I made the mistake of reading my Year of the Ox forecast, which basically was filled with doom and gloom. I only have 3 positive months out of the coming year (dunno which 3, I guess that’s part of the premium subscription) and money is going to be tight (duh!) but if I’m lucky and adaptable, I might just be able to pull an eh kind of year.
Really? That’s the best the Chinese New Year horoscope could do.
I have a theory about horoscopes. They should always be either one of two things a) positive or b) intriguing. The first is obvious; nobody wants to hear bad news. Let’s face it Failure to take care and caution this year could result in future problems is never a good way to start the year off. And not for nothing, I could have figured that out for myself.
The second, intrigue, is just a subtle way of delivering bad news. Something’s about to give or similarly sinister nonsense. Vague is okay when it’s framed in a certain way, otherwise horoscopes read like bad fortune cookies instead of the godly prescience they are.
While vague is fine, a horoscope that hedges its bet ruins the effect. For instance:
The single Dragon will be happy to know that romance is favored this year, so you may find someone to share your experiences.
Giveth on the one hand and taketh away with the other. May find someone?!? How about Bitch, your singledom is over. You’ll be sharing your bed tonight!
I also think horoscopes should be explicit about a call to action. Look, maybe it’s unrealistic to expect a horoscope to tell me what to do for the entire year (though there are in fact horoscopes you can pay for that do just that and in excruciating detail -- notwithstanding you never run across a horoscope that says “jump off the cliff right now and save yourself a day of annoying coworkers, lost files, and snotty kids” or something to that effect). But still, my daily horoscope always tells it like it is.
People are going to be extra sensitive to whatever you say now, so be extra gentle.
Right? Not going to happen, but at least I was forewarned.
And all of this is especially true if you are reading a free horoscope. Sure, if you’re paying for it, you could argue for the bad news along with the good. But even then, you only get one shot at setting the tone for the day, and it might as well be a positive one. If you wake up on the wrong side of the bed, maybe your horoscope can provide a little cheer. If you are having a bad hair day, maybe your horoscope can offer a little intrigue. And maybe if it’s smart enough and you know far enough in advance, you’ll know ahead of time to call in sick and sit the day out completely.
Too bad, though, I can’t do that for the entire year. Can’t say I wasn’t warned though.
I actually like U2 a lot more than I ever want to admit. Mostly because they are so huge, so iconic, there isn’t even a bandwagon, it’s a whole fucking starship. It’s exhausting just thinking about being their fan, much less owning up to it.
But, along the years, U2 has never failed to release an album where I didn’t like, okay maybe love, at least one song, I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For, Mysterious Ways, Elevation, Vertigo, Window in the Skies, etc (obviously not an exhaustive list), and sometimes more than one. So now they have No Line on the Horizon forthcoming and frankly, I want to hate it already. I went through the same phase before the release of All That You Can’t Leave Behind and How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb. I can’t explain, I just don’t want to be a U2 fan.
Anyway, they are going out on tour this summer and I won’t go see them. They will play Get on Your Boots the Brit Awards and I will ignore the YouTube clip (since they don’t air stuff like that in the U.S. anyway). I will deliberately do my best to tune out the U2 publicity machine and yet somehow, like it always does, I will end up hearing, knowing and loving some track on the new album. Damn them and their insidious invasion of the world.
No Line on the Horizon tracklist
No Line on the Horizon
Magnificent
Moment of Surrender
Unknown Caller
I’ll Go Crazy if I Don’t Go Crazy Tonight
Get On Your Boots
Stand Up Comedy
Fez — Being Born
White As Snow
Breathe
Cedars of Lebanon
I turned to my friend the other day and said to him, “You don’t do New Year’s resolutions, do you?”
“No,” he said, with a what-are-you-stupid? laugh.
I admire people who can live so freely, taking each day for whatever it’s worth. But he’s not totally free of course. He pays bills and works full-time and waters the plants and washes the dishes. Just things that need to get done, whether he values the doing or not.
