Withdrawal...
I spoke to Australia early this morning. It was late at night there, but mum was still up, and ready for her 'fix'. (She often employs the parlance of the common junkie when referring to her children, which should perhaps be disconcerting, but is also kind of awesome.)
I myself had been jonesing for some contact with Australia; (hyperlink for mum's benefit... not sure she's that advanced yet) an unexpected bi-product and perhaps overreaction to the receipt of my 'Greencard' or, Permanent Resident's card.
That word, permanent, has been thrown around quite a bit since getting married and applying for legal residence in the United States, and since finishing my last job, exactly three whole weeks ago, I've had a bit too much time on my hands to think about what it means.
So, it is always nice to be saved from the plughole of my own brain with an uplifting chat to mum, and to hear tale of the latest from way down under.
She tells me a story about my seven year old niece, Anastasia, who came to lunch at her grandmother's house today. In her pajamas. Evidently she 'couldn't be bothered getting dressed', due to a 'big weekend with the cousins'.
Most unfortunately mum didn't have a picture, but I'm rather fond of the one in my head. I love the idea of my goddaughter, too spent to change out of her flannels, casually throwing on some sneakers and a coat, heading off to high tea with the grand matriach. I'm still trying to decide whether this makes her rockstar, or a welfare mother.
I'm not good at not working. Or rather, not being paid by someone else to do something. Every time I have a break from it I suffer from severe withdrawal, in every sense; I crave work, and I react by disappearing into a big black hole... this time in Brooklyn.
Later in the evening, as I'm crashing from the mum-high, the phone rings and it's my most lovely friend from grad school, David. Recently moved back to Pittsburgh (or as Sienna Miller affectionately dubbed it 'Shitsburgh') so he could live rent free and reassess the world. As I bemoan my lack of employment, he reminds me, 'it could be worse, you could have my job'.
David recently started work at a call center for a cable company. It's not telemarketing, but it's only one rung above. He gets paid about $19,000 pa, and he won't receive any sick leave or vaction pay for twelve months.
He tells me a story about a recent conference with one of the bosses, where David felt the need to ask the question about what he should do if he needs to visit the bathroom outside of his one allocated lunch break (45 mins) and two allocated ten minute breaks. His manager replied, 'I don't like to answer that question'.
I listen and then laugh at my poor, compliant friend, thinking his boss doesn't want to answer because it will embarrass him. ('What do you think you do? You get up and go! We're all grown ups here'.)
In fact, it turns out that what his manager doesn't like to say is that technically, 'employees are not allowed to get up from their desks, EXCEPT during those allocated breaks, and if absences of more than two minutes are logged by their computers, employees will be docked.'
I say, 'QUIT! QUIT NOW!!'
'I can't', David says, 'Not before Wednesday. Wednesday is Mudcup Day, every employee gets a free chocolate pudding.
I tell him to start a blog. You can't make that stuff up.
The truth is, I'm not unemployed. I'm self employed. I have plenty of work to do. Lots of self promotion and hustling and nose-to-the-grinding... but my manager is a lot less rigid than David's. I can go to the bathroom whenever I choose. And I can drink bourbon while I'm there if I want.
If history is anything to go by, rehabilition is inevitable. Something will come up. A big hand will reach into the black hole and pull me out. I'll be back on top, and wondering what all the fuss was about. And hopefully in fewer than twelve steps.
Meanwhile, I might take a leaf out of Ana's book, and enjoy the pajamas while I can.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A word about assholes... (sorry mum)
About six years ago, in a time of my life before digital cameras, I travelled around Mexico for five weeks. One of the stops on the journey was Chichen Itza, a pre-columbian archeological site built by the Mayans.
The place is amazing. So amazing it's recently been named one of the 'NEW' Seven Wonders of the World.
The centerpiece of this ancient village is 'El Castillo', which is incredible for a number of freaky mathematical and astrological reasons that Wikipedia can tell you about, but suffice to say, it's also just kind of unreal to behold:
When I first saw Chichen Itza however, I got to do more than look, I got to climb the EXTREMELY steep steps of El Castillo, and look out over the breathtaking Mayan city. Also, thanks to archaeologists, you could venture inside a doorway at the base of the north staircase, which leads to a tunnel, from which one can climb the steps of the earlier version of El Castillo, inside the current one, up to the room on the top where you can see King Kukulcan's Jaguar throne. Carved of stone and painted red with jade spots, it's believed to have been a gift from Guatalmalans, who would have come to Chichen Itza for trade, though how they transported the large, heavy statue, remains a Stonehenge-style mystery.
The journey inside the chamber is not for the faint-hearted, and more than one turned back. The passage is narrower than an economy seat on an aeroplane, oxygen is scant, and the walls are damp with condensation from all the breath and sweat. That said, it remains one of the most thrilling things I've ever experienced, sitting right there, just where they found it, just as the Mayans left it.
In an album somewhere I have photos of me dangling precariously from the one, thick rope hanging down the side of the temple, kindly provided to assist in the climb. And I have photos of the unimpeded, breathtaking (and well-earned) view from the top. I don't have photos of the Jaguar, because flashes were not allowed, and in case you can't see where this is going, I'm not an asshole.
