Unconscionable

One in five children in our country goes hungry.  The wealthy in power DO NOT CARE.

School shootings generate an almost queasy level of excitement and attention in our nation - but, as often as we hear the statistic that twenty percent of our children suffer from deprivation, the excitement (the outrage) just isn't there for headlines without the perverted appeal of gruesome and random barbarity.

But hunger is NOT unpredictable.  It is NOT random.

And the wealthy in power are more concerned about THEIR PERSONAL WEALTH than other people's children (or other people at all).  There is no tenderness for children suffering in ordinary ways.  Hunger doesn't have the shock, commerce, or (let's be frank) entertainment value extreme violence does.  And it doesn't make anybody a buck, not reliably.

So bills like this week's watery soup get passed, and we try to consider it a triumph.

It is not.

And the kids aren't mine, so perhaps I am the perverse one.  Because I do care - and I know I don't do more than work the food bank on rare occasion, or the Salvation Army holiday charity event, or sign petitions (the link is a petition focusing on gun violence, not on hunger) ... an otherwise just go to my job, pray in thanksgiving and in supplication for those in need, and giggle about my new pets in my nice warm house.  I suck.

As the wealthy in power work hard to sin outright against everyone but themselves.

The Monk - A Romance

The habit of dipping into Project Gutenberg might seem to some a dry one - so many people have a tendency to think public domain books, being old, must be dusty.

Somehow or other - I think it may have been a few months back after a discussion of 19th century literature online, in which Louisa May Alcott's darker works came up, I found myself bumping around Wikipedia (this is not a pastime for which I feel the currently-vogue requisite shame to indulge; though I know Wiki drives some people to seething snobbery, I rather enjoy its brevity, and have MANY times found its links and resources to be extremely useful), and found something or other about a 1790 novel called The Monk.

Having finished it a few days ago, I'm still doing a bit of gobsmacked blinking.  And not just because it revealed to me the shocker that my generation didn't invent sex, perversion, rape, nor even naughty priests.  No, the thing that strikes me most about this Guignol of sensationalistic plot and pretty stunningly explicit voyeurism is its psychology.

The female characters are, of course, by and large ignored except as vessels to catch and, indeed, runneth over with The Male Gaze.  Toward the end we see a nice bit of exception to this, where a passage is dedicated entirely to a woman's plight - but, of course, even 222 years ago, only in a plight is a female character of interest.  So we have The Woman In Peril to go with that Gaze business - but feminist diatribe is not the point of this post.  The thing was written by a twenty year old man in 1790:  of COURSE he was interested in fantasizing about girls.

Looking, though, at the minds of the men in The Monk, the acuteness of the author's observation is deep and seriously considered.  Flashy as this thing gets - and it gets astoundingly sensational - when the author delves into the mind, the result is very persuasive.  This is exceptionally so in the case of the title character, Ambrosio, whom it's no spoiler really to reveal as the villain of the piece.

What rings truest, and most frightening, in these passages - the thoughts of, the reactions of, this monk - is the combination of perfect self-awareness and utter heedlessness.  Ambrosio moves from a position of purity by default - he is sinless because he has been hermetically sealed off from "The World" - the source of temptations - into willful debauchery at top speed.  The voluptuousness both of his seduction AND of his guilt are starkly, clearly delineated.  His awareness of his guilt never flags, never interferes with his desire, even as the remainder of religion in his faith still fights to squeeze through loopholes and avoid reckoning and punishment.

In the world of 2012, of course, these things read with almost excessive identifiability.  This was my reading at a time when Sandusky was found guilty of his crimes, and the political undertones in a novel condemning, not faith, but many aspects (not, oddly enough perhaps, all) of the Catholic religion might have unsubtle resonance for many of us reading today.  Even a scene of almost-justice become street riot contains such modernity it's sickeningly recognizable.

Reading The Monk was a moment's lark turned into a bit of exploration, some admitted prurience, and finally a page-turning quest to see what this author would do next.  I have to say, I'd recommend it to anyone looking for their next open-minded read.  But be warned - the view inside the mind of a determined rapist doesn't lack for giddy shock.

The Pain! The Pain!

Heard five minutes ago on the local nooz:

"Is social media destroying your grammar?"



...



...



No.  But you guys are destroying subject-verb agreement AND insulting my intelligence.  Nice try.

Next!