Still, there is something for being said for not feeling pressured to lay down a series of steps for self-improvement at the beginning of the year. After all, resolutions are things that didn’t go so well last year with the expectation that they can be improved upon. What really sets my friend apart, what is really amazing, is not that he doesn’t have the expectations that things should result in a certain way, but that his confidence is so high that it will all work out one way or another. That seems like a worthwhile attitude to carry you through.
It might surprise you, but as a general rule, I actually think that things tend to work themselves out no matter how much energy, time and heartache we put into them. It is in the doing that gives things meaning, not so much the results.
Energy Time and Heartache
What Do You Say to the DJ?
All the ingredients for love (and a snarky comment or two) come together in the new book What Do You Say to the DJ? by Andrew Marx and Dara Shifrer.
The problem with that philosophy is I am a processor. I like to think things through. As I get older, that compulsion to think through the steps of any particular action has become more overriding than is probably healthy. But I can’t help myself. I literally have to weigh the pros and cons of everything, from when to go to the bathroom, what to make for breakfast, whether to stop at the package store after work. Which direction to park my car (I’m fond of backing in). Who do I need to e-mail today (priority goes to someone who e-mailed me most recently). Even whether to write this article. Every decision becomes a multi-step process.
I can’t help myself. Even thinking about New Year’s resolutions was always a wrenching process. It was not just identifying possible resolutions, it was categorizing them and prioritizing them and then deciding whether the goals were achievable, whether the results were desirable and by the time I was done, my resolution became to actually make some resolutions.
On Monday, another friend of mine e-mailed me and asked what my goals were for 2009. The weird thing was, I had an immediate answer. There was no process, no weighing, no deliberating. So when it came to 2009, my resolutions were set before New Year’s Eve. Now that is something.
I don’t know how I did it, I don’t know if I had already been thinking through the question on some subconscious level and it was just a matter of verbalizing my response. Or maybe I have finally learned to unclench and let things flow whichever way the stream takes me and the answer just came to me. That is the guy I want to be, a laudable resolution in itself, and bastardly difficult to quantify. But here’s the thing, it’s not the result of becoming that guy that will make so much the difference, it’s how I get there that gives the resolution its meaning. So whether its dishes, or writing an article or publishing my first book, I just need to get the ball rolling. The result will work itself through one way or another.
Just as the economy is tanking and the sales outlook predicted by the International Council of Shopping Centers is the lowest in forty years, the federal government is ready to declare the day after Christmas a new national holiday: Buyer’s Remorse Day.
The holiday, according to Bush representatives, will be enacted as part of the so-called midnight laws, last minute regulations by the outgoing administration that have the force of law. The purpose of Buyer’s Remorse Day is to empower consumers and get them back into the stores. The administration is hoping that by making it a national holiday, employees will be given the day off and go spend their free time in retail shops across the country. Ultimately, the hope is that the increase in customer traffic will have a positive boost on retail stores’ bottom line and improve consumer confidence.
Typically, the day after Christmas is a big day for retailers to see returns and exchanges of Christmas gifts gone awry. In past years, retailers set tight caps on returns in order to prevent people from exchanging items well past the Christmas season. This season, with sales down and customers haggling more than ever for the best price on already discounted goods, the return policy is becoming softer and more flexible than ever before. Major retailers, from Circuit City Inc. to J. Crew, are extending Christmas returns to the end of January, and matching prices on items customers bought back before Thanksgiving.
The new trend is largely the result of a massive depression in sales, forcing retailers to bow to consumer demands for more lenient return policies and matching other stores’ sale prices. The federal government hopes to capitalize on the new economy and turn the day after Christmas returns into a positive for consumers and retailers alike.
Last night’s show at the Paradise Rock Club brought out all sorts including a guy in a tuxedo and scary clown make-up (think Pennywise) and a gigantic girl (it really was a girl. From the back, there were questionable drag overtones). The girl found a space at the front of the stage and literally stood two heads taller than anyone else and two shoulder widths wider than anyone else. For those of us on the left, she literally blocked the entire view of the keyboard where Amanda Palmer spent most of her set.
What ensued among the rest of us standing behind the girl was a protracted discussion whether tall people should be allowed up front to the detriment of a couple dozen people behind her. Consider the circumstances. Palmer is a solo artist who plays keyboard. So she’s largely by herself on stage, sitting most of the time. It’s a pretty small vista to focus on even given in a club venue as small as the Paradise.