This year, in July, Dan and I got married and then honeymooned on the Yucatan peninsula. I couldn't wait to show him Chichen Itza - he being a far bigger history nerd than... well, just about anybody.
This was Dan's experience of El Castillo:
If you look very closely behind him, you'll see that the climbing rope has been replaced by an extremely thin, sad little museum style string all around the base. And there's no more climbing, or vista beholding.
The door that leads to the tunnel that leads to the steps that lead to the jaguar, is also barred. Presumably forever.
Why?
Because of assholes.
Because of asshole travellers who couldn't stop themselves from taking photos of, and damaging the ancient jaguar throne. Apparently some grand, head asshole even stole the jade eyes and the teeth.
And the climbing is allowed no more because of travellers who were (to be more polite about it than our guide) relieving themselves at the top of the temple. That's plural. MULTIPLE people saw fit to use the top of this 1500 year old temple as a toilet. So now, naturally, nobody is allowed up there.
Now, instead of standing where the Mayans did and saying, 'THIS IS SO UNBELIEVABLY COOL!', we can stand at a safe distance, and say instead, 'that looks to be extremely cool'. And what is so extremely irritating to me is that it's not because the Mexicans have suddenly developed a consciousness of public liability issues (the prevailing culture for most tourist attractions still seems to be, 'don't be stupid about it, and you won't end up dead'), but because of a handful of idiots (probably a rather large handful), who in my opinion, have no business calling themselves travellers. And whose passports we should probably revoke.
And while it might be impressive to one day dig out an olde-worldy photo album, and show my grandchildren pictures of their crinkly, old Granny climbing an ancient temple, it REALLY frustrates me that I'll have to use the phrase, 'back before you weren't allowed to climb it anymore'.
And so I use the word ASSHOLE. Liberally. And again, with apologies to my mother, who taught me to know better.
About six years ago, in a time of my life before digital cameras, I travelled around Mexico for five weeks. One of the stops on the journey was Chichen Itza, a pre-columbian archeological site built by the Mayans.
The place is amazing. So amazing it's recently been named one of the 'NEW' Seven Wonders of the World.
The centerpiece of this ancient village is 'El Castillo', which is incredible for a number of freaky mathematical and astrological reasons that Wikipedia can tell you about, but suffice to say, it's also just kind of unreal to behold:
When I first saw Chichen Itza however, I got to do more than look, I got to climb the EXTREMELY steep steps of El Castillo, and look out over the breathtaking Mayan city. Also, thanks to archaeologists, you could venture inside a doorway at the base of the north staircase, which leads to a tunnel, from which one can climb the steps of the earlier version of El Castillo, inside the current one, up to the room on the top where you can see King Kukulcan's Jaguar throne. Carved of stone and painted red with jade spots, it's believed to have been a gift from Guatalmalans, who would have come to Chichen Itza for trade, though how they transported the large, heavy statue, remains a Stonehenge-style mystery.
The journey inside the chamber is not for the faint-hearted, and more than one turned back. The passage is narrower than an economy seat on an aeroplane, oxygen is scant, and the walls are damp with condensation from all the breath and sweat. That said, it remains one of the most thrilling things I've ever experienced, sitting right there, just where they found it, just as the Mayans left it.
In an album somewhere I have photos of me dangling precariously from the one, thick rope hanging down the side of the temple, kindly provided to assist in the climb. And I have photos of the unimpeded, breathtaking (and well-earned) view from the top. I don't have photos of the Jaguar, because flashes were not allowed, and in case you can't see where this is going, I'm not an asshole.
This year, in July, Dan and I got married and then honeymooned on the Yucatan peninsula. I couldn't wait to show him Chichen Itza - he being a far bigger history nerd than... well, just about anybody.
This was Dan's experience of El Castillo:
If you look very closely behind him, you'll see that the climbing rope has been replaced by an extremely thin, sad little museum style string all around the base. And there's no more climbing, or vista beholding.
The door that leads to the tunnel that leads to the steps that lead to the jaguar, is also barred. Presumably forever.
Why?
Because of assholes.
Because of asshole travellers who couldn't stop themselves from taking photos of, and damaging the ancient jaguar throne. Apparently some grand, head asshole even stole the jade eyes and the teeth.
And the climbing is allowed no more because of travellers who were (to be more polite about it than our guide) relieving themselves at the top of the temple. That's plural. MULTIPLE people saw fit to use the top of this 1500 year old temple as a toilet. So now, naturally, nobody is allowed up there.
Now, instead of standing where the Mayans did and saying, 'THIS IS SO UNBELIEVABLY COOL!', we can stand at a safe distance, and say instead, 'that looks to be extremely cool'. And what is so extremely irritating to me is that it's not because the Mexicans have suddenly developed a consciousness of public liability issues (the prevailing culture for most tourist attractions still seems to be, 'don't be stupid about it, and you won't end up dead'), but because of a handful of idiots (probably a rather large handful), who in my opinion, have no business calling themselves travellers. And whose passports we should probably revoke.
And while it might be impressive to one day dig out an olde-worldy photo album, and show my grandchildren pictures of their crinkly, old Granny climbing an ancient temple, it REALLY frustrates me that I'll have to use the phrase, 'back before you weren't allowed to climb it anymore'.
And so I use the word ASSHOLE. Liberally. And again, with apologies to my mother, who taught me to know better.
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