Rear View

I was trying to be pretty sanguine this morning.  But it may be said:  a sprained neck and a migraine are no pleasant combination.  The headache *could* actually be a concussion.  But for now it appears to be an exceptional, but not catastrophic, ailment.

What I wrote before the various pains began hitting is below.  I probably won't trouble to edit anything to smooth out the *rest* of the day.  All I really want is bed and sleep - and it isin't even 8:00.  Gah.


***



I'm used to men looking at my backside, but this morning's stream of gawkers was a bit of another story.  On Fridays, I come in an hour later than the rest of the week, so the roads tend to be more crowded.  This morning, on the straightaway that ratchets up to a 55 speed limit and is the home stretch to getting in to work, I passed out from behind an SUV in the left lane and exited to the access road for my office.  She veered across all lanes too, careened in behind me, and tailgated without slowing down.  When I slowed down - the speed limit off the highway decreases 20MPH - she bashed into my car.

I spent the next hour and some change sitting pulled over on the road that leads to my office, and for a while traffic mostly just made their way by, somewhat slower maybe, but not making much point of rubbernecking.  My own neck now significantly less limber than rubber, I spent the time pretty much sitting there.  First call was 911 of course.  Second was to mom's house, where first I talked to stepfather for a while, then he did put her on the phone.  It's a cruel thing to do to a fretful mom, calling her when you're in a wreck, but she sort of signed up for it, being a parent.  (Poor thing, how could she know she would get me for a daughter?)  But anyway, I cooled down.  The other driver had some friend or a sister or something come sit in her car with her, but I just stayed put and told mom not to come.

The other driver's license plate said, "I'm animal friendly".  Oh my.  Anything it might have indicated about her interest in "animal law" would be personally identifiable information I don't care to put online, but suffice it to say I got a fair amount of amusement out of the contrast literally parked before me - given her disinterest in *traffic* law, and apparent non-people-friendliness.

First one sheriff showed, then he told us each, at our cars, he was not actually on duty.  He'd come so he could help speed up the process while we waited for the officer who'd be handling the incident.  I wrote a little essay about what'd happened, I turned off the car, I turned it back on eventually, it was a very long and quiet time.  With traffic now significantly slowed, because when sheriff #2 arrived his vehicle caused more traffic to crawl.  Not all by any means, but it seemed a good proportion of people were taking the excuse to indulge curiosity.

The perpetrator (heh - well, she did get cited and I certainly did not) had actually pulled over in front of me, so it was sherriff #2, then sheriff #1, me, her, and then her friend's car out in front of us all.  So the damage she'd done got a lot of inspection.  I actually never did get out of my car, including during those first two minutes when she tried to come talk to me and I was on the line with 911.  I am grateful, considering the temper she'd induced, that I had no time nor reason to talk with her.  I resolved to wait, and sit tight, and not leave anywhere near her own vehicle, and to leave alone.

Eventually, the tow truck came for her SUV.  Her friend moved, the truck pulled in in front of her, and she was slowly loaded up.  She'd apparently shot her (vehicle) in the foot.

I keep hearing little creaking and popping noises in my neck, and a headache is taking slow root, but I'm not sure there's anything severe going on.  It could be stress as much as actual injury, and today's dance card is booked for a while, so we'll have to wait and see.  I worked an hour later than my usual half day ends, because I was not taking PTO for this, then an eye exam.  I need glasses, and had put off setting that for ages, so wasn't gooing to miss it.  So I can read, and write, more happily.  :)

It's not really the worst day in the world.  Frustrating - and certainly for a while there I was seriously shaken.  But I hold no grudge, and there are things to do.  So it goes.  And so do I.

Take the Con II

This holiday weekend has been just the concluding part of what has actually been a vacation; I took off on Thursday and Friday too, so am in the midst of five days off and enjoying it very much.  The highlight, of course, has been JRW's conference.

The marquee guest this year, Kitty Kelly, was unable to attend, as her husband was recently hospitalized, which is more than an understandable reason for a change in plans.  One of the agents, too, had a very late-breaking reversal; after already being on his way to come to Richmond, Jason Allen Ashlock learned of a death in his family and had to turn around.  Apparently, he has committed to reach out to each one of us he had been scheduled to meet with at the Conference, to set up a Skype or phone call or some rain-check meeting.  I call that a pretty incredibly generous gesture, especially given the circumstances, and am duly impressed by commitment like that.  It's unlikely I'm alone in wishing peace and sympathy for his family.

