These guys rock!

Love this bit. Reminds me of so many of my conversations.

minivans and ear pieces

I finally got one of those Blue Tooth ear pieces for my phone. The ones that make you look like an attention starved cast member from an old Star Trek episode. I fought it like crazy after I swore I’d never wear one. I fought it like I continue to fight buying a minivan. Oh, the infamous minivan…inevitably dragging everyone with kids into its clutches, a virtual black hole for every young parent. The epic center of gravity eventually pulling all battered and numb progenitors of lovely offspring into it, stripping them of any last scrap of pride and coolness. Forever leaving them with an empty void- self consciously screaming to the world, “I no longer have it, but I once did. I swear to you, I once did!”

Fight it! Fight the luring siren’s call, I beg you!

Back to the ear piece; at the local Smiths, I actually responded to a lady who was talking into her ear piece. We were both browsing through the peanut butter section when I heard her say,

“Hmm. What kind should I get?”

“Well, I prefer chunky, but sometimes the bits get stuck in my back teeth. Everyone is different, I guess. How big are the gaps between the teeth in your family?” I replied, impressed with my own friendliness.

She then turned her head and looked at me blankly, revealing the ear piece that she was using to have a ‘private’ conversation. Thinking quickly (practice getting out of odd spots making my actions quite smooth) I pretended to have an ear piece too, holding my hand over my ear, as if I was trying to hear my own ‘private’ conversation. And looked at her with an expression that said, “What you’re problem lady?” I then flashed my wedding ring and walked off in a condescending huff.

Despite this nearly scarring experience, I finally consented and made it clear to Annie that I’d love one for Father’s Day. Since then, I’ve learned to love it. Aside from the fact that I look pretty good with a piece of technology protruding from my ear, it leaves my hands free to do other, more important things. Like swing as I walk. Put them in my pockets. Or hold the phone at my waist rather than my ear. As you can see, life is good.

As for the minivan; I guess that will come with time, as well. In the meantime, must…continue...fighting!

cultural sensitivity 101

A new lesson in cultural sensitivity was learned a few weeks ago.

While working with Morgan Stanley (another story about that place) I met a girl from the islands named Sepiaqua. I couldn't pronounce it either. For almost a week I called her 'Bianca'. She kept telling me that it was 'Sepiaqua'. I'd say,

"That's what I said, Bianca."

Finally, frustrated with my gimpish pronunciation, she spelled it out for me, in big letters like you might see on a 'Hooked on Phonics' card. "Sep-eee-ong-qua". Sepi...what? I couldn't say it at all. So finally I found a word it sounded like. "Aqua", but with a little 'Ong' sound at the beginnig. Random , but effective. So, every time I'd try to pronounce her name I'd have to say that in my head a couple times first. I could then say it just fine. However, every sentence would have a rather lengthy dramatic pause while I figured it out in my head. It went something like this;

"Hey, there.......Sepiaqua, before you go to lunch will you please color collate this pile of sticky notes."

Pretty culturally delicate I thought. I don't put nearly as much thought into every-day names like Doug and Maggie. Besides, like Dale Carnegie wrote, somewhere I'm sure- nothing builds rapport like butchering someones name during the first 5-6 days you know them. A large steamy helping of reverse psychology, showing that distant indifference that is supposed to make them like you even more.

Well, despite this, we became friendly aquaintances. So after a couple weeks I asked her.

"What does your name......Sepiaqua mean, anyway?"

"Girl who took a long time to be born." she replied flatly.

Suprised, I blurted out a loud half laugh-half snort sound, that usually is accompanied by nose bubbles, thinking she was joking of course.

"You're kidding right? 'Girl who took a long time to be born', that's funny. Um...funny...cause...it's so...moving"

I looked up and she wasn't laughing. She was just shaking her head with a half smile on her face that either meant that she thought my sudden response refreshiningly honest, or simply culturally nescient. I told myself it was the first, 'cause I've always believed that your first gut feeling is right 90% of the time.

Well, the awesome part is that I then tried to cover up the flagrant awkwardness by gracefully digging myself out of the hole in which I was so conspicuously flailing. I simply defused the situation by poking fun at MY crazy name.

"That's so..great. Hey, know what? I'm named after a babysitter that my mom had when she was a little girl, that she thought was cute. His name was Todd. Isn't that weird? Man, we're so similiar, you and I. Your mother named you after her excrutiating birthing experience, and mine after a guy she had a crush on. You know there are a few Todd's in the office, guess their were a lot of boys babysitting back then. So different now, don't you think? Can't think of one male babysitter, can you? Those were the good ole' days, eh?"

With the lumpish topic successfully deflected, I quickly exused myself to go to the restroom. Saying there was a man, with little feet, I had to see about some paper work...

If I only had a brain...

Your Thinking is Abstract and Sequential

You like to do research and collect lots of information. The more facts you have, the easier it is for you to learn. You need to figure things out for yourself and consider all possibilities. You tend to become an expert in the subjects that you study. It's difficult for you to work with people who know less than you do. You aren't a very patient teacher, and you don't like convincing people that you're right.

What Kind of Thinker Are You?

I know something you don't know...

Everyone should get one free quirk in life. One mulligan, that says they get to do some crazy, lame, unconventional thing consistently without apology, shame or ridicule. I believe this, and embody it.

A while back I started purposely wearing dark socks that don’t quite match. Nothing extreme or attention grabbing. Just a subtle difference in style, toe design or shade. For instance, one day I’ll wear one black sock with a finely knit gold heel, while the other only has a gold line across the toes. The next day I’ll put on one black sock and one very dark, slightly blue, sock with different elastic ribbing.

My reason for doing this is simple. Aside from the fact that one of the voices in my head told me to, I feel like it gives me a mental edge. As if I’m pulling one on everyone around me. Like I’m really ‘sticking it to the world’ and its pressures to conform with social restrictions. It’s funny, because when I interact with someone, while sporting my collage of sock styles, I feel as if I’ve got an unseen advantage over them. Like when you feel that you know a secret that they don’t, so you get a Jerry Seinfeld like smirk while you converse. Sometimes they ask me what’s so funny, as they self-consciously wipe an imagined speck off their nose or mouth. I assure them that nothing is wrong, really. I’m just remembering something from a funny British skit involving an armadillo with a wicker basket, that they probably wouldn’t appreciate, and to continue telling me about their aunt’s bad case of rheumatism. See what I mean, I own that conversation. I’m in total, albeit slightly off-balanced, control.

Well, that’s how it started, as an innocent eccentricity. Then I found myself asking Annie to start purposely folding mismatched socks together while doing the laundry. I’m essentially institutionalizing my dementia, and that can’t be healthy! I went running the other day and actually wore my socks inside out, and condescendingly whispered to myself as I passed anyone, “I know something you don’t know…” My condition is now spreading to my whites- taking on whole new mutations, ghoulishly infesting other areas of my wardrobe- today my whites- tomorrow disseminating through all articles of clothing like a legion of mindless zombies. Somehow that analogy, dimly characterized in the previous colossal run-on sentence, perfectly illustrates my fear.

Then, resolve returns as I remember the obvious; if I don’t wear unmatching socks, and do so with patriotic gusto…the terrorists win. That's exactly what they would want me to do.