First, there was Cockney. "Rosie Lee" for "Cup of tea."
Then, there was clipped Cockney, which is far more common. "Donkeys" for "Years" from "Donkeys Ears" meaning "Years and years."
Further on, there begot Oxford slang. "Bop" for "Party" and horrible pronunciation as in "Mordalin" for "Magdalene."
And now, I'm learning work slang. So far we have "cabbage" "pony" and "magic." Mercifully, none of them are rude. There is also the naming lexicon, which I'm thinking of putting a wiki entry in, for all the many names one goes by. Usually it is your actual name or your initials, which makes up your email address. However, there is also the possibility of a nickname or other name you wish to be called by. This has resulted, for me, in the following exchanges:
"Hello. My name is Cristin."
"And what else?"
"Um, Cam. Sometimes Elf. You?"
"My name is David, but they call me Stuart and sometimes Dis."
"Excellent."
I go through this, on a daily basis, with at least three people. My overriding problem is that I will possibly go through this with many of them more than once, because this is a fairly large company.
When I moved to England I thought I would learn a lot about history, culture, and language. What I have learned so far is that they are very strange, just like the US.
See? We're not so different after all.
Saturday 28 March 2009
Wednesday 25 March 2009
Crummy Day Blog.
Today, not such a good day. They are bound to happen. I read somewhere (Red Magazine I think) that we shouldn't strive for always being happy, but instead work on being content. It's a very practical way of utilizing the Buddhist phrasing of living in the moment, but it makes sense when you think about it.
Overall today (and most of yesterday) was overshadowed by a stomach bug. I think, by the way I'm feeling now, I'm on the upswing. This if of course after consuming vast quantities of Lucozade and anti-diuretics. Within my learning curve of new work came wonderful stomach cramps and sudden head pangs, which I didn't enjoy. But I soldiered through, and hopefully after a good night of sleep I will be able to tackle tomorrow in a whole piece.
Of course it didn't help that someone decided, for some unknowable reason, to unlock my bike, lock it back together, but pop the bike chain off and dent in my basket. It was as if I had a warning shot fired across my nose, though for what reason I don't know. I'm still new in this biking world, still trying to figure out which way is what and how not to piss off better bikers and cars, but it mystifies me that someone would go and do it.
But, like my tummy, I managed to fix the chain on the bike and still make it to the post office, where I mailed off thank you cards to all my job references. I think the art of the thank you, so insanely drilled into my head by my high school English teacher, is one that is truly forgotten. Three of my four references (and the fourth just gave me his address so he's screwed now) have dozens of cards, notes, letters to tell them how much I appreciate them. They need to know it, it's important. Especially now, with all this crummy stuff happening around us - things that are bigger than stomach aches and strange bike vandals.
So, amid all this crummy let me say that despite the fact that I want to curl up in a ball and sleep forever, I fixed a bike chain and mailed four very important letters today. That makes me content, and that's just fine by me.
Overall today (and most of yesterday) was overshadowed by a stomach bug. I think, by the way I'm feeling now, I'm on the upswing. This if of course after consuming vast quantities of Lucozade and anti-diuretics. Within my learning curve of new work came wonderful stomach cramps and sudden head pangs, which I didn't enjoy. But I soldiered through, and hopefully after a good night of sleep I will be able to tackle tomorrow in a whole piece.
Of course it didn't help that someone decided, for some unknowable reason, to unlock my bike, lock it back together, but pop the bike chain off and dent in my basket. It was as if I had a warning shot fired across my nose, though for what reason I don't know. I'm still new in this biking world, still trying to figure out which way is what and how not to piss off better bikers and cars, but it mystifies me that someone would go and do it.
But, like my tummy, I managed to fix the chain on the bike and still make it to the post office, where I mailed off thank you cards to all my job references. I think the art of the thank you, so insanely drilled into my head by my high school English teacher, is one that is truly forgotten. Three of my four references (and the fourth just gave me his address so he's screwed now) have dozens of cards, notes, letters to tell them how much I appreciate them. They need to know it, it's important. Especially now, with all this crummy stuff happening around us - things that are bigger than stomach aches and strange bike vandals.
