Well, dearies, it has been way too long since my last post. I wish it were because I was on some amazing adventure or due to some romantic tragedy, but, alas, it was because my life had little to report to the masses. I went on a couple of dates and reunited with a couple friends from my past, but beyond that, nada. Except...
About a month ago, I applied for the federal position of the contracted job that I am doing now. For those of you who have gone through the process, you'll sympathize that what they ask you to provide as a candidate, and what is actually useful to the hiring manager are worlds apart. Everyone was expecting that I apply, and in fact were looking for my resume. As HR produced the list of eligible candidates, I was, to everyone's surprise, not on the list.
How is it that I work (successfully) in a position for two years, only to find out that some lady in HR didn't feel my resume was a good match for that exact same position? That incident begs a larger question...
It is sort of an inside joke that Federal workers are often unqualified for their jobs (that is a very general statement, mind you). So why would I not find it surprising that 1) the person to be hired into this position would be unqualified, and 2) the HR person responsible for finding qualified candidates is actually qualified to find these candidates? Just a question.
So, now I am going to embark on this elaborate string of phone calls to inside folk to remedy all this. But, why does it all have to be such an ordeal? What would have made this all very straight forward would be to have a qualifier in the job posting: all unqualified candidates need apply. That would save everyone so much trouble!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Eat dirt and die!
Well, folks, I managed to make it through another vacation to Vegas without too much strife on the ol' wallet, and had a rather relaxing trip despite the really unbearable heat (screw humidity... 120 is hot no matter how you slice it.)
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
But those escapades are for another blog entry some day. Today's story, my pets, has to do with eating dirt.
When I was a kid, I used to do some crazy stuff. My older brothers liked picking on me, and I was sort of like "Mikey" from the Life cereal commercials... I would do just about anything my brothers dared me to. I do remember on one occasion that I was with my neighbor friend and he dared me to eat dirt, so I did.
I remembered that story recently when one of my massage instructors started talking about how phobic she was of germs. Off and on with various doctors over time, I have talked about how I think the rise in allergies and reactions to food and animals is because of the growing influence of hand sanitizers and Chlorox wipes available nearly everywhere. The federal government even puts sanitizer by every public entrance, now. I have to admit that I don't really recall many friends in grade school that were allergy prone, or couldn't eat peanuts.
Parents these days seem to over protect their children to the point of obsession. They can't even play with Lincoln logs these days without them being plastic! In the end, I think the children don't learn to be social creatures the way we were, and tend to not be exposed to the real world. They then grow up to be self-important people (mommie imposed that on them) without knowing how it feels to walk barefoot in the mud. I feign to think that most people think that if they eat dirt, now, they'd die. I am living proof that you won't.
I guess my point is to say, live a little, folks. And let your kids live a little, too.
- Posted on the run from my annoying electronic thingy
Friday, July 23, 2010
Face Value
About a week ago, I had this conversation with Jeremy about a Facebook friend that had posted a photo of graffiti on his page before the friend had realized what it represented. He simply felt that the graffiti was cool. Consequently, people started making assumptions about this friend's political and social alignments. That got me thinking...
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
I am constantly amazed at how folks will make all sorts of assumptions about people or situations without educating themselves. That makes me downright angry, until I caught myself in a comment I made to a classmate at massage school last week. I commented that there were some people I just didn't tolerate, although I can't put my finger on why. I realized I was falling victim to the same prejudices Jeremy's friend did.
As much as I would like to believe I am completely open-minded and un-biased, I have to admit I have my own prejudices. They may not be over race or religion, but I do have them. This little episode helped me realize I still have some growing up to do.
So, I went on with my life this week with the mindset that I was going to start trying to understand why people and things are the way they are before I make judgements on them. That, my friends, is hard to do. It is hard to step back from a pushy fellow commuter when they run you over and think, "he's just being an asshole because he may have an important meeting to attend," or "she's only yelling at me because she has a troubled home life - bless her soul."
Shit. The reality is, I would waste WAY too much time trying to psychoanalyze these situations. What the point really should be is that the assholes should be more cognizant of their surroundings. Which brings me back to the graffiti...
After further investigation, the Facebook friend realized that he should have done more research on the graffiti before posting it. In the end, it was a great learning and social experiment, but ultimately it was his negligence that caused the stir.
