I find it kind of fascinating how quickly my opinion of myself can change. In the office, for instance, I may be cursing myself for being an idiot - then suddenly I have miraculously finished whatever it was I set out to do. I have somehow succeeded. But the high of my success does not last long. Sometimes just mere moments later, I revert to wondering when they will figure out that I have no idea what I'm doing. One moment it is, "I know everything!!" The next, it is "I know NOTHING!!"
It is the same way with writing. If you have read my most recent posts, you probably know that I am working on writing a novel. The current draft is over 86,000 words. I guess the sheer word volume should be exciting. That's over 310 pages, double spaced, after all. That's way more than I write at work, even with my 20+ page pleadings.
As far as quality is concerned, though, that's a different story. One day, I will wake up feeling fantastic. "You're the next Helen Fielding," I'll tell myself. "You're the next Emily Giffin! Soon your book will be everywhere, from airport newsstands to the aisles at Target. Soon, you'll be selling the movie rights. And if you play your cards right, you may even get total control over casting." (in which case, Timothy Olyphant – how does your schedule look for the next three or so years?). I’ll reread the passages I’m particularly fond of, thinking to myself, “Oooh, this is good. This is funny!”
The next day, unfortunately, I am plagued by this recurring thought:
“This is total crap.”
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Janitoritis
In a post awhile back, I believe I commented on "closing up shop" at the office. I had this routine, starting at 5:30 on the dot, which involved a lap around the office and a visit to the candy dish on one of our paralegals' desks (who, not so coincidentally enough, left the office each day at 5:30, leaving me to stuff my face in peace). The candy dish, while important, was not the only reason for temporarily leaving my desk. The most important reason was to leave my office unmanned so that the cleaning people could empty my trash without interruption (this was really more for me than them, though. I couldn't stand the thought of them cleaning my mess while I lazily sat there surfing the web until traffic died down).
Things got really bad, though, when I had to clean my office for the big move to Texas. I discovered that when you're in an office space for 5 years or so, you acquire an awful lot of crap. I purged a good 75% of my files to make room for the new inhabitant. And you know what that means, don't you? A lot of trash and recycling. For a good week straight, my recycling bin would be overflowing every night. I even became a "Trash Fairy" of sorts. Once my own bin was full, I'd sneak around and load up other people's recycling bins with my junk. Poor Denise by the printer suffered the worst of it. I don't think the cleaning people ever saw so much recycling coming from her. One of our conference rooms also saw a fair share. I'm sure the cleaning guy (who, by the way, is a very nice man - a little heavy handed on the cologne, but nice nonetheless) was a little like, "WTF? There's never recycling to empty in here!" (keep in mind, these are really more subtitles - I'm sure he would have thought these things in Spanish, his native tongue)).
One evening, wanting to escape the trash rounds, I headed down the elevators at 5:30 for a little walk around the block outside. One of our other secretaries, Jen, happened to be catching the elevators too - on her way home from work. As we swished through the revolving door outside, she asked if I was going to get a snack (she knew I worked past 6:00 every night). I had to admit, "Nope. I'm actually hiding from the cleaning people. I just left a lot of stuff in my recycling bin." She was shaking, she was laughing so hard. She then reported me to my boss, Wendy, who gave me an extra hard time about it when I pulled the same stunt the next day. I think she even shouted, "Chicken!" when the cleaning people came by my office and I was nowhere to be found.
Well, even though I've left the office in D.C., my cleaning person phobia is far from over. As it turns out, Shawn and I are staying at an Extended Stay in San Antonio for four months. One of the advantages of the Extended Stay, as opposed to a short-term apartment lease, is that we have cleaning service. Hooray, right? Not necessarily. Now, instead of my 5:30 routine, I am uprooted in the middle of the day, trying to find something to occupy myself for an hour or more so that I can allow them to change our sheets and towels and empty our garbage without me in their way. I had to tell Wendy all about it yesterday, because I knew she'd find it amusing.
Her response: "I think there should be a name for your condition . . ."
Janitoritis.
Things got really bad, though, when I had to clean my office for the big move to Texas. I discovered that when you're in an office space for 5 years or so, you acquire an awful lot of crap. I purged a good 75% of my files to make room for the new inhabitant. And you know what that means, don't you? A lot of trash and recycling. For a good week straight, my recycling bin would be overflowing every night. I even became a "Trash Fairy" of sorts. Once my own bin was full, I'd sneak around and load up other people's recycling bins with my junk. Poor Denise by the printer suffered the worst of it. I don't think the cleaning people ever saw so much recycling coming from her. One of our conference rooms also saw a fair share. I'm sure the cleaning guy (who, by the way, is a very nice man - a little heavy handed on the cologne, but nice nonetheless) was a little like, "WTF? There's never recycling to empty in here!" (keep in mind, these are really more subtitles - I'm sure he would have thought these things in Spanish, his native tongue)).