So, amid all this crummy let me say that despite the fact that I want to curl up in a ball and sleep forever, I fixed a bike chain and mailed four very important letters today. That makes me content, and that's just fine by me.
Thursday 19 March 2009
The baker's dozen.
I believe in baking therapy. It's not the healthiest of therapies, but it's part of what I like to call the "Turning of Negatives into Positives."
This being my first week of work, I felt necessary to make as many mistakes as possible. And because I don't know everyone well enough, I don't want them thinking that I am hopeless. Instead, I would like to think that if they choose to think me hopeless, let it be as a hopeless cause who makes damn good lemon bars.
One of the happiest days I had since moving here was when I finally unpacked my American cookbooks and baking bits. The swell of estrogen was probably so great it drove all talk of sports from the neighborhood for a good 5-10 seconds. Within my boxes were the histories of easy baking goodness, passed down, discovered, or dropped in by someone somewhere.
The best part about baking is rarely do you encounter great amounts of wrath for doing it. Most people are shocked or pleased, as baking is a sort of traditional thing that didn't go the way of the mailed letter or the rotary phone. One time between jobs I took up learning the art of the pie and would bring in samples to the bookstore I took a short job at. I can remember being grabbed in the hallway by one of the workers who kept going on and on about how great it is I'm bringing sweets in and that rarely do nice things just happen.
I guess then that's one of my things in life that I want to do, to make nice things happen. They don't happen often enough, you see.
So every time I think bad things are happening, or I'm having a rough go, I go about doing something positive. This inevitably means I will go from feeling crummy to feeling much better about myself. At the same time I'm making other people feel good too, so it's a winning situation.
Cookies, cakes, pies, and brownies - make them and nice things happen.
This being my first week of work, I felt necessary to make as many mistakes as possible. And because I don't know everyone well enough, I don't want them thinking that I am hopeless. Instead, I would like to think that if they choose to think me hopeless, let it be as a hopeless cause who makes damn good lemon bars.
One of the happiest days I had since moving here was when I finally unpacked my American cookbooks and baking bits. The swell of estrogen was probably so great it drove all talk of sports from the neighborhood for a good 5-10 seconds. Within my boxes were the histories of easy baking goodness, passed down, discovered, or dropped in by someone somewhere.
The best part about baking is rarely do you encounter great amounts of wrath for doing it. Most people are shocked or pleased, as baking is a sort of traditional thing that didn't go the way of the mailed letter or the rotary phone. One time between jobs I took up learning the art of the pie and would bring in samples to the bookstore I took a short job at. I can remember being grabbed in the hallway by one of the workers who kept going on and on about how great it is I'm bringing sweets in and that rarely do nice things just happen.
I guess then that's one of my things in life that I want to do, to make nice things happen. They don't happen often enough, you see.
So every time I think bad things are happening, or I'm having a rough go, I go about doing something positive. This inevitably means I will go from feeling crummy to feeling much better about myself. At the same time I'm making other people feel good too, so it's a winning situation.
Cookies, cakes, pies, and brownies - make them and nice things happen.
Tuesday 17 March 2009
On repeatedly falling off a bicycle
Thus far in my lovely forays into the streets of Oxford I have fallen off my bicycle twice. The first of these bike/person separations occurred on my first day at work. Happily looking at 7.5 hours in which I learned much, felt confused, but overall know that eventually it will all work out, I graciously decided it would be best to jump a curb and hit a pole. For added effect I chose to do this about rush hour, with several cars, pedestrians, and other cyclists looking on.
Of course, in hindsight, I realize this is not, in effect, my fault in the slightest. The curb, you see, was strategically located such that if perchance you made the decision to park your bike at the stop too far on the right to make your turn you would set yourself up to jump the curb and hit a pole. This, I feel, is Fate taking a cruel swipe at me, the cycling novice. Had I but known that such curbs would manifest themselves on the streets of Botley Road in order to cause menace to the unknown peddlist I would've immediately written to council. This, of course, would not change anything. However, as an American I reserve my right to complain profusely about everything.
