Most people, when faced with an abundance of free time, would take out their to-do list and get started.
But we've already established I'm not most people (in oh-so-many ways). I mean well. Really, I do. I have great ambitions.
I haven't worked more than two days in the last month-plus. Medical leave forced two weeks, circumstances forced the rest. Anyone who spoke to me toward the end of my recovery knew I was itching to get back to work. Sitting around doing nothing only works for me when it involves, sea, sand and beer.
So you would think that I'd get right on that to-do list. Here is the perfect opportunity to organize all my paperwork. To deep clean the house. To get started with an exercise program. To blog!
Here is what I've done: Thought about organizing my paperwork. Wished the house was cleaner (although I did take down all the windows and wash them inside and out). Walked on the beach two different days. Started to write this entry. And it has taken me 30 days to do this?!?
It's so bad, that even when I have small accomplishments, I still feel inadequate. All I did yesterday was exercise, go to the farmer's market and Trader Joe's, make dinner.
I guess I have to admit what I have always known: I'm a lazy-ass, and there only a handful of options people like me have. Like structure and routine. I sit here and think, "If I could just get a routine going I'd be OK."
But unemployment doesn't lend itself well to structure. Which means I have to create it. Monday I will organize the bills. Tuesday I will exercise. Wednesday I will .... etc.
And right now, that's the hardest part.
It doesn't help, either, that the other part of me, the really lazy part that doesn't really want to do the things I know I should do, is constantly scheming to take advantage of the free time. Maybe I should go to Sardinia and hang out with my friends. It doesn't cost more to live there than to live in Long Beach (except for our mortgage and the air fare ...) Maybe I should fly to Chicago and hang out with friends there. (That pesky air fare issue again). What if I ... and you get the picture.
How can someone with such good intentions and ambitions accomplish so little? I think maybe that's why the kind of job I had for so long was good for me. Newspaper production jobs are rigidly constructed. You have to accomplish x, y and z in a set period of time -- no ifs, ands or buts.
At work, I could make a list and check things off and know that by the time I was off the clock, I was actually finished. I would have guessed that same thing would work at home, but I find that the list just sits there, unchecked, and I'm never, ever finished. And I suppose, too, that being so productive at work gave me an excuse to be less productive at home.
But something's gotta give. My current lifestyle is making me nuts.
June 11, 2009
May 23, 2009
Want Ads
People have been asking me, since I took my new first job out of journalism, what it is I do. And I've been having some trouble answering them, partly because it is an evolving situation. A little of this, a little of that.
Now, because my boss has seen fit to post my job on Craigslist while I was having surgery, I have a clearer picture of things:
Professional firm in search of a unique high-energy individual who has the right experience, skills and positive personality. We're a small office and all employees wear several hats. Must have at minimum bachelors degree, 5 years experience as an Executive Assistant/Marketing Assistant or similar. Must have experience working with high level demanding executives. Technical Skills: 1) Must be adeptly skilled at microsoft office applications to include Vista Word, Excel, powerpoint, Outlook, Constant Contact, and Photoshop; 2) must be experienced working with Adobe dreamweaver, Joomla, Sharepoint and Bootcamp (sic); 3) experienced at managing webinars; and 4) experienced at overseeing client management systems. Professional skills: a true professional who does not say "I don't know" but instead gets an answer; ability to write, edit, draft press releases, articles, and columns a must; research-research-research; have an abundance of common sense, obsessively organized and highly detail oriented. In addition can handle a fast paced demanding environment. What we offer you: a stable company with two well-known principals, excellent working environment, room to grow, benefits, fair compensation package. For the right person, this is a big career opportunity. Only qualified please apply. Please send resume, salary history, and cover letter that explains your qualifications - be specific regarding technical skills.
Oh, and that client management system they want someone to oversee? I created it.
I did not misrepresent myself originally nor imply or state that I had any of those technical skills; I had no formal training and most of the programs I learned on my own to benefit this company.
But make no mistake, this is my job.
