Pause

The Relationship Chronicles: Learning to Say 'I Do'

"It's been a week," b-friend said. "You blog about everything else, but you won't blog about this."

"Believe, me, I plan to blog about it, Babe. I haven't blogged about anything in a week, I've been so busy."

"Spare me the violins!" B-friend said.

It's true--I've been a broken record lately about working too much. But it's rare when I can't even fit in a blog. Still, you'd think I could at least fit in a one-liner about getting engaged.

Feeling My Financial Age

Many, many jobs ago, I worked in Time Inc's Custom Publishing Department, developing custom magazines for corporate clients. Part of my job was securing content from Time's magazine properties--Money Magazine, Fortune, Parenting, Heath, Food & Wine, you name it--to repurpose in these titles. The job required that I browse dozens of magazines every week, a task that kept me up-to-speed on everything from fashion to the latest study on the effects of caffeine.

Many of the magazines I worked on were in the financial services realm and required that I pore through issues of Money magazine; I didn't realize the magazine had an effect on me, but it did. In the end, the job didn't take, but the money lessons did--until now.

Jumping the Shark: When brilliance goes bad

I just learned of the expression "Jumping the Shark" while talking to my brother in law and discussing the demise and slow death of the TV show ER. I used to love the show, but I stopped watching a couple of years ago. I couldn't take any more staff heart attacks, deaths by patients gone postal, severed arms. It seemed like all cast members had slept together--there were no more affairs to be had. Each had at least one freak accident that put him/her back into the ER, usually after a gruelling 48-hr shift. Apparently you can try to leave the Cook County ER, but you'll never really escape. NBC won't let you.

I told my brother in law that I stopped watching the show.

"Yeah," he said. "It really jumped the shark."

"It what?"

He went on to explain what this rather brilliant expression meant: when a program hits a point of dwindling energy, and nothing will revive it. There are no more original plot lines, characters have lost their coolness, or the show starts to rely on gimmicks to keep the audience engaged. Yet the show remains on the air and becomes a pop-cultural joke.

The expression is based on an episode from the TV show Happy Days, when it was nearing the end of its run and things were getting a little, well, kooky. Fonzie is water skiing somewhere (this was a commonly used tactic in the 70s and early 80s when shows were getting over the hill--take everyone to Hawaii and include a near-death experience). And Fonzie, fading stud that he was, jumped over a shark. The motorcycle has become passe, I suppose, so writers moved to subterranean antagonists.

Once the origins of this expression were explained to me I Googled the term, and up popped a Web site dedicated to Jumping the Shark moments.The site offers a list of shows with a number of reputed "Shark" moments--ER is included, of course, as are other long-living TV shows, like The Simpsons, Friends, even The Sopranos.

Apparently Shark moments are quite common: Browsers can search by categories of Shark moments by category:

• Same Character, Different Actor (Bewitched beDamned)
• Birth | Death (There IS no replacing John Ritter, dig?)
• Ted McGinley (I didn't realize that Ted McGinley, the Varsity stud that joined the Happy Days cast in its twilight years, had become an omen of bad TV. But a list of failed programs backs up the site's contention that he is the patron saint of shark jumping. )
• Puberty (In some cases I wish some actors remained in puberty--Anthony Michael Hall made a franchise out of if)
• Singing (Why was last resort in the 70s/80s always to turn things into a Variety Show? The Bradys cut an album, the Flinstone kids cut an album, Charlene and Kimberly on Diffrent Strokes--and to think Kimberly was supposed to be better than Janet Jackson!...)
• Live! (Canned laughter somehow is much more fake when it's live)
• I Do (Nothing is more boring than two people who are happily married)
• They Did It (Some programs lose steam post-orgasm)
• The Movie (Pay $10 for what you would normally see on Thursday nights for free)
• Moving
• Special Guest Star (No more Whoopie!)
• A Very Special... (Three words that say, "Do not watch this!")
• New Kid In Town (and he's got a bowl cut and smokes dope)
• Hair Care (Brady perms; Felicity)
• Exit...Stage Left (Urkel? Bubbye)
• Graduation (I know how to keep 90210 relevant--get all of them accepted into the SAME college!)
• Color (It worked in The Wizard of Oz, but not on TV)
• Never Jumped

It occurred to me that there are lots of things that Jump the Shark, not just TV shows. My list follows.

So, where do you like to skydive?... and other questions you'll find in the Next Generation Job Interview

Just posted this on BlogHer: Thoughts on how job recruiting and searching is evolving. We don't look for jobs anymore--we look for communities.