My second bike separation occurred due to the lack of traction on my 3+ year-old Pumas. (Here pronounced 'pew-mas' not 'poo-mas') As I was gracelessly gliding to a stop in an area where I am not altogether sure where to cross I slipped. You see, in an engineering move much like the aforementioned curb, Oxford made the decision to place a separation device that would lead cars away from the center of the city. This is done primarily because driving within the center of the city is a foolish idea. You see, when Oxford was founded cars had not reached invention. In fact, cars themselves would mostly be abscent from the overall fabric of Oxford for about 2,000 years. For some unknown reason the Trojans, or whatever ancient tribe founded the city, did not imagine setting up an infrastructure to support motorized vehicle transport. This lack of foresight eventually resulted in severe internal traffic problems. The end result was Oxford closing some streets and blocking various locations altogether. Thus we are brought to present day and an encroaching problem. Me, being of the two-wheel self propulsion, can get around said motorized transport. However, I have to figure out my way around the blocking systems. To do this one must remove themselves from the bike and walk it, usually across pedestrian intersections, before remounting the cycle and continuing on following all normal traffic laws. In my attempt to do this my Puma made contact with a slick surface and I was prematurely removed from my cycle and into the nearby path of a friendly Italian.
It still embarassed me greatly.
And lest I not begin to discourse my feelings towards the seat upon which I place my hind region. This is primarily my fault, as I protested the purchase of further items to adorn my shiny new transport. Now, of course, as it has become difficult to sit, the method of which I ride has become very odd and uncomfortable. I hope to remedy this issue shortly, however, I know it is greatly imparing my abilities to balance and will probably lead me to a lovely collision with the next Asian walking tour. This may, however, result in minor Flickr, YouTube or Facebook fame.
I also need gloves. As a runner I have calluses on my feet, it's part of the job. I do not, however, want the same on my hands. More people see my hands than my feet, so if anything I'd like to keep those pretty. I'm alot about the pretty.
I guess I should find some eloquent way of bringing this blog to a satisfactory closure. So I shall leave you with this: If you see a female peddlist on a mountain bike with a basket looking very worried and in pain, stay clear. Or, if you cannot, please place the nearest curb or Asian tour group in your path so that you may avoid injury. Thank you.
Of course, in hindsight, I realize this is not, in effect, my fault in the slightest. The curb, you see, was strategically located such that if perchance you made the decision to park your bike at the stop too far on the right to make your turn you would set yourself up to jump the curb and hit a pole. This, I feel, is Fate taking a cruel swipe at me, the cycling novice. Had I but known that such curbs would manifest themselves on the streets of Botley Road in order to cause menace to the unknown peddlist I would've immediately written to council. This, of course, would not change anything. However, as an American I reserve my right to complain profusely about everything.
My second bike separation occurred due to the lack of traction on my 3+ year-old Pumas. (Here pronounced 'pew-mas' not 'poo-mas') As I was gracelessly gliding to a stop in an area where I am not altogether sure where to cross I slipped. You see, in an engineering move much like the aforementioned curb, Oxford made the decision to place a separation device that would lead cars away from the center of the city. This is done primarily because driving within the center of the city is a foolish idea. You see, when Oxford was founded cars had not reached invention. In fact, cars themselves would mostly be abscent from the overall fabric of Oxford for about 2,000 years. For some unknown reason the Trojans, or whatever ancient tribe founded the city, did not imagine setting up an infrastructure to support motorized vehicle transport. This lack of foresight eventually resulted in severe internal traffic problems. The end result was Oxford closing some streets and blocking various locations altogether. Thus we are brought to present day and an encroaching problem. Me, being of the two-wheel self propulsion, can get around said motorized transport. However, I have to figure out my way around the blocking systems. To do this one must remove themselves from the bike and walk it, usually across pedestrian intersections, before remounting the cycle and continuing on following all normal traffic laws. In my attempt to do this my Puma made contact with a slick surface and I was prematurely removed from my cycle and into the nearby path of a friendly Italian.
It still embarassed me greatly.
And lest I not begin to discourse my feelings towards the seat upon which I place my hind region. This is primarily my fault, as I protested the purchase of further items to adorn my shiny new transport. Now, of course, as it has become difficult to sit, the method of which I ride has become very odd and uncomfortable. I hope to remedy this issue shortly, however, I know it is greatly imparing my abilities to balance and will probably lead me to a lovely collision with the next Asian walking tour. This may, however, result in minor Flickr, YouTube or Facebook fame.