In February, when I took the position, I thought I was the right person and that it was, indeed, a big career opportunity. But I have come to realize there is no right person for this job. Not for long, anyway. It turns out I was one in a series of "right people" and the person who comes after me will only be right until the next mood swing hits.
It's disheartening, to say the least. I was brought up to be hard-working and exceedingly loyal -- and thus have offered loyalty to employers who usually offered it back. There always was a quid pro quo offered at newspapers -- you do good work and you are rewarded. Very simple. Yet after witnessing the recent decline of journalism, it is clear that scenario no longer exists. What I didn't realize was that journalism, in my experience, was better than most. That in the private sector, people jump from firm to firm and are fired because of unmet and unstated expectations that are ever changing. And that there is no expectation of loyalty in either direction.
I liked this job and I liked the company.
How Pollyanna-ish of me.
But the writing on the Internet is oh-so-clear. One way or another, this situation will be resolved.
Now, because my boss has seen fit to post my job on Craigslist while I was having surgery, I have a clearer picture of things:
Professional firm in search of a unique high-energy individual who has the right experience, skills and positive personality. We're a small office and all employees wear several hats. Must have at minimum bachelors degree, 5 years experience as an Executive Assistant/Marketing Assistant or similar. Must have experience working with high level demanding executives. Technical Skills: 1) Must be adeptly skilled at microsoft office applications to include Vista Word, Excel, powerpoint, Outlook, Constant Contact, and Photoshop; 2) must be experienced working with Adobe dreamweaver, Joomla, Sharepoint and Bootcamp (sic); 3) experienced at managing webinars; and 4) experienced at overseeing client management systems. Professional skills: a true professional who does not say "I don't know" but instead gets an answer; ability to write, edit, draft press releases, articles, and columns a must; research-research-research; have an abundance of common sense, obsessively organized and highly detail oriented. In addition can handle a fast paced demanding environment. What we offer you: a stable company with two well-known principals, excellent working environment, room to grow, benefits, fair compensation package. For the right person, this is a big career opportunity. Only qualified please apply. Please send resume, salary history, and cover letter that explains your qualifications - be specific regarding technical skills.
- Location: Long Beach
- Compensation: $35,000 - $42,000 p/year plus health benefits
Oh, and that client management system they want someone to oversee? I created it.
I did not misrepresent myself originally nor imply or state that I had any of those technical skills; I had no formal training and most of the programs I learned on my own to benefit this company.
But make no mistake, this is my job.
In February, when I took the position, I thought I was the right person and that it was, indeed, a big career opportunity. But I have come to realize there is no right person for this job. Not for long, anyway. It turns out I was one in a series of "right people" and the person who comes after me will only be right until the next mood swing hits.
It's disheartening, to say the least. I was brought up to be hard-working and exceedingly loyal -- and thus have offered loyalty to employers who usually offered it back. There always was a quid pro quo offered at newspapers -- you do good work and you are rewarded. Very simple. Yet after witnessing the recent decline of journalism, it is clear that scenario no longer exists. What I didn't realize was that journalism, in my experience, was better than most. That in the private sector, people jump from firm to firm and are fired because of unmet and unstated expectations that are ever changing. And that there is no expectation of loyalty in either direction.
I liked this job and I liked the company.
How Pollyanna-ish of me.
But the writing on the Internet is oh-so-clear. One way or another, this situation will be resolved.
May 4, 2009
New York, New York
Allow me to brag a bit, please.
I just had the most fabulous vacation. It's the first time off I've taken in a good long time -- in terms of actually going somewhere, and I guess I needed it more than I thought. And it was only a weekend!
I managed to cram about five days worth of indulgence into about 48 hours. My plane left Long Beach about 9:30 Friday night and I got into New York JFK about 5:30 a.m. I figured out the Air Train and the Long Island Railroad, then took a taxi from Penn Station and by 7 I was at Liz's apartment in the West Village.
But this was no ordinary weekend away, it was a girls' weekend, and packed with fun because it was girlfriends meeting after spending too much time apart. I hadn't seen my friends in nearly two years.
