My days are now defined by "the quiet car" on the Metra to and from the city. Twenty-five minutes of blissful reading in quiet. I even feel empowered to "shush" the errant commuter who didn't realize that he or she got on the "quiet car" by mistake. "Shush - this is the quiet car," I announce with a gleeful Schadenfreude-like smirk! And then I quickly settle down to reading Daniel Silva, Faye Kellerman, Sara Paretsky, Lee Child or Brad Thor. I get so involved at times with my fictional "heroes" that I will even come home to read more about their adventures.
I wonder to myself, "Who am I turning into?" I have taken up jewelry making, and reading after a hiatus of nearly 30 years, and watercolor painting whimsical animals with quirky personalities. This is who I am after all those years of psycho analysis - and jobs that I hated - and condos that I tolerated. This is who I really am. A middle aged woman who wants and enjoys her quiet life. Who likes the conversations she has with friends - and her sister, Deb. Who is content with the day to day. Who is delighted to be rid of the worst job I've had since I was 30. Who will tell off the next boss who says to me, "Shhhhh, that's enough now." I still resent him. But maybe he got the hint when I didn't share my good email address - and didn't write him back. How dare you "shush" me when it took me 19 years to get a voice. Who do you think you are? I should "unfriend" him on FB. True to my personality though, I'm too nice to be really as rude back to him as he was to me.
I like me. I like the quiet car. I like having fictional heroes that I follow. I like to think about them when I am not reading about them. They fill a needed gap in my psyche. These are people that I know that are defined. They will not surprise me. They will not disappoint me. They are who they are and I accept them for that. They accept me for being the reader who follows them. All is good.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
The Bane of Cell Phones
"I'm on my way, I'll be there soon." "I'm on my way, I'll be there soon." "Yes, I'm on my way, I'll be there soon." These three sentences proclaimed loudly. Oh, I forgot, there was one more. "I'm on my way, I'll be there soon."
Was she talking to someone who couldn't hear? Someone, perhaps, that could not understand? It doesn't matter to whom she spoke. She was way too loud and I totally did not care whether she even got to her destination at all. In fact, had she repeated the offending sentence one more time, I would have assured her that she would not be arriving as she expected. Or as her listener was expecting.
Before cell phones, friends and family had to wait for our expected arrival. Before cell phones, we could not update our loved ones with the next impending three seconds of our life. Before cell phones there was civility. Oh how I long for civility to return to our society. But I fear, this is a long time in coming. If ever again.
It's bad when this loud conversation is carried on in English - even if it is English of which the Dominican Nuns would not approve -- read street English. But it is worse when the conversation is carried on loudly in Mandarin or Farsi or Polish. I have nothing against people that don't speak English - but do they have to do it so loudly? All these folks, English speaking and foreign born that have not yet learned the language of the country they have decided to make their own, are equally annoying. Why do people talk so loudly on cell phones?
They do fall into types - trust me.
1. "I can't stand the silence around me so I have to call everyone that I know that has a 10-digit phone number." I ask you, what is so frightening about the sounds of silence? The sounds of your own thoughts? For some, there is a mortal fear of quiet. Take the man I had the mis-fortune of sitting next to on a 55-minute bus ride. Having finished one call, and thus giving me hope for silence, he proceeded to phone every number in his contacts list. And this was a man that had a lot of contacts. Lots of friends. Too bad he didn't count himself among that group - he could have sat quietly (providing me with peace and him with solitude) but he must have found his own company to be onerous. He was still talking when I departed the bus 55 minutes later.
2. "I hate all my friends, and HAVE to phone my mom to let her know." Okay you are 25 and you hate your roommate - you have choices here. Tell her you hate her - move out - rent another apartment and don't include her in the lease. At 25 you should be reasonably mature. Why do you have to spew your aggravation to your mom of all people on a long bus ride. I don't give a rat's ass how aggravated you are with this woman. I don't care to hear the history of her sex life. I don't care to hear that your boyfriend hit on her. Nor do I give a rip that her boyfriend was entertaining other women in the apartment when she was not there. TMI - Read my lips. Too Much Information!
