A Change Would Do You Good

Before I start I would like to make a disclaimer: Yes, I am grateful for my job. It pays well and is stable. I'm lucky to have a job at all in this economy. And without it I would still be living with my parents and they would not have their new house.

That being said, I am so bored at work lately, and I think I know why. Next month will mark three years I've been working at the Test Site. That's longer than I was at Upper Deck. Longer than any job I've had aside from the Army, (or teaching, but I don't think that counts exactly since it wasn't full time, or all for the same school). As much as I hated being laid off and unemployed all those times, I'd gotten used to the constant change. Changing jobs and  moving house have been such a big part of my life for nearly two decades. I just felt like the stability, if it was going to come someday, it wouldn't be in Las Vegas. I mean seriously. I have lived here for almost 8 years! That's longer than I've lived anywhere since I first left home for college in 1989. When I had to extend the lease here so the landlord would put the garage door opener in, I remember figuring, okay, to stay here until at least January 2013, by that time I'll have been at the Test Site for almost 4 years. And the people around me in the office have all been there for much longer. It's their career. I don't know if I want to be a career tech writer, at the Test Site or anywhere else. Some might say that at age 40, it's really too late to still be deciding about this. I have to get going already on my retirement account. Not that anyone in this country will actually be able to retire by the time I'm in my mid-60s. Social Security might not even exist by then. I'll probably have to keep working indefinitely. And if I am not happy in my job, then it's not a career at all. It's just food and shelter money. 

I've been watching a Netflix marathon of The Office (U.S.). I'm halfway through Season 7. And as dull as working at a paper company must be, as dreary as it sounds that those people have been working there together for so long, years, and years, at least there are things to look forward to for them. Jim and Pam finally got together and started a family, and as it goes in any sitcom, there are endless breakups and recombinations amongst the regulars. Something to break up the monotony. There's none of that at my work. I have no friends among my co-workers. My boss likes me, but she's been promoted so we hardly ever see her anymore. And one of my writer colleagues has been promoted as "acting manager" to take her place, so he's not even as cool as he was now that he's sort of our boss. He was never that cool to begin with, but at least I didn't mind him. Now every time he passes by my desk, he's all official, checking on how things are going, seeing if I need any help or whatnot. And his wife, who also works with us, she is now assisting our old boss, so that's weird too.  I see an email from her, and I just want to ignore it. I've been doing a thing where I see how long I can go without actually speaking to anyone. Sometimes I can go almost all day. There are always those pesky co-workers who have to say something every time you pass in the hallway. I mean, seriously. We see each other for 40 hours every week. It's not necessary to say hi two or three (or more!) times a day. And especially not in the restroom! 

Mostly though, I sit around at work wishing I could do something more creative. When will it be time for me to follow my dream?  What is it and is it even worth following? I don't know. I read Chris Hardwick's book, The Nerdist Way, and I was momentarily inspired. I thought, well if that loser can get his head out of his ass, then anyone can. All I have to do is...wait, what did he say? Use my laser focus that I have as a nerd (or creative obsessive) to do something that is important to me and let that be my life's work. Right. So...how can I make myself care about tech writing? What if that's my only option?

Maybe, more than just being accustomed to constant change, I'm restless. Maybe that's the reason that since Hina mentioned coming to New York for another visit, I've been able to think of little else. Maybe I'll never want to sit still anywhere, doing anything. Too much sitting can be bad. Just ask my enormous ass. There's a sort of paralysis that sets in. You become de-conditioned, body parts just stop working.  I got tired yesterday from walking around at the mall. And I only went to the mall because I knew otherwise, I wouldn't move at all. It's an oxymoronic state. I'm restless, but I can't get myself to move either. I know that could partly be the depression. But they say depression can be helped by physical activity and when you're depressed, the last thing you want to do is anything physical. It's a vicious cycle. 