Like this Facebook friend, I think we're all falling victim to a world that is becoming increasingly fast-paced and the first thing to suffer in our daily schedule is time for concern of our fellow man. We are growing in our sentiment of "me first" attitudes and exponentially caring less for how our actions affect others. Like me, we all have some slowing down to do, and some life-interaction to experience. We need to LOOK UP from our blackberries, droids and iPhones and actually look each other in the face. We need to learn to communicate verbally as well as electronically.
We need FACE value.
We need to understand those folks we're speaking to. We need to actually speak to our neighbors. We should be intimately concerned with the well being of those we come on contact with on a daily basis. Do you spend more time looking down at your phone or at the people that surround you? Do you look at your checkout cashier? Do you greet your neighbors?
Back in the South, I remember when driving down the road, you would wave to every person you passed whether you knew them or not. It created a sense of bonding that I just don't believe exists anymore. We are all much too concerned with the battery life of our cell phones, I'm afraid.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
A hay! A hay! A hey, what?!
So today I received a pretty devastating blow to my pride when I learned that I was, indeed, not a "real" Hayes. A good portion of my last few years has been devoted to researching my family history and bloodlines back as far as possible. I have been quite proud of my Scottish heritage and have been diligent about learning as much as I can about my past. I guess I have a strong need to identify with something that was inherently me, and I actually "felt" the connection I had with my family's heritage. Those who know me well also know that I wore my family name with pride and defended my history like a true Scot.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
I have been in the process of dropping my first name legally, and was posing some ideas of what to use as my middle name to my brothers over the last week. When the idea of using my mother's maiden name (Hayes) came up, my brother explained to me that we weren't really Hayeses. It seems my great grandfather Hayes was born out of wedlock and took the name of his step-father. The family had never really spoken about it, and few actually knew.
As the blood drained from my face and my ego, pride and general Scottish aura were being stripped from my identity, I just sort of stared at the words my brother had written. The Scottish clan cry, "A hay! A hay! A hay!" were fading and my identity felt like it had been stolen. The one thing "permanent" that I could claim without reserve has, in one short sentence, been plucked from my genes and it left a very, very big void. I can't blame the situation - my great grandfather couldn't help it and I'm still a proud member of my family, but it brings a new perspective to things one blindly believes and cherishes without question.
I have to admit that I was a little tear-filed when I started responding to my brother. So, now I am still left without a middle name as well as an identity. It will take me a while to take all this one in. But one thing being part of the Hayes clan did teach me was their endearing motto, meaning to charge forward and persevere: Keep the yoke! That, my dear friends, I will do.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Happy Places
As I grow older and less ignorant, I find myself reflecting on how I got to where I am and where I don't want to go. When I was a twelve-year-old bouncing on my trampoline in my parents' backyard, I can remember thinking just the opposite: where am I going, and where do I want to go.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
I've noticed with experience comes the knowledge gained from mistakes, and with mistakes come the cuts and bruises of defeat -- and with defeat comes humbleness.
I have been very mindful of my parents lately, and what they taught me. I learned best through their actions and words more than their directions. I learned that being kind to others was far more satisfying than thinking only of yourself. I learned that being passionate about something, and following through, was key to mental success. But their death has also taught me things, too. From their death, I've learned that I am not living forever. I've learned that saving for a future may not necessarily be fruitful. I've learned that complete sacrifice, while neglecting your current well-being, can be just as dangerous as not sacrificing at all.
I suppose what my rambling is trying to say, is that I have grown up in the last three years. I've learned how to stand my ground. I've learned how to frivolously spend while sacrificing for my future. I've learned that having a good-paying job doesn't mean a rewarding life. I've learned that relationships can not be implicitly trusted. I've also learned that I can be loved.
All these things have paid off recently: I've progressed at work by standing my ground for what I believe is right. I've moved into a beautiful new home, despite the unexpected change in plans (AND due to good planning!). I've planned to make my career rewarding by starting my own business. I also have used being single as a time to re-adjust my view on relationships and to determine what my needs are.
Honestly, I can say I am in a good, happy place. I like happy places.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Me first! Me first!
Every day we are besieged by life moving around us, pushing us forward, knocking us down, with little time to get up and brush ourselves off. Our day rushes forward with little consideration of our surroundings only to ensure that we get back to our homes as quickly as possible to sit and do nothing. Do nothing -- until you stand back up to rush through your day with the goal of doing the cycle all over again.
