Working girl

I was on the train yesterday and got to thinking about all the different jobs I've held. I think my mind wandered in this direction as it was early afternoon and my day off, and whenever I'm out and about on a day that most people are working I wonder about the other people who are out and about and seem to have the freedom to not be at work on a Friday afternoon. Are they on their lunch break? Are they en route to a meeting? Do they work nights? Are they an actor or pro boxer or inventor? Are they unemployed ? Independently wealthy?

I've always been a worker. My first real job was at 11 or 12. I was hired by a neighbor who lived on the 5th floor of my apartment building to assist him in a local election campaign. I wore a round, navy blue button on my lapel that read 'Caz Grascz for Freeholder' in white text. (Both names rhyme with Jazz). I did not know what a freeholder did (actually I still don't), but I liked Caz and wanted him to win more than anything. He had a big personality, and knew how to relate to children. He wore a plaid sports coat and porkpie hat, had a big nose and a shiny, reddish complexion, and his real name was Casimir which I thought was neat. There was something about his speaking voice that reminded me of Earl Scheib.



My job was to stand next to him as he knocked on doors, smile as he gave his pitch, and when he was finished I'd offer a leaflet from a small stack which I kept neatly organized in my hands. I remember thinking, at the time, that I was hired for my intelligence, and that maybe I had a future in politics. I wore my campaign button to school and the other kids thought it was dumb, which only made me more loyal to Caz. Sadly, Caz did not win and I have since lost the button. I'd kill for that button now.

Since then, I've had so many different jobs. I've been a baby sitter, a zoo docent, a TV extra, a clerk typist for the US Navy, a bartender (I lasted one day), a publicist, a refugee advocate, a PA to a man who had an addiction to strippers, a telephone market survey conductor, a data entry zombie, a hauler of recyclables (I wore overalls and leather gloves), a face painter at children's parties, a receptionist for an orthopedic surgeon and a proofreader, to name a few. I've worked at a Japanese bank, a Manhattan emergency room, a Bronx grammar school, a record label, and the United Nations.

I once almost took a job selling knives door to door, but despite the rich writing material I knew such a job could provide, I couldn't bring myself to do it. What kind of weird people buy knives from a traveling salesman? Whoever they were, I did not want to meet them.

My most favorite "almost job" was as a translator for Mexican heart throb Luis Miguel. He was in town to promote his record and his regular translator cancelled last minute or something. I got the call from my temp agency but couldn't get there fast enough. They gave the job to someone else.

It's the little things

Scott works really hard. His job is demanding and takes up most of his time and energy. I've tried to get used to constant interruptions to conversations, meals, nature walks, entire holiday weekends. I've even retrained myself (mostly) not to talk to him on the bus in the morning as he taps away on his blackberry. It's not a natural state--he may be physically present but his brain is in an e-fog. I often feel like a minimized window as Scott multitasks (and I know that it's even worse for Scott--at least I'm not under the pressue he is). Next Guy Fawkes, I may burn a blackberry in effigy (Scott is tired of this joke).

So it was a pleasant surprise last night that on our brisk, chilly walk home from the bus stop, over the bridge, across the green and down our street, Scott and I shared my headphones and listened to The Smiths on my iPod. A completely ordinary thing, and yet it has been the highlight of my week. For what felt like forever, we were connected, in sync, and his blackberry stayed in his pocket.

protect our home planet

Are you familiar with NASA's mission portfolio?

I was not, until I stumbled upon it while doing a little Snow Day web surfing this afternoon. Their list of missions is absolutely, delightfully lunatic (no pun intended).

With all the news in the last year about the Mars Rover, you are probably aware that NASA is exploring the possibility of sending people to the Red Planet (and in style, too. See photo).

But did you know that the Rossi X-ray Timing Explorer Mission "observes the fast-moving, high-energy worlds of black holes, neutron stars, X-ray pulsars and bursts of X-rays that light up the sky and then disappear forever"?

Or, that the Chandra X-Ray Observatory "probes the mysteries of space with unprecedented x-ray images that help to unravel the structure and evolution of the universe"?

Or what about the Cosmic Hot Interstellar Plasma Spectrometer (CHIPS) project, which "uses an extreme ultraviolet spectrograph to study the 'Local Bubble' surrounding our Solar System"?

Local Bubble? Is your head spinning yet?

I've had so much fun troving the nutty descriptions on the missions list, that I've fashioned my favorite phrases into the poem below entitled "protect our home planet". These are lifted directly from the scientists' descriptions, people. Enjoy.

beyond the termination shock at the very edge of our solar system
the x-ray universe
supermassive black hole systems, pulsars and the origin of cosmic rays
constant vigil for the atmospheric "triggers"
unlocking the secrets of Saturn

relativity gyroscope
asteroid sample return mission
gamma-ray bursts
flyby studies of Pluto
fine-scale magnetic fields and the associated plasma structures on the Sun
a journey through our solar system and beyond

the basic physics of particle acceleration and explosive energy release
total solar radiation
interstellar gas clouds
stardust returns samples

where the Sun's influence ends and the dark recesses of interstellar space begin
the most powerful explosions in the universe
protect our home planet

Ohmmmmmmm

Feeling uplifted this evening, having spent the afternoon at Royal Albert Hall hearing a talk by the Dalai Lama who is in London this week.

He started off his address by pausing to remove his shoes, explaining the importance of comfort. Then he produced a saffron visor from the depths of his robes and plunked it jauntily on his head (a modern adddition to his monks attire to combat ultra bright stage lights).

One thing about the Dalai Lama--the man does not exactly project his voice. And, although his English is very good, it isn't always clear. This combination makes him difficult to follow at times. But the 50% I did understand was very inspiring.

I learned or was reminded that:

1. All people need affection and love. When they have it they lead happy, peaceful lives. When they don't, they act crappily. Apparently, according to His Holiness, even lab rats are better off when they can lick each other (at least I think that's what he said).
2. We must separate the wrong doer from the wrong deed. Despise the wrong deed, but have compassion for the wrong doer because he is acting that way because he's not had love and understanding.

3. To achieve world peace, each of us must first commit to cultivating inner peace through "inner disarmament," letting go of jealousy, suspicion, hatred, etc. in favor of compassion, patience and understanding.

4. The Dalai Lama carries a man purse.

5. The Dalai Lama attracts a lot of wack jobs. A LOT. I wasn't sure what was worse--the angry anti Dalai Lama protestors thronging the streets outside the venue (wtf?), or the annoying white people unfurling gigantic Tibetan flags inside the venue and hollering Pro Tibet slogans with all the enthusiasm of football hooligans. I almost lost it after watching two middle aged English women, apparently strangers, pause on a stairwell to bow smugly to one another, hands folded in prayer.

I don't know why I'm so bothered by the groupie mentality, or the cultish way some people adopt causes so removed from their daily lives. I guess it strikes me as false, naive, needy, and self-satisfied all at once.

That's not to say I don't feel affection for Tibetans (a lovely, lively people) and deep sympathy for their plight. I spent years helping Tibeten monks win asylum in the US, and have listened to many chilling accounts of their oppression under the Chinese. I attended Tibetan celebrations, was invited to a makeshift Tibetan nightclub, and even saw the Dalai Lama in Central Park while picnicking with clients. But I never felt the urge to romanticize them. To the contrary, I was secretly tickled that, once in America, many took lovers, drank beer, ate spare ribs, and acquired mobile phones among other un-monkly activities.

6. Google returns a lot of weird shit when all you're looking for is a picture of the Dalai Lama for your blog post. Here's my favorite find (see point 5, above):