Since I quit and/or got fired (it's hard to say with these things) from the factory, the library is practically my new home. It's all fair, though, because half their books are staying at my house now. Did you know you can renew your borrowed items indefinitely with just the click of a button?
It must be fun to work at the library. I suppose it's not unlike working the counter just about anyplace. I'll never forget cashiering at the thrift store... Used lipstick? Really? Then again, we were the ones selling it.
I have made good use of the library's new self-checkout technology, but one unfortunate day it is malfunctioning. So I bring my selections up to the librarian at the desk. I place them conveniently face-down, barcode up. This does not fool the librarian. Invariably, he turns them right-side up after scanning, while I scramble to sweep them from the counter into my bag as quickly as possible without looking more crazy than my erratic literary collection already suggests. How to Get Published, Jobs in Education, Starting Your Own Business, Top 50 International Careers, The Idiot's Guide to Stop Sucking at Life... it's humiliating!
When he finishes silently judging me, Mr. I-Have-A-Job Librarian looks me in the eye and sincerely requests that I "have a nice day." Clearly, one day is all he figures I can afford.
I mentally fashion my college degree into a book cover.
20100430
20100415
Maca
I recently returned from living in Korea. Shortly after returning home, I purchased a hammock. This was in March. Now, I have lived in Portland, Oregon long enough to know that you don't need a hammock in March, if ever. Needless to say, people thought I was a little nuts. Assuring them of my intention to keep the hammock inside the house did nothing to relieve their concerns about my sanity, however.
Living abroad had opened my mind to new ways of sleeping, see, and why should I be confined to a bed? After all, Koreans traditionally use sleeping mats on the floor, and some Brazilians still use hammocks for beds. And it's not like I didn't try to get a bed, but have you been to the mattress store?! It's freaky! All these ghostly white beds everywhere and no customers, and the place is completely silent -- except for the creepy salesman following me around asking semi-invasive questions. I can't work like this! I ran out of the store.
I have had an irrational obsession with themen nation of Brazil for some time now. I have never been to Brazil, or South America for that matter, but I am desperately determined to marry my way into the country. Or at least visit. As I am still recovering from my last overseas adventure and don't see another one happening in the near future, I impatiently opted to bring Brazil to me instead, in the form of a bright red, hand-woven tumble of cotton. With fringe.
In my extensive research, I learned more than I ever wanted to about hammocks. I came across one website that introduced me to the "Artisans," offering a picture of a half-naked, presumably Brazilian, man standing by a loom. An unforeseen benefit of my international business transaction: I could possibly be supporting my future husband! I was pleased to discover that hammocks are supposedly better for your health than beds, although I did not see how this could possibly be true. Also, I measured my room and realized that for the hammock to fit at all, it would have to cut the room in half diagonally and stick out the door a few inches.
Most would turn back at this point. But most are not as hopelessly devoted to Brazil as I am. Besides, I had been sleeping in a bed practically my whole life, and where had it gotten me?! Working in a factory. I bought the hammock.
This is the part where I testify how sleeping in a hammock has changed my life, given me more energy and better skin and an infinite stream of Brazilian suitors. But in reality, this hammocks-are-beds-too business was the falsest advertising of the year!! I slept diagonally, "the Brazilian way," just like the experts instructed, but could not make it through the night without waking up with a sore back and at least one of my limbs asleep. Every time I thought I had figured out how to sleep in the thing, I would wake up more uncomfortable than ever! There was nothing left to do but shove the awful thing into the back of the garage and pretend that $200 never happened.
What now? I can't go back to that mattress freakhouse. Maybe I should get a mat and sleep on the floor...
Living abroad had opened my mind to new ways of sleeping, see, and why should I be confined to a bed? After all, Koreans traditionally use sleeping mats on the floor, and some Brazilians still use hammocks for beds. And it's not like I didn't try to get a bed, but have you been to the mattress store?! It's freaky! All these ghostly white beds everywhere and no customers, and the place is completely silent -- except for the creepy salesman following me around asking semi-invasive questions. I can't work like this! I ran out of the store.