Essentially, we ate our way through lower Manhattan. Normally, we would have drunk our way through as well, but we didn't really indulge, and I'm not sure why. Jet lag on the part of the Parisienne, perhaps?
I volunteered to get the girls fresh bagels because they were still half asleep, and because, hey, they were fresh New York bagels. We all went back to bed afterward, and then up at 11 to start the whirlwind weekend.
We were surprised by a beautiful day and took full advantage. We brunched, we shopped, I had Italian ices in a paper cup, we went up to the incredible roof garden to take in the view. We had Champagne as the sun set, we went to a too-trendy (but surprisingly good) French place (Pastis) in the Meatpacking District. We had hoped to have more drinks on another rooftop -- a lovely hotel bar -- but the shopping went on too long, and after dinner, we were all ready to drop.
Sunday it was cold and rainy, but we forged ahead. We headed to Chinatown for dim sum, stopped at an amazing pasticerria in Little Italy beforehand and I had an incredible eclair ... (yes, yes, enough with the superlatives!) I hated to walk away from a cannoli, something I've only recently discovered, but I figured an eclair before dim sum was indulgent enough. Isa, meanwhile, was in heaven with an Ialian espresso.
We also hit the Italian deli for fresh ricotta (and fresh mozzarella the day before) before heading to the Golden Unicorn for dim sum. It is well-known enough that when we gave the address to the taxi driver, he knew the name of the restaurant. There was such hustle and bustle -- women with carts pushing through the crowded tables -- and an incredible variety of dishes. Afterward, we went back into the rain and went for a foot massage. There must be dozens of them and how Liz chose the one we ended up in, I know not.
A foot massage always sounds like a fabulous idea, but in reality it kind of hurts. (Ok, it does hurt) But five of us managed to endure (including Kelly's husbaned, Herve, and I'm guessing he's no longer interested in being invited to participate in girls weekend activities). It's a weird mixture of tickle and outright pain. The Chinese woman who was giving me a massage -- 30 minutes -- explained that she wasn't rubbing all that hard so I should stop flinching. And that everyone , Chinese or otherwise, was more sensitive on the right side. I wonder if this is true?
By now it was late afternoon and we went on a mega quest for discounted designer ware. We ended up at a store called Century 21, which is like a Marshall's on steroids with designer stuff to boot. The store was four floors and was the size of a Macys. It was exhausting and just overload. Too much too much too much.
To rejuvenate, we headed to a great little restaurant called Home, which specializes in local (New York Hudson Valley) and artisanal food. It was really, really good and we were joined by yet another ex-Paris girlfriend. I'm sure I will dream of that macaroni and cheese for a long time.
Then back to the apartment, a quick packing job and a short rest -- I had a plane to catch at 8 a.m. and had to get up at 5:30.
It was too fast and yet leisurely, jam-packed and yet I didn't do everything I wanted. But it was awesome.
I just had the most fabulous vacation. It's the first time off I've taken in a good long time -- in terms of actually going somewhere, and I guess I needed it more than I thought. And it was only a weekend!
I managed to cram about five days worth of indulgence into about 48 hours. My plane left Long Beach about 9:30 Friday night and I got into New York JFK about 5:30 a.m. I figured out the Air Train and the Long Island Railroad, then took a taxi from Penn Station and by 7 I was at Liz's apartment in the West Village.
But this was no ordinary weekend away, it was a girls' weekend, and packed with fun because it was girlfriends meeting after spending too much time apart. I hadn't seen my friends in nearly two years.
Essentially, we ate our way through lower Manhattan. Normally, we would have drunk our way through as well, but we didn't really indulge, and I'm not sure why. Jet lag on the part of the Parisienne, perhaps?
I volunteered to get the girls fresh bagels because they were still half asleep, and because, hey, they were fresh New York bagels. We all went back to bed afterward, and then up at 11 to start the whirlwind weekend.
We were surprised by a beautiful day and took full advantage. We brunched, we shopped, I had Italian ices in a paper cup, we went up to the incredible roof garden to take in the view. We had Champagne as the sun set, we went to a too-trendy (but surprisingly good) French place (Pastis) in the Meatpacking District. We had hoped to have more drinks on another rooftop -- a lovely hotel bar -- but the shopping went on too long, and after dinner, we were all ready to drop.