I also need gloves. As a runner I have calluses on my feet, it's part of the job. I do not, however, want the same on my hands. More people see my hands than my feet, so if anything I'd like to keep those pretty. I'm alot about the pretty.
I guess I should find some eloquent way of bringing this blog to a satisfactory closure. So I shall leave you with this: If you see a female peddlist on a mountain bike with a basket looking very worried and in pain, stay clear. Or, if you cannot, please place the nearest curb or Asian tour group in your path so that you may avoid injury. Thank you.
Sunday 15 March 2009
Protocol/New Girl
I am one of four females in a forty-person office.
One of four.
The place is quiet. Really quiet. Scary quiet.
It is populated by developers and they've never really had to sell or market.
They go by nicknames, not by actual names.
This is because everyone is named Mark, Stu, or Matt.
Even the females.
They have office protocol they have you read.
One is "How to cope with the phone."
The instructions:
You may notice from time to time a strange buzzing or ringing sound emanating from a box-shaped item located on some, but not all persons desks. This is called a telephone. To activate the phone pick up the small, funnel-shaped stick (known as the receiver) which is attached to a spiral code. Say "Hello." Should you not wish to activate the phone simply let it sit and buzz or ring. Eventually this should stop.
They also have office protocol on toasted sandwiches, and one on milk delivery.
The milk delivery should come with flow chart and algorithm.
This is because, I fully believe, one day someone really got irked about the milk situation.
There are ratios of milk to beverage to consider.
Today, a soap protocol appeared.
Being that I am now, officially, surrounded by developers this sort of amusing, yet passive-aggressive behavior is probably going to be common.
I think I will do fine.
I'm the new girl, after all.
But I miss the loud sales folk.
I miss my friends.
My office.
The things that I considered mine.
And I feel like a total muppet on my bicycle.
A complete newbie.
Such mixed emotions.
It's strange, really strange, to be new.
One of four.
The place is quiet. Really quiet. Scary quiet.
It is populated by developers and they've never really had to sell or market.
They go by nicknames, not by actual names.
This is because everyone is named Mark, Stu, or Matt.
Even the females.
They have office protocol they have you read.
One is "How to cope with the phone."
The instructions:
You may notice from time to time a strange buzzing or ringing sound emanating from a box-shaped item located on some, but not all persons desks. This is called a telephone. To activate the phone pick up the small, funnel-shaped stick (known as the receiver) which is attached to a spiral code. Say "Hello." Should you not wish to activate the phone simply let it sit and buzz or ring. Eventually this should stop.
They also have office protocol on toasted sandwiches, and one on milk delivery.
The milk delivery should come with flow chart and algorithm.
This is because, I fully believe, one day someone really got irked about the milk situation.
There are ratios of milk to beverage to consider.
Today, a soap protocol appeared.
Being that I am now, officially, surrounded by developers this sort of amusing, yet passive-aggressive behavior is probably going to be common.
I think I will do fine.
I'm the new girl, after all.
But I miss the loud sales folk.
I miss my friends.
My office.
The things that I considered mine.
And I feel like a total muppet on my bicycle.
A complete newbie.
Such mixed emotions.
It's strange, really strange, to be new.
Eventually, this will be an Audi.
There is a thrill when buying a vehicle. I've only experienced this thrill one time, when I bought my first real car - a 2000 Ford Focus. Standing in the bike shop today, looking at the scratch and dents, I had that same thrill.
I also had that similar desire when looking a little wire baskets.
The joy of this new job is that I can commute there on bike. One of the things I really wanted to embrace when moving abroad was getting rid of some of my very obvious American tendencies. One of these is the car. Now, before you protest let me say I have nothing against cars. I love cars. I have gone to car shows. I have poked under hoods and studied engine models. I am no gear head, but I keep up with the latest in best designs.
Right now, however, I am starting over and am dirt poor. I'd rather be spending my gas money on train and cheap flights around the UK and Europe. So I have to let the car dreams pass.