One evening, wanting to escape the trash rounds, I headed down the elevators at 5:30 for a little walk around the block outside. One of our other secretaries, Jen, happened to be catching the elevators too - on her way home from work. As we swished through the revolving door outside, she asked if I was going to get a snack (she knew I worked past 6:00 every night). I had to admit, "Nope. I'm actually hiding from the cleaning people. I just left a lot of stuff in my recycling bin." She was shaking, she was laughing so hard. She then reported me to my boss, Wendy, who gave me an extra hard time about it when I pulled the same stunt the next day. I think she even shouted, "Chicken!" when the cleaning people came by my office and I was nowhere to be found.
Well, even though I've left the office in D.C., my cleaning person phobia is far from over. As it turns out, Shawn and I are staying at an Extended Stay in San Antonio for four months. One of the advantages of the Extended Stay, as opposed to a short-term apartment lease, is that we have cleaning service. Hooray, right? Not necessarily. Now, instead of my 5:30 routine, I am uprooted in the middle of the day, trying to find something to occupy myself for an hour or more so that I can allow them to change our sheets and towels and empty our garbage without me in their way. I had to tell Wendy all about it yesterday, because I knew she'd find it amusing.
Her response: "I think there should be a name for your condition . . ."
Janitoritis.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Say Yes
When I first moved to D.C., I reconnected with a law school classmate, Staci. We had mutual friends in law school, but we were really more acquaintances in those days. I really couldn't have told you much about her, other than that she was a smarty pants because she made the Indiana Law Journal (I was not so lucky; then again, I didn't even try because my brother's wedding fell on the weekend before our entries were due).
I first hung out with Staci when I was visiting D.C. to look for apartments. It was the night of our friend Nancy's bachelorette party. Staci had a pre-party at her townhouse. I still remember what she was wearing. It was a cute light blue "shimmy shirt," which she immediately admitted was purchased from Wet Seal. I thought it was really funny because I knew she was making serious bank at her big law firm job. That part of the evening was the best, because I really got to know Staci, find out how friendly she was, and scored an invite to her next dinner party (whenever that would be).
The real dinner party invitation came after I was settled in D.C. I can't even recall how it arrived (via e-mail or phone). But I do recall one important fact: I said yes. And I said yes to everything Staci invited me to after that. I said yes when I was tired. I said yes when I was feeling a little under the weather. I said yes when I had a pile of laundry at home calling my name. "Yes" was the way to Staci's "A" list. It was the way we became not just friends, but good friends - "go to" friends.
Since becoming friends with Staci, saying yes has become somewhat of a mantra for me. Part of it is selfish: saying yes will get you more invites. Saying yes is also fun. I think about all of the times that I have been on the fence about doing something. Sometimes, staying home seems so much easier. But when I'm on the fence, I still say yes. And I would say 95% of the time, it ends up being a great decision. I have a good time, and I am so glad I went.
But there's more to saying yes than that. I appreciate when people throw parties and organize events. And I think they are putting themselves out there when they do it. I know that's how I feel when I host something. And when we host something like that, the worst thing that could happen is for no one to show up.
So don't worry. You've got my yes.
I first hung out with Staci when I was visiting D.C. to look for apartments. It was the night of our friend Nancy's bachelorette party. Staci had a pre-party at her townhouse. I still remember what she was wearing. It was a cute light blue "shimmy shirt," which she immediately admitted was purchased from Wet Seal. I thought it was really funny because I knew she was making serious bank at her big law firm job. That part of the evening was the best, because I really got to know Staci, find out how friendly she was, and scored an invite to her next dinner party (whenever that would be).
The real dinner party invitation came after I was settled in D.C. I can't even recall how it arrived (via e-mail or phone). But I do recall one important fact: I said yes. And I said yes to everything Staci invited me to after that. I said yes when I was tired. I said yes when I was feeling a little under the weather. I said yes when I had a pile of laundry at home calling my name. "Yes" was the way to Staci's "A" list. It was the way we became not just friends, but good friends - "go to" friends.
