I have become hooked on "Scrabulous" on Facebook. It is a really fun game, and I love playing it. It is a nice distraction during the day. Having said that, it is a little disturbing to me what I've discovered to be the winning strategy at this game. I like forming beautiful, or interesting, or unexpected words; I just want to take the letters and form the best word possible. This is what I was doing when I first started playing, not paying much if any attention to whether the point-laden letters fell on triple-letter scores. I soon noticed, though, that this is not the way to win (duhhhhh). I guess this is why Scrabble has never been my favorite game. It bothers me that you can get 40 points for a dumb little word like "hub" if you land it on the right squares, and make sure it's forming other dumb little words next to adjacent words, like "uh" and "be," whereas you can form a lovely word like "pixie" and get 7 points.
Even more disturbing, you get rewarded for coming up with totally bizarre words that you probably never even heard of, which for some reason the Scrabulous dictionary recognizes as legitimate, like "kane" and "vaw"-- both of which I played recently. Now if this were REGULAR Scrabble, you couldn't pull it off, because you'd have to take a chance playing the word, and if someone checked you with the dictionary after you played the word and didn't find it, you'd lose your turn. But with Scrabulous, you just type "vaw" into the Scrabulous dictionary and see if it, for some bizarre reason, comes back a "valid" word. If it's judged "invalid," no harm done--you can just keep typing in other random assemblages of letters till you strike the jackpot.
It is just so ridiculous. I mean, what is "vaw"? What it makes me think of, as I told my Scrabulous partner Deb, is a hideous combination of "maw" and "vagina," which immediately makes me think of Grendel's mother or that huge evil spider in _Lord of the Rings_ or some other terrible misogynistic she-beast creation in literature, "opening her giant vaw and devouring our hero."
I just shouldn't have been able to score with "vaw." It makes me sad, but I have sold out my Scrabble purity. Ah well, I'll always have Boggle.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
My boss is a genius!
Okay, so I really didn't think this could be done, but my boss has, I think, done it. The situation is this: some of my colleagues have been wanting to call it to another colleague's attention that he has a body odor problem. Now, before you say this is too heartless and cruel, I have to say that it really is true and it's a bit of an issue, because there are 21 or so of us assigned to one office (not that we'd all be in there at one time, but sometimes there's a crowd in there), and it gets pretty close and muggy. Although I wasn't thinking of saying anything myself, there have certainly been times when I've been uncomfortable with the odor, and also embarrassed when conferencing with students for fear they might think the odor was coming from me.
Anyway, when I heard that someone might say something to him, my first thought was that there was no way it could be done. What could you possibly say to someone? It was just too horrific a task for words. I took an informal poll and nobody's answer impressed me. Mark said he would approach the colleague and frame the whole thing as if it were happening to him-- "You know, people have sometimes told me I need to wear deodorant," something along those lines--hoping the person would then internalize the lesson and apply it to himself. I know this is meant to be kind and cushion the blow, but I think one of two results would ensue: either the person wouldn't connect the anecdote with himself, or, if he did, when he figured out what the other person had been doing, he'd be more mortified than if it had been done directly. My mom's response was that such horrible tasks should be the responsibility of highly paid, important people at the college (she actually said the university president should have to do it. Should have to tell an adjunct he has B.O.).
Well, just now my boss (and friend) at work told me how she would have handled it if the task had been left to her. It's not perfect, of course, but I really think it's by far the best idea I've heard so far. She said she would begin by telling him how difficult this was for her, and then say something like, "A couple people have commented to me that it sometimes seems to them as if you've come to the office straight from the gym." Now again, I know--not perfect. But we have to start from the premise that there is not going to be any completely ideal way to tell another person he has B.O. But if you have to perform such an odious (haha) task, isn't this just the most ingenious way to do it? I mean, a COMPLIMENT is embedded in the insult-- that people have perceived him to be a gym-goer, possibly connoting that he is in good shape or has almost a muskily attractive scent, albeit one that needs to be masked by deodorant while at a place of work.
I am just so wowed right now by her finesse. What a boss!
Anyway, when I heard that someone might say something to him, my first thought was that there was no way it could be done. What could you possibly say to someone? It was just too horrific a task for words. I took an informal poll and nobody's answer impressed me. Mark said he would approach the colleague and frame the whole thing as if it were happening to him-- "You know, people have sometimes told me I need to wear deodorant," something along those lines--hoping the person would then internalize the lesson and apply it to himself. I know this is meant to be kind and cushion the blow, but I think one of two results would ensue: either the person wouldn't connect the anecdote with himself, or, if he did, when he figured out what the other person had been doing, he'd be more mortified than if it had been done directly. My mom's response was that such horrible tasks should be the responsibility of highly paid, important people at the college (she actually said the university president should have to do it. Should have to tell an adjunct he has B.O.).