And so I started the conference "off the hook" in a way.  My agent meeting was off, one of the other best agents there I've already queried, and the publishing pros there have nothing to do with historical fiction.  In a way, the years the Conference don't offer me any direct prospects are freeing, because they provide all the benefits of the education, support, and enjoyment the Conference always does, and skip some of the stress.  It's always fun to set a meeting, of course, but with as much work as I've been putting in lately - and with the fact that I am working on some revisions for an agent interested enough to put me to work on them (this is me, totally not squeeing and being 100% insufferable that I am working on revisions for an agent, by the way ...) - it was nice to embark on the event without pressure to perform.


I have to say, thanks to a couple of the Sarcastic Broads, to JRW's excellent Administrative Director, to all the volunteers, and of course to the guests, it was a great conference this year, not missing a beat even if it was missing a planned speaker and agent.  It was relaxed and rich, and went off without a hitch.  Smooth as silk - and fun, to boot.

Perhaps the unique feature of JRW's conference is the accessibility of the participants.  Guests who come for this event are asked to stay for all of it, to eat lunch with everyone, to be available in the halls and between their panels:  you don't necessarily need to have an appointment with an agent to have access to them.  Last year when I talked to Michelle Brower and she asked me to query her, it was not in a formal pitch 5-minute meeting, but just a chat about a colleague of hers after a panel.

I've learned that sitting out the panels, too, can be relaxing.  If one of the ones I am thinking about is overcrowded, or in the dark room with the uncomfortable chairs, or if I have just taken SO many notes at the last one and want to decompress (or, on years I am having a meeting, if I don't want to disrupt a discussion by coming-and-going from it), it can be rewarding to stay out in the lobby and chat with people as they're about to meet with an agent, or - amazingly - actually work on my writing!  The venue is a very nice one, and this year the weather was extraordinarily beautiful, so sitting out a period was a bit of a zen relief.

This year, sitting one out, I met Kevin Hanrahan, whose name I advise everyone to remember.  His novel is one I can't wait to read, and suspect an awful lot of us will embrace.  On top of being a likely success as an author, he's also an active service member, a very nice and generous guy (he agreed to read my battle scene!), and a family man.  It'd be impossible not to wish the guy excesses of success, and with the idea he's pitching, he promises to find it.

I also got to chat with Mike Albo, who, on top of being funny, turns out to be ANOTHER one of those friendly, supportive, enthusiastic, and infectious people the Conference is simply riddled with.  Likewise Joe  Williams, who did not have my dad as a professor (hee), and yet somehow managed to turn out to be a dazzlingly smart and also very nice guy nonetheless.

It's almost a bewildering abundance, the talent and charm JRW seems to attract.

The exception to this statement is notable, actually.  There was one guest this year who put on a show such as I've never seen before at any JRW event.  At one of the largest panels I attended, we were treated to a guest literally positioning herself with her back to the moderator, rolling her eyes at said mod, evincing obvious and 100% unnecessary antipathy quite publicly, and making an immense show of both boredom (whenever she was not speaking) and overdramatic snobbery.  It was pretty amazing, and devastatingly ugly.  The moderator largely on the receiving end of this Mean Girls snottiness evinced zero awareness of it, either because she couldn't see the show (this person's back being firmly to her) or because she is, you know, a GROWNUP and not feeling the need to engage pubescent antics.  I always liked this moderator, but am now firmly On Their Side now, and entirely disgusted by a guest I would hardly have guessed to be a petty, clique-ish little wench.  And, yes - I'm aware this succumbs to the clique dynamic.  But she started it!

I wasn't alone in noting her rather stagey antipathy, nor in being throughly put off by the show.  It was the single most revolting piece of behavior I've ever seen at any JRW event - and it was, in fact, the single piece of revolting behavior I've really ever seen at all.  (Poorly socialized people with unfortunate interpersonal skills really do not hold a candle, though certainly there've been a couple of those.)


***


The closing event of the weekend was Pitchapalooza - an event not ideal for the faint of heart or weak of knee.  Like the First Pages Critiques, this challenge asks writers to bare their works.  Unlike first pages - Pitchapalooza is not anonymous ... not done for you by readers onstage ... and is utterly direct.

Also unlike first pages ... it turns out that the likelihood of finding your name drawn out of the box, to present your pitch live in front of everybody, aren't so small.  With First Pages, which take a little while to read, and a little while to discuss, if they get to read as many as ten of them, it's a bumper crop.

With Pitchapalooza, there's a one minute limit on each author.