The Relationship Chronicles: My &^%*ing Office Mate (Part II)

This post is a continuation of a post about me and my beloved, and the joy of sharing an office.

While I struggle with design software, B-friend struggles with writing. He's actually a brilliant presenter and letter writer, but when he writes prose his work transforms into mucky verbosity. And yet, despite what we both know will inevitably happen from word one, he still asks me to review passages from his thesis, and I still say yes.

"'Developable?' that's not a word; put something else in here."

"It's jargon--you don't know it. Just move on."

"Bullshit--you made this word up."

"THEY know what I mean."

"Who's THEY? Other people with poor grasp of the English language?"

"Hey, all I wanted was an overview here, OK. An overall review, not a line edit."

He doesn't understand. I spent the first few years of my publishing career line editing text on weekends to make ends meet. I know the NY Times Stylebook backwards and forwards. I still hesitate before using the word "since" when I could use the word "because." And he wants to pull this jargoncrap with me?

I tell him: "But if I can't get through the first sentence, how can I give you an overview?"

"Just skip that line and move on."

"Whatever, fine (Reading the next line): 'This project envisions an urban prototype for the City, introducing a vibrant new pattern to the neighborhood...' Huh? A project can't envision anything. YOUR vision of the project can be an urban prototype for the City, but the project itself can't envision anything. Gotta fix that line. And prototype seems superfluous here..."

"It's jargon!"

"It's bullshit."

"Forget I asked." 

Another point of tension: The airport transport provision in our implied Co-habitation agreement. I would swear that it reads:

"In all events when a cohabitant requires a ride to the freakin' airport at such times when second co-habitant is not a) in class or b) in an unreasonable vicinity of cohabitants' home (i.e. "out of town," "hospitalized") or unable to perform chauffeur duties (paralysis or death), he/she is required to provide timely transportation to and from the airport, without complaint or guilt trip."

I asked b-friend for a ride to the airport today, and he said, "You're on your own, Babe."

Say wha?

The Relationship Chronicles: My &^%*ing Office Mate (Part I)

It's become a ritual of sorts: I wake up in the morning and check my email. If I don't have any meetings in the City I don't bother getting dressed. I just keep going and worry about things like brushing my teeth later in the day.

I know this is a departure from the ritual I devised when I first began soloing, but, I don't know--things happen. Now I have calls to make; people need answers for things sooner rather than later. I tried conducting a few conference calls in Starbucks, but it was distracting, and getting dressed and walking over to coffee shops has become more of a time suck than a means of sanity maintenance. Leaving my house has become, well, a luxury of late.

B-friend's in a similar boat. He's almost done with school and working on his thesis (I've been reminded countless times that it's not just "a paper," and I've reminded him countless times that I don't mean any disrespect when I refer to it that way.) He's also a finalist in a national design competition, and working double duty to finish his concept with his team this week before flying out for his final presentation.

And did I mention the size of our house--more like a standalone apartment? It affords us comfort, yes, but very CLOSE comfort. Our second bedroom subs as his office, my office, and the runover room for whatever personal effects won't fit in our other bedroom. His station snakes around the south and east walls, and my station lines the north side. On the west wall is a shelf unit where we've stacked everything that won't fit on or under our desks--old files, conference schwag, magazines we think we'll read someday; and on b-friend's exclusive shelf, greasy towels, a bike crank, a tool caddy and a head scratcher.

On the floor he has clothes strategically strewn into the following piles-

1. stuff that might need washing (he'll let it sit for a day, and if it still smells he'll wash it),
2. sweaty stuff that needs to air out, and
3. stuff that needs washing but that he won't be wearing in public and can have another go round.

I mention our shared office to illustrate the atmosphere we've been stewing in lately. It's a little, shall we say, tense.

In the Presence of The One

I had lunch with a friend today; that in itself is news. I've been in this work funk lately, the kind that causes people to call you and wonder if you're OK. The kind where you only realize you've been working for 16 hours when your forearms start to go numb from typing, and your breakfast, lunch and dinner dishes are getting in the way.

This friend has embarked on a soloing journey, though she's not sure where she's headed yet. She's been working a high-falutin, high-stress job for years and finally decided to make changes, after her umpteenth new boss, and the umpteenth employee she had to let go (you know the drill).

She's taking time to try everything--dance, cooking, writing her life story. Being particularly achievement-oriented, she takes on her exploration like a job. I can relate; back when I was unemployed--different from self-employed, mind you--I was more structured than when I had a job. People like my friend and me need structure. And we need draining jobs that take everything out of us, so when we lose or leave them, we can finally give ourselves the space and leisure we should have given ourselves during gainful employment. And we wonder whether we can ever corral ourselves to working that ferociously ever again.