Well, just now my boss (and friend) at work told me how she would have handled it if the task had been left to her. It's not perfect, of course, but I really think it's by far the best idea I've heard so far. She said she would begin by telling him how difficult this was for her, and then say something like, "A couple people have commented to me that it sometimes seems to them as if you've come to the office straight from the gym." Now again, I know--not perfect. But we have to start from the premise that there is not going to be any completely ideal way to tell another person he has B.O. But if you have to perform such an odious (haha) task, isn't this just the most ingenious way to do it? I mean, a COMPLIMENT is embedded in the insult-- that people have perceived him to be a gym-goer, possibly connoting that he is in good shape or has almost a muskily attractive scent, albeit one that needs to be masked by deodorant while at a place of work.
I am just so wowed right now by her finesse. What a boss!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Rectifying the past
Today, I again passed my mom at the same intersection on her way back to Healdsburg, but this time, she was not eating a sandwich, and she DID see me, and we waved enthusiastically at each other! We both commented on the slim odds that this would happen. We both had to be taking the same street, for one thing, and she always takes Lake (I learned after the fact) but I usually take California. Also, if I had been one second later, I would have missed her, because she was just about to make the turn that takes her to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was the same intersection I saw her at before, the same one where she was eating the sandwich and didn't see me. It is just so RIGHT and so fateful that we would get another chance and see each other and get to wave so lovingly and enthusiastically! The past was remedied, entirely.
Also, I walked to a playground with Dena, and on the way there, Daisy's handmade pumpkin hat fell off. It was a windy day, and I thought it was lost forever. We spent several hours at the playground, so the chances seemed slim, but for the sake of it, I walked back the same way with Dena, retracing our steps to see if the hat would still be there. And we FOUND it! Some kind person had hung it from a post so the person who lost it could see it easily if she looked.
Oh yes, and for a third thing: I had to do a desperation parking job today at a meter, even though I only had enough money for half an hour and I knew I'd be there for an hour. When I got back to my car, no ticket.
Some days are not my days, and I guess others are. Already I'm dreading the bad luck day that will surely follow this one... three crappy things to happen to me, to make it all even?
Oh well. I will enjoy the end of my good luck day for now.
Also, I walked to a playground with Dena, and on the way there, Daisy's handmade pumpkin hat fell off. It was a windy day, and I thought it was lost forever. We spent several hours at the playground, so the chances seemed slim, but for the sake of it, I walked back the same way with Dena, retracing our steps to see if the hat would still be there. And we FOUND it! Some kind person had hung it from a post so the person who lost it could see it easily if she looked.
Oh yes, and for a third thing: I had to do a desperation parking job today at a meter, even though I only had enough money for half an hour and I knew I'd be there for an hour. When I got back to my car, no ticket.
Some days are not my days, and I guess others are. Already I'm dreading the bad luck day that will surely follow this one... three crappy things to happen to me, to make it all even?
Oh well. I will enjoy the end of my good luck day for now.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Sunday
This morning the Nike Women's Marathon is running past our living room window. I had no idea this was such a big race. The waves just keep coming and coming. There are groups stationed on the corner, cheering them on as they make the turn; as they pass our house, they turn right and head down the Great Highway, I assume past the Cliff House and then along Ocean Beach. I took Daisy outside to watch a few minutes ago and she stood there and shouted, "Walk! Walk!" Inspiring words for the runners to hear. I tried to get her to say "Run," a word she also knows, but for some reason she wasn't into saying it very much. We stood for awhile with a father and three little girls who had signs for their mother; one said "My mom rocks." They never saw their wife and mother run by, though, and finally they left. It made me feel sad. I hope she's okay, whoever she might be. The loudest yelling and carrying on is coming from a contingency from Brooklyn, NY.
Friday, October 12, 2007
A talent for stress
I had a massage yesterday that I desperately needed. My neck was hurting so badly that I couldn't turn my head to the left. My usual levels of stress and tension had been exacerbated by several nights of Daisy sleeping in our bed, forcing me into increasingly uncomfortable positions curled in the little area of the bed that was still left for me. Anyway, I think I impressed my masseuse with my level of stress. She told me I was a "more-than-one-massage" case and that I should return within a week so she could get more of the stress out of me. She worked on the knots of tension so hard that it was all I could do not to cry out in pain, and I kept moving involuntarily (I was doing my Lamaze breathing from when I was in labor). But it was GOOD pain, because I knew she was getting rid of the knots. She is the greatest masseuse. She thought I would be sore today, and kept warning me what to do, but I was so greatly relieved to have some of the stress out that I don't at all mind a little soreness today. I feel so much better.
