Bidding adieu to 2011

Well, it's New Year's Eve. Typically, I don't do much on this night since I've never been a party person and I've never had a desire to join my sister (who lives in New York) in Times Square. Seriously, I just don't see a point in being crushed in the midst of thousands while having minimal access to a restroom, watching mediocre performances by soon-to-be-forgotten pop singers, and putting myself at risk for a contagious disease by standing near a stranger who will try to kiss me at midnight.

Eww.

(Photograph by Jim Vecchione from the Workbook Stock Collection/Getty)

Before the age of 30, all I did on New Year's Eve was stay at home in my pajamas and, if I were still up, share a hug or a glass of sparkling apple cider with my mother before heading back to bed. Once, I attended a "watch night" service at church after it was hyped by clergy members as THE must-see event of the season. Turns out, it was just like any other service... only later at night. Needless to say, I haven't attended one since.

For the past three years, me and a single girlfriend have made a habit of going to dinner (usually at The Cheesecake Factory) and now it's become our quasi-annual tradition. Sometimes, we invite a third single gal along and we just sit and chat and stuff our faces until the restaurant closes. Since one of the other two is currently on travel, the celebration has been postponed until tomorrow...

which means that tonight, I'll be cracking open the fizz.

 

May your New Year's Eve be joyous, safe, and full of those you love.

Applying for art jobs

Eleven and a half years ago, when my college career was coming to a close, I thought that majoring in art history and minoring in studio art was simply awesome. Drawing came naturally and I could paint portraits like nobody's business. Then I graduated, discovered that society had moved on from the Renaissance, and moved back in with my parents.

So is the fate of (non-digital) art majors across the land. I tried working in a theater and hated it (for reals, the snobbery was off the charts) and that was about as close to an art job as I ever got. If only such "insightful" commentary like "The 10 Most Worthless College Majors" had been around when I was still in school, maybe things would've been different. I have to admit, though, the following comment to the article made me laugh:

"Dude, an art history degree...you can do ANYTHING with it."

Haha! Really? Like what?... I mean, other than a teacher, a curator, an exhibit specialist or a museum tour guide (all of which would bore me to tears), what else is there? Most art history students I know wound up with jobs that were totally unrelated to their degree. Unless you're fortunate enough to marry into some royal family like Kate Middleton, who, according to the British newspaper The Guardian "graduated from St Andrews university with an art history degree," you'll have to take whatever you can get in order to keep food on the table because as one reader commented, "The degree is a license to starve, in my experience."

In spite of all of this, deep down inside, I confess that I am an irrepressible optimist. I know what I love to do, I know the skills that I was born with, and still I somehow believe that I can earn a decent living by sharing my talents with the world. Granted, I might have to cram in order to update myself on the latest digital art technology, but if doing so means that I will qualify for a job that I love, so be it.

Christmas aftermath

No more sparkly gift wrap.

No more holiday songs.

The best food has already been eaten

and those relatives are long gone

(or at least they should be).

Green Bay outplayed Chicago

and last night New Orleans won,

but don't forget that this season

is about God's only begotten Son.

Still, Brees surpassing Marino

is a pretty big freakin' deal

and stores all across America

are now offering some mega steals.

But not one for retail therapy,

I'd much rather stay at home

and avoid the hustle and bustle

and enjoy my sacred time alone.

Just me and my cozy blanket

wrapped around me as I slouch

into the soft cushions and upholstery

of my comfy living room couch.

(Photograph from I Can Has Cheezburger?)

The annual farewell

Image source

This is one of my favorite times of the year. No, not because it's Christmas. To be honest, I can't stand the decorations, the carol singing or the gross commercialism. No, I like this time of the year because it ushers in a mass exodus from the office. Since the beginning of this week, co-workers have been leaving in droves for their quasi-obligatory trip out of town to visit family. (I live with my folks, so all I have to do is "travel" upstairs to the kitchen if I wanna see them.) Anyway, as my fellow employees rush off to pack their suitcases and to cram themselves into cars, buses and airplanes, they leave in their wake prolonged glorious silence.
*mega sigh of relief*
How sweet it is.

No more having to endure that insanely loud Super Mario Brothers ringtone...

or the ever-present and ever-annoying robotic Droid voice...

or phone conversations brimming with cringe-worthy info...

or nosy co-workers looking over my cubicle wall whenever they smell food...

 ...like this.

(Photograph by Karen Moskowitz from Getty)

Nope, I won't have to put up with any of that nonsense anymore.

...At least not for the next week and a half. 

Hal-le-lu-jah.

Tuesday's Tune-Ups: My favorite tunes explained - "Canned Heat"

("Canned Heat" CD cover image copied from Amazon.com)

By the time the British jazz funk group Jamiroquai came out with their song "Canned Heat," its lead singer Jay Kay was already getting press for sounding "exactly like Stevie Wonder." I'm not sure which media outlet was the first to compare the Manchester, England kid to the Motown legend, but they were wrong. Yes, Jay Kay rocks, but he's got a style of "super slick soul" that's all his own.

"Canned Heat," a single off of Jamiroquai's 1999 album Synkronized, is clearly a throwback to the 1970s. Its heavy bass and layered instrumentation are reminiscent of the grooves which could be heard in the early days of the iconic Studio 54. I don't even like disco (thanks to my mother repeatedly blasting it over the stereo during my childhood), but can't help but tap my feet and bob my head whenever I play the dance-inducing tune. Even after it's over, I still find myself singing its chorus:

Dance!
Nothing left for me to do, but dance
All these bad times I'm going through
Just dance!
Got canned heat in my heels tonight, baby...