So there is time for a whole lot of people to read.

So the odds go way UP, that you will get chosen.


All of this is irrelevant to me.  Because the odds of being chosen FIRST out of the box ...

Turned out to be 100%, for me.


Leila tells me the look on my face when they read my name FIRST was worth a million dollars.

I can say this:  being chosen first was pretty painful!  But David Henry Sterry and Arielle Eckstut were remarkably generous - they clearly know what this is like for writers - and asked for a round of applause for me before I even began, and were pretty kind (and VERY HELPFUL!) in providing first-feedback.

I'm glad I didn't have to follow Kevin Hanrahan.

I'm sorry I didn't get to hear some of the repeat comments they gave to most participants, so I could edit briefly and address some obviously typical issues with pitches.

I'm interested by the fact that some of what my work overall needs done on it is common to what they observed about the pitch itself!  (It's well written and *rather* engaging, but needs "lusciousness" and really has to grab its audience harder by the lapels.)

I'm embarrassed that I was a bit disheveled at the time we got started, and didn't have time to acclimate to the event and prepare myself for it, and so stood there looking wildly, NAKEDLY nervous, my hair a bit of a mess, and my entire body shaking while everybody watched and at least two cameras TAPED ... heh.

But I was gratified by the kindness of several folks afterward (see also - the comment on my post below, from my Frank-ophilic friend Jeff Sypeck [this is as distinct from francophilic, fella babies]), which included Mike Albo saying the book sounds cool, and a girl named Cathy who said she missed my actual pitch but heard the feedback and wanted to know about the book, and Joe Williams, to whom I said I liked his pitch better and he said he liked mine (... UM ... and can I just say, the White House correspondent for POLITICO liked my pitch better than his - this, a guy so insanely calm and poised I was wishing I'd taken some sort of drug just so I could have appeared less of a trembling wreck and wondering how he did that).

I mean, I stood in front of Karl Marlentes and gave this speech.  I stood in front of Michelle Brower (ON the judging panel, by the way), who's already (so generously!) rejected my query.  I stood in front of all my Broads, and EVERYONE there (including that one Mean Girl) and shook, and faltered, and had trouble breathing, and managed to get through it.

FIRST.

And took ten minutes to come down.  Hee.  My handwritten notes on what they had to say are hilariously quavering, the pen half-digging through the page in physical translation of the mental pressure!


I have to say - Pitchapalooza?  HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.  Woot!

Joe Williams said this, and I will close with it (as we Broads both opened and closed Pitchapalooza itself):  "They say you have to do one thing every day that scares you.  I think we've gotten a month's worth of scare in, doing those pitches."

WORD, Joe.  And a hug and a high five.

Seek, and Ye Shall Find ...

... well, not *precisely* me ...

Apparently, by coming up with this search string, though - you could end up here.  Twice in a row.

cartoon long hair brunette
The link actually makes it all the more depressing-slash-hilarious - because the search result makes it clear that I am NO Betty Boop.  Aw.

How Much Do I Love My President Right Now?

Yeah, the speech he is giving even as I type is pretty stellar and all that.

But he just asked why hedge fund managers should pay lower tax rates than their secretaries.  WOO for him ditching that "Administrative Assistant" bullshit.  (Additionally:  good question.  Let's get a *decent* answer.)

And also, you know - for growing a functional pair, and publicly making the most salient point of our day.



Get it the hell done, O Wealthy Lawyer-Politicians.  The rest of us are heartily sick of the bloody brinksmanship.  NOBODY'S little "endowments" (all entendres intended) are going to look good if this plays out.  So quit lying about your measurements and each other's.  You guys have a ****ing job to do.

Do it.

Juicy Drama

"Kings" may have been the most audacious series ever to air on television, and I ws fairly blown away by it while it was on.  I flagged, though, when it became clear the show would never (be allowed to?) last, and quit watching.  As much as I liked it; as fascinated as I was that it was ever mounted at all - I retreated in fear when I thought we would lose it, and I told myself I'd find it in my own time.

The entire thing is available on DVD for under thirty dollars, and it's on Netflix to boot.  If you are interested in the strangest soap opera since "Soap" itself - steeped in the Old Testament; filled with astounding, unusual dialogue (some of it exceptionally good, much of it beautifully-functionally declamatory ... no small portion rather badly read - even by a cast, annoying as some of them may be at times, still well chosen to their roles) ... a marvelous looking show, and a pretty amazing surprise, I would very much recommend it.