3. "Okay, I'm as good as you and I can afford this cell phone." So this person sits there with a jubilant smile on his/her face determined to wreck your ride to wherever. Because, you see, "He/she can afford that phone." Okay, get over your inferiority complex. No one cares anymore that you are a minority with a cell phone - no one is wondering whether you sold drugs to pay for it - plain and simple, no one cares anymore. They just want your ass to be quiet and try, just TRY to act like your neighbor on the train that is simply reading text messages and not trying to act them out like you have been this entire ride. Really, like shaking your neck from side to side is going to intimidate whoever is on the other side of the receiver?
4. "I'm just going to ignore my family because this phone that is so much more important is sitting in my hand."
Was she talking to someone who couldn't hear? Someone, perhaps, that could not understand? It doesn't matter to whom she spoke. She was way too loud and I totally did not care whether she even got to her destination at all. In fact, had she repeated the offending sentence one more time, I would have assured her that she would not be arriving as she expected. Or as her listener was expecting.
Before cell phones, friends and family had to wait for our expected arrival. Before cell phones, we could not update our loved ones with the next impending three seconds of our life. Before cell phones there was civility. Oh how I long for civility to return to our society. But I fear, this is a long time in coming. If ever again.
It's bad when this loud conversation is carried on in English - even if it is English of which the Dominican Nuns would not approve -- read street English. But it is worse when the conversation is carried on loudly in Mandarin or Farsi or Polish. I have nothing against people that don't speak English - but do they have to do it so loudly? All these folks, English speaking and foreign born that have not yet learned the language of the country they have decided to make their own, are equally annoying. Why do people talk so loudly on cell phones?
They do fall into types - trust me.
1. "I can't stand the silence around me so I have to call everyone that I know that has a 10-digit phone number." I ask you, what is so frightening about the sounds of silence? The sounds of your own thoughts? For some, there is a mortal fear of quiet. Take the man I had the mis-fortune of sitting next to on a 55-minute bus ride. Having finished one call, and thus giving me hope for silence, he proceeded to phone every number in his contacts list. And this was a man that had a lot of contacts. Lots of friends. Too bad he didn't count himself among that group - he could have sat quietly (providing me with peace and him with solitude) but he must have found his own company to be onerous. He was still talking when I departed the bus 55 minutes later.
2. "I hate all my friends, and HAVE to phone my mom to let her know." Okay you are 25 and you hate your roommate - you have choices here. Tell her you hate her - move out - rent another apartment and don't include her in the lease. At 25 you should be reasonably mature. Why do you have to spew your aggravation to your mom of all people on a long bus ride. I don't give a rat's ass how aggravated you are with this woman. I don't care to hear the history of her sex life. I don't care to hear that your boyfriend hit on her. Nor do I give a rip that her boyfriend was entertaining other women in the apartment when she was not there. TMI - Read my lips. Too Much Information!
3. "Okay, I'm as good as you and I can afford this cell phone." So this person sits there with a jubilant smile on his/her face determined to wreck your ride to wherever. Because, you see, "He/she can afford that phone." Okay, get over your inferiority complex. No one cares anymore that you are a minority with a cell phone - no one is wondering whether you sold drugs to pay for it - plain and simple, no one cares anymore. They just want your ass to be quiet and try, just TRY to act like your neighbor on the train that is simply reading text messages and not trying to act them out like you have been this entire ride. Really, like shaking your neck from side to side is going to intimidate whoever is on the other side of the receiver?
4. "I'm just going to ignore my family because this phone that is so much more important is sitting in my hand."
Blondes - Mystique, Magic, Mystery, Mindless
I wrote just a vitriolic piece on the magic of blonde women. However, I cannot find it. . . which makes me think the angels have been at work again. . .saving me from some future embarrassment. So I shall save the vitriol for now and simply ask one question: Why are men so fascinated by blonde women? Why are men so taken with potential idiocy as long as it holds the form of "You Mr. Mr. are THE smartest, handsomest man I have ever seen - never mind that you are my boss and 75 years older than me -never mind that you are troll-like in height - I will beguile you with my siren like (read stupid), vapid inanities. I will twist you around my little finger and when I decide to let you go, you won't have enough breath left to get your sorry ass home. In the meantime, because I am allowing you to get caught up in my sticky web, I will let you go. But only when I say so and at my cost. That cost will be a salary that is close to yours - never mind that I have 1/100th the amount of experience. I will walk away with a title of Executive Vice President - never mind that I have 2 years experience, and 1 of that 2 was spent trying to understand my current job. I am blonde. Hear me roar. Watch my ascent to the top. Get your back ready for I will walk upon it as well. But, Mr. Boss Man, I need you to stay alive even though you are 75 years older than me because as we all know, I can't do this job alone. I need your support because as soon as I am left to my own devices, I will probably self-destruct. I pray for you daily because when you retire, my free ride is gone - and destruction soon will follow."