Sunday it was cold and rainy, but we forged ahead. We headed to Chinatown for dim sum, stopped at an amazing pasticerria in Little Italy beforehand and I had an incredible eclair ... (yes, yes, enough with the superlatives!) I hated to walk away from a cannoli, something I've only recently discovered, but I figured an eclair before dim sum was indulgent enough. Isa, meanwhile, was in heaven with an Ialian espresso.
We also hit the Italian deli for fresh ricotta (and fresh mozzarella the day before) before heading to the Golden Unicorn for dim sum. It is well-known enough that when we gave the address to the taxi driver, he knew the name of the restaurant. There was such hustle and bustle -- women with carts pushing through the crowded tables -- and an incredible variety of dishes. Afterward, we went back into the rain and went for a foot massage. There must be dozens of them and how Liz chose the one we ended up in, I know not.
A foot massage always sounds like a fabulous idea, but in reality it kind of hurts. (Ok, it does hurt) But five of us managed to endure (including Kelly's husbaned, Herve, and I'm guessing he's no longer interested in being invited to participate in girls weekend activities). It's a weird mixture of tickle and outright pain. The Chinese woman who was giving me a massage -- 30 minutes -- explained that she wasn't rubbing all that hard so I should stop flinching. And that everyone , Chinese or otherwise, was more sensitive on the right side. I wonder if this is true?
By now it was late afternoon and we went on a mega quest for discounted designer ware. We ended up at a store called Century 21, which is like a Marshall's on steroids with designer stuff to boot. The store was four floors and was the size of a Macys. It was exhausting and just overload. Too much too much too much.
To rejuvenate, we headed to a great little restaurant called Home, which specializes in local (New York Hudson Valley) and artisanal food. It was really, really good and we were joined by yet another ex-Paris girlfriend. I'm sure I will dream of that macaroni and cheese for a long time.
Then back to the apartment, a quick packing job and a short rest -- I had a plane to catch at 8 a.m. and had to get up at 5:30.
It was too fast and yet leisurely, jam-packed and yet I didn't do everything I wanted. But it was awesome.
April 26, 2009
Room(s) With a View
Yesterday Paul and I went to take a look at the condos at West Ocean Two in Long Beach. They are, ostensibly, oceanfront and are being offered at auction for some pretty reasonable prices. Why not, we thought.
I'll admit I was a bit afraid to take a look -- what if I liked it? I'd heard good things about the building -- nice views and a wine cellar for residents! We played with the scenario: If we liked it, we could sell our inland place and rent out the loft and get a little more space in the bargain. After all, it was the same distance from my office as our current place.
We were able to see several floor plans, some fully decorated models and some still waiting for flooring and appliances. The models were well-decorated in that clever way -- a small table makes a space look larger, a double bed makes a bedroom look bigger. The models also had nice upgrades in the floors and in the bathrooms and some of them included the furnishings.
As it turns out, I needn't have worried. Yes, the places are nice and yes, if you get up high enough -- and pay enough -- the views are lovely. But when you get high up enough for the lovely view, you're left with a very expensive apartment and a poorly laid out floor plan that wastes the space.
Most of the units available have a west-facing orientation, which means views of the port. And the cranes. And the ships. And the freeway. Not so lovely. There are a few east-facing places, but they get pricey above the 6th floor, and that's when you actually get a view past the next-door apartment building and the parking garage in front.
I did like the ground floor apartment that is used as the sales office -- it has a huge wraparound patio and is right next to the pool. But Paul thought: "What if people don't realize that the porch is private space?"
And once we got back to our place (which we do prefer, thank you very much) we started to talk about some of the oddities: Lots of windows is great on first glance, but between the sea breeze (and it's very very windy in this spot) and the port grime -- ugh. Who cleans them? We get plenty of port grime and we have a. screens and b. an east-facing orientation.