Not that this dream is dead, no. But first, you see, I have to learn this whole 'left' thing. And the whole squiggly lines thing. And that whole diamond yield thing. And roundabouts. (There was a roundabout in Houston but that was one.) I figure this is good, healthy practice for my eventual rise to Audi ownership.
You may notice from my previous posts I have a goal-set mentality. Working with a lot of sales folks I have gained one. That lovely little scratch and dent with basket? Eventually it will turn into an Audi A4. I'm not being crazy, A8 is just a bit too large. You see I love the rope lights, but apparently Audi is returning to the status of being a fine car engineering group. And frankly BMWs are all over the place here. (Not that I would turn down a BMW if offered one. I just think an Audi would be different.)
So as I huff and puff my way to my first UK job tomorrow morning, I will be thinking of the eventual Misano Red Audi with the fastest possible engine so I can play the worlds longest game of chicken with all the other motorists. And I will be happy and glad, because one day I will make that goal.
Until then I will peddle, peddle, peddle.
Friday 13 March 2009
On new beginnings.
Monday I start my new job.
Six weeks, it's been a solid six weeks of searching. At week seven the windfall came. I had three solid days of interviews, and magically - an offer.
I will tell you, at first I was excited. But then, here's the really weird part, I became incredibly sad. You see, it's because I realized I am honestly about to leave my old self behind. That the four plus years I spent in one spot have had their chapter book closed.
Now, here's the deal. I've gotten some AMAZING friends out of that. Some incredible, wonderful people who I will keep in touch with, visit, and stay with, for years upon years. And even though I technically haven't been working with them for seven weeks, I feel like I'm leaving them. Like I want them all to come with me.
I have a great friend who once wrote to me, "When God closes a door he pushes you out a window." That's how I feel. I've agreed to free fall into a new space, a new place. I'm scared and excited and just like my job before this one - hopelessly wishing I could take everyone from my prior job with me. When I was interviewing - and this might creep people out - I was imagining their little ghost-like presences all over the room. My mentors, my friends. Sometimes I wished they could be there, holding my hand. (I honestly can say this, interviewing right now is tough. Really tough. I doubt I'm the only one out there wishing they could answer questions whilst gripping the hands of their most supportive friends and loved ones.)
So, I guess in a sense I am wrapping up this small (thank goodness) chapter of uncertainty, but with a sort of mournfulness. My whole world has decided to change. The most true, inevitable thing in life you can expect, but even still it comes unexpected. And when I go into work on Monday, holding the invisible hands of everyone who supported me so far, I hope to take new hands who will lead me forward into even better places.
Six weeks, it's been a solid six weeks of searching. At week seven the windfall came. I had three solid days of interviews, and magically - an offer.
I will tell you, at first I was excited. But then, here's the really weird part, I became incredibly sad. You see, it's because I realized I am honestly about to leave my old self behind. That the four plus years I spent in one spot have had their chapter book closed.
Now, here's the deal. I've gotten some AMAZING friends out of that. Some incredible, wonderful people who I will keep in touch with, visit, and stay with, for years upon years. And even though I technically haven't been working with them for seven weeks, I feel like I'm leaving them. Like I want them all to come with me.
I have a great friend who once wrote to me, "When God closes a door he pushes you out a window." That's how I feel. I've agreed to free fall into a new space, a new place. I'm scared and excited and just like my job before this one - hopelessly wishing I could take everyone from my prior job with me. When I was interviewing - and this might creep people out - I was imagining their little ghost-like presences all over the room. My mentors, my friends. Sometimes I wished they could be there, holding my hand. (I honestly can say this, interviewing right now is tough. Really tough. I doubt I'm the only one out there wishing they could answer questions whilst gripping the hands of their most supportive friends and loved ones.)
So, I guess in a sense I am wrapping up this small (thank goodness) chapter of uncertainty, but with a sort of mournfulness. My whole world has decided to change. The most true, inevitable thing in life you can expect, but even still it comes unexpected. And when I go into work on Monday, holding the invisible hands of everyone who supported me so far, I hope to take new hands who will lead me forward into even better places.
Wednesday 11 March 2009
I've got a Red Nose.