I have decided to make a spiritual move at least. I've been thinking so much about how I miss the church, and how maybe I should go back and take part in that community again, and if that would help. I got a letter from my new visiting teacher with her phone number saying if I need anything I can call her. But I realized that besides the community and fellowship, what I really need to know is if I still believe the doctrine. And praying is good. But to really know, I have to become more familiar with what it is I'm actually supposed to be following. Since I downloaded The Book of Mormon musical, I've thought a lot about all the misconceptions that it puts out there. All the strange beliefs, things which aren't actually true, but are fun to make fun of. I should really find out what is true. And to do that I have to re-read the Book of Mormon itself. I have to see if the reasons I joined the church, if the feelings I had then are still accessible. So after many, many years, I started reading it again last weekend. Sometimes I read aloud (to Kenneth) so I can really slow down and understand what I'm reading. I'm almost done with 1 Nephi. And you know what, it makes me want to read more. So I guess that's a good thing. We'll see how it goes. Maybe the most important change I can make, is to come full circle and meet up again with my past self, this time a bit older and wiser, but also with a new sense of wonderment.

I'm a Believer

Me and George with Gary Carter  in 1986

The rule of three is something someone made up because it seemed like any time a famous person died there are always two more soon after. Weirdly though, it seems to bear out. This time it was three people gone before their time, which is always so sad. Whitney Houston, age 48, Gary Carter, age 57, and Davy Jones, age 66. 

Gary Carter was the one I had the most personal connection to. A Hall of Fame catcher for the New York Mets, Gary lost his fight with brain cancer on February 16th at only 57 years old.  The one they called "Kid" handled the Mets gifted young pitching staff and helped lead the Mets to their last World Series Championship in 1986. My brother and I were lucky enough to get to meet him that winter at an autograph signing. He was gracious and kind, and giving of his time to all the kids that came to see him. Those who knew him well say he was not just a Hall of Fame player, but a great all around person, a class act all the way. He will be missed. The Mets will wear a patch with his number 8 in memory during this upcoming 2012 season.  Spring training is well underway, and I'm sure Kid Carter is on the minds and in the hearts of the players on the field and the fans in the stands. 

We also grew up watching the Monkees TV show; as kids we didn't know how contrived it was. I remember watching it at my grandparents house during our summers with them in California.  The Monkees sang "I'm a Believer" which was written by Neil Diamond, who we of course love. When I hear it, I think of them both. Davy Jones was only 66 when he died earlier this week, the same age my dad is right now. It's hard to fathom sometimes. People die everyday. Many much too young. And some seem to keep kicking forever. It goes to show how little control we have of things. 

Even though both my sets of grandparents lived into their late 70s or early 80s, I have often thought that I might not live to such a ripe old age. With all the family history of various illnesses (breast cancer, heart disease, high blood pressure, diabetes, etc.), plus my struggles with depression, I figure my time will run out too soon. I'm okay with that, I guess. What matters is that we make the most of the time we have, try to be a positive influence, make a difference in the lives of others. I don't know that I'll get there. I still feel like I've yet to write my book. Hopefully, I still have some time. But if not, I know I have friends and family whose lives have been touched by mine. I'm grateful for that. Beyond that, anything else is a bonus.

.........................................

This has left me feeling kind of bummed out so I will add some cheer. Wednesday was Leap Day and spurred on by 30 Rock, I took part in a new Leap Day Tradition. I wore blue and yellow, and tweeted the following picture of me and Kenneth (with his Leap Day bow that I made) to @nbc30Rock for their Leap Day William contest. I didn't get chosen to be on the website, but I don't feel that bad about it. I think they chose randomly, as when I looked at the slide show on the 30 Rock webpage, there seemed to be a picture of someone's dinner they were cooking. It looked like paella. Obviously, not Leap Day appropriate. Some of the other pictures were pretty lame too. Oh well. See you in four years!

Black Sheep

This is my Kenneth the Page bobblehead. He has not left my side since he arrived one week ago. I have to be careful with him because bobbleheads are fragile. I think they should make a Kenneth the Page action figure. Then I could easily drop him in my handbag and carry him everywhere. I mentioned this to my therapist. She gave me a worried look.