A couple days ago, I was returning home on the train to be witness to a rather extraordinary example of this aimless rushing about. Recent renovations of the commuter train stations often create a (temporarily) crowded exit from the platform that wasn't set up to really accommodate large amounts of passangers exiting the train. Most passangers are patient, clumping around the platform exit waiting for an opportunity to push to the exit-way.
I usually to want to avoid crowding and pushing, so I tend to stay to the very back of the exiting crowd. Occassionally, I'll notice the one or two people rushing up to the front of the crowd only to make the clumping crowd worse.
So anyway, one day I'm standing toward the rear of the crowd and slowly made my way to the exit when, suddenly, I felt a plump, fleshy mass plop itself on the arm I had angled to hold my backpack strap. I glanced down to see it was a human female breast, resting right there on my forearm almost as if delicately placed there as a museum piece or a body decoration.
I ignored its presence at first, but as we shuffled to the exit, the breast's owner pushed forward to the point where I could now feel her nipple through the fabric, creeping down my arm.
I couldn't resist... so among the throngs of people, I proclaimed loudly:
"Ma'am, could you please remove your breast from my arm. It is unsightly. Thank you."
She blushes and quickly replies, "my breast is not on your arm."
"Ma'am,... I feel nipple. Take it off."
I mean, seriously. Are our lives in such a rush that we use brut tactics to gain five feet in a line or a car length on the road? Are we so pressed for time that we're willing to risk our blood pressure and stress levels just to ensure you are first in line? Does it really matter that the person in front of us may get to the next stop light a few milliseconds before you do? And if you do get there first, what have you accomplished? In the grand scheme if it all, the extra, wasted effort is futile. I would prefer to be last in line, avoiding a heart attack.
The "me first" attitude is ridiculous these days - like the little kid at the front of the room waving his hand violently to answer the question. He was an annoying wanker then, and he's not grown up much since then.
A couple days ago, I was returning home on the train to be witness to a rather extraordinary example of this aimless rushing about. Recent renovations of the commuter train stations often create a (temporarily) crowded exit from the platform that wasn't set up to really accommodate large amounts of passangers exiting the train. Most passangers are patient, clumping around the platform exit waiting for an opportunity to push to the exit-way.
I usually to want to avoid crowding and pushing, so I tend to stay to the very back of the exiting crowd. Occassionally, I'll notice the one or two people rushing up to the front of the crowd only to make the clumping crowd worse.
So anyway, one day I'm standing toward the rear of the crowd and slowly made my way to the exit when, suddenly, I felt a plump, fleshy mass plop itself on the arm I had angled to hold my backpack strap. I glanced down to see it was a human female breast, resting right there on my forearm almost as if delicately placed there as a museum piece or a body decoration.
I ignored its presence at first, but as we shuffled to the exit, the breast's owner pushed forward to the point where I could now feel her nipple through the fabric, creeping down my arm.
I couldn't resist... so among the throngs of people, I proclaimed loudly:
"Ma'am, could you please remove your breast from my arm. It is unsightly. Thank you."
She blushes and quickly replies, "my breast is not on your arm."
"Ma'am,... I feel nipple. Take it off."
I mean, seriously. Are our lives in such a rush that we use brut tactics to gain five feet in a line or a car length on the road? Are we so pressed for time that we're willing to risk our blood pressure and stress levels just to ensure you are first in line? Does it really matter that the person in front of us may get to the next stop light a few milliseconds before you do? And if you do get there first, what have you accomplished? In the grand scheme if it all, the extra, wasted effort is futile. I would prefer to be last in line, avoiding a heart attack.
The "me first" attitude is ridiculous these days - like the little kid at the front of the room waving his hand violently to answer the question. He was an annoying wanker then, and he's not grown up much since then.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Give a penny, take a penny
I guess my most profound moments come when I'm doing the most mundane things. This moment came whilst standing in the checkout line at the local 7-11, yuppie-bottle of water in hand. I saw the tray immediately next to the register labeled, "Give a Penny Take a Penny." And nearly everyone in line ahead of me used that tray to either give or take a penny.
I am often floored by the irony of life sometimes, but this one was probably one of my most monumental "ah-ha!" moments. I am surrounded daily by folks who are self-absorbed and often too concerned with their own life-trajectory that they never stop to consider how helping others could help them in the long run. I can't tell you the number of people that have ribbed me for giving so much money to music organizations as donations. They just don't get it, and it's sad. I give because it's in my nature and my heart to give. Those who know me well know that I will give until my last dime is gone, and then I'll find more ways to give. I give because I know that no matter how well I have it, there are others out there that can benefit from what little gain I have on life. Giving someone else that one moment of happiness effects me immensely. Give a penny...