Since becoming friends with Staci, saying yes has become somewhat of a mantra for me. Part of it is selfish: saying yes will get you more invites. Saying yes is also fun. I think about all of the times that I have been on the fence about doing something. Sometimes, staying home seems so much easier. But when I'm on the fence, I still say yes. And I would say 95% of the time, it ends up being a great decision. I have a good time, and I am so glad I went.
But there's more to saying yes than that. I appreciate when people throw parties and organize events. And I think they are putting themselves out there when they do it. I know that's how I feel when I host something. And when we host something like that, the worst thing that could happen is for no one to show up.
So don't worry. You've got my yes.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Crackberry
A few years ago, in preparation for a week long business trip, I asked the managing partner in charge of the client, "Do you think I could get a Blackberry?" At the time, the firm's policy was to provide Blackberries only to partners - not to associates. My colleague, Andy, was pleased as punch with this policy. To him, no Blackberry meant that no partner could e-mail him at all hours of the night with ridiculous demands and expectations for a response. To be fair, my firm is not at all like that, and I can still count on one hand the number of times a partner has called me at home or on vacation regarding a work-related matter. But Andy was on to something and that something appears to be an epidemic: Blackberry = Crackberry. That's right, Blackberries are addictive.
The managing partner accommodated my request given that I would be out of the office for an entire week. And to his credit, he warned me to resist the urge to check it 'round the clock. I am just not that strong. Admittedly, a good portion of the time, I check to see if I have received any new personal e-mails. I love receiving personal e-mails. Who doesn't? I'm not always great about responding, but keep 'em coming!
The real problem with the Crackberry, though, is that I never truly get away from the office. Through no fault of anyone else, I am always plugged in. On our drive to San Antonio this week, I was tapping away on that thing on various work matters. I accepted invitations to join conference calls on the road. My husband thought I was ridiculous. It is not unreasonable to expect some free time to move halfway across the country. I should simply explain that I am unavailable for a couple of days, at least until I get settled.
But I can't. Because I am a Crackberry-head.
The managing partner accommodated my request given that I would be out of the office for an entire week. And to his credit, he warned me to resist the urge to check it 'round the clock. I am just not that strong. Admittedly, a good portion of the time, I check to see if I have received any new personal e-mails. I love receiving personal e-mails. Who doesn't? I'm not always great about responding, but keep 'em coming!
The real problem with the Crackberry, though, is that I never truly get away from the office. Through no fault of anyone else, I am always plugged in. On our drive to San Antonio this week, I was tapping away on that thing on various work matters. I accepted invitations to join conference calls on the road. My husband thought I was ridiculous. It is not unreasonable to expect some free time to move halfway across the country. I should simply explain that I am unavailable for a couple of days, at least until I get settled.
But I can't. Because I am a Crackberry-head.
Monday, April 7, 2008
I Recommend
I was just talking to my friend Calaneet the other day about the movie "Catch and Release." I've mentioned this one before, in my post "Fashion in Film" on Morning Cupcake.
http://morningcupcake.blogspot.com/search?q=%22fashion+in+film%22
We agreed that it was a surprisingly good movie. Nothing earth shattering. It's not "Schindler's List" or "Dances With Wolves" or "The Shawshank Redemption." But I was expecting very little from it - just some mild fluff to serve as the background for my popcorn gorging. And it really kind of touched me.
I won't pretend that Timothy Olyphant had nothing to do with it (see http://morningcupcake.blogspot.com/search?q=olyphant), but it was more than that. It was the scenery (beautiful), the story (simple but effective), and the dialogue (half-way decent). It was the chemistry between Jennifer Garner and her leading men. It was Kevin Smith in a speaking role (although I still missed Silent Bob).
But something else came out of it - the soundtrack. Even in movies I don't particularly care for, there is usually some scene that resonates purely based on the music. While I liked "Catch and Release" on its own, the music in one scene really struck me. I thought to myself, "I must hunt this down."
Lo and behold - Joshua Radin.
The song was "What If You," which has become #1 in my Top 25 Most Played List. I liked it so much that I bought the "Catch and Release" Soundtrack (no more Joshua Radin there - but some other goodies). That led to a download of the entire album "We Were Here" and also the four track package "Unclear Sky." I also discovered that Joshua is a friend of Zach Braff, which was kind of an "a-ha" moment for me. Whatever Zach Braff packages as far as music, I seem to like (cases in point: the "Garden State" and "Scrubs" soundtracks). Joshua Radin can be found not once but TWICE on "The Last Kiss" soundtrack (which stands on its own as one of the best soundtracks I've heard in a long time).
