Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
To Everyone Who Thinks they are fighting "The Man" by not responding to the census:
You're not. You're just screwing over your community. If you have a social security card, the government already knows all of this information about you and is tracking you. It's hilarious that you sign up for credit cards, have an email account, have facebook, BUY PROPERTY and use government services like city water and yet somehow think you're the lone wolf evading the government's grasp. The only thing you are doing by not responding to the census is decreasing the number of people in your community counted therefore decreasing your congressional representation, federal allotments, public sector services and the likelihood that businesses who use info provided by the census will invest in your community. Way to win.
If you are an undocumented immigrant- thanks for doing all the jobs we don't want to do. I support your attempts to evade a government that won't give you amnesty.
Sincerely,
Yet another disgruntled federal employee
PS. There is a seventh level of hell for people who yell at people with tough and tedious jobs.
If you are an undocumented immigrant- thanks for doing all the jobs we don't want to do. I support your attempts to evade a government that won't give you amnesty.
Sincerely,
Yet another disgruntled federal employee
PS. There is a seventh level of hell for people who yell at people with tough and tedious jobs.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Things I Didn’t Know I Loved: After Nazim Hikmet
by Linda Pastan
I always knew I loved the sky,
the way it seems solid and insubstantial at the same time;
the way it disappears above us
even as we pursue it in a climbing plane,
like wishes or answers to certain questions--always out of reach;
the way it embodies blue,
even when it is gray.
But I didn't know I loved the clouds,
those shaggy eyebrows glowering
over the face of the sun.
Perhaps I only love the strange shapes clouds can take,
as if they are sketches by an artist
who keeps changing her mind.
Perhaps I love their deceptive softness,
like a bosom I'd like to rest my head against
but never can.
And I know I love the grass, even as I am cutting it as short
as the hair on my grandson's newly barbered head.
I love the way the smell of grass can fill my nostrils
with intimations of youth and lust;
the way it stains my handkerchief with meanings
that never wash out.
Sometimes I love the rain, staccato on the roof,
and always the snow when I am inside looking out
at the blurring around the edges of parked cars
and trees. And I love trees,
in winter when their austere shapes
are like the cutout silhouettes artists sell at fairs
and in May when their branches
are fuzzy with growth, the leaves poking out
like new green horns on a young deer.
But how about the sound of trains,
those drawn-out whistles of longing in the night,
like coyotes made of steam and steel, no color at all,
reminding me of prisoners on chain gangs I've only seen
in movies, defeated men hammering spikes into rails,
the burly guards watching over them?
Those whistles give loneliness and departure a voice.
It is the kind of loneliness I can take in my arms, tasting
of tears that comfort even as they burn, dampening the pillows
and all the feathers of all the geese who were plucked to fill
them.
Perhaps I embrace the music of departure--song without lyrics,
so I can learn to love it, though I don't love it now.
For at the end of the story, when sky and clouds and grass,
and even you my love of so many years,
have almost disappeared,
it will be all there is left to love.
I always knew I loved the sky,
the way it seems solid and insubstantial at the same time;
the way it disappears above us
even as we pursue it in a climbing plane,
like wishes or answers to certain questions--always out of reach;
the way it embodies blue,
even when it is gray.
But I didn't know I loved the clouds,
those shaggy eyebrows glowering
over the face of the sun.
Perhaps I only love the strange shapes clouds can take,
as if they are sketches by an artist
who keeps changing her mind.
Perhaps I love their deceptive softness,
like a bosom I'd like to rest my head against
but never can.
And I know I love the grass, even as I am cutting it as short
as the hair on my grandson's newly barbered head.
I love the way the smell of grass can fill my nostrils
with intimations of youth and lust;
the way it stains my handkerchief with meanings
that never wash out.
Sometimes I love the rain, staccato on the roof,
and always the snow when I am inside looking out
at the blurring around the edges of parked cars
and trees. And I love trees,
in winter when their austere shapes
are like the cutout silhouettes artists sell at fairs
and in May when their branches
are fuzzy with growth, the leaves poking out
like new green horns on a young deer.
But how about the sound of trains,
those drawn-out whistles of longing in the night,
like coyotes made of steam and steel, no color at all,
reminding me of prisoners on chain gangs I've only seen
in movies, defeated men hammering spikes into rails,
the burly guards watching over them?
Those whistles give loneliness and departure a voice.
It is the kind of loneliness I can take in my arms, tasting
of tears that comfort even as they burn, dampening the pillows
and all the feathers of all the geese who were plucked to fill
them.
Perhaps I embrace the music of departure--song without lyrics,
so I can learn to love it, though I don't love it now.
For at the end of the story, when sky and clouds and grass,
and even you my love of so many years,
have almost disappeared,
it will be all there is left to love.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Bug's in a movie!