The poor girl was unfortunately dressed in a red polka dot dress. Apparently being gigantic wasn’t enough, she wanted to stand out for bad taste too. (Go ahead, tell me how difficult it is to dress yourself when you’re that size without looking like you’re wearing a burlap sack. I dare you to mention that difficulty of dressing yourself when you’re that large without looking like you took a fitted sheet off of your bed and wrapped it around your midsection like a sari). But I digress.
It sucks to be ten feet from the stage and be able to see absolutely nothing. Polka Dot Enormous made a good wall though she wasn’t the only tall person that managed to be in the front of the crowd. It’s silly to suggest they be banned from the front (it was suggested, though one girl somewhat kindly pointed out that the polka dot giant got there first and waited in line long to get a front spot).
This is my second show at the Paradise where my view was partially blocked by a tall person. Either I just somehow end up behind them all the time, or I’m much shorter than I realize. (Plus, the floor is actually higher towards the front of the stage, though I can’t quantify just how serious a set-back this is). It’s tempting to call out “down in front,” but the crowd shifts around enough that it’s not impossible to find a good view with a little patience.
Palmer in fact raised her keyboard stand by a foot after the first couple songs in order to give people a better view. It was a cool thing without specifically making the huge girl feel bad about being a gigantic freak.
The weird post script to all this is polka dot enormous left before the encore. She didn’t want to see it through to the end? I’ll tell you one thing, everyone standing behind her was thankful.
My bagel hit the ground this morning and I ate it anyway. I don’t think it’s going to kill me, though I probably garnished my bagel with hair, dirt and God knows what else that grows on the flame retardant carpet. Our office is a notorious hand-me down. It went through the hands of two other departments before we moved in with barely a nick of paint to sugar coat the passing of time. You can see every mark on the wall, every pin hole, the layers of tape where someone had strung Christmas lights, the stains of a thousand spilled coffees, the dirt and grime that was trampled in with the rain, snow or sunshine, the dead bee rotting on the window sill, the layer of dirt with my boot print (okay, the print is new, the dirt is not) along the baseboard.
Our furniture isn’t new either. It was left here by the previous occupants, and we were given a chance to raid the office next door when they moved out to supplement our holdings. I got myself a hefty duty storage cabinet that is the envy of the office. It sits behind me like a body guard. The desk came with my office, but I turned it around so that my back wasn’t to the door.
I did get new blinds. I forgot about that. My office, and the others along my row, all bake in the afternoon sun. It becomes a bit of a sweat shop on this side, so my boss kindly (and before the budget crunch) installed these industrial sun shields. They actually work but they also blot out the natural light and give me year around seasonal affective disorder.
I jest.
We take for granted how our environment affects us, particularly when we work full time and spend upwards of 30-40 hours at the same desk, staring at the same four walls and talking to the same people. The environment can contribute in positive ways, or it can drag you further down.
Looking around the office in both directions to see if anyone would notice that I picked the bagel up off the floor and ate it, I realized how little I pay attention to my office environment. It has become part of the routine. Unlock the door, flip on the lights, enter my password, sit down at 9am and leave my desk at 5pm and go home. What happens in between is a routine, almost as unnoticed as the carpet, the walls, the desk and the shelves. It is all there for function and purpose, there is no regard for aesthetics.
Does it really matter? I’m sure if my office was the pinnacle of sunshine and marigolds, I would grow to take that for granted too. We just spend too much time here for it not to eventually become the equivalent of ambient noise. Yeah, it’s important because it sets a tone for your work day, but ultimately, most people don’t have a say in what kind of office they get. The design and appeal is in the utility of being able to do your job. We just pick up and keep going, regardless of where the bagel falls.
I have, on occasion, thought about personalized touches and sweeping gestures of goodwill like putting up Christmas decorations. But for the most part, I don’t. Not because I think it has limited value, though that’s probably true too, but because the office has its own personality and I wouldn’t want to mess with that. Three generations of office staff trampled through these halls and left a permanent mark of their passing. It’s a mark of history that rubs off on everything.
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