So this is something really neat about the UK. Once a year the whole country gets together to raise funds for charity and have a giggle. They call it Red Nose Day and for all intensive purposes, this is my second one. The first one I was bleary and tired from doing travel for work. All I can remember is that for an entire day the television was full of comedy and the streets full of people in red noses and costumes. It struck me as so odd, as in the US only pieces and parts of the country would participate. Here, everyone does it.
So, to reference back to my earlier post about "Things I like about England" let me place Red Nose Day. I wish that more countries had the nerve to get up and toss some laughs around to benefit as many charities as possible. England, you win this one hands down.
Monday 9 March 2009
Numbers games.
I should've gone into statistics, had the course I not taken in it in college make me cry. In fact, I know I'm a bit of a maths whiz. Not a sort of 'ethereal' maths whiz where you have trains departing upside down and a jelly donut involved, but a practical maths whiz. I am good a budgets, I am good at figuring out audience percentage, I am good at balancing a check book.
In short, I'm good at people math.
Part of being out on the job hunt has been trying to figure the percentage of applications I need to apply for in order to result in an interview. Now, this isn't me just applying for random jobs. They must be related to prior work, within a rough salary or contract frame, and hopefully - hopefully provide me personal satisfaction. (I am picky, thank you.) Because of my extensive and very odd range of work, this offers me opportunity that, say, someone who has only undertaken one version of work - like corporate accounting - cannot have.
So I figured my range and targets, and like a good little marketer I have hit those targets. Within those targets are goals. Those goals are based on Cadbury Cream Egg Acquisition. Namely, that I need to sit and write excellent applications, and each which results in an interview yields access to one Cadbury Cream Egg, the bane of my existance. Sometimes, for motivation, I line them up next to me, like a sales person shooting for a sports car, and look at them fondly whilst I pull up a successful application and analyse it for further contribution.
This method has worked well, resulting in a fixed intake of one Cadbury Cream Egg per week thusfar. I have yet to purchase my true reward for at last hitting my acceptance into work - which is the huge Cadbury Cream Egg Easter Extravaganza of Chocolate - but I'm thinking I should, because the egg goals have worked out so well.
Now, what this whole thing is really about is why can't we teach kids math skills through things like this? Real things, important things, like getting as many of those tasty chocolate/cream eggs in your tummy? Honestly, we need to change our tactics. Granted, if it was always about chocolate/cream Easter eggs we'd probably need to consider the obsesity problem, but I doubt kids would leap at a celery initiative.
In short, I'm good at people math.
Part of being out on the job hunt has been trying to figure the percentage of applications I need to apply for in order to result in an interview. Now, this isn't me just applying for random jobs. They must be related to prior work, within a rough salary or contract frame, and hopefully - hopefully provide me personal satisfaction. (I am picky, thank you.) Because of my extensive and very odd range of work, this offers me opportunity that, say, someone who has only undertaken one version of work - like corporate accounting - cannot have.
So I figured my range and targets, and like a good little marketer I have hit those targets. Within those targets are goals. Those goals are based on Cadbury Cream Egg Acquisition. Namely, that I need to sit and write excellent applications, and each which results in an interview yields access to one Cadbury Cream Egg, the bane of my existance. Sometimes, for motivation, I line them up next to me, like a sales person shooting for a sports car, and look at them fondly whilst I pull up a successful application and analyse it for further contribution.
This method has worked well, resulting in a fixed intake of one Cadbury Cream Egg per week thusfar. I have yet to purchase my true reward for at last hitting my acceptance into work - which is the huge Cadbury Cream Egg Easter Extravaganza of Chocolate - but I'm thinking I should, because the egg goals have worked out so well.
Now, what this whole thing is really about is why can't we teach kids math skills through things like this? Real things, important things, like getting as many of those tasty chocolate/cream eggs in your tummy? Honestly, we need to change our tactics. Granted, if it was always about chocolate/cream Easter eggs we'd probably need to consider the obsesity problem, but I doubt kids would leap at a celery initiative.
Thursday 5 March 2009
A little bit of validation.
