Score One for Immaturity

My employer inhabits a lot of super large office buildings and I have to say, all in, it’s a pretty nice space.

I’m often impressed at the investment made in actual artwork. It’s not that usual drab office decor, but actual artwork. Paintings, sculptures, mixed media stuff. Really wonderful and thought provoking works.

I consider myself something of an artist, so I like to stop and take a look, really look, at these wonderful additions to my work life.

Not long after I started, I had occasion to be up on one of the high numbered floors of my building. There is a super duper large conference room up there, and it’s perfect for big negotiation meetings.

On that floor, in the open area where you wait for our notoriously slow elevators, there is a particularly large painting.

So one day, I was feeling the euphoria I get after pulling off a huge meeting. I hummed a happy tune while waiting and waiting for an elevator car.

My eyes naturally went to the painting. It’s not my favorite style, but I looked at it really close to understand what the painter was trying to say to me.

Here, I’ll let it speak to you too:



Well, so, I kept looking at the thing. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to the middle of the canvas.

You know…this part.



That inner voice of mine, the one that gets me in trouble, started giggling like a Jolt cola infused Beavis and Butthead.

“Dude,” the inner voice said, “That looks like a uniboob.”

For my male readers who may not understand….a uniboob is what we ladies call the effect that happens with some of the “shelf” tank tops and some bathing suit tops. It’s where the boobs are sort of smushed together and, well, it looks like you have one big boob.

Generally, we ladies like a little separation to the assets.

But c’mon now, am I wrong? That’s a uniboob, right?

So I snickered. And giggled. And guffawed.

Dude, there’s a nipple painting at my job! *snork, chortle*

I mean, look at this thing! That’s totally a nipple!



I let the giggling go on a while, but then that OTHER inner voice, the one that’s all responsible and mature and stuff admonished me. “Would they *really* hang a nipple painting at this large, important and serious company? I think not. Grow up!”

Inner Beavis and Butthead just kept hooting and hollering.

So then responsible voice said “let’s look at the tag and see if the title of the work tells us something more.”

I looked. It tells us a lot.

The painting is called “Mother”.

Yup.

There’s a big mommy uniboob painting prominently displayed on one of the executive floors of my place of employment. *giggle, snort*

That there’s your art appreciation break for the day.

You’re welcome.



A Reprise: The Best of 2011

While I’m moving house today and somewhere in between old-with-an-internet-connection and new-with-god-knows-what-is-going-to-be-installed, I decided to bring forward my Best Post of 2011.

And by best, I mean the one that got the most hits, by far.

Enjoy. It’s a doozy. Reading it puts me right back in that place, March 3, 2011. Oh what a day that was….

__________________

I Fought The Law, and the Law Won

So it’s 4:30 in the morning and I’m awake and working. At my job. At 4:30 in the morning. It’s dark outside and inside and all hell is breaking loose, business wise, in several of the major Asian countries I’m working with.

The problem isn’t entirely my fault, but it’s my team, and I manage them, so I take the fall because that’s what a manager should do.

The time zones are right, mostly, for talking to my folks already working through the end of what is their day Thursday, pesky time zones being what they are. It’s really right timing for talking to my boss. Four thirty means noon-thirty in London and the meaty part of his day.

He asks me why in the hell I’m up so early. Well, for one thing, I can’t sleep. For two things, there are emails scorching the inside of my email inbox. Someone’s gotta do something about it, and that’s someone’s gotta be me.

So we’re talking. My voice is still creaky from lack of sleep as I make my case. “I’m in over my head here,” I tell him, and he agrees to help.

I’m keyed up on adrenaline and buzzing like a pot of coffee and two five hour energy drinks dancing a polka across a vat of 1970’s diet pills.

The boss and I are puzzling through the problems. We’re working on solutions. I’m trying to answer as best as I can and agree to find out answers to the questions I don’t know.

So the boss is talking, going on a long riff as he’s wont to do. It’s good stuff and I’m listening hard. While I listen, I lean my chair back on two legs, perched there for a moment.

I say “two legs” but perhaps I should say “two wheels” because that’s really the case. I’m nestled into my worn but comfy home office chair. I do this all the time, go up on two wheels, while I’m thinking or listening or just because.

I’m listening. I’m “um hmming” and I’m very into the conversation when I guess the gods that rule gravity decide that it’s time they had a say in this situation.

With nary a wobble or early warning, I go from being semi-upright, let’s say a nice 10 degree angle, to staring at the ceiling, knees in the air, I’m-an-astronaut-strapped-onto-a-solid-rocket-booster-and-ready-to-light-this-candle position.