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Painting at the Hidden Garden in Back of the Zoo
Talent comes and goes. For some it comes and stays. For me it waxes and wanes like that very large orb that we see in the sky periodically. My talent feels just as elusive as well. Why and how could I have painted this somewhere between 1985 and 1990, and today I feel that I cannot even paint a leaf. What happened? I used to feel so passionate about my art. I couldn't wait to come home to it. I woke up to its embrace. I spoke of "it" to everyone and anyone that would listen to me. I ruined my dining room table in pursuit of it. But then I drifted and so did my talent.
Now I am stuck trying to paint a leaf - oh can I even remember to draw? The title of my blog is "I draw to remember: I paint to forget." It is very literal. I have to remember all that I was taught when I try to draw anything. But when I would start to paint, I forgot all and everything around me. However, I feel that I have forgotten to know even how to paint. This has to be transitional. I refuse to let this define me. I love color too much. After all, my aptitude tests defined me as an artist.
My profile was "identical" to that of many famous artists - so the aptitude test expert declared. I shall hold on to his pronouncements. I will paint again. Perhaps better. No, let's forget the qualifier "perhaps." I will paint better.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Civility - Where did it Go?
When I was a child, I was strongly encouraged to be a real child. "Be seen and not heard" was the modus operandi of the day. That philosophy, while probably too far in one direction, should be brought back today. We had to call adults by a title and their last name: So it was "Mr." Barber, not "John." It was "Mrs. Smith" and not "Sally." To this day, I call adults older than me "Mr." or "Mrs." Perhaps that's going a tad bit far but I don't necessarily think it appropriate that a 4-year old call me by my first name. He or she hasn't yet earned that honor.
I can only fault my generation for raising a bunch of "I'm so special" young adults that seem to fill the world today. I've worked with them, hired some by mistake, and have to sit next to them on public transportation all the time. I want to say, "No you are not special. You are not the smartest, prettiest, cutest, funniest person on the planet. You are just an ordinary person like the rest of us. Get used to it. . . or better yet, get over it."
Of course since I was raised in my generation and am uptight with manners, I would never do that because, God forbid, I might hurt their feelings. I'm sorry but their feelings deserve to be hurt.
And when and why did my generation stop teaching common sense to their kids? This would have required correcting their children, and my generation wanted their kids to 'like' them. Correcting the child would imply criticism and the kid would not like the parent - ergo, common sense went the route of the Nehru suit.
I would rather have an employee that had 100 points of common sense compared to an individual with an IQ of 190 with no common sense. The last person with whom I worked thought she was such a brain but did not have the common sense to come in out of the rain. I used to think, "there is no such thing as a stupid question." That is a stupid expression because this woman proved there are stupid questions.
Why did my generation stop teaching their special progeny that they only need consider their own feelings. Why didn't they whisper to these wonderful children that there are others on the planet with whom they have to share? I am constantly boggled by the lack of civility in America today.
Signs abound on the bus about not eating. But, ride the CTA - bus, rail, whatever - you see families taking out full picnic lunches and proceeding to chow down. Who gave them this right? Starbucks coffee cups abound in the morning on moving, jerking vehicles that inadvertently stop suddenly. I pity the fool that ever spills one on me.
And why do I have to be subjected to hearing to hearing in excruciating detail, why the talker in question hates her "friend." This of course is being loudly shared with whoever is on the other end of that candy bar looking device that everyone seems to be attached to - the ubiquitous cell phone. "I'm just five minutes away - I'm on the bus - I had a bad night -went to the bar. . . and no, he didn't call me like he promised." I do not need to hear this banal patter.
What happened to civility and to privacy? I do not want to hear the details of some stranger's life. I have enough issues with my own life. If nothing else, being forced to listen in takes me out of my zone that is "all about me." But at least, I'm "all about me" quietly. I'm not sharing the intimate details of my life publicly. I'm not eating my dinner in front of by other bus or train ride compatriots. I'm not slurping my "Chai latte skim no-fat decaf extra tall" all over some stranger's new white silk outfit.
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