I have great news, my SAP Super User paper got a HUGE nod from IT Toolbox: My listing as #3. It came to me from my former boss and mentor, who said in big quotes, "YOU'RE FAMOUS!" Seeing it is, really and truly, touching. Knowing that so many people contributed to make it happen and there it is ... I'm emotional! #3 for a huge audience to see!
How many companies might we be helping today? How many internal jobs could we save? How much of a chance did I give someone, anyone, who is looking to sustain a positive education environment? Maybe 1 or 2, but that is 1 or 2 more than before.
I've always believed in making an impact. That you shouldn't just market for sales, you should market for change. So sometimes you have to take on projects that aren't just about leads. We're in a world that is gripped pretty strong by uncertainty. So if my publication can make a few people more sure, drive them to make things better for others, more power to them.
Like I said in my last post, the determined will succeed so long as they never give up. Seeing that something I did in my past may fuel people to keep going keeps me going.
How many companies might we be helping today? How many internal jobs could we save? How much of a chance did I give someone, anyone, who is looking to sustain a positive education environment? Maybe 1 or 2, but that is 1 or 2 more than before.
I've always believed in making an impact. That you shouldn't just market for sales, you should market for change. So sometimes you have to take on projects that aren't just about leads. We're in a world that is gripped pretty strong by uncertainty. So if my publication can make a few people more sure, drive them to make things better for others, more power to them.
Like I said in my last post, the determined will succeed so long as they never give up. Seeing that something I did in my past may fuel people to keep going keeps me going.
Wednesday 4 March 2009
Defining Opportunity
I've heard all sorts of weird things. Things like people who were executives applying to shovel poo at the London Zoo. People who had administrative skills that are trying to work at gas stations. And the media are spinning them as sad and yet funny stories.
It's made me think, though. What is opportunity?
We define ourselves by what we do more than what we say. So who is not to say, unless they see they are terrible at it, what great pooper scoopers some former executives are? Who is to say a typist can't change a tire? Who is it to say that an accountant can't make coffee?
Yes, alright, I get it. People out there in recruitment and HR are flooded with applications. Applications out their ears and noses full of people who may not have the 'exact requirements.' But who is to really say that they don't deserve the opportunity? Who is to really judge a person for applying above or below their means? This is a time when those who seek out with determination should eventually emerge victorious. I would rather have someone ambitious and willing over someone literally slogging through. I'd rather build a team on those wanting to rise to the occasion, or humble themselves for the better of others, than search for a person with 5 years of experience in poo scooping, specifically in the elephant species.
So for me I say hats off to those who have thrown themselves out there. Yes, there requires some caution, some proper letter writing, but at least - at least - you're not giving up.
It's made me think, though. What is opportunity?
We define ourselves by what we do more than what we say. So who is not to say, unless they see they are terrible at it, what great pooper scoopers some former executives are? Who is to say a typist can't change a tire? Who is it to say that an accountant can't make coffee?
Yes, alright, I get it. People out there in recruitment and HR are flooded with applications. Applications out their ears and noses full of people who may not have the 'exact requirements.' But who is to really say that they don't deserve the opportunity? Who is to really judge a person for applying above or below their means? This is a time when those who seek out with determination should eventually emerge victorious. I would rather have someone ambitious and willing over someone literally slogging through. I'd rather build a team on those wanting to rise to the occasion, or humble themselves for the better of others, than search for a person with 5 years of experience in poo scooping, specifically in the elephant species.
So for me I say hats off to those who have thrown themselves out there. Yes, there requires some caution, some proper letter writing, but at least - at least - you're not giving up.
Monday 2 March 2009
Seriously, most vivid dream in awhile.
Last night in my dreams I competed to be a bridesmaid.
It started out small. A friend, actually a person who I worked with in college years ago, was getting married. She asked 20 of us up to this theatre, where we would all model outfits, and from there she would pick 5 bridesmaids.
I showed up and slowly but surely 20 became 300 and I found myself in a backstage existence, trying to find the two dresses I was supposed to model. Around me flurries of activity were taking place. The women were completely dressed in full makeup, while I was standing there with my hair in a bun and completely unsure when I was supposed to 'go on.' I eventually am handed my gowns by a stern wardrobe assistant, who tells me I should've known when everything was happening, as it was on my card. She hands me a new card, which includes a middle act, the obstacle course.
