Can You Be Misguided Even If You're Right?

One of the biggest divides we have in our baseball league is between those who played (and enjoyed) high school sports and those who didn’t. The former group is mostly delighted to have found an outlet for that competitive spirit and the chance to pour effort into an activity and see results. The latter enjoys playing (well, sometimes…but that’s neither here nor there), but sticks around primarily for the social aspect (I think). Occasionally (though not as often as I would have guessed, actually), a conflict arises between the two groups.

This is a particular problem for me, I think because of my ability to focus and…okay, honestly, I’m just kind of an intense person. Always have been in fact (it used to be worse…I was a weird kid…). And up through college, participating in a focused, competitive team sport gave me a place to channel that intensity.

Since then, it’s been kind of a struggle (and probably has quite a bit to do with the existence of this blog). I can’t really put that kind of energy into work, maybe because of the job itself (don’t worry, I still like the job just fine, but who could get REALLY excited about maintaining a database or staring at a computer all day long?) or maybe because I’m just more motivated by physical activity. And to the extent that it can be poured into a relationship, the right guy (i.e. one who wouldn’t be crushed) hasn’t come along.

As a result, I’m driving everyone on my baseball team nuts. And they, in turn, are driving me nuts. I’ve been playing baseball or softball since I was ten and that experience coupled with my ability to think ahead and the relative glut of downtime built into baseball allows me to effectively keep track of three or four positions simultaneously. This causes me to do things like remind the second basemen four or five times in the same game to back up the pitcher when there’s a runner on third. She feels like I don’t trust her (which is 100% true) and that she’s being singled out (more debatable) while I feel like if she really wanted me to shut up, she’d back up the damn pitcher without a reminder from me.

Anyway though, they’re all sick of my voice and I’m beginning to feel like I could be wrong (which, again honestly, I rarely do). Maybe I’m missing the tone of the league. In the end, it's an academic discussion, because I can't seem to change my behavior...

Now That's Customer Service!

So I bought a new box of Bounce™ fabric softener (what an exciting life I do lead) and there was a little white envelope inside resting comfortably on top of the first sheet. I pulled off the orange Bounce sticker seal and pulled out the note inside:

Dear Friend,
At Bounce, we believe even the little things should brighten your day. So on our 35th U.S. and 31st Canadian anniversaries, we’d simply like to thank you for choosing Bounce. Thank You! Everyone at Bounce

I don’t suppose I’d really consider buying a different fabric softener anyway (it’s one of those things, like peanut butter, where brand loyalty is established as a child), but that certainly sealed the deal. Here’s to Bounce!

On Names

I listen to the morning show on 101.9. Actually, I have since it started in the mid-nineties, which is remarkable because I've stuck with it even as I've drifted away from pop/rock. There's something about familiarity, I guess...

Anyway, this morning, they related the results of a survey in which 5,000 men were asked for the first name of girl most likely to sleep with them on the first date. Just in case you're curious, the results were, in order, Niki, Erin, Kristy, Jenny, Lindsay.

The point though (and of course they didn't discuss this...I guess it's a morning radio show, not a psych class) for me, is how much information people can infer from your name. And yes, this study probably isn't one to take too seriously (though 5,000 men, jeez), but it happens all the time. I went to college with a girl named Echo Love*...think she's a math professor?

There is, of course, the argument that anyone whose parents would name her Echo Love isn't too likely to become a math professor anyway. True enough. But wouldn't you want to give her a fair chance? I'll tell you - it will be a goal if and when I name children to pick names that I like, sure, but also that don't unnecessarily give undue impressions.

*I have no idea what happened to Echo Love and I'd be mildly surprised if she even knew who I was, so I hope she doesn't google herself too intently. That would be awkward...

Dear New Guy At Work

Dear New Guy at Work-

You're very cute. I suspect you know that. I think you said your name was Dave and that you just graduated from Michigan, but I may have just made that up because you look exactly like a frat boy from the U of M named Dave. So I'm going to call you Dave.