And whose idea was it to put in luxury apartments with non-luxury amenities? Cheesy little tubs and plastic tile in the non-model units. The bathrooms were overly large -- but the space wasn't wisely used. And who would pay more than half a million dollars (the discounted price) for a place without a jacuzzi tub? Every new suburban home in the country comes with a jacuzzi tub these days -- haven't the builders been watching house hunters?
And after living in a loft-style apartment, I'm afraid a regular apartment felt a little tight, space-wise.
So we think that if someone was looking for a retirement place, or a downsized beach area place, it would be a good idea. After all, we're talking waterfront, if not beachfront, for 195K for a one-bedroom and 235K for a two-bedroom. A nice little second-home apartment. It's cool, it's close to downtown, it's not far from an actual beach. But for everyday living, we'll stay in our 1920s, art-deco hotel two blocks behind it.
We did ask them why they were selling the condos at auction. Were they in trouble, financially? The agent told us it was a sales ploy -- that in this market, they thought they'd try something to catch people's eyes. That if they offered a few apartments at 40 percent off, then people would notice.
What we noticed is that if we'd bought one of the full-price units and they were selling identical ones at 40 percent off, we'd be pretty ticked.
I'll admit I was a bit afraid to take a look -- what if I liked it? I'd heard good things about the building -- nice views and a wine cellar for residents! We played with the scenario: If we liked it, we could sell our inland place and rent out the loft and get a little more space in the bargain. After all, it was the same distance from my office as our current place.
We were able to see several floor plans, some fully decorated models and some still waiting for flooring and appliances. The models were well-decorated in that clever way -- a small table makes a space look larger, a double bed makes a bedroom look bigger. The models also had nice upgrades in the floors and in the bathrooms and some of them included the furnishings.
As it turns out, I needn't have worried. Yes, the places are nice and yes, if you get up high enough -- and pay enough -- the views are lovely. But when you get high up enough for the lovely view, you're left with a very expensive apartment and a poorly laid out floor plan that wastes the space.
Most of the units available have a west-facing orientation, which means views of the port. And the cranes. And the ships. And the freeway. Not so lovely. There are a few east-facing places, but they get pricey above the 6th floor, and that's when you actually get a view past the next-door apartment building and the parking garage in front.
I did like the ground floor apartment that is used as the sales office -- it has a huge wraparound patio and is right next to the pool. But Paul thought: "What if people don't realize that the porch is private space?"
And once we got back to our place (which we do prefer, thank you very much) we started to talk about some of the oddities: Lots of windows is great on first glance, but between the sea breeze (and it's very very windy in this spot) and the port grime -- ugh. Who cleans them? We get plenty of port grime and we have a. screens and b. an east-facing orientation.
And whose idea was it to put in luxury apartments with non-luxury amenities? Cheesy little tubs and plastic tile in the non-model units. The bathrooms were overly large -- but the space wasn't wisely used. And who would pay more than half a million dollars (the discounted price) for a place without a jacuzzi tub? Every new suburban home in the country comes with a jacuzzi tub these days -- haven't the builders been watching house hunters?
And after living in a loft-style apartment, I'm afraid a regular apartment felt a little tight, space-wise.
So we think that if someone was looking for a retirement place, or a downsized beach area place, it would be a good idea. After all, we're talking waterfront, if not beachfront, for 195K for a one-bedroom and 235K for a two-bedroom. A nice little second-home apartment. It's cool, it's close to downtown, it's not far from an actual beach. But for everyday living, we'll stay in our 1920s, art-deco hotel two blocks behind it.
We did ask them why they were selling the condos at auction. Were they in trouble, financially? The agent told us it was a sales ploy -- that in this market, they thought they'd try something to catch people's eyes. That if they offered a few apartments at 40 percent off, then people would notice.
What we noticed is that if we'd bought one of the full-price units and they were selling identical ones at 40 percent off, we'd be pretty ticked.
April 1, 2009
Play Ball!
I can tell it's almost baseball season: Tonight is the 28th annual Sun Baseball League draft.
It started with five and grew to 12 and now there are three original guys left. (Or so they say, but that math isn't working for me as I look around the room) But six of the 12 go back as far as I do (or did) to the late '80s.
I don't play anymore. I moved away, and moved out of Sports. And, frankly, these guys are damn serious about their league. And it doesn't even involve money. Most fantasy teams involve money these days -- but not this one. These guys play for pride.
It used to be all sportswriters. Then at least all journalists. But now, there are six working journalists who play. A PR guy or two. Two unemployed writers. A lawyer. Even still, all the others used to be sportswriters at one time or another.
And for a lot of them, it's the social event of the season. (And I'll bet Paul blogs about it, too. Dennis is live blogging, here).
It's also an all-boys game these days. Not because they wouldn't let the girls play; I played, Cindy played, but that was pretty much it. No, the guys are just way more into it. In the old days, there were no wives or girlfriends who came. Probably because we held the draft after the paper closed, about 1 a.m. (Although I seem to remember my Dad going in my place to draft my team when I was in D.C.) These days, the girls go just to say hello, see the baby pics of the newly married guy(s), trade stories about way back when. We tend to man the big board of picks, and I feel like an aging ring card girl.
So I'm sitting here doing the math and I've known the old guys -- the original five by my count -- for 27 years. Since I was 17. (I'm trying to decide which sounds more dramatic. I think the first). And the lawyer for probably 25.
The lawyer loves this game. I don't think he does very well, but he plays all the same. One year he was visiting me in Paris, and he stayed up all night so he could draft from France. This year, there are three absent players: one in Dallas, one in Seattle and one in Arizona (covering ball). We're getting technologically more savvy ... everyone is texting and e-mailing. I expect eventually everyone will use his laptop.
Someone picks, someone else trashes the pick. Someone else still can't resist turning a comment into a double entendre. There's not much work talk these days ... it's become a bit of a dark topic, and this night is for fun.
We've been at it two hours, and we're not even a third of the way done. And Paul calls out "JP up, Vic on deck!" and the picks continue.
It started with five and grew to 12 and now there are three original guys left. (Or so they say, but that math isn't working for me as I look around the room) But six of the 12 go back as far as I do (or did) to the late '80s.
I don't play anymore. I moved away, and moved out of Sports. And, frankly, these guys are damn serious about their league. And it doesn't even involve money. Most fantasy teams involve money these days -- but not this one. These guys play for pride.
It used to be all sportswriters. Then at least all journalists. But now, there are six working journalists who play. A PR guy or two. Two unemployed writers. A lawyer. Even still, all the others used to be sportswriters at one time or another.
And for a lot of them, it's the social event of the season. (And I'll bet Paul blogs about it, too. Dennis is live blogging, here).
It's also an all-boys game these days. Not because they wouldn't let the girls play; I played, Cindy played, but that was pretty much it. No, the guys are just way more into it. In the old days, there were no wives or girlfriends who came. Probably because we held the draft after the paper closed, about 1 a.m. (Although I seem to remember my Dad going in my place to draft my team when I was in D.C.) These days, the girls go just to say hello, see the baby pics of the newly married guy(s), trade stories about way back when. We tend to man the big board of picks, and I feel like an aging ring card girl.
So I'm sitting here doing the math and I've known the old guys -- the original five by my count -- for 27 years. Since I was 17. (I'm trying to decide which sounds more dramatic. I think the first). And the lawyer for probably 25.
The lawyer loves this game. I don't think he does very well, but he plays all the same. One year he was visiting me in Paris, and he stayed up all night so he could draft from France. This year, there are three absent players: one in Dallas, one in Seattle and one in Arizona (covering ball). We're getting technologically more savvy ... everyone is texting and e-mailing. I expect eventually everyone will use his laptop.
Someone picks, someone else trashes the pick. Someone else still can't resist turning a comment into a double entendre. There's not much work talk these days ... it's become a bit of a dark topic, and this night is for fun.
We've been at it two hours, and we're not even a third of the way done. And Paul calls out "JP up, Vic on deck!" and the picks continue.