My friend credited me with being autonomous in my career; I credit her with being autonomous in life--a different thing, actually. While I technically have my days to myself, I don't know if I've ever been completely autonomous. Even in my periods of downtime I've been preparing for something else, or taking on projects where others rely on me. I don't know the last time I woke up in the morning and did nothing without a desire to accomplish. So many people fear change; I fear not moving forward. And yet I long for being still at the same time.

BlogHer has picked up the pace, which sounds silly--since the organization took its first breath was it ever slow? Even the week after BlogHerCon last summer I was rushing around in post-conference phantom duty: Gimme something to do! Gimme something to do! And by the time I got used to doing less we were back into the swing of '06.

Now we're taking on big projects which are in stealth mode but will be rolling out very soon. And I find myself acting similar to how I did back in my Web 1.0 days--When I got home from work, took a shower, went to bed and did it all over again the next day. When my diet consisted of what I could grab while typing. When I realized I'd entered a cultural vacuum because I hadn't been to a movie, or a boutique, or a music store in ages. When I forgot I'd been wearing the same shirt for two days. When copies of The New Yorker piled up, and I realized I forgot to pay my rent. When I had this feeling of overwhelm but didn't know how to stop. when we worked like mad people because we hoped to go public in 18 months, only now we're doing it for different reasons, with a mission in mind. I feel like I need to pace myself, but don't know how.

"What's the big whoop?" B-friend tells me, when I rant about how there's always too much to do. "Just stop. Watch a movie. Go to bed early."

He's SO naive. The feeling is different this time, as I told my friend today. I feel motivated for different reasons--not to prove that I can do something--but because I am convinced that I am meant to do something involving women and media. Inconveniences have transformed themselves into learnings this time around, and colleagues are not barriers but rather desperately needed helping hands.

And there's an awareness not unlike that of a girl who refuses to fall in love too quickly this time around, who wants to check where her feet are at all times. Who resists just a little with each shove forward, not out of disinterest, but out of fear of being consumed again. Consumed without awareness.

When you look at it this way--it really is like contemplating the big plunge into a relationship, not just dating or playing the field, or waiting for the job to come to you. I think what I'm feeling is the awkwardness of something new. The awkwardness of trying.

   

Public Speaking for Neurotics

Some top resources--and my personal take--on the art and fear of Public Speaking.

The Blog Monster I've Created

I called my mother today. You know, the woman who I've said time and time again has made it her life calling to be there for her kids. I know, I need to let go. But still, it was disarming to have this phone exchange today. (I called Mom)

(Phone ringing)

Hello?

Hey, Ma, it's me.

Hi Sweetie! Hey listen, can I call you back? I'm posting right now.

It better be good, Ma.

The Blogomatic! It slices, dices, and even transforms a career!

I was asked by a blog buddy if I could speak with his daughter about her career path. I've had a number of requests like this, I suppose, because I've become the Poster Child of occupational change. Let's see, in roughly 12 years of post-collegiate employment I've had roughly...10 gigs (three of them fall into the self-employment category). I suppose this gives me master certification at how to help other people effectively jump ship.

In this way I consider myself something of a diving instructor; I help people adjust their oxygen so they save some for the tough parts of their dive into career self-realization. I offer ways that they can pace themselves and take on new avenues without burning bridges or burning out. I help them avoid panicking and running back to more secure, but less fulfilling corporate jobs so fast that they get the bends.

Truthfully, I love helping people with career planning. If I can help someone avoid overthinking and undercrediting themselves as early in their lives as possible then mission accomplished.

This woman, in particular, reminded me of me, or who I wanted to be, at age 25--a go-getter, confident, and a good networker. She told me of what she'd studied in college and the jobs she'd had. Like me she was a "liberal arts" type, who liked a little bit of everything. People like us have a hard time nailing down what we want to do with our careers. Put us in any job and we'll find something redeeming about it. We'll fantasize about working there for years and running the show. We'll toy with the notion of "Director of Such-and-Such Department" as our purpose in life, and then we'll wake up in the morning wishing we worked somewhere else. I understood this woman, a tightly packed ball of potential who wanted the right place to unleash it.

I listened to her story and avoided telling her outright what was on my mind; it seemed too typical of me to offer it up. Too facile. Too ... Silicon Valley woo woo.

To hell with it.

"Have you thought about blogging?" I said, wincing.

This seemed to be my panacea for everything from career dissatisfaction to relationship dysfunction. Somehow, in my world of open expression, just getting stuff out on digital paper for the world to see was the first step toward everything.

But I had a point.