This week at work I was so bored that I spontaneously started writing a short story at the bottom of a Job Hazard Analysis form. It was full of clever dialogue that I wanted to get down before I forgot it. I copied it into an email and sent it to myself so I can have it on my home computer and continue working on it. Then I deleted the text from the JHA. Cause that would be awkward if I turned it in with that seemingly random dialogue at the bottom. Thursday as I waited for the day to end, I tried to do some actual work so I wouldn't just spend the whole afternoon working on my story. I managed to make it almost to 4:30.

Unfortunately the weekend is already more than half over and I've yet to pick up the threads. I guess I'll go do that now. Come along Kenneth!
.......

It's the next day and after 2 hours last night, I did very little to be excited about on my story. What ends up happening is that I split my attention between writing that and writing this, so that I do neither very well. I was cramming things in that I had in my mind before I forgot them, but with no art whatsoever. I will probably never get back to fix it.

Sometimes when I'm watching 30 Rock, which takes place in part in a comedy writers' room, I think how nice it would be to work in a writers room like that. Then I remember that I do sort of work in a writers' room (tech writers) and how dull it is. Completely different world obviously. But one thing is universal, the torture of being around people trying too hard to be funny. We definitely need some levity around that place. But I fear it's hopeless. So I curl up into a little ball, put in my earphones, and retreat from the world. Last week I read Fred Stoller's account of his year writing on Seinfeld; how nerve-wracking it was to always be fighting to get one of your ideas used. The competitiveness with the other writers. The recrimination and self-loathing. Though I could probably deal with it for $2000 a week.

I'm reminded of my own failed attempt at sitcom writing.  I took a class called "Writing for Sitcoms" at UCSB. We got to look at scripts from some current shows and our class had to create what's called a "spec script" for Cybil, which was a show back then starring Cybil Shepherd and Christine Baranski. It was actually a well written show. I have no idea how our script turned out, if we even finished it by the end of the quarter, and what if anything I contributed to it. But the thing I remember from the class is that writing for an established show has some benefits because the characters already exist, they have past history to draw upon. Some shows have what's called a "Bible" that compiles all the aspects of each character, things they've established in previous episodes, so that anyone writing for that character doesn't have them doing something they would never do. Of course there are some characters who are allowed to act completely contrary, as they develop, often because flashbacks are used, or there is an unreliable narrator, and you can't take events at face value. This is certainly true for Kenneth Ellen Parcell as well as some of his cohorts. In any case, having a character bible as rich as Kenneth's doesn't make writing for him a piece of cake. I find it incredibly difficult to stay in the head of a character I haven't created. This is why I don't write much fan fiction. I've tried some for In Plain Sight, because Marshall Mann and Mary Shannon seem like they must be so fun to write for. But I failed miserably at that. So so miserably. It makes me think that I'm not at all smart, not at all funny, not at all good at writing. Makes it even worse because I'm not good looking either. I'm supposed to take solace in my interior monologue, but it does nothing but break me down. Great. Now my therapist will scold me. Stupid inner monologue.

Romantic Type

One of my favorite movie quotes of all time is from Steve Martin's character in L.A. Story:

"A kiss may not be the truth, but it is what we wish were true."

As another meaningless Valentine's Day comes to an end (I'm 0-40) I've been thinking about how true that is. Sometimes, you just want someone to kiss. And even if you find someone, you know you're probably still fooling yourself. I've kissed a few people over the years. And looking back, I realize that I never felt like I was "in love" with any of them. In like, yes. In lust, sometimes. But otherwise, I still felt that "The One," if he was out there, he was somewhere else. And that having someone to kiss now, made the waiting just a little easier. Once again, it has been years since there was anyone. And if someone did somehow fall into my lap, it might get my hopes up; I might get a tiny glimpse of what I wish for. But it'd be gone again before I know it.

And yet... And yet as I get ready to watch the Valentine's Day episode of Glee, which will probably make me cry, I'll be fooled again.