My first dress is by Stella McCartney. I know this because one of the girls with me is going on and on about wearing a designer dress. As I step out onto the stage, that's when I realize that this is a show. A sort of "Who wants to be a bridesmaid?" sort of thing. We walk and pose and then are asked to leave the stage. I can't remember if, before I got there, I had my hair and makeup done.
The obstacle course is a partnered affair. We have to swim, using a lifeguard orange lifesaver, around obstacles and to the finish. As a former lifeguard I know what I need to do, but my partner can't swim. So I flip over, placing my knees around the lifesaver, and I tell the girl with me to grab on behind. I begin to use my arms to pull us and am shouting instructions for how she should kick. By some miracle this works and out of the four teams, we're first. However, as I get out of the pool I hear the announcer asking the bride to be what she thought. "Well, Cristin didn't suck in her stomach as much as she should."
I return to the theatre, magically dry and pool smell free, and go to look at my final dress. It's this green horizontal stripe, which I and another contestant loathe over. The partner of mine from the obstacle course steps out in this fancy final number and we 'ooo' and 'ahh' over it. But before I put it on I suddenly wake up.
I know where the bridesmaids came from - there was a wedding in town on Saturday and a gaggle of them were wearing pea green with these little furr shawls. The obstacle course could be from finally watching Survivor last night, plus all the inner jokes I make about an obstacle course in existance as part of my interview process. The competiton - well, a little Survivor, a little of this whole job thing. Seems with how the economy is going the numbers are only continuing to swell for who I'm competing against.
It's been a long time since I've had a dream that seemed to carry on, making complete sense, from start to (near) finish. What this all means, I'm not quite sure. But apparently if I'm ever asked to just pop by a theatre and try a few dresses on the answer will be no.
It started out small. A friend, actually a person who I worked with in college years ago, was getting married. She asked 20 of us up to this theatre, where we would all model outfits, and from there she would pick 5 bridesmaids.
I showed up and slowly but surely 20 became 300 and I found myself in a backstage existence, trying to find the two dresses I was supposed to model. Around me flurries of activity were taking place. The women were completely dressed in full makeup, while I was standing there with my hair in a bun and completely unsure when I was supposed to 'go on.' I eventually am handed my gowns by a stern wardrobe assistant, who tells me I should've known when everything was happening, as it was on my card. She hands me a new card, which includes a middle act, the obstacle course.
My first dress is by Stella McCartney. I know this because one of the girls with me is going on and on about wearing a designer dress. As I step out onto the stage, that's when I realize that this is a show. A sort of "Who wants to be a bridesmaid?" sort of thing. We walk and pose and then are asked to leave the stage. I can't remember if, before I got there, I had my hair and makeup done.
The obstacle course is a partnered affair. We have to swim, using a lifeguard orange lifesaver, around obstacles and to the finish. As a former lifeguard I know what I need to do, but my partner can't swim. So I flip over, placing my knees around the lifesaver, and I tell the girl with me to grab on behind. I begin to use my arms to pull us and am shouting instructions for how she should kick. By some miracle this works and out of the four teams, we're first. However, as I get out of the pool I hear the announcer asking the bride to be what she thought. "Well, Cristin didn't suck in her stomach as much as she should."
I return to the theatre, magically dry and pool smell free, and go to look at my final dress. It's this green horizontal stripe, which I and another contestant loathe over. The partner of mine from the obstacle course steps out in this fancy final number and we 'ooo' and 'ahh' over it. But before I put it on I suddenly wake up.
I know where the bridesmaids came from - there was a wedding in town on Saturday and a gaggle of them were wearing pea green with these little furr shawls. The obstacle course could be from finally watching Survivor last night, plus all the inner jokes I make about an obstacle course in existance as part of my interview process. The competiton - well, a little Survivor, a little of this whole job thing. Seems with how the economy is going the numbers are only continuing to swell for who I'm competing against.
It's been a long time since I've had a dream that seemed to carry on, making complete sense, from start to (near) finish. What this all means, I'm not quite sure. But apparently if I'm ever asked to just pop by a theatre and try a few dresses on the answer will be no.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