March 28, 2009
What a Way to Make a Living
I'm still not totally sold on this whole 9-to-5 business. (Even though for me, it's 8 to 5) For so many years I had irregular hours (even when I worked "days" it wasn't until 11) and that's a hard habit to break.
The worst thing isn't having to get up early -- I'm adjusting to that. The thing I dislike most is having to go to bed early. In fact, having to go to bed at a specific time. Being in bed by 11 (and 10:30 is more accurate) is a ridiculous concept to me. And it's not that I'm not tired -- I absolutely am -- but it's the idea of a forced bedtime.
Because I'm one of those people who does better with more sleep than less, I try to aim for 8 hours, minimum. And because I'm one of those people whose cat owns them, I don't always get a good 8 hours. Sidney hasn't adjust well to my new schedule. He likes going to bed early, but then wants to eat at 1, and it's hard to wake up just 2 or 3 hours after I've gone to sleep. (Well, not hard to wake up so much as hard on me). Then I get another wake up call from him at 4:30 or 5. That part I'm used to -- I've always gotten up to feed him at some point in the morning. But twice? That's just too much. Luckily for me, Paul stays up later and often is awake to feed him the first time.
But then that puts me on a different schedule from Paul. The whole thing is rather disconcerting and disruptive to my sense of timing.
On the bright side, I have found that I am incredibly productive in the morning. I attribute that to the fact that it's the beginning of the day, and not morning -- and if I started work at 3, I'd still be incredibly productive the next four hours.
Maybe next I'll whine about how it's impossible to get anything done when you work regular hours. Stay tuned.
The worst thing isn't having to get up early -- I'm adjusting to that. The thing I dislike most is having to go to bed early. In fact, having to go to bed at a specific time. Being in bed by 11 (and 10:30 is more accurate) is a ridiculous concept to me. And it's not that I'm not tired -- I absolutely am -- but it's the idea of a forced bedtime.
Because I'm one of those people who does better with more sleep than less, I try to aim for 8 hours, minimum. And because I'm one of those people whose cat owns them, I don't always get a good 8 hours. Sidney hasn't adjust well to my new schedule. He likes going to bed early, but then wants to eat at 1, and it's hard to wake up just 2 or 3 hours after I've gone to sleep. (Well, not hard to wake up so much as hard on me). Then I get another wake up call from him at 4:30 or 5. That part I'm used to -- I've always gotten up to feed him at some point in the morning. But twice? That's just too much. Luckily for me, Paul stays up later and often is awake to feed him the first time.
But then that puts me on a different schedule from Paul. The whole thing is rather disconcerting and disruptive to my sense of timing.
On the bright side, I have found that I am incredibly productive in the morning. I attribute that to the fact that it's the beginning of the day, and not morning -- and if I started work at 3, I'd still be incredibly productive the next four hours.
Maybe next I'll whine about how it's impossible to get anything done when you work regular hours. Stay tuned.
March 22, 2009
Le Week-end
Went to Le Creperie last night for dinner, and it was cool. French food! I was tempted by the savory crepes, even though they were American-style, but ended up with the Moules Mariniere (mussels).
Oh how I miss those garlicky mussels in a wine broth, dipping baguette in and sopping up the sauce. They had skinny frites, too, and it was a nice reminder of Paris. Although I must say, the mussels here were much more plump even though the portion was much more tiny.
And then today, on the train, I heard three young women speaking French. I struck up a conversation with them -- it's been at least a year since I've spoken French -- and they seemed thrilled to speak French with someone. So we were all happy.
A little Francophilia to round out my weekend.
Oh how I miss those garlicky mussels in a wine broth, dipping baguette in and sopping up the sauce. They had skinny frites, too, and it was a nice reminder of Paris. Although I must say, the mussels here were much more plump even though the portion was much more tiny.
And then today, on the train, I heard three young women speaking French. I struck up a conversation with them -- it's been at least a year since I've spoken French -- and they seemed thrilled to speak French with someone. So we were all happy.
A little Francophilia to round out my weekend.
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