feel self-sufficient or whatever it was she needed to feel. And it was a humorous romp seeing all the trouble she got into, and there was a heartwarming ending as she learned her lesson, and found a guy who loved her for herself despite her flaws. Harmless, chick flick fun. Except, I cried. I identified with Rebecca in so many ways. I also felt relief in areas where I didn’t relate to her. I am not an impulse shopper. I don’t see things and have to buy them immediately. I’m more of a planner. I research, I calculate, I evaluate risk. I go back and look several times before buying. Just to make sure it’s really what I want. These days I rarely buy things on credit, making sure I have the money and that I can still pay my bills and live up to my responsibilities. But yes, I have spent a lot of money. Money perhaps I could have used to buy a house, or save for a rainy day, of which there have been quite a few in recent years. Do I need everything I’ve bought? No, of course not.
I bought a car I loved that cost more than basic transportation. But it was in no way impulsive. I’m still driving it and still paying for it and I’ve never lost an ounce of sleep over my choice. The intangibles, experiences I’ve had, people I’ve met through owning the car, have no quantifiable value, but are priceless to me.
And that’s how I look at most things. Things serve a purpose. Things have intrinsic value. They have assigned value. I tried explaining this to Ralph one night when we were down at First Friday. He was telling me how he and Kate were not picky about having real jewelry aside from wedding rings, which have their sentimental value, etc. And I said, sure, I’m not a big jewelry person either. But there are people who get great pleasure from a nicely crafted piece of jewelry. It’s art and to them is worth the price they may pay. The higher quality, more expensive the materials, the longer the piece will last and hold its value. That’s the theory.
It works with pretty much everything. Ralph collects original comic art. It’s intrinsic value, the cost of paper and ink, are just a fraction of the assigned value. Ralph, and Kate too, have built their lives around comic art. It is their great passion in life. The pieces that line the walls of their home and of Ralph’s store are not just things. They are relative needs. They are nourishment for the soul. They bring real happiness.
This was actually what I tried to explain to him, planning to work up to my own examples. Handbags are art too, you know. They are designed and crafted of fine materials and they serve a purpose. They bring real happiness to the collector and the aficionado. They often cost much more than basic transportation for your wallet and keys. In a way they are a microcosm of personal space.
Feeling the need to justify my collection is not new. And if I believed my theory so thoroughly, then why must I continually convince myself and others? It’s because in the back of my mind, I know my relative needs have expanded perhaps more than they should have. As much as I love handbags, a few nice bags would probably be enough. I could sell the rest and maybe feed a few African villages for a time.
But so can lots of other people. How much are we to reasonably allow ourselves? What is the acceptable level of self-indulgence? When I was a member of the LDS church there were many families of great wealth. They and their kids had nice clothes and cars and lived in big houses. They paid their tithing, 10% of their earnings, so they fulfilled the literal counsel of the church. But does that let them off the hook to do what they like with the rest? What of the rest of us, who can’t seem to afford such a regular tithe, but will still treat ourselves every now and then? We all deserve a little bit of extra comfort when we can afford it don't we?
But are those relative needs and the sense of entitlement we have towards them making us richer or poorer? In the current economic climate, I think we’re all feeling a bit guilty. No one is immune. And our capitalistic system is based on the fact that businesses create goods and services that people want. If that weren’t the case, there would just be farmers producing food, some basic textile mills for basic clothing production, and basic home building for shelters.
But hang on; we also need education. So there have to be educated people, and materials used to educate. Part of education is knowledge of art. If education is a necessity, and art is worthy of being a topic of education, then we must need art. We need art because it makes life better. And if art can make life better, so can other forms of nourishment. Ideas, expression, spirituality, love and other feelings, all can be needs. The needs Barbara and her friends had in their house and fulfilled with a lot fewer things than I have. Things can also supplement the same kinds of needs that are separate from “things”. A washing machine is a thing that aids in the care of a basic need, clothing. So is a washing machine a necessity? Well, it makes washing clothes easier, leaving more time available to attend to other needs, like family relationships, adding to quality of life. Because time is one of those things that we can never create more of. But we can get the most out of time by using some things. And making the most of our time is what life is. Life is taking the time we have and doing the best we can with it according to our capabilities and our best judgment.
And round and round we go, because everyone has his or her own best judgment. So all these things I buy, because I want them/or need them, I’m not sure which, because they serve a purpose, make my life better, keep me happy, or make me feel whatever I need to feel, will be there in greater or lesser numbers than some other people have, life is not fair, nor are all things equal. And is that okay? I think it has to be. Asceticism is right for some, and charity is a good thing, and obviously some needs are more pressing than others.