This descent of Karenkind does not occur without some noise. And by noise I mean a bone-jarring rattle that travels in waves through my seventy year old domicile. I can hear the plumbing pipes rattling below the floor.

The boys who follow earthquakes over in their center in Palo Alto might have noticed a barely imperceptible blip on the screen while taking another sip of stale government coffee. Meanwhile, seismic waves are going off in my home.

The curious cat, a moment ago fast asleep, comes galloping down the hall to find out what’s the deal. The Good Man turns on the bedside light. I see the yellow glow at the other end of the house.

Over there in London, either my boss hasn’t heard or doesn’t care. He keeps talking. I lay there, knees up, and listen. And reply. I continue the conversation, because the last thing I want to hear right now is “what was that?” because I have no good answer. “I just fell over in my chair” doesn’t exactly inspire confidence in my capacity as either employee or human.

I half expect The Good Man to come check in on me, and am glad he doesn’t. I assume he hears me still talking and believes me to be all right.

Slowly, making the least amount of noise possible, over a period of several minutes, I slide out of the chair and slither into an Indian-style sitting position on the floor.

I finish my call. I hang up. I put my chair back upright and I pat its fake leather back as if to say, “we’re all right, big fella.”

I walk down the hall to go back to bed. The Good Man is snoozing with the light on. I place my iPhone on my bedside table, and as I do, I knock a stack of hardcover library books onto the floor. They make a sizable crash.

Apparently gravity and me are gonna tussle today. Being as how he has the law on his side, I think gravity is going to win.

I plan to give it a good fight.





Image found from Alex Huges Cartoons and Caricatures, a really fun site. I recommend a visit.



From a Different Angle

Today at lunch, I took a quiet, solo walk on the walking path near my office. Since my walking partner was too busy to come along and my iPod battery was tapped out, it was just me alone with my thoughts.

A dangerous combination.

Being without distraction makes me more observant of everything going on around me. For example, the blue nosed ducks that have arrived as the weather turns colder. The squabbling Canada geese. The flatfish skimming the bottom of shallow waters in the lagoon.

And the humans. Oh those wacky humans.

As I rounded one corner of the path, I saw two guys in business suits taking photos of each other. They were standing by our iconic tall building with the company logo on top. This is a not unusual sight, really. In fact, I think for some of my coworkers in Asia, having a photo from headquarters posted on their internal directory page is a badge of honor.

Since so many people have that photo on their page, everyone is trying to get the different, quirky and odd take on the same photo so they can stand out a little.

This came to mind as I noticed one of the guys posed awkwardly with his finger pointing up. The other was splayed out on the ground, almost in the water, camera pointing up, coaching his subject “a little to the right…a little up…a little more…”

I know what they were doing. They were trying to replicate that cheesey internet meme where through the magic of perspective and photography it looks like someone is holding up a bridge or touching a seventh wonder of the world.

Like this:



Image from homdoc74‘s Flickr photostream

Only with an office building. I have to admit, they weren’t being shy about this at all. They were really going for it. I kind of felt bad for the guy laying on the ground wearing a full dark suit. That’s going to be a weird one to explain when he gets back to the training room. (there’s a sales training going on this week and there are a TON of dark suits wandering around)

I’ll bet the photo will look cool. But the set up looked goofy as hell.

Something akin to this:



Photo from PhotographyUncapped.com



…And you can too

Oh what a Monday morning. Woke with a migraine. Today’s headache is not as severe as the one I had Thursday.

You know…just five days ago?

And here we go again.

Hooray.

I came into work while it was still dark outside to have an early morning call with an important Director in Ireland. He’s taking ownership of my team and while it was a good call, at two hours, with a migraine, trying to understand his brogue, and answering questions in rapid fire succession, I was a little…done.

When I hung up the phone, I sighed.

Wanting a little break, I went to my personal email box. There I found a rejection note from a literary magazine. This is to be expected, of course, when going through rounds of submissions. Generally not a problem. But at that moment, not what I needed.

Then I went to Google to look up something work related, and my broken brain forgot what I needed to look up.

I sighed.

Then, in the grand tradition of many people who use Google as a divination tool, I typed the words “can you make your own lucky star?” into the search field.

Hell, I could use a little luck today.

Turns out I can make my own lucky star.

And you can too.

Star light. Star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may. I wish I might.

Have this wish, I wish tonight.


A little office paper. A few folds. A little homemade luck.


“To hell with luck. I’ll bring the luck with me.” ― from The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway