Thursday, August 28, 2008

thanks, mom.

i have my mother to thank for my goofiest piece of clothing. actually, it wasn't so much goofy as just hideous and utterly embarrassing. and the worst part of it all is that she made me wear it for my school pictures.

i was in the 1st grade when it happened, but i feel like it was yesterday. the big day had arrived - picture day!! the day when 'dan, dan the photo man' arrived in our grade school cafeteria to take school pictures. i will always remember school picture day and i will always remember 'dan, dan the photo man.' for all of you 80s kids out there, he looked a bit like scott bloom, except a little chubbier and older. he was boisterous. he had crystal blue eyes. and he had plastic, black, combs in a box on a desk next to the 'check-in.' we'd all take a comb and primp a bit before mugging for the camera. even at the young age of 6, we knew dan was a cute boy. heck, he looked like scott bloom, for crying out loud.

so when picture day in the first grade rolled around, i picked out an AWESOME outfit. i was going to wear blue jeans and a cute t-shirt with an iron-on of a unicorn on it and my kangaroo shoes. i don't remember when the battle with my mom began, but when it did, it was in full swing. she didn't want me to wear my t-shirt. she wanted me to wear a light purple skirt and blouse set. i don't remember much about the skirt, but i'll never forget that shirt. it was short sleeved, but was a mock turtleneck with tiny white flowers printed all over it. the kicker, however, was the white, frilly lace that went around the collar and down the middle of the shirt. yes, it was that bad.

we compromised in the end - well, sort of. i HAD to wear the purple, "little house on the prairie" shirt, and my mother "generously" allowed me to wear jeans and my roos.

i looked like a fool.
i felt like a fool.
especially when i had to say "cheeseburgers!" for dan, dan the photo man, the scott bloom of my first grade dreams.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Silliest Piece of Clothing?

Acid wash jeans, anyone?
Banana hair clips?
High tops with two pairs of socks (in contrasting colors, of course) underneath?
Hypercolors t-shirts?

This list could be quite long if I focus solely on the decade of the eighties. If I focus on my entire life? The list would be endless.

Monday, August 25, 2008

I Wonder What the Goofiest Piece of Clothing I’ve Ever Worn Was?

My last two years of college were fun years. After my initial two years of being a complete and total dork-sans-social-life, I relaxed. I decided that reading only 20 pages of my 22 page homework assignment would not result in immediate death by lightning. I tried out drinking, just a little bit (I was 20 – a real rule breaker.) I stayed up late a few times, went out with friends, learned how to make fun times instead of sitting in my room and expecting them to just happen upon me. And I also got the most acting roles I would ever have at our little college. I felt like a rock star.

One particular acting role was in a play called Beautiful Bodies. This was a play with solid leading roles for 6 women, which is unheard of. Among the characters was the well-dressed, perfectly coiffed hostess of the party . . . the bitchy New Yorker . . . the difficult and controlling lawyer . . . the totally wacky pregnant cyclist. Guess which one I was?

So yeah, I wore some odd outfits on stage for that one. I think my entrance was me in a pregnancy belly with bike shorts, a large sweatshirt, and a helmet, which I kept on my head for a large part of the first act, if I remember correctly. I won’t count stuff I’ve worn onstage for this blog post (if I did, though, I think the time I wore a wedding gown and two prosthetic noses, stuck to my face with a pair of lensless glasses, would perhaps win the contest.)

A pregnant belly really wacks up your center of gravity. It’s hard to be for real pregnant, but it was especially hard to be pretend pregnant and go from 0 months to 9 months overnight, with no chance for my back or tummy or leg or whatever muscles to learn how to handle it. In the week or so leading up to this show, we received my pregnancy-is-uncomfortable prosthesis, borrowed from some sort of teenagers-now-don't-you-have-sex-mmmmkay? type program in the area. This thing was wayyy uncomfy, with some sort of poky thing meant to squeeze your bladder, and some sort of back hurty thing, in addition to the heavy belly (and it in no way even came close to mimicking the true extreme discomfort of being nine months pregnant, but bless them, they tried to be true to life.) So I put it on and was a clumsy dolt, and our costumer decided that I needed to get some more practice in it.

Just wear it around campus this week, she said.

Wha-? I said.

Wear it. To class and stuff.

Uhhh, then people will be confused.

Yeah. Awesome, huh?

**************************

So I wore it. The young male students suddenly fell over themselves to give up their chairs for me, give me rides, open doors. Several teachers looked at me with extreme puzzlement, which they then swallowed and turned into sweet concern. I got a lot of "How you doin', hon" from the female professors. I felt a little bit like a fraud, but isn't that what acting is, after all?

To be totally honest here, I TOTALLY loved the attention. I was glad she asked me. It was super fun. But the best part? Was taking the dang thing off at the end of the day. Man, I wish I could've done that when it happened for real.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

unfortunately, i'm with rin.

both mso rin and i work in the university setting, so our schedules are rather hectic during this time of year. i'm not sure about rin, but the busiest time in my office is the entire month of august. freshmen moved in yesterday and upperclassmen are starting to knock on our doors, so i really can't take time away to post.

i'm so, so sorry.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

I Wonder What I'd Relive?

The day before I realized summer was over and school was starting again.

Heaven help me. I know I should carve out time for posting, and I'm not trying to say that my life is more important than the lives of the other Wonder Women (if you think that's what I'm going for, you must not know me), but in order to keep my head above water, I ... just ... can't.

See y'all in September. Sorry!

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

I Wonder What Moment I Would Choose

Like g love, I too have an embarrassment of riches in the wonderful moments treasure chest of life. I am grateful that I have had such a happy life and have so many moments to choose from. In looking through my mind’s eye at the many choices I passed over for this entry, I see the night I graduated from college, the first night I spent in my very own apartment, and getting my kitten as a gift. I remember the night I met my husband and knew immediately our lives would forever be intertwined, I remember the night we got engaged, and I remember the first few moments we were married and on our own. Our romantic night in Paris during which we visited the Eiffel Tower and were citizens of a different part of the world is emblazoned in my mind. The third day of our honeymoon is also a fond memory. We sat on rafts in the pool, drinking tropical drinks and had not a care in the world. It was a glorious worry-free way to start a marriage. A trip to Vegas with two of our favorite people in the world catches my attention as I see the four of us around a table, laughing uncontrollably.

If I had to pick, though, I would have to choose a moment in which I am surrounded by everyone I love all at once. It is only a coincidence that it is my wedding day. My wedding day meant so much to me because I had moved away from Indiana only a few months before. I was navigating this new world on my own with only my soon-to-be husband’s assistance. We were building a new life together and while it was fun, it was monumentally exhausting. So, to come home to my entire family and all of my friends in one place was utterly glorious. I did not care about being “the bride” or about getting a lot of attention on this day. I only cared about marrying my Superman and about being with everyone I loved. It was a wonderful day in that I got to spend it with my closest friends, I got to repeat vows to my beloved, and I got to dance my biscuit off with everyone.

There are some days that are a little lower than others and whenever I need a little boost, I often think of my wedding day. It was a treasure in that I could squeeze my new husband’s hand, I could hug my best friend, and I could laugh at my dad’s jokes in person. I could kiss one grandmother and then the other only to then be surprised by a far-away friend who had made the trip for the event. It was wonderful to feel so loved and to feel as if life was full of possibility, adventure and excitement. Nothing was set in stone, there were no worries in the world, and there was good wine. We danced, laughed, loved and endlessly grateful. When we breathlessly left our reception, all I could remember was…joy.

Monday, August 18, 2008

I wonder what one event in my life I would choose to experience over and over again

I suppose it is a testament to the beauty of my life that I struggle to choose this. Should I relive my wedding day – the tummy butterflies, the chaos, the oodles of beloved people all gathered together? How about my son’s birth? Whoa, that’s a no – one labor experience per kid is all I signed up for. Hmm, maybe dancing to Glenn Miller tunes with my sisters when we were little, twirling in our pjs? The first weekend I met my husband? Closing night of my most favorite acting experience of all time? Getting engaged? Eating a fantastic seafood dinner with friends and family gathered around? Christmas – any year?

Since I have to choose, and then treat you all to a lovely description, I’m going to follow my hormones and pick this pearl on my double string of Beautiful Life Moments – the night after my son was born. It’s easier than resisting the metric ton of estrogen guiding my every move, thought, and bodily function, and besides it’s a nice story.

So, Frog Baby was born in the morning, nearly 12 hours to the minute after I determined that I was, for sure, having contractions for really real ohmygod thisisit. At 8:10 am on a gorgeous spring Friday morning, he slipped out of my body and breathed, and I looked at his splotchy, slightly bruised, very grumpy face and thought – huh? Really? You don’t look anything like what I imagined. Could there be a mistake?

As the day progressed, and visitors came in and out and oohed and aahed, and nurses checked vital signs and phlebotomists took blood for tests and somebody helped me clear his throat when he choked on some serious baby mucus, I still felt like he was somebody else’s baby. I don’t think I kissed him, not much. I wanted to ask permission to hold him before picking him up, and didn’t feel like I should unless a nurse was there to tell me I was allowed. I never remembered to feed him – nurses had to remind me – “Mrs. G Love, when was the last time our Baby Boy tried to eat?” I was very much looking to other folks to be in charge of me during those first few hours postpartum, and regarded my baby as a delightful wee dolly in the rolling bassinette cart thing that I was allowed to play with once in a while.

So, the day whizzed by, and the evening came, and my darling husband (not benefiting from the hormone rush that kept me wired for days on end) crashed out on his fold-out chair/bed and snored the rest of the night. The midwife on duty came in at dusk and saw that I was holding Frog, his head on my chest and butt in the air, legs tucked up, openmouthed and breathing heavily. He wore only a diaper, and I held him skin to skin with a hospital baby blanket draped over him – in this way does the mother’s body “teach” the baby’s body how to regulate its own temperature. The smiling midwife asked a few questions, and then said – that’ll be his favorite position, next to you, so he can hear your heart like he did in the womb. Then she left, and it was me, a sacked out Darlin’, and my snoring son in my arms.

Aside from Darlin’s rhythmic deep breathing, all was at last quiet, and the baby and I were alone. I didn’t sleep at all, not for one second that whole night, even though I’d labored through the entire night before and was thoroughly, utterly, deeply tired. I barely blinked, feasting my hungry mother’s eyes on the unfamiliar little body, making it familiar, making him mine. I ran my fingertips over his skin. I whispered to him. I kissed his cheeks, eyelids, fingers, tugged gently at his tiny pink mouth. Cupped his wee feet in my hands. Traced the line of his dimpled knees, bent his arms at the elbow to see them move, so perfectly, look what I made, look how well it works, look how small it is! I palmed his belly, measured his forearm against my hand, stroked his dark hair, rubbed his back. Punctuated occasionally by vitals checks from the nurses, thus the night ticked by, and something strong and consuming and mutually nourishing grew between my baby and me - a ghost of the umbilical cord, the psychology text's "bonding," the morphing of the old me into the me that was somebody's mother. I poured my love and wonder and fascination over him as he slept, heavy on my chest, and then a new day dawned, and he was 24 hours old, and I too felt brand new and ready for this, this motherhood, this rest of my life. No longer a strange sight, from then on our baby’s face has been dancing at the back of my eyes, everywhere I look.

Yeah. I could handle reliving that, over and over.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

mistaken.

to be honest, i haven't had the chance to read g love's or wicked's response to this question. i have been out of commission all week (and actually, last week too) with dental issues that resulted in the loss of molar #31 on tuesday afternoon. but, i digress. and i apologize if what i've written sounds like the opinions of the other ww.

in my opinion, we all make mistakes. we've all been immoral at some point in our lives. we're all fallible - even the pope. our judgment gets foggy and we do something stupid. we've all had occasions when we've stuck our foots in our big mouths (see previous 'wonder') or done something at a gathering that was beyond embarrassing. we're lucky to be average folk who don't have such experiences blow up for the world to see. unfortunately, such mistakes are made much larger when it stems from the actions or words of a politician. politicians are held in the highest regard and are expected to be perfect. so when an error in judgment is made, we all know about it and can even witness it for ourselves on youtube.

i think what upsets most people that is that these folks are elected officials. it's almost as though we feel duped into believing that they are holier than thou. we hear their speeches about a utopian society and want to believe with every fiber of our beings that they are the folks that will bring us to that. but then, their humanness peeks through and our image of them is shattered. our belief and desire to have these perfect humans as our leaders gets tainted by the fact that they are simply that - human.

i guess what i'm trying to say is that i don't believe all politicians are immoral. i believe society sets them on the pedestal, expecting them to uphold the values and morals than no one can attain. so when politicians reveal that they are just like the rest of us, we don't simply blush or partake in office gossip about it. the act is splashed across every newspaper. it infiltrates the news. and we are reminded yet again that as much as we'd like to believe our chosen leader is perfect, a the end of the day, he or she is just like the rest of us.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Politicians are Immoral? Wha???