So I have an ever-expanding collection of nice handbags. I collect action figures, and books and many other sorts of things. I love my car and I attach great sentimentality to certain pieces of clothing or shoes. Things can hold memories. They are vessels really, places to keep your stuff, whether it be physical objects or bits of psyche. And we all have a little bit of each.
There is more to be said, an ongoing argument in the culture, economy, arts, morality or religion and I have no neat tidy ending. The dark side was portrayed artfully by Tolkien, in how the ring took over Gollum, it became his "precious", his reason for being; how easily it was for anyone to fall under its spell if they weren't careful. The ring itself was a thing, it represented power, and indeed had power itself. Fortunately there aren't objects like that around in our everyday lives. I think the point is that power should not come through things. Things should not give power. People with things should not consider themselves more powerful than those without. Your things are not who you are, but they may just remind people of you.
I’m not sure. But I’ll start from where I left off. It was Barbara who made me consider it most recently. Whether it meant I was shallow. That first night I met her, she was saying something down at Paddy’s about how women who walk around with designer handbags are the worst kind of people because they care about status, or showing off wealth, or pretending to be something they are not, or whichever of the usual stereotypes people like to assign to people according to this one random criteria. I tucked my Marc by Marc Jacobs messenger bag under my hoodie on a chair. It was already nerve wracking enough being there with them all. Much less inadvertently getting in the way of a drunken tirade. And besides, she didn’t know me. The fact that I carried a particular accessory didn’t make me despicable any more than it made me superior. I resolved not to make mention of my most self-indulgent of hobbies, in Barbara’s or any one else’s presence.
It never came up again, though not for a good reason. By the end of that year, Barbara was gone. And I knew so little about her, just as she did about me. In March I attended a show and performance of some of her work, paintings and plays mostly, hosted in the place where Barbara had lived. When I stepped into the place, I couldn’t help but notice its condition. Was it even fit for habitation? It was definitely not a place you lived if you were worried about security. It was definitely not a place to keep family heirlooms or anything of value. Or perhaps I should say any “thing.” This was not a place of things, it was a place of ideas and expression and love and spirit and feeling and all those things that really weren’t things at all. And suddenly I felt a twinge of envy. If only I could live like that, free from attachment to things, fulfilled entirely from the inside.
It was sort of a communal place, but I don’t think it was devoid of personal spaces or places to keep personal things. I’m sure there were many things of sentimental value tucked away in corners or on tables next to the bed. But it definitely wasn’t like my house. I share a house with 4 other members of my family now, but for many years, I lived alone. And either way, I had the same arrangement. A highly organized collection of things, my things in my space, in fact it was my things that defined my space.
I can see them now from where I sit writing this. Neat shelves of books, and action figures, and toy cars; Tidy closet full of clothes and accessories, a desk full of assorted useful, or potentially useful items. Things I needed, need now, or might need in the future. Things and Needs. The two go together. It’s basic really. All people need things like food, shelter and clothes. After that, need is relative. That’s why it’s tricky to even use the word need for some things.
One might say that many of the economic troubles in the world today have been caused by the fact that most people believed they needed things they didn’t.
I don’t pretend to be any different. I would feel lost without the computer that I’m typing this on right now. Years ago it was unheard of to have a computer in a private home. And in this house we have several, including three in this room alone.
When you can’t afford to buy the things you need, there are hopefully social services willing and able to help you. There are food pantries and soup kitchens and goodwill collections and shelters for those most basic of needs. But beyond that, you have to earn the things you feel you need, or those you want.
I worked until I saved up enough money to buy this computer. I was happy when I got it because I paid for it in cash. I wasn’t overextending myself. I made due with my old computer until I could afford this one. But I haven’t always operated that way. I am no stranger to the world of poorly managed credit. I’ve made mistakes and purchased things I couldn’t afford. I worked to make it right as much as I could. I’ve resolved to be smarter about it in the future. Sure.
The book series and the film “Confessions of a Shopaholic” tell the story of Rebecca Bloomwood, a woman with these common and relatable problems. She shopped herself underwater. She bought so many things she couldn’t afford and barely had room for, and it ruined her relationships as well as her credit rating. Sophie Kinsella, the author of the books and Isla Fisher, the actress who played Rebecca, played it for laughs. It is funny watching someone go so out of control. But at the same time, there were serious issues in the background. Her parents scrimped and saved their every penny. Coming from a background like that can teach you to be frugal, or how to practice moderation, but in Rebecca’s case it made her feel like she was trapped. She felt she needed to spend, needed to acquire things to make herself feel self-sufficient or whatever it was she needed to feel. And it was a humorous romp seeing all the trouble she got into, and there was a heartwarming ending as she learned her lesson, and found a guy who loved her for herself despite her flaws. Harmless, chick flick fun. Except, I cried. I identified with Rebecca in so many ways. I also felt relief in areas where I didn’t relate to her. I am not an impulse shopper. I don’t see things and have to buy them immediately. I’m more of a planner. I research, I calculate, I evaluate risk. I go back and look several times before buying. Just to make sure it’s really what I want. These days I rarely buy things on credit, making sure I have the money and that I can still pay my bills and live up to my responsibilities. But yes, I have spent a lot of money. Money perhaps I could have used to buy a house, or save for a rainy day, of which there have been quite a few in recent years. Do I need everything I’ve bought? No, of course not.
I bought a car I loved that cost more than basic transportation. But it was in no way impulsive. I’m still driving it and still paying for it and I’ve never lost an ounce of sleep over my choice. The intangibles, experiences I’ve had, people I’ve met through owning the car, have no quantifiable value, but are priceless to me.
And that’s how I look at most things. Things serve a purpose. Things have intrinsic value. They have assigned value. I tried explaining this to Ralph one night when we were down at First Friday. He was telling me how he and Kate were not picky about having real jewelry aside from wedding rings, which have their sentimental value, etc. And I said, sure, I’m not a big jewelry person either. But there are people who get great pleasure from a nicely crafted piece of jewelry. It’s art and to them is worth the price they may pay. The higher quality, more expensive the materials, the longer the piece will last and hold its value. That’s the theory.
It works with pretty much everything. Ralph collects original comic art. It’s intrinsic value, the cost of paper and ink, are just a fraction of the assigned value. Ralph, and Kate too, have built their lives around comic art. It is their great passion in life. The pieces that line the walls of their home and of Ralph’s store are not just things. They are relative needs. They are nourishment for the soul. They bring real happiness.
This was actually what I tried to explain to him, planning to work up to my own examples. Handbags are art too, you know. They are designed and crafted of fine materials and they serve a purpose. They bring real happiness to the collector and the aficionado. They often cost much more than basic transportation for your wallet and keys. In a way they are a microcosm of personal space.
Feeling the need to justify my collection is not new. And if I believed my theory so thoroughly, then why must I continually convince myself and others? It’s because in the back of my mind, I know my relative needs have expanded perhaps more than they should have. As much as I love handbags, a few nice bags would probably be enough. I could sell the rest and maybe feed a few African villages for a time.
But so can lots of other people. How much are we to reasonably allow ourselves? What is the acceptable level of self-indulgence? When I was a member of the LDS church there were many families of great wealth. They and their kids had nice clothes and cars and lived in big houses. They paid their tithing, 10% of their earnings, so they fulfilled the literal counsel of the church. But does that let them off the hook to do what they like with the rest? What of the rest of us, who can’t seem to afford such a regular tithe, but will still treat ourselves every now and then? We all deserve a little bit of extra comfort when we can afford it don't we?
But are those relative needs and the sense of entitlement we have towards them making us richer or poorer? In the current economic climate, I think we’re all feeling a bit guilty. No one is immune. And our capitalistic system is based on the fact that businesses create goods and services that people want. If that weren’t the case, there would just be farmers producing food, some basic textile mills for basic clothing production, and basic home building for shelters.
But hang on; we also need education. So there have to be educated people, and materials used to educate. Part of education is knowledge of art. If education is a necessity, and art is worthy of being a topic of education, then we must need art. We need art because it makes life better. And if art can make life better, so can other forms of nourishment. Ideas, expression, spirituality, love and other feelings, all can be needs. The needs Barbara and her friends had in their house and fulfilled with a lot fewer things than I have. Things can also supplement the same kinds of needs that are separate from “things”. A washing machine is a thing that aids in the care of a basic need, clothing. So is a washing machine a necessity? Well, it makes washing clothes easier, leaving more time available to attend to other needs, like family relationships, adding to quality of life. Because time is one of those things that we can never create more of. But we can get the most out of time by using some things. And making the most of our time is what life is. Life is taking the time we have and doing the best we can with it according to our capabilities and our best judgment.
And round and round we go, because everyone has his or her own best judgment. So all these things I buy, because I want them/or need them, I’m not sure which, because they serve a purpose, make my life better, keep me happy, or make me feel whatever I need to feel, will be there in greater or lesser numbers than some other people have, life is not fair, nor are all things equal. And is that okay? I think it has to be. Asceticism is right for some, and charity is a good thing, and obviously some needs are more pressing than others.
So I have an ever-expanding collection of nice handbags. I collect action figures, and books and many other sorts of things. I love my car and I attach great sentimentality to certain pieces of clothing or shoes. Things can hold memories. They are vessels really, places to keep your stuff, whether it be physical objects or bits of psyche. And we all have a little bit of each.
There is more to be said, an ongoing argument in the culture, economy, arts, morality or religion and I have no neat tidy ending. The dark side was portrayed artfully by Tolkien, in how the ring took over Gollum, it became his "precious", his reason for being; how easily it was for anyone to fall under its spell if they weren't careful. The ring itself was a thing, it represented power, and indeed had power itself. Fortunately there aren't objects like that around in our everyday lives. I think the point is that power should not come through things. Things should not give power. People with things should not consider themselves more powerful than those without. Your things are not who you are, but they may just remind people of you.
05 April 2009
Counting Blue Cars...
Another AMVIV has come and gone. A MINI Vacation in Vegas is a yearly gathering of MINI and mini owners and enthusiasts. It’s hosted by the Sin City Mini Club and held at the Palace Station Hotel and Casino. More specifically, on the roof of the parking garage at Palace Station. Mini owners, their cars, and lots of vendors assemble there to enjoy a shared love of a vehicle. True, car clubs are not new. Classic car meets and exhibitions have been going on almost since the invention of the automobile. The mini itself celebrates its 50th anniversary this year. The event here in Las Vegas is in its 6th year. This is my 3rd as a member of the Sin City Mini Club and my 4th overall.
This year I was more active in the planning/hosting of AMVIV. I did some prep work and quite a bit of volunteer work during the event. I worked at the registration table so I know that we had around 361 cars register for the event. More cars always show up even if they aren’t registered. Vendors are not required to register their cars, and usually a few mini owners notice the large groups of minis around town and follow them to see what’s going on. All are welcome.
The numbers were smaller than last year when we had in the neighborhood of 500 cars all totaled. The economy was probably a big part of that. But AMVIV is still the largest yearly organized Mini event in the U.S. MINI USA puts on an event called MINI Takes the States which occurs every other year. I’ve attended both events so far in 2006 and 2008. Those events had more total participation but being cross-country and large regional events it makes sense more people can come out for at least a part of them.
Anyway, this year was the first time I stayed on site at the hotel for most of the weekend. I bunked with my friend and fellow club member Annette for the first two nights. Then I stayed in the hospitality suite with Mr. and Ms. Cone, our event/club mascots for the last night. In previous years, I just drove back and forth from my home in Henderson, a twenty-minute ride from Palace. I’m glad I let Annette convince me to stay over this time though. I got to experience the extra-added entertainment of late nights at the Irish pub downstairs. Watching some of my usually tame club mates getting silly on 50 oz. glasses of Guinness was quite an eye opener. Even though I am not a drinker and I don’t participate in the silliness, it is a bonding experience. Spending almost 3 whole days with folks I usually only see for a few hours once or twice a month did bring us closer together I think.
The event is best documented in photos or video probably. But I just wanted to mention some of the highlights. I only went on two “runs” during the event. The Strip Cruise and the Valley of Fire run on Sunday. Most of the rest of the time I was at Palace Station manning one of the registration tables, browsing the vendor booths, or just basically hanging out. On Saturday I manned the 5th stop on the Poker Run at Hot Rod Grille in Henderson. I got to hand out playing cards to each mini that stopped by to complete their poker hand. The winner was car 007, obviously a lucky number! From there it was on to SAFE HOUSE for the Show and Shine car show. Since I had to stay at my Poker Run post until 2:30, I missed most of the activity at the show, the judging had been completed, and they were just announcing the winners when I got there. Checks were presented as the SCMC and Desert MINI each made a $2000 donation to SAFE HOUSE to aid in their mission to help victims of domestic violence. More money was raised by the show participants; making a total of about $5000 raised. Fox 5 News covered the event and there was some footage on TV that night but I haven’t seen it yet. I’m sure we will see it at one of our next club meetings.
I enjoyed all my volunteering time; it was always busy, windy or chaotic, and I ended up with major “raccoon eyes” from the sun. But it was a blast. MINIs and Minis were everywhere, just walking around looking at them, seeing every color and variation, mods, graphics and just the strong personalities of the cars and their owners is something that just never gets old.
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