Check him out. http://www.joshuaradin.com/
http://morningcupcake.blogspot.com/search?q=%22fashion+in+film%22
We agreed that it was a surprisingly good movie. Nothing earth shattering. It's not "Schindler's List" or "Dances With Wolves" or "The Shawshank Redemption." But I was expecting very little from it - just some mild fluff to serve as the background for my popcorn gorging. And it really kind of touched me.
I won't pretend that Timothy Olyphant had nothing to do with it (see http://morningcupcake.blogspot.com/search?q=olyphant), but it was more than that. It was the scenery (beautiful), the story (simple but effective), and the dialogue (half-way decent). It was the chemistry between Jennifer Garner and her leading men. It was Kevin Smith in a speaking role (although I still missed Silent Bob).
But something else came out of it - the soundtrack. Even in movies I don't particularly care for, there is usually some scene that resonates purely based on the music. While I liked "Catch and Release" on its own, the music in one scene really struck me. I thought to myself, "I must hunt this down."
Lo and behold - Joshua Radin.
The song was "What If You," which has become #1 in my Top 25 Most Played List. I liked it so much that I bought the "Catch and Release" Soundtrack (no more Joshua Radin there - but some other goodies). That led to a download of the entire album "We Were Here" and also the four track package "Unclear Sky." I also discovered that Joshua is a friend of Zach Braff, which was kind of an "a-ha" moment for me. Whatever Zach Braff packages as far as music, I seem to like (cases in point: the "Garden State" and "Scrubs" soundtracks). Joshua Radin can be found not once but TWICE on "The Last Kiss" soundtrack (which stands on its own as one of the best soundtracks I've heard in a long time).
Check him out. http://www.joshuaradin.com/
Not Fixin' to Say Fixin'
After a nearly seven year stint in our nation's capital, I'm headed back to the Lone Star State next week. My husband and I ate lunch yesterday at the Lone Star Steakhouse to kick things off. He commented on the moose head on the wall, by the kitchen. He asked, "Do they have moose in Texas?" I responded, "Uh - I don't think so. Yeah, that's weird." So perhaps a chain restaurant like Lone Star isn't the way to get into the Texas state of mind.
There's another way to get into the Texas state of mind, though, and that's the jargon. I'm gradually adding "y'all" back into my vocabulary. I kind of like "y'all." Sure, "you" can be plural, but it can lead to some confusion. People don't know whether they're being singled out or lumped into a group when you use "you." And that's where "y'all" fits in nicely. The only thing is - real Texans also use "y'all" to refer to just one person. So you eliminated the confusion by coming up with "y'all" and then you reinserted the confusion by using "y'all" to refer to just me? I guess that's how it works, y'all. Welcome to Texas.
"Fixin,'" however, I refuse to say. Nope. I just won't do it. While I am much more partial to a good Northeastern accent, I am willing to admit that a Southern drawl can be charming at times. But there's a difference between charming and hick, and to me, "fixin'" easily crosses that line. I may be "fixing" my car or "fixing" my hair, but I will never be "fixin" to buy a new t.v. or "fixin'" to find a new job. I won't even be "fixin'" to grab a can of Lone Star beer with salt sprinkled on the rim.
So I guess in Texas, I'll always be a Yankee.
There's another way to get into the Texas state of mind, though, and that's the jargon. I'm gradually adding "y'all" back into my vocabulary. I kind of like "y'all." Sure, "you" can be plural, but it can lead to some confusion. People don't know whether they're being singled out or lumped into a group when you use "you." And that's where "y'all" fits in nicely. The only thing is - real Texans also use "y'all" to refer to just one person. So you eliminated the confusion by coming up with "y'all" and then you reinserted the confusion by using "y'all" to refer to just me? I guess that's how it works, y'all. Welcome to Texas.
"Fixin,'" however, I refuse to say. Nope. I just won't do it. While I am much more partial to a good Northeastern accent, I am willing to admit that a Southern drawl can be charming at times. But there's a difference between charming and hick, and to me, "fixin'" easily crosses that line. I may be "fixing" my car or "fixing" my hair, but I will never be "fixin" to buy a new t.v. or "fixin'" to find a new job. I won't even be "fixin'" to grab a can of Lone Star beer with salt sprinkled on the rim.
So I guess in Texas, I'll always be a Yankee.
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