Dave, you would not be good for me. In fact, you would make me crazy. You look like your mother dresses you, what with your striped polos with the little alligator tucked into your khakis (never mind the fact that you look great in this...beside the point). I cleverly pounced on an uneven patio tile right in front of you so you would talk to me, but you made approximately seven jokes about alcohol and started half your sentences with "dude" despite the fact that neither I nor my friend was actually a dude. Then you proceeded to talk about your apartment and three roommates in Wrigleyville at which point I stopped paying attention and gazed adoringly at your little frat boy spiked haircut. I'd like to kiss you, but I'd also like to...co-sign your lease or make sure you're eating vegetables.

Again though, you are so, so cute, and reasonably bright too. So if and when you grow up, give me a call!

Thanks!

Does This Mean The Quarterlife Crisis Is Over?

People always say that birthdays are just another day. I wholeheartedly disagree with that. Without a doubt, I actually feel different on my birthday and often even the day or two leading up to it.

Top five ways to make sure your birthday really is special:

5) Don't put too much pressure on it. Things that go wrong (like...say...hypothetically...you have to wait 45 minutes for the bus in 92 degree heat or the cat throws up) are still going to go wrong. It's a special day, but it's not that special...

4) Proactively ("isn't that just a word dumb people use to sound smart?") manage your expectations. If it's important to you that people remember it and make a semi-big deal of it, set them up for it by telling them in advance. A lot. (It is also advisable to have friends that are in a bunch of social networking sites, leading to several emails along the following lines: "Jeez, I just got like ten reminders that it is your birthday. It's possible I belong to too many online communities")

3) Do something on the actual day even if it isn't a weekend. I've done dinner with a smallish group the last three years and I highly recommend it. Even if you do have real plans for the weekend, there's something lonely about sitting alone on your actual Bday.

2) Know what time you were born (2:31, baby!) and watch for it. It's somehow satisfying to know when you are REALLY 25 years old.

1) Make sure to talk to your parents. Your friends will humor you (see #4), but your parents are the only other people for whom the day really holds any significance. It was a special day for them too!

(It was yesterday, by the way - I can now rent a car without paying the extra fee!)

The Old Man Inside

I kind of have a soft spot for Lindsay Lohan. I realize this is strange.

a) Compared to her...cronies (jeez. I am old), she's actually fairly talented. Think she hasn't done anything since The Parent Trap? Check out Mean Girls. She's surprisingly good. And, all evidence to the contrary, she just seems nice. And she can sing!

b) Considering her parents, I think she's turned out about as well as anyone could have hoped.

That said though, isn't there ANY real adult in her...posse...that can get a handle on her? I guess they say she's uncontrollable, but three DUIs?!? Unlike a lot of the rest of that U-23 set, she has a bona fide career in front of her if she wants it. At least take away the car keys!

Anyway, that's my I'm-40-years-old rant of the week.

Also, the Wonder Years appears to be on some channel called 'Ion' and I just cried because Kevin's math teacher died. Awesome.

Role Play

One thing I really like about playing baseball is how there are so many different ways to add value to the game (haha, "add value", I've gone corporate). In the field, different positions require some different skills. Left fielders and catchers are barely even playing the same game. You soccer nuts can argue with me all you like, but I really have to think that a rock star defender could be a pretty good forward. Like rugby to some extent, the position diversity in baseball allows a wider variety of athletes to play the game. Offensively, I suppose it's less differentiated since any hitter can end up in any situation, but the leadoff hitter (woo! leadoff hitters!) and the cleanup hitter really do have different jobs to do. No one really expects me to clear the bases with a double (though I have...once), but no one expects the clean up hitter to get five pitches deep into the count and then collect a bunch of scratch hits and walks. It's one big reason the best teams don't always have the best players. What they do have, is people who are the best at responding to situations and doing their job for the moment.