My last post reflected on my first real date since the end of my last long relationship. I found out today that there will be no second date, which was a huge blow to my ego and generally makes me nauseous that I will have to continue with the rather boring and (yes) degrading process of dating. But the ego blow was over the fact that I wasn't a 30"-waisted, blond Nordic god. I suppose my life gets in the way of doing 300 sit-ups a day, and preparing 5 healthy meals a day. I suppose getting an "A" for effort isn't worth a second chance to make a first impression. But I digress. The bottom line is that it hurt to hear that I looked -- and I quote, "drop-dead gorgeous 10-15 pounds ago." Fuck. You. Frankly, I nearly erupted in tears -- never mind WHY I gained those 10-15 pounds, but to know that someone was so self-absorbed with the "now" to not consider a future with infinite possibilities is beyond me. Take a penny...mothafucka.
So this is going to be a rant-and-soapbox post, but, the whole game of dating eludes me. The coy first attraction turns to a decent first date,and then (*crickets*) you never hear from them again. Or, they are a psychopath. Or both. Why can't people just say, upfront, "I'm not interested," or "Sorry, but I just don't think we match"? Instead, they lead you on or say nothing for fear of "hurting you." I have so many wild, angry thoughts in my mind right now it's hard to structure them for the blog. But the bottom line is, I just want to date someone nice. I don't want to plan a wedding; I don't want to talk matching robes; It's too early for clearing out a space in the closet. Just someone willing to give a penny and take a penny.
I think I have a lot to offer people (ego talking here), and I guess I sometimes don't read people correctly. Which brings up a totally different point. If someone is interested in me, why don't they just say it? Regardless, finding ways to meet those people aren't easy. I don't think going to the bar, or meeting someone online - even though everyone does it - is the way I want to meet someone. I suppose this is why so many artists die alone, frustrated and ... dare I say... penniless.
I am often floored by the irony of life sometimes, but this one was probably one of my most monumental "ah-ha!" moments. I am surrounded daily by folks who are self-absorbed and often too concerned with their own life-trajectory that they never stop to consider how helping others could help them in the long run. I can't tell you the number of people that have ribbed me for giving so much money to music organizations as donations. They just don't get it, and it's sad. I give because it's in my nature and my heart to give. Those who know me well know that I will give until my last dime is gone, and then I'll find more ways to give. I give because I know that no matter how well I have it, there are others out there that can benefit from what little gain I have on life. Giving someone else that one moment of happiness effects me immensely. Give a penny...
My last post reflected on my first real date since the end of my last long relationship. I found out today that there will be no second date, which was a huge blow to my ego and generally makes me nauseous that I will have to continue with the rather boring and (yes) degrading process of dating. But the ego blow was over the fact that I wasn't a 30"-waisted, blond Nordic god. I suppose my life gets in the way of doing 300 sit-ups a day, and preparing 5 healthy meals a day. I suppose getting an "A" for effort isn't worth a second chance to make a first impression. But I digress. The bottom line is that it hurt to hear that I looked -- and I quote, "drop-dead gorgeous 10-15 pounds ago." Fuck. You. Frankly, I nearly erupted in tears -- never mind WHY I gained those 10-15 pounds, but to know that someone was so self-absorbed with the "now" to not consider a future with infinite possibilities is beyond me. Take a penny...mothafucka.
So this is going to be a rant-and-soapbox post, but, the whole game of dating eludes me. The coy first attraction turns to a decent first date,and then (*crickets*) you never hear from them again. Or, they are a psychopath. Or both. Why can't people just say, upfront, "I'm not interested," or "Sorry, but I just don't think we match"? Instead, they lead you on or say nothing for fear of "hurting you." I have so many wild, angry thoughts in my mind right now it's hard to structure them for the blog. But the bottom line is, I just want to date someone nice. I don't want to plan a wedding; I don't want to talk matching robes; It's too early for clearing out a space in the closet. Just someone willing to give a penny and take a penny.
I think I have a lot to offer people (ego talking here), and I guess I sometimes don't read people correctly. Which brings up a totally different point. If someone is interested in me, why don't they just say it? Regardless, finding ways to meet those people aren't easy. I don't think going to the bar, or meeting someone online - even though everyone does it - is the way I want to meet someone. I suppose this is why so many artists die alone, frustrated and ... dare I say... penniless.
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