Uh, what she said. Seriously, I have to follow that??

Was anyone really that surprised by John Edwards admitting to his affair? Was anyone really shocked that Elizabeth Edwards is standing by her man and is saying that her cancer has made it easier to put things like this in perspective?

I, for one, am not.

Politicians are people. They are human. We have made our politicians into infallible celebrities whose lives we follow and hoard information on. In truth, they are really just like us. We make mistakes, have affairs, lie about things that we are embarrassed about, and try to say things just the right way so that they do not sound as bad as they really are.

We live in a world that says it wants to be one way and then works in a completely opposite way. We say that we want the best man for the job but then we keep electing the same people over and over again. Sure, we may elect someone with more charisma every once in a while (Bill Clinton), but we rarely deviate even a little from our typical pattern. White, married man who has lots of money. I always thought that our elected leaders were supposed to represent us but as far as I can tell we are happy to stick with the status quo and then delude ourselves into thinking that we tried to change things and that this new person is going to change everything.

McCain is not someone that I want to hate or demonize. Obama is not someone that I want to exalt or put on a pedestal. That would not be the right way to look at these two men. What I want? Honest communication that has not been poked, prodded, and punched into the perfect sound bite so that the candidate can prove once again that he is the right man for the job.

Sure, most politicians are immoral in some way, but so are all of us. None of us is perfect and beyond reproach. I do not want a perfect person as an elected leader. I want someone who reflects who we are as a people and that would certainly not be someone who has a God complex. Americans like to get up on their high horses and say that we are trying to make the world a better place, but I truly think that what we are trying to do is conform the world to our standards. How would we feel if another country tried to do that to us?

We are never happy. We want someone who reflects us but yet we are fed the same kind of candidate over and over again -- and we accept it. "Thank you for spoon feeding me these two "perfect" candidates, Fates!" So, while having a candidate like Obama is something new and different and unique, he still fits a very Washington-political mold that we all like to think he is busting out of. He has something in his closet, like all of us, that he does not want anyone to find. Honestly, I believe that politicians need to be a little bit immoral. Their job is a tough one and it requires a little bit of moral deviation at times (hello, war!).

***My husband nearly died last year and I can tell you that his illness certainly gave me a new perspective on life. That perspective, however, does not include allowing him to cheat on me and then attempt to apologize for it and be forgiven. It would be good-bye husband in that case. But that is just me...and I am certainly no politician's wife.

***If this entry makes no sense, I apologize. I get fired up and become completely incapable of writing anything coherent on political subjects.

Monday, August 11, 2008

I wonder why politicians always seem so immoral?

It makes me heartsick to see another woman standing by her skeezoid man, in the press at least, while he warbles on about narcissism and power and temptation (and frankly – do any of these women who have affairs with politicians these days look tempting to you?) And she is made the fool in front of the entire world, while he oozes all over television screens and praises her up and down, hoping that words will speak louder than actions.

It makes me angry to know that the man was willing to seriously compromise his party’s chance at regaining power in the Executive branch by running for the Democratic nomination, knowing he had this skeleton in his closet. As my husband pointed out - what if it was he, and not Obama, campaigning right now? What would our chances be of a Democratic president? Regardless of our readers’ political affiliations, I think we can all agree that to pursue the presidency with such an explosive, candidacy-crippling secret is to be both (a) na├»ve and (b) selfish.

It makes me disgusted to know that yet again the woman he trotted out with was an air-headed bottle blonde with no personal or professional accomplishments to speak of. . . that is, unless you count being the antihero in a McInerney novel, which (as Maureen Dowd acerbically points out) is not an accomplishment of which one should be proud. He left the lawyer at home to run their dead son’s charitable foundation, so he could step out and make diddly with a floozy. Why can't they ever at least be smart floozies?

It makes me a disenchanted voter to know that he let me down. What if his policies were the best thing for the country, as he (and his wife and oldest daughter) declaimed during the most recent primary? What if he has some real solutions to minimize poverty and care for the weak? He gave up the opportunity to have them taken seriously. A momentary temptation, a brief bit of pleasure – for this was the public’s rosier future sold. You can argue, as the eyebrow-cocking, snicker-into-their-sleeve Europeans do, that we as a voting public are much too hung up on these personal indiscretions, and miss the forest for the trees. But, for better or worse, it is an American electoral reality, one that this politician has used as a stick to berate his own philandering fellow party-members. He knew what he was risking, and has now lost, for the sake of a couple of orgasms.