I have had an irrational obsession with the
In my extensive research, I learned more than I ever wanted to about hammocks. I came across one website that introduced me to the "Artisans," offering a picture of a half-naked, presumably Brazilian, man standing by a loom. An unforeseen benefit of my international business transaction: I could possibly be supporting my future husband! I was pleased to discover that hammocks are supposedly better for your health than beds, although I did not see how this could possibly be true. Also, I measured my room and realized that for the hammock to fit at all, it would have to cut the room in half diagonally and stick out the door a few inches.
Most would turn back at this point. But most are not as hopelessly devoted to Brazil as I am. Besides, I had been sleeping in a bed practically my whole life, and where had it gotten me?! Working in a factory. I bought the hammock.
This is the part where I testify how sleeping in a hammock has changed my life, given me more energy and better skin and an infinite stream of Brazilian suitors. But in reality, this hammocks-are-beds-too business was the falsest advertising of the year!! I slept diagonally, "the Brazilian way," just like the experts instructed, but could not make it through the night without waking up with a sore back and at least one of my limbs asleep. Every time I thought I had figured out how to sleep in the thing, I would wake up more uncomfortable than ever! There was nothing left to do but shove the awful thing into the back of the garage and pretend that $200 never happened.
What now? I can't go back to that mattress freakhouse. Maybe I should get a mat and sleep on the floor...
20100315
Baby Namer
As I bend tubes, tighten screws, and glue cables for 10 hours one day, I frantically brainstorm vocational possibilities that do not involve bending tubes, tightening screws, or gluing cables. Or 10-hour shifts. Or a pervasive cloud of despair, but I digress.
After a quick elimination of every career in existence, it becomes obvious that I need to start my own business. But what to sell? A product or a service? I know, I could... no, that won't work. Hey, I could sell... no, that's been done. What I need is a specialty, a niche... what's something that only I can do, that matches my skills and passions? This line of thinking amuses me for a good portion of overtime and brings about some interesting, albeit unfeasible, results. I visualize myself serving vegan cupcakes to immigrants enrolled in my backyard English school staffed by homeless people, while ballroom dancing in a homemade pirate costume... I mean, if my backyard were bigger than my bathroom, then maybe...
While I review my interests, my long-time obsession with names stands out to me as worth exploring. I remember owning a stuffed animal named something like Sparky Bainbridge Fred Henry Poindexter. And that was just his nickname. Maybe I could do name research, like study meanings and origins and all that. But why would anyone pay me for that? Because they're going to have a baby, of course! That's it -- I'll be a Professional Baby Namer!! By golly, I do believe I have just found my calling. I'm already writing the ad copy in my head...
Are you pregnant? Too stressed and busy to even think about baby names? Tired of the unsolicited advice from in-laws? Can't agree with your spouse? Leave it to the professionals. For just $50, we'll name your baby and for a limited time only, middle names are half off with purchase!* Our services are also available for:
- Pet Names
- English names for Foreigners**
- Witness Protection Program Participants
*Ask about our special rates for twins.
** Based on your professional goals and/or current hairstyle
Yes, this idea is almost too ridiculous to work, yet not entirely impossible! Just look at Wedding Planners -- now there's a silly profession. And baby naming is the exact same idea: something you could do yourself if you weren't so overwhelmed with all the possibilities. So there's got to be a market for that.
This is the moment when my new occupation swings right over the top of the swingset, as I like to say. I suddenly realize that Professional Baby Namers already exist. They must. When have I ever had a genius idea that someone else didn't think of first? As soon as 3:30 hits, freeing me from Japanese chemicals and the American work force, I'm off to research my suspicions and am proven correct. "Baby Naming Consultant," it's called. Now I'm right back where I started, which is... not far enough from a certain factory.
I mentally thank my college degree for nothing.
After a quick elimination of every career in existence, it becomes obvious that I need to start my own business. But what to sell? A product or a service? I know, I could... no, that won't work. Hey, I could sell... no, that's been done. What I need is a specialty, a niche... what's something that only I can do, that matches my skills and passions? This line of thinking amuses me for a good portion of overtime and brings about some interesting, albeit unfeasible, results. I visualize myself serving vegan cupcakes to immigrants enrolled in my backyard English school staffed by homeless people, while ballroom dancing in a homemade pirate costume... I mean, if my backyard were bigger than my bathroom, then maybe...