And now I need to work on not clenching my jaw all day long. I know it's wearing on my teeth, as well as giving me terrible headaches and stress in my neck. I am kind of a mess. I think I need to work on being less cerebral and more in tune with what's going on in my body (but see how I began this sentence-- "I think." That's all I do). I have a hard time with any part of my body that is not my brain. I need to work on this somehow.
And now I need to work on not clenching my jaw all day long. I know it's wearing on my teeth, as well as giving me terrible headaches and stress in my neck. I am kind of a mess. I think I need to work on being less cerebral and more in tune with what's going on in my body (but see how I began this sentence-- "I think." That's all I do). I have a hard time with any part of my body that is not my brain. I need to work on this somehow.
Mundane poignancy
The other day, I had such a mundanely poignant experience. The background of it is that my mother, whatwouldIdowithouther, comes for a couple nights, usually, each week to stay with us and help with Daisy so I can get things done that tend to fall by the wayside (like, uh, grading papers). She always leaves Thursday morning. This last Thursday morning, as I was driving home from a morning appointment, I saw her car passing me in the other direction--leaving me. I always have such a strong feeling of sadness and abandonment (unfair, I know) when she leaves, and for some reason it was especially hard to see her this way, her car passing mine, and no ability to communicate and say goodbye. I turned, waving frantically, and shouting (futilely), "Mama, mama!" --as if she could hear me. Of course, she couldn't hear me. But what made it worse was that she didn't see me, either, and she was in the process of taking a big bite out of a sandwich.
The whole thing was inordinately heartbreaking: seeing her car, leaving me; having her not see me; and, oddly, the sandwich. I found out later that it was a really good sandwich, too, from Angelina's gourmet deli, where she had stopped on her way out of San Francisco. She totally, totally deserved the sandwich. She works so hard to help us when she's here. But for some reason, I was almost in tears as our cars passed. I scrambled for my cell phone, thinking I'd call her, and then I thought I might accidentally cause her car to crash, since she'd be juggling driving, the sandwich, and her cell phone. Or else she wouldn't answer, which would augment the heartbreak. My hand went back and forth three times, to my purse to grab the phone, then back to the steering wheel, then back to the purse... till I decided not to call.
Was it that I wanted a sandwich, too? I have to admit, I thought maybe she'd made the sandwiches at home before she left, and as a surprise for me, when I got home, there'd be a big yummy mother-made sandwich waiting for me. (That was before I knew she'd stopped at Angelina's on her way out of town.) Or was I jealous of the sandwich, because it was taking my mother's attention away from me? It was bad enough that she was leaving me, after all.
My mother won't be so happy that I shared this anecdote, but it is not meant to reflect poorly on her at all, and I'm sure no one will think that it does. And the only reason to have a new blog is so that I can be more open about things on it. So I hope she forgives me for sharing this woeful little tale.
The whole thing was inordinately heartbreaking: seeing her car, leaving me; having her not see me; and, oddly, the sandwich. I found out later that it was a really good sandwich, too, from Angelina's gourmet deli, where she had stopped on her way out of San Francisco. She totally, totally deserved the sandwich. She works so hard to help us when she's here. But for some reason, I was almost in tears as our cars passed. I scrambled for my cell phone, thinking I'd call her, and then I thought I might accidentally cause her car to crash, since she'd be juggling driving, the sandwich, and her cell phone. Or else she wouldn't answer, which would augment the heartbreak. My hand went back and forth three times, to my purse to grab the phone, then back to the steering wheel, then back to the purse... till I decided not to call.
Was it that I wanted a sandwich, too? I have to admit, I thought maybe she'd made the sandwiches at home before she left, and as a surprise for me, when I got home, there'd be a big yummy mother-made sandwich waiting for me. (That was before I knew she'd stopped at Angelina's on her way out of town.) Or was I jealous of the sandwich, because it was taking my mother's attention away from me? It was bad enough that she was leaving me, after all.
My mother won't be so happy that I shared this anecdote, but it is not meant to reflect poorly on her at all, and I'm sure no one will think that it does. And the only reason to have a new blog is so that I can be more open about things on it. So I hope she forgives me for sharing this woeful little tale.
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