Politicians sleep around. Absolute power, and all that. I don't think this is the way it has to be, but (because of the bad behavior of this man, and many others) I have lowered my standards to recognize this as the norm, and fidelity as the shining exception. The particular sting for me this time is that I feel that the woman who was betrayed had the better potential of the two. Despite her own impressive skills, she chose to hitch her cart to a man’s horse rather than drive it under her own power. He has, in the time-honored tradition of powerful political men, let her down. He isn’t President, and now it is likely he never will be, but now he’s also compromised his chances of a high profile Cabinet placement or, God help us, Vice Presidency. For what, her sacrifices?

Not to mention the personal betrayal. She married him. She bore him two children. She helped him bury one, and then, to soothe their pain, she bore him two more, taking the toll on a much older body. She sublimated her own legal career to support his political aspirations. She got cancer. She campaigned with him anyway. She went into remission. He spat on her. She stood by him.

So I guess I’m a wee bit disappointed in her, too. The handling of an infidelity is a personal choice, and she has obligations to her children that surely come into play - but I believe her public status assigns her, too, an obligation to us, the married women of the world. Expectations, standards of behavior - they are lowered that tiny bit more, and womankind takes that half shuffle backwards. These high profile wives are standing behind their men, holding the kids' hands outside the bathroom door while the Good Old Boy gets his quickie in the stalls, and then fake-smiling for the press while hoping that he at least had the good sense to wash his hands after. In a passive way she is telling me that this is the best I should hope for.

But let's not end this little rant by making it her fault. Stuck between a rock and a hard place - ahem, pardon the pun - she is left with a couple of crappy non-options, and that's the self-confessed narcissist's doing. Although I wish she'd stride outta there with her head held high, I won't add to her burden by calling for her head on the stake.

I hope that homewrecker showed him a Rielle good time.

Friday, August 8, 2008

7th grade.

i say stupid things ALL the time, so i thought i'd blog about my most recent foot-in-mouth episode.

one of my coworkers (who is a very good friend of mine) is a lesbian. i love her and her partner dearly. both are fantastic people whom i admire. i have absolutely no problems with their relationship and have high respect for each of them. so why i said what i said after a staff meeting one day, i'll never know.

so said coworker, another gal, and i were leaving a staff meeting. i noticed a magnet on the side of a filing cabinet that was produced by one of the departments on campus. i picked it up, looked it over, and let out a big laugh. it was the stupidest magnet i'd ever seen with cooking measurements on it and stuff. it really was very, very dumb. but instead of saying, "oh my gosh, this magnet is so dumb!" i say, "oh my gosh, this magnet is so gay!"

the second it slipped from my mouth, i apologized profusely. i was shocked at myself! i never say that phrase! i probably hadn't said that since i was in junior high, you know? i was totally embarrassed.

thankfully, she's a rock star and instead of getting mad, she jokingly says, "super jane! i feel so discriminated against! i'm going to file a complaint with HR right now!"

i could have (and probably should have) died.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

I Wonder Why I Said That?

I’m sure I’ve said lots of inappropriate things. Accidentally, and on purpose. But there’s one hole I keep digging for myself over and over. I can’t seem to stop. Just about once a month, I mention this opinion to someone as thought I’ve never said it before. Maybe by writing about it I can make it stop.

The Boy and I work in higher education, right? Right. And we have very strong opinions about a great many things about our program, our employer, and college life in general, right? Oh so right. I think that I have a right to my opinion and that if I want to talk about a trend or an unwritten rule, I should be able to vocalize my thoughts on these topics whenever I want. And I do.

So. One of my favorite things to talk about is the quality and training lineage of our faculty. They’re wonderful—dedicated, inspiring, knowledgeable, supportive. We just went through about 94 searches for various reasons, so every round of applicants that we discussed found me spouting off on a weekly basis.

In a faculty/staff meeting (there are 22 of us), we were debating the merits of a certain applicant pool, and I decreed, “Well, I think it’s very important for someone who gets a degree somewhere to go away and teach or work for a while before they come back and work where they got their degree. Just staying at the same place, or leaving undergrad and then coming right back after getting an MFA somewhere else doesn’t give you enough experience.”