In Season 3 of 30 Rock, Tracy helped Kenneth get a date with a blind girl he liked. And since she was blind, and Kenneth was too scared, Tracy did all the talking, a la Cyrano.  In the end, Kenneth fessed up to the ruse, and admitted he was unable to say what he wanted to.  The girl asked him, well if you could say something what would it be. And he said, "That you're the sweetest, prettiest, blindest girl I've ever met, and when I'm with you my heart jumps like a frog on July asphalt just before it dies." Such a way with words, that Kenneth the Page. Unfortunately for him, the girl felt his face with her hands and then rejected him because he has no chin. Apparently even blind people can be shallow. This year, Kenneth is playing it safe, and professing his love for NBC and his job at TGS. And I can't say I blame him.

Obsessions and Confessions

I have a confession. I never watched 30 Rock until a few weeks ago when I started watching it on Netflix. I powered through the whole first season in a weekend. I can't believe how funny it is, and that I had no idea. They just started their 6th season! There are a couple of possible reasons. One, I have never been too crazy about Tracy Morgan. And two, I think I sort of gave up on sitcoms. Aside from Big Bang Theory, I only watch hour-long dramas. Part of it is because if you don't like the sitcom on after, and there's a DVR conflict with what you want to record before and after, it's tricky. So we only watch things in one hour blocks. But oh boy, what I have been missing! I feel like an idiot which can only be remedied by the fact that I have a lovely new obsession...Kenneth the Page!

Played by Jack McBrayer, Kenneth is the over-eager NBC page assigned to Liz Lemon's (Tina Fey) show, TGS with Tracy Jordan (Tracy Morgan). He's from Stone Mountain, Georgia and has the strong Georgia accent to match; a young man who grew up on a pig farm, and moved to New York to follow his show business dreams. He loves only two things: "Everyone, and television." And he is hilarious. And good-hearted, and gullible, and full of bizarre ideas. He just wants to take care of everyone at TGS, no matter how ridiculous their needs and demands. And he has this smile...this brilliant, sometimes a little creepy, but beautiful smile.

I've been having a rough time at work lately. And some days, all I could think about was getting home to watch some more 30 Rock and seeing what my lovely Kenneth is up to. I have been squeezing in 2 episodes, sometime 3, a night during the week. Then the marathons on the weekends. I just finished Season 4 last night.

I didn't mean to write a TV review, there is plenty out there about the brilliance of this show. Tina Fey and Alec Baldwin, who plays Liz Lemon's network boss Jack Donaghy,  have each won several Emmys, Golden Globes and SAG awards. And Jack McBrayer was nominated for an Emmy himself for playing Kenneth.  It just goes to show how there is so much out there, so many choices, that something like this could escape my notice all this time. But I've found it now. And I'm in love!

In other news, the Jehova's witnesses came to my door a couple of Saturday's ago. I saw two women carrying bibles and figured they were from the ward. But it was this mother and daughter who came to offer me a bible study. I talked to them for a little while through the crack in the doorway; I was in my pajamas still. I ended up telling them one of the reasons I stopped going to church was because I had conflicts with the church's views on homosexuals. I was getting ready to go over to John and Pedro's in fact to sit with the dogs. The younger woman gave me a copy of Watchtower. It had a picture of the destruction in Haiti from the recent earthquake and asked the question: are natural disasters punishment from God? Yeah, that crazy stuff. I politely took the pamphlet anyway. The older woman shuffled through her stack of Watchtowers and pulled out one that addressed God's real intentions for sex. First the daughter tried to discourage her from handing me that one. Obviously, as someone who accepts and cares about gay people and their rights, I was probably not going to appreciate something saying that sex is strictly for procreation and nothing else. She gave it to me anyway, as if it could really change my mind. After they left, I put them in the recycling pile. Then I went down to John and Pedro's. I'm here now again as the guys had to go to San Francisco. And after the bad day I had on Thursday, the puppies were a sight for sore eyes. Literally. My eyes were like swollen slits from an episode of crying I had at work during this team building seminar. It just set me off for some reason. Afterwards I talked to Theresa and we determined it might have to do with the hostility I feel in the office due to all the right wing wackos. Anyway, ruined my day. I woke up yesterday, eyes still sore, and then I came to see my puppies. They always make me feel better. The puppies and Kenneth. I just want to give them all a big squeeze. Funny thing is, Kenneth is one of those Southern Christian fundamentalists, he says the wackiest stuff sometimes, but everyone at TGS, in the midst of the liberal bastion of New York media, just smiles and loves him anyway. How could you not?