Mads is in a movie! Her friend Jonathan is making a mockumentary and asked her to be in it! Here's the trailer. She's the drama queen. I like that.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
All's fair in love and bad yelp reviews: My Life and the US Census
So I guess it's only fitting that the fourth anniversary of my first day of Basic Training should be marked by a good old fashioned bitch-slapping by someone who doesn't get paid enough to get that angry.
Last night, I got a call from my 5'1", pregnant enumerator who was in tears because she got yelled at by the doorman of an apartment building she was trying to enumerate. As this wasn't the first time this apartment has given us trouble and as I was fairly pissed, I marched over, crocodile heels and all, to figure out what kind of class A idiot yells at a woman who looks like she is five minutes and one spicy meal away from labor. Luckily for us both, the doorman had gone home for the day and I was left to ponder how I really should wear flats given my foot condition, and flirt with the middle age, balding men who walked in and out of the lobby in hopes of finding out more information about the building association.
This morning, I called the realtor and received a chewing-out that would have done my TI proud. They don't want to be harassed, how dare I, insert your favorite cuss word, etc. Feeling slightly put out, I seethed quietly for about five minutes before calling the enumerator in question and making a battle plan. By the way, I think the word seethed may be an onamonapia judging by my the sounds emitted during my calming down session.
This afternoon, I braced myself for another ass-kicking as I had to call back what the census calls a "reluctant respondent", i.e they were so mean to the original enumerator that it is now my unhappy job to cajole them into acting like a human instead of a fiercely rapid dog. At first, Bob* wasn't too happy to hear from me. However, I tried to make a few jokes and by the time we reached "How old were you on April 1, 2010?", Bob was clearly enjoying himself. After deploring the idea that other people would be mean to enumerators, he asked me how old I was on April 1, 2010. When I responded "23, by 1 day", he proceeded to tell me that unfortunately, we couldn't date because he had just learned that there's a rule about how young is too young. You divide your own age in half and add seven. Since he was 42, I was simply too young. The funny thing is, I just learned about that rule too, from last weeks episode of "Parks and Recreation".
The interview progressed and at the last question, in an attempt to be humorous I asked "Now Bob, hopefully someone won't call back, but if they decide to verify my work to make sure I'm not sitting in a bar somewhere writing down random names, what's the best number to reach you?" At this Bob asks, "What bar are you at? I'll come down and buy you a drink. You sound fun". I laughed my most "I swear I'm not creeped out" laugh and hurriedly ended the conversation but not before Bob reminded me that he now had my telephone number.
As I drove home, I felt this weird sense of deja vu until I realized that that exact scenario, weird respondent asks out woman interviewing him over the phone, had occurred in last weeks episode of "Parks and Recreation". Apparently Bob and I have more in common than I thought.
Last night, I got a call from my 5'1", pregnant enumerator who was in tears because she got yelled at by the doorman of an apartment building she was trying to enumerate. As this wasn't the first time this apartment has given us trouble and as I was fairly pissed, I marched over, crocodile heels and all, to figure out what kind of class A idiot yells at a woman who looks like she is five minutes and one spicy meal away from labor. Luckily for us both, the doorman had gone home for the day and I was left to ponder how I really should wear flats given my foot condition, and flirt with the middle age, balding men who walked in and out of the lobby in hopes of finding out more information about the building association.
This morning, I called the realtor and received a chewing-out that would have done my TI proud. They don't want to be harassed, how dare I, insert your favorite cuss word, etc. Feeling slightly put out, I seethed quietly for about five minutes before calling the enumerator in question and making a battle plan. By the way, I think the word seethed may be an onamonapia judging by my the sounds emitted during my calming down session.
This afternoon, I braced myself for another ass-kicking as I had to call back what the census calls a "reluctant respondent", i.e they were so mean to the original enumerator that it is now my unhappy job to cajole them into acting like a human instead of a fiercely rapid dog. At first, Bob* wasn't too happy to hear from me. However, I tried to make a few jokes and by the time we reached "How old were you on April 1, 2010?", Bob was clearly enjoying himself. After deploring the idea that other people would be mean to enumerators, he asked me how old I was on April 1, 2010. When I responded "23, by 1 day", he proceeded to tell me that unfortunately, we couldn't date because he had just learned that there's a rule about how young is too young. You divide your own age in half and add seven. Since he was 42, I was simply too young. The funny thing is, I just learned about that rule too, from last weeks episode of "Parks and Recreation".
The interview progressed and at the last question, in an attempt to be humorous I asked "Now Bob, hopefully someone won't call back, but if they decide to verify my work to make sure I'm not sitting in a bar somewhere writing down random names, what's the best number to reach you?" At this Bob asks, "What bar are you at? I'll come down and buy you a drink. You sound fun". I laughed my most "I swear I'm not creeped out" laugh and hurriedly ended the conversation but not before Bob reminded me that he now had my telephone number.