Just like in baseball, I think we all have our roles at home too. Which is why I'm incredibly angry that I have a spider bite. I explained to the cat that one of the big reasons I have one creature is so that I won't have any other creatures. (The other reasons are love and decoration). I thought we had a deal: I supply her with food (wet and dry), treats, water, a clean sandbox, and all the love she can handle, and she kills all bug-type invaders, endures the occasional picking up, and tries not to go too nuts on the furniture. We may have to renegotiate our terms.

Oh Yeah

Correction from my last post:

There actually was one interviewer who did remember me, and I have to admit I didn't recognize him at first. Touche.

And, AND I forgot perhaps the weirdest quirk. Our bathroom stalls have two rolls of toilet paper. Guards against outages, I like it. But when a new roll is installed, it's held together with a sticker that says "Please help us reduce waste -- use other roll." I've been thinking about this for...it'll be a month on Wednesday...and I can't figure out how in the world finishing one roll before starting the other would reduce waste. Does toilet paper go bad and have to be thrown out? Do people subconsciously use more toilet paper when they're pulling from the bigger of two rolls? It's a mystery.

The Office

We have no official dress code at work. That fact, combined with the differing prior work experiences of the approximately 1,000 employees makes for a pretty wide spectrum of clothing visible from my cube. This week alone, I have seen people walk down the hall with:

-a trucker hat
-a faded, melon-colored tank top that should have gone in the Goodwill pile circa 1992
-patent leather dress shoes
-an absolutely enormous hickey (on a guy, so I guess the turtleneck was out...also, it's summer)

The haircuts are surprisingly conservative, though. Even among the design people...Good old corporate America.

Getting used to a new work environment makes me feel like I'm in some sort of giant psychological experiment. For instance, my office apparently doesn't staple. It took me nearly a week to find a stapler and when I did, it was hidden on such a high shelf in the supply room that I had to ask the guy in the trucker hat to get it down. Now, it's sitting on my desk, unopened, because it's ridiculously sealed and I don't yet want to go into the mailroom and ask for a butcher knife. But I love staples and hate paper clips so I'll eventually give in, I guess.

Also, the people in my cube cluster only sometimes greet each other when they arrive and leave. Other times, they just stand up and walk out with no fanfare. I don't consider myself big on small talk, but even I find this pretty weird. Whenever *I* leave, I awkwardly say, "um...goodnight" like you're supposed to.

Oh yeah, and all eleven of the people who interviewed me must interview a whole lot of people, because it was only a month between even my earliest interviews and my start date, and all of them pass me in the halls without even the vaguest glimmer of recognition. I readily admit, I'm not good with faces, but this makes me think that they hire basically everyone they interview.

I did get a paycheck though! They say money can't make you happy, and I suspect that's true in the long term, but it falls flat on its face in the short term...

Does This Make Up For The Fact That I Can't Talk? No.

I'm one of those people who is very rarely sick and honestly, I'm really bad at it. I have no idea when to slow down or what the consequences of my actions will be. Hey, yelling a lot when you already have a sore throat will cause laryngitis?? No kidding. And it was my second week of work and we were doing all this training so I would have had to feel pretty amazingly crappy to skip it. And as I mentioned, I have very little ability to judge that.

Thus, I've had very little in the way of vocal power for ten days now. I was sick last week and then apparently not very nice to my voice while playing in a baseball tournament over the weekend. Even living alone doesn't really help. I talk to the cat, I have to remind myself not to sing even though there's pretty much only one pitch at which I can make any noise at all, I feel the need to test my voice every five minutes just to see if it's better, I'm my own worst enemy here! And now I sound like a combination of a smoker, a phone-sex operator, and Peter Brady in the Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes episode. You just never know what's going to come out at any given time.

Anyway though, it turns out I'm a talker. Which I guess I knew, but jeez, you wouldn't believe how hard it is for me to shut up for a while. And what a different person I am without a voice. I'm like one of those too-nice, slightly awkward people that always makes me feel like a performing bear.

So here's hoping tomorrow is the day...