While I review my interests, my long-time obsession with names stands out to me as worth exploring. I remember owning a stuffed animal named something like Sparky Bainbridge Fred Henry Poindexter. And that was just his nickname. Maybe I could do name research, like study meanings and origins and all that. But why would anyone pay me for that? Because they're going to have a baby, of course! That's it -- I'll be a Professional Baby Namer!! By golly, I do believe I have just found my calling. I'm already writing the ad copy in my head...
Are you pregnant? Too stressed and busy to even think about baby names? Tired of the unsolicited advice from in-laws? Can't agree with your spouse? Leave it to the professionals. For just $50, we'll name your baby and for a limited time only, middle names are half off with purchase!* Our services are also available for:
- Pet Names
- English names for Foreigners**
- Witness Protection Program Participants
*Ask about our special rates for twins.
** Based on your professional goals and/or current hairstyle
Yes, this idea is almost too ridiculous to work, yet not entirely impossible! Just look at Wedding Planners -- now there's a silly profession. And baby naming is the exact same idea: something you could do yourself if you weren't so overwhelmed with all the possibilities. So there's got to be a market for that.
This is the moment when my new occupation swings right over the top of the swingset, as I like to say. I suddenly realize that Professional Baby Namers already exist. They must. When have I ever had a genius idea that someone else didn't think of first? As soon as 3:30 hits, freeing me from Japanese chemicals and the American work force, I'm off to research my suspicions and am proven correct. "Baby Naming Consultant," it's called. Now I'm right back where I started, which is... not far enough from a certain factory.
I mentally thank my college degree for nothing.
20100305
Daylight Savings
Don't ask why I'm working in a factory. I'm working in a factory. My collar is literally blue. Not only am I working in a factory, I am getting up at the godforsaken hour of 3:30 a.m. to commute 40 minutes to work in said factory. My roommate is still up when I force myself awake.
As far as factories go, it's actually not too bad. What makes it truly unbearable is the people. Don't get me wrong, I get along with everyone. My fellow assemblers are friendly, hygienic, generally non-lethal. The problem is that they only come in two categories. The first kind I can deal with...
"Ah was born in this town and ah'll die in this town, mah muther worked in this factory and mah daughter works in this factory and mah husband's a truck drahver only he got laid off, so ah looove workin overtahme, nothin to do in this town but go to bed before the sun goes down inyway." These ones are simply fulfilling their blue-collar destinies, and they're OK with that. Some of them are even chipper. They don't bother me too much.
The other kind is seriously making me depressed.
"Oh, I'm just working here temporarily for 12 years before I go back to school and start my own accounting business even though I'm 10 years away from retirement." What's depressing about this (besides all of it) is that I, too, went to college; I, too, am single and childless (and penniless and clueless); I, too, insist that this is temporary, and while I may be far from middle-aged, Daylight Savings is coming up only to remind me that my life is disappearing before my eyes. It doesn't matter that I'm still on the temp agency's payroll and have solemnly vowed to get out of here before the company hires me on. I see myself becoming Type 2 and from there, condemning my future offspring (who could only be the result of factory inbreeding -- dear God no) to Type 1. For the sake of my children's children, I must get out!!!
As far as factories go, it's actually not too bad. What makes it truly unbearable is the people. Don't get me wrong, I get along with everyone. My fellow assemblers are friendly, hygienic, generally non-lethal. The problem is that they only come in two categories. The first kind I can deal with...
"Ah was born in this town and ah'll die in this town, mah muther worked in this factory and mah daughter works in this factory and mah husband's a truck drahver only he got laid off, so ah looove workin overtahme, nothin to do in this town but go to bed before the sun goes down inyway." These ones are simply fulfilling their blue-collar destinies, and they're OK with that. Some of them are even chipper. They don't bother me too much.
The other kind is seriously making me depressed.
"Oh, I'm just working here temporarily for 12 years before I go back to school and start my own accounting business even though I'm 10 years away from retirement." What's depressing about this (besides all of it) is that I, too, went to college; I, too, am single and childless (and penniless and clueless); I, too, insist that this is temporary, and while I may be far from middle-aged, Daylight Savings is coming up only to remind me that my life is disappearing before my eyes. It doesn't matter that I'm still on the temp agency's payroll and have solemnly vowed to get out of here before the company hires me on. I see myself becoming Type 2 and from there, condemning my future offspring (who could only be the result of factory inbreeding -- dear God no) to Type 1. For the sake of my children's children, I must get out!!!
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