Addendum: I finished Season 5 of 30 Rock shortly after writing this.  Season 6 is only 4 episodes in, and I'm all caught up!

Missionary Man

This almost slipped my mind, but a few weeks ago I was walking back from the mailbox and two young men on bikes came to a stop near me and said hello. They were dressed alike; along with their bike helmets, they were wearing black pants, white shirts and name tags. The missionaries!

Hello, I responded. And then I looked up at them, "The missionaries, Oh I love the missionaries!" They were surprised by this response. One of them said, "Do you talk to a lot of missionaries?" I laughed. "No, but I'm LDS so..." They asked me which ward I belonged to. I told them that I'd just moved here, but I thought I'd be in the Meadows 11th Ward. "I haven't been there yet," I said, "because I'm still trying to get myself together here. But I'll probably end up there eventually." They introduced themselves as Elder so and so and his companion. I told them my first name only. I didn't want them looking me up. I wasn't ready to commit. They told me that the ward would be meeting earlier after the first of the year, 9am for sacrament. They were currently meeting at 11. Darn, I thought. It'd be a lot easier to make an 11am sacrament meeting. To ease myself into getting up on Sundays. Oh well. I let them go on their way telling them to have fun and stay warm.

So, I'm LDS. I think. Then at the party last weekend I was talking to Dax. He had poured a little something in his red solo cup. I asked him what he had there. He told me some fancy something or other he wanted to try. I had a bottle of water and when he asked if I wanted something else, "Oh, I don't drink," I said. Oh really? Like ever? or just not often? Ever, I said. I used to be Mormon. (So now I used to be Mormon.) You used to be, so you're not anymore. Right, I said. But you still have some of the habits. Yeah. (But I don't know why I said that to him. I never drank, even before I was Mormon. I hadn't just stopped when I converted.) Then he goes, so tell me something you do that's bad. Everyone has something. Hmm, something came to mind right away. But I said, I probably shouldn't say. This intrigued him, but he didn't push. We just chatted about how there are many things that can be harmful, drinking, but other stuff too. I think we both thought of Keir in the other room. It was definitely harming him.

So I'm thinking: Is it a sign, meeting the missionaries? But of what? I told them I'm LDS. I told Dax I wasn't anymore. If anything it's a sign of my indecision. I have much to think about, but I'm taking my time.

Made to Last

Yesterday as I curled up on the sofa re-watching episodes of Glee and playing Farmville, I debated whether I should go to the New Year's party. I told my mom I was going, so I'd ruled out going down to the parents house and seeing in the new year alone in the living room. Mom would be there, but she'd be asleep by then. I took a shower and did my errands then put my sweats on. I didn't have to go anywhere. It was perfectly fine to spend New Year's Eve alone, just enjoying the quiet of my new place. Last year, I had been at Pedro's with the puppies. So not alone if you count dogs. But it would be nice to get out, just to hang out with Ralph and Kate and Dax and talk to Dan about the Mets. No other expectations. But as it got later, it was harder and harder to get myself to get off the sofa. But at 10:00 I was decided. If I didn't go now, it'd be too late. I went upstairs, got dressed and tried to calm my nerves. Why was I nervous? It should be fairly mellow. No Janice meant no Keir. My plan was clear. Just stand around by the wall swaying to the music and holding up a bottle of water in the toast at midnight. Then head home and get a good night's sleep.

But Keir was there. I walked in and saw him to my left in the living room, face flushed red with inebriation. Ralph and Kate were in front of me and came to greet me at the door. I hugged them each in turn. Then Ralph half-whispered to me, in case I hadn't noticed, that Keir was there. He was stumbling towards us. "Oh, hey," I said, giving him a quick hug. "Nice to see you." He said the same. Though I was skeptical that he even recognized me. I moved on into the party. Ralph, as ever my faithful buffer, said that Keir had turned up early maybe around 7, already drunk. We shook our heads. It was terrible to see him like that, but what could we do? I met Johanna in the kitchen doorway and she recognized me as Keir's friend, asking if I knew he was here. I said, yeah, but he's not really aware at the moment. Yeah, that happens, she said shrugging. Kate had a little wine buzz going, not too much, just enough to make her a bit more happy and chatty. I could tell Ralph was glad to have another sober person to talk to. I found Dax too and stayed talking to him and Ralph, and Kate when she wasn't wandering off. We stayed in a little cluster in the kitchen. Every time Keir was nearby I managed to wander away, or look elsewhere. At midnight, the hugging and kissing and New Year's toasts in progress, he appeared again, so I hugged him awkwardly and turned to find Kate.