The thing is Dallas on whatever the Judeo-Christian version of a vision quest might be.  It's earnest beyond most contemporary stomachs, about G-d.  It's remarkably exploitive of Him, too.

But then ... the Old Testament itself rather was.  If we're honest.

But more than anything:  it is drama.  The most incredible, power-packed - crack-addled - drama.  Let's face it, the OT was that and then some, and we love it.



Dallas in "Gilboa" - a mythical, modern-looking kingdom, yet imbued with the most medieval aspects of an monarchy.  iPads and the finger of G-d ... salacious palace intrigue and portents and pronouncements from (Reverend) Samuel(s).

Ohhhhh ... but the drama.

My Lord, kids, this thing DARES.  It does things even J. R. might have never been scripted with.  And revels.  And excels.  This is perhaps the most astounding thing I've ever seen, not for the presence of G-d, the light casting shadows.

It's the things the camera dares to see in those shadows.  Holy cats, this is Grand Guignol.  This is unfettered.

Hell, it stars Ian McShane.  It has to be.

Every uber-angsty goth kid should be buying this.  Every drama or Bible nerd.  Everyone who ever loved Ann Baxter as Nefertiri in "The Ten Commandments" - but thought it was too understated and rife with verissimilitude.  All the addicts of those 1980s nighttime wealth-porn soaps.  (Because this is wealth-porn, every bit as much as all the rest of these things I am gushing about.)


It turns out, I missed some of the most amazing things.  I just bumped across an acre of wrinkles and reversals, only to find something enormous said to have taken place offscreen.

I'm interested to see how true that turns out to be.

I'm enjoying the ridiculousness - the SUMPTUOUS indulgence - rather immensely.  Bravo!

Patterns

Oh, to be a numerology nerd when the stats page starts to look like this:

The Trinity o' TrekFish

Why, YES, I am a little obsessed with this thing now!

Hey, don't complain. I could be complaining insufferably about the headache, cold, this morning's power outage, and - oh yeah - the headache. Or I could be BRAGGING insufferably, about how the title for my PAID OFF CAR arrived in the mail today.

Count your blessings I'm merely geeking out hilariously. Beats insufferably any day, doesn't it ... ?


Feel the love:

Not Resting

I need to be sleeping, but the caffeinne in that headache pill is keeping me from the possibility. I lay for a while trying to think lovely thoughts of X - of his being here on a day like this, the way we'd run errands, the way we'd sit and read at each other - but I am restless and unable to do right to myself.

The pills aren't working (on the pain) - but they are keeping me nattering. I "called in" on our writers' club meeting today, and can't seem to get down to un-business.

From my experience Saturday, going out when I knew my head was clanging with pain, I know at least I'm avoiding exacerbation. And the laptop is quiet, where turning on the TV would attack me - and reading a paper book would have me in glasses I have been fighting against for a week - but it isn't the brightest headache treatment. I know that. But it is so easy, so temptingly, time-wastingly present.

X tells me if he had headaches like the one I've been describing this week, he'd be grabbing a doctor by the lapels demanding relief.

I, of course, respond by abandoning my glasses, failing to lie down and rest, and pretending that a cocktail of acetaminaphen and ibuprofen, and leaving the TV off, are some sort of therapy. Meanwhile barfing out of my puling brain, knowing the result is drivel.

Hey, clearing the head of drivel must be good for what ails the brainpan. ... No ... ?

Ah well.

Time to try lying down again.

Then probably a stab at Chinese food, later. That might actually be a step up.

WOW!

Okay, I saw the OK Go marching band version of their video for "This too Shall Pass", and I liked it so much I decided to link it here because - neato spedito!

Then I saw this version.

Gobsmack-worthy excellent fun!!!!

Trick

Anyone who's ever tried to do white makeup knows how difficult it is to get right. It sits on your skin and looks cakey, flaky - it just can't be done like regular foundation.

And that's the trick to getting it right. I used to think white makeup was best served by trying to scrub my skin to the freshest, healthiest layer. Because it seems to sit on the slightest dryness like a highlight, white makeup can make you look positively scaly - so I used to try to scrub and scrub so there could be no possible patch that wasn't perfectly smooth. And then I'd try to go out for Hallowe'en as a vampire, and find that my skin wasn't perfectly smooth except to my poorly attuned naked eye - the makeup would do its "ha ha, you're a reptile" thing - and the effect would be ruined.