As I drove home, I felt this weird sense of deja vu until I realized that that exact scenario, weird respondent asks out woman interviewing him over the phone, had occurred in last weeks episode of "Parks and Recreation". Apparently Bob and I have more in common than I thought.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Biblical Plagues and the Census
One of the fantastic by-products of this sustained period of under-employed is that I feel super excited about being around people again. A lot of people that I work with are in similar situations; they were self-employed or lost their jobs or need to take a second job to support a family. We are the island of misfit toys but have hit it off, probably because we've all had pretty lonely years. It's exciting to see my own personal growth in this area and my increasing willingness to reach out to unlikely people. It's an awesome opportunity to share the gospel and I'm hoping for increased chances.
However, there a couple people who test this new found growth to the max.
One in particular is someone I supervise. Try as I might, I find him exasperating, slightly creepy and obnoxious. He causes problems so bizarre, it reads like a SNL sketch- discarded because it's too far fetched. After one such problem caused me to jettison my Friday night plans and hunt for lost government documents, I was so annoyed I could hardly see straight. It carried into Saturday and I dreaded the inevitable 2-5 phone calls I would receive from him.
As I walked home from a block party on Saturday, I couldn't stop thinking about it. As irritated as I was/am, I felt really convicted by my attitude. I know that we're told from a young age that God loves us all but as I was walking home, I was meditating upon the fact that we are all equally made in the image of God. As Christians, we are called to live against the fall (as Wesley would say) and try to look more like Jesus but our original makeup remains the same. I didn't pop out of the womb more made in the image of God than this man. Yes, some of his personal habits may drive me crazy but the fact that we are both Imago Dei should radically transform how I see and relate to him. Regardless of whether or not he is a Christian, he was made in the Image of God and that level alone implies a standard of relation that I should be held to.
Unrelated but also pressing: Why did Israel get the smack down in 2 Samuel 24 after conducting the census? What did David do wrong? It seems so random. I bet people in Chicago wouldn't be so rude to my enumerators if they knew a biblical plague was the punishment for not filling out your questionnaire. But then again, it is Chicago so...
However, there a couple people who test this new found growth to the max.
One in particular is someone I supervise. Try as I might, I find him exasperating, slightly creepy and obnoxious. He causes problems so bizarre, it reads like a SNL sketch- discarded because it's too far fetched. After one such problem caused me to jettison my Friday night plans and hunt for lost government documents, I was so annoyed I could hardly see straight. It carried into Saturday and I dreaded the inevitable 2-5 phone calls I would receive from him.
As I walked home from a block party on Saturday, I couldn't stop thinking about it. As irritated as I was/am, I felt really convicted by my attitude. I know that we're told from a young age that God loves us all but as I was walking home, I was meditating upon the fact that we are all equally made in the image of God. As Christians, we are called to live against the fall (as Wesley would say) and try to look more like Jesus but our original makeup remains the same. I didn't pop out of the womb more made in the image of God than this man. Yes, some of his personal habits may drive me crazy but the fact that we are both Imago Dei should radically transform how I see and relate to him. Regardless of whether or not he is a Christian, he was made in the Image of God and that level alone implies a standard of relation that I should be held to.
Unrelated but also pressing: Why did Israel get the smack down in 2 Samuel 24 after conducting the census? What did David do wrong? It seems so random. I bet people in Chicago wouldn't be so rude to my enumerators if they knew a biblical plague was the punishment for not filling out your questionnaire. But then again, it is Chicago so...
Monday, May 10, 2010
Saturday, May 8, 2010
errata
by Charles Simic
Where it says snow
read teeth-marks of a virgin
Where it says knife read
you passed through my bones
like a police-whistle
Where it says table read horse
Where it says horse read my migrant's bundle
Apples are to remain apples
Each time a hat appears
think of Isaac Newton
reading the Old Testament
Remove all periods
They are scars made by words
I couldn't bring myself to say
Put a finger over each sunrise
it will blind you otherwise
That damn ant is still stirring
Will there be time left to list
all errors to replace
all hands guns owls plates
all cigars ponds woods and reach
that beer-bottle my greatest mistake
the word I allowed to be written
when I should have shouted
her name
Where it says snow
read teeth-marks of a virgin
Where it says knife read
you passed through my bones
like a police-whistle
Where it says table read horse
Where it says horse read my migrant's bundle
Apples are to remain apples
Each time a hat appears
think of Isaac Newton
reading the Old Testament
Remove all periods
They are scars made by words
I couldn't bring myself to say
Put a finger over each sunrise
it will blind you otherwise
That damn ant is still stirring
Will there be time left to list
all errors to replace
all hands guns owls plates
all cigars ponds woods and reach
that beer-bottle my greatest mistake
the word I allowed to be written
when I should have shouted
her name
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