I hadn't had a chance to say hi to Dan yet, even though his brother Mike made a point of coming over to hug me twice and say he was glad I had made it. Another half hour and Ralph and Kate decided to head home. I wasn't going to stay long either, I'd decided. I met a guy outside who was wearing the same Fluevogs I was, just in a different color. So we amused ourselves with a conversation about our favorite shoes. They last forever, we agreed.

I was pulled onto the dance floor a few times by people I didn't know. Martin was playing good music. I was having fun and I wasn't anxious about Keir. I wasn't paying much attention to him at all. But then, he came to find me. I felt his hands on my waist. He was trying to dance with me. He came around and took my hands saying, you know this song, this is the best song. He twirled me around a couple of times and we tripped over each other. I tried to dance casually apart from him, but he kept taking my hand and we tried to dance some more, badly. After a few times he took my elbow and beckoned me to follow him into the living room. He seemed like he wanted to talk. But I let him go and he seemed to forget about me. I moved outside, then back into the kitchen; I just kept moving. Finally it was unavoidable, Keir pulled me into the living room and we sat down on one of the sofas. I asked him how he was. He asked me if he was being a jerk, if he was always being a jerk, or even better, an asshole. I told him I haven't seen him in two years. But back then, he continued. I was a jerk back then. Yeah, you were, I said. I've always been a jerk he said. Yeah, well, I said. No, tell me I'm an asshole. I shook my head. I think that's a bit strong. I'm too polite to say that. Well don't, he said. Don't be polite.

He leaned against me, then reached over and pulled off my shoe. Then he tossed it into the dining room. I sat there, one shoe off. Go get my shoe, I said. No, he said. Finally, I got up and collected my shoe. You are an asshole, I said.

Later back outside, I met Fluevog guy again. I grabbed Keir and pulled him over. Look, I said, we have the same shoes. Shoe buddies! someone said. You know what, I said to Fluevog guy. He took my Fluevog and threw it across the room. Why'd you do that man? he said to Keir. And then, he wouldn't go get it for me, I continued. I was going to, he said, but then you got it. I rolled my eyes and looked at him, teasing, as if to say 'whatever.'

A while later I finally got to talk to Dan. As he was the host, I didn't want to leave without at least talking with him for a little bit. We commiserated about the Mets, and the loss of Jose Reyes. Keir had wandered off back to the living room, where someone reported he was crying. I was outside talking to Johanna and she said, you know there comes a point where you can't say it's not your fault anymore. I agreed. I don't like to give up on people you know. I don't want to give up on him. He's obviously taking Janice's engagement pretty hard. Dan came over and said that he had been dropped off without making arrangements to get home. Violet said they should probably call him a cab now, and then give him the money to get home. Agreed, Dan said. Johanna and I both made a move to get our coats. I came back with my coat on and thanked Dan for his hospitality. I found Keir on the patio, sitting alone at the table. I put my hand on his shoulder. Hey, I said. I'm gonna head home. Take care okay? You're going, he said, sounding hurt. I bent down and hugged him quickly. I thought I heard him mumble "I love you," into my shoulder. I shook my head, waved good-bye, and turned to walk out. I realized on the way back to my car that I'd forgotten to say good-night to Dax, but I figured he'd forgive me. I had stayed way later than I'd meant to. It was almost 3am. I got in the car and headed home. I went straight up to bed. As I fell asleep I thought it was a decent night out. And that I guess I really could go to the party, just for me, whether he was there or not. And if he was, it wasn't my job to babysit him, but I could at least be kind. It was only once a year.