And then I looked around at the room, and realized … two of our faculty members and one of our professional staff … had done just that—gotten training here and stayed or left for three years and come right back.

One of those people is the chair of our department.

Oops. I usually say that in one-on-one conversations, and never to the people it described. And now there was no way out.

So I just smiled, sunk down in my chair, and proceeded to become extremely interested in my legal pad.

But, hey, I didn’t get fired, and that was months ago. So I’m in the clear, right?

Except I said a variation of that exact statement … yesterday, while talking about a former student who was sour grapes about our not interviewing her for two of the 94 searches. And who did I say it to?

Yup. The chair of our department.

And this time I didn’t have a legal pad with me.

I’ll let you know if I still have a job at the end of the day.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Dumb, Dumb, Dumb

I say stupid things on a pretty consistent basis. If I tried to list all of them here it would go on forever. So, trust me on this. I will give you one comment. The penultimate of stupidity on my part.

"I really think that my future in-laws really like me! Superman's whole family seems really nice!"

*For those of you who know me and my story about the in-laws, you will understand why this is the dumbest thing I have ever said. Ever.

Monday, August 4, 2008

I Wonder What the Dumbest Comment I Ever Made Was . . .

The G Love Dumb Comment Gallery, with Dumbness Instances bolded for your reading pleasure:

Exhibit A
My coworker Suzanne has come in for guidance on how to establish authority over a new direct report who is her age.
SUZANNE: “. . . I don’t have any trouble with Anita. I tell her to do something, she does it. But with Joanne, I feel weird asking her to do things.”
ME: “Well, Joanne is your age, which always makes it more awkward. You have a natural authority over Anita, seeing as how she is young enough to be your daughter. Um. Er. I mean. If you were, like, having kids at age 12. Heh heh.”

Exhibit B
Years ago, I worked a temp job, also in HR, in a hospital. Somebody I didn’t know came in to the office to show off her new baby.
NEW MOM: “Having a baby is just the most wonderful thing in the world. Are you planning on having kids soon?”
ME: “Well, I’m not married yet.”
NEW MOM (offended): “Well T.J. says he’s gonna marry me just as soon as he can afford to treat me like I deserve.”
ME: “Oh, um, of course. I just mean, well, I don’t - - - that really is a gorgeous kid!”

Exhibit C
Last year, at a sort of family reunion. I put my foot in my mouth not once, not twice, but three times with my Aunt Carly.
ME: “So, what’s your daughter up to these days? Has she finished college yet?”
AUNT CARLY: “I guess you didn’t hear that she dropped out.”
ME: “Oh. Well, you know, sometimes people just need to take a year off, take a break, or maybe college just isn’t for them.”
AUNT CARLY: “No, she’s just stupid and lazy.”
ME: “Oh. Uh-huh.”
Later, looking through photo albums together.
AUNT CARLY: “Yeah, there’s my brother and your dad. They used to be in the same class in high school, before we were even related.”
ME: “Cool. Looks like you have a lot of fun memories together.
AUNT CARLY: “Yeah, I guess.”
ME: "I don't know about you, but I love having a brother. It's so great."
AUNT CARLY: "Mmmhmmm."
ME: “So, is he here at the reunion?”
AUNT CARLY: “We aren’t on speaking terms.”
ME: “---“
Still later, sipping coffee at the dinner table.
ME: “So what do you do again, Aunt Carly?”
AUNT CARLY: “I’m not currently working.”
ME: “Oh, great. So you decided to take some time off. Sounds soooo nice.”
AUNT CARLY: “It wasn’t my decision. I was let go.”
ME: (under my breath) “*&(%(&*#^” (out loud) “Oh, I’m, uh, sorry to hear that.”

Exhibit D
In a restaurant, talking to a room full of 20 of my coworkers.
ME: “Well, Suzanne, I’m sure you’re proud of you daughter. Almost finished with college and all.”
SUZANNE: “We sure are.”
ME: “I always try to tell our interns – you can get so much farther in life with a college degree. It’s a very important thing to get, if you ever want to be taken seriously in your career. (survey room, and realize that I am the only one in there with a college degree.) --- that is, if you’re in the scientific community. Christine is a Bio major, right?”
SUZANNE: “Business.”
ME: “Oh. Well. In business and stuff, not so much, I mean experience counts for a lot, and all. Especially, you know, in manufacturing, like our jobs. --- Please pass the salt?”