White makeup, it has to be said, is not designed to disappear on the skin the way color matched foundation is. It's mean to COVER, not blend - and so it has to sit on a surface primed for that purpose. Not just glopped straight on, more and more, hoping for the least-worst. And no amount of moisturizer will perform this (surface) service.

The trick is: lay down a thin layer of the makeup you use that DOES match your skin. Maybe a shade lighter, sure. But don't try to go straight from your skin to white makeup. Even as pale as I am: that doesn't work. Period.

A layer of your own foundation - even a thin layer - gives something that communicates to both sides, as it were. The foundation designed for your skin is compatible for the job of making up your skin. And the white foundation is compatible with THAT. So you get the velvet-smooth desired effect.

It's a ton of makeup, yes.

But it ends up being probably less than many slather on working white makeup up to the point of a geisha effect. And less makes more of a point, too. You don't have to go clown-white to get a pretty heightened effect, with white makeup.

Anyway. Hallowe'en tip from me to you ...

Here's a Question

I can reconstruct the possibilities which might lead to my going outside, when I first did today, and finding, say, a beer bottle or something on my car. Neighbors being sociable in their yard on a fine Saturday night - spilling into my driveway - someone leans on the car that doesn't belong to them on property that doesn't either.

Don't love it. But I could figure that out.

What I can't quite get my head around is how a glass of milk came to be sitting there.



And then I have to ask myself - why does THAT seem so bizarre?

Mysteries of life. At least the cup print is washed off.

*Shrug*

Nerding

So I just do not feel like doing the housecleaning right now, and I don't intend to go out tonight, so that will keep for the evening. I've been watching "Young Adam" off and on (enh) and wandering a bit around the house.

Tried on the dress I bought to use for Hallowe'en. Like it; could stand to lose a hair for it to really fit a bit better. But I've lost a hair since buying it, so hope's not dead.

Then I started playing with the wig.

Yes, a month and a half before the night - I am distressing the wig I'll use in my costume.



Some might say I could spend my brief weekends more constructively.

Apart from knowing I need to do more querying - I'd argue I'm spending my time just about right.


Doooooooooorrrrrrrrrrkkkkkk ...

Okay, Okay - So - Mel Gibson

I try not to bore y'all with my take on pop culture, because - let's face it - I'm a forty-some year old suburban white woman, and cherish my right to extreme unhipness just as much as everyone with any trace of fad-and-fashion savvy chereishes their right to dismiss me as a hopeless fossil ...

But Mel Gibson and these tapes of disgusting voicemails he left for his chippie.

Am I the ONLY person who's been hearing these things who can hear the extreme level of bad acting going on?


The longer this foolishness goes on, the more absolutely astounded I am to hear NOBODY whatsoever commenting on the extraordinarily bad line readings on both parties' parts. I mean, unbelievably bad acting. Bend-at-the-waist, high-school first-timer, one-act-festival-at-the-community center bad acting. So. Hideously. Bad.

People have mentioned many times how interestingly strange the sound recording is.

But not once, not yet, have I heard even the most casual observation of this execrably poor quality of performance.

Ugh.

Reasons to Ignore Silly Internet "Tools"

Apparently, I write like William Shakespeare.

And now the tool I really need is a posterior smoke removal system. Sheesh.

Yeah, It's Not Every Day ...

... a middle-aged woman hears her (continent) mom say, "Hand me my diaper, will you?"

What ... ?? My mom saved the cloth diapers from when my bro and I were babies. They really do make remarkably good working rags. For painting kitchens, and things like that.



"So. Fumes getting to you there, Di?"

"Yeah, kinda'lilbitmaybe."

*Conk*

Klingon Poetry Jam

Suitable for my main character, this one ...

So honor the valiant who die 'neath your sword,
But pity the warrior who slays all his foes.

Codgerly Rant A-Comin'

Okay.

Twice this week I have heard of people making hires of twenty-somethings who, respectively 1) showed up late every day their first - and last - week on the job; and 2) never showed up at all.

Hey. Employers who fire people like me because we cost too much.

How's that getting-rid-of-all-the-experienced-people-to-save-money thing working out for y'all? (I'm looking at YOU, most recent former employer - who ditched fully ten percent of your entire workforce on this "logic".)



They're cheaper for a reason, some of 'em, guys. The entitled, got-a-smiley-for-showing-up ones, who think they needn't bother TRYING in this life. Nor, apparently (astoundingly!) in this economy.

Sheesh.