After one listen, you'll definitely know this boogie is for real... and why the song made it into the top ten music charts across the US, the UK, Finland, Italy, and Switzerland.

Wanna get your groove on?
Then go over to YouTube and check it out!

Be someone's angel this Christmas

If you're fortunate enough to be able to buy multiple gifts for loved ones this year, then why not consider spreading some of that cheer to those in need. The holidays can be a stressful time for many people, but with the lagging economy making the acquisition of even basic needs difficult, this season can be downright unbearable. Thankfully, various organizations and programs seek to alleviate the financial pressures upon the less fortunate by distributing donations from kind-hearted strangers. If you would like to help, here are a few charities that are still accepting gifts.

(Photograph by Gary John Norman from the Lifesize Collection/Getty)

The Salvation Army

This international charity has been meeting people's needs since 1865. And although its annual Angel Giving Tree Program is over, they accept monetary, clothing, auto, and furniture donations all year long. If you want to do more and seek ways to give of your time and talents, there are also plenty of volunteer opportunities available.

Christmas for an Orphan

This year-round program, sponsored by the humanitarian organization World Help, enables participants to provide children all over the world with hygienic necessities in addition to fun luxuries such as toys, candy, and art supplies. The boxes required to pack the goods are free and can be mailed upon request. World Help also offers you a chance to sponsor a child and to help provide clean water to impoverished communities.

Operation Santa Claus

New York postal employees began spreading smiles with this project in the early 1920s. Since then, it has become a nation-wide endeavor intent on providing poor children who write Santa Claus with cherished Christmas memories. You can pick up a child's wish list at a participating post office near you.

'Tis the season to play hooky

Office parties:

The place where fake smiles abound.

(Photograph by Reggie Casagrande from the Workbook Stock Collection/Getty)

Yesterday, the Christmas office party took place and I missed it.

Why?

Because I took the day off. Trust me, I didn't plan it that way; it was just serendipitous. I had asked my boss for leave over a week ago when the party planners were still deciding on when to throw the shindig, and voilà — they picked the 14th. Woohooo!

Why am I so happy to have missed the "fantastic fete?"

Because the previous parties have been all about schmoozing with people who you know couldn't care less about you while stuffing your face with somebody's homemade concoction. Speaking of edibles, someone who's apparently unable to keep their pets off of the kitchen counter always seems to bring in dishes full of animal hair. No joke. A few years ago, I went over to the dessert table and picked up a chocolate brownie and, after nearly consuming the whole thing, finally looked down and noticed several dog and/or cat hairs sticking straight out of it.

*gag*

*grimace*

*gag some more*

Honestly, with baked "treats" like that, is there any wonder why I wasn't heartbroken to have missed the whole thing this year? The saddest part was how one of the party planners themselves chose to rate the get-together. In an e-mail he sent to the entire office, here's how he thought ours measured up:

Current party status:

1) Group study session with stale chips

2) Impromptu birthday party with unappreciated staff song at Chevys

3) Dorm BBQ with cooks of questionable repute

4) [Office] Holiday Party 2010 ***

5) Teeny bopper cruise deck party with DJ Bieb  

6) Occupy D.C. (may require larger space than conference table)

Worst exchange gifts ever

The most heinous thing I have ever received:

(Photograph by Tyler Hewitt from his blog A Photo A Day)

Since I'm on the topic of crappy exchange gifts (and will NOT be attending my church's white elephant party), I figured that I would present the most revolting and thoughtless piece of junk that I've ever received. Eleven years ago, when I was interning at a D.C. theater, I consented to a holiday gift exchange with two other scenic artists. Ten bucks or less was the agreed spending limit and the word "gag" was never mentioned, so I figured that the swap would be fair and perhaps even a little festive.

Like myself, the other two theater folks were admirers of various 20th century painters and photographers, thus I knew that making a trip to the bookstore would be profitable. I purchased both of them a miniature biographical book on their favorite artist, one of which I distinctly remember was the Russian-Jewish painter Marc Chagall.

Finally, exchange day arrived and I handed them my wrapped boxes of awesomeness. They insisted that I open my presents first, so I eagerly tore into the packages and found... manufactured disappointment. The first was a Japanese wind-up toy (pictured above) called Spark Bibo. As I stared at the monstrosity in bewilderment, the other two scenic artists released hearty belly laughs. One then quickly volunteered to read the description on the toy's box:

Bibo is a god monster with intelligence. He has two big eyes, and he knows very well what people want to do. He cannot speak, but only 'Bi-bo'. When there is any danger happened, he will speak. The top of his head will light up and his hip will makes many colorful smoke to help him survive because this smoke is stinking. We love Bibo very much because he always survives by using some funny ways.

Image source

My second "gift" was a Rub a Dub Draw in the Tub crayon set complete with a sponge duck which has a manufacturer recommended age of 3 to 7 years old. Hmmm... Can you guess who among the three people in the room was NOT laughing? Yep, that's right; the same person who watched the stupid smiles fall from the others' faces when they opened their gifts and found something thoughtful.

Bah!

Humbug!

The gift that keeps on giving... nothing

Image source

Next week, the singles group at my church is hosting a holiday gift exchange, aka a white elephant party (aka a night to swap junk that is neither cute nor useful and which is taking up too much space in your house). I hate these things. Sometimes rules permit participants to buy a gift for $10 or less, but, inevitably, I end up with something that only seems fit for the trash heap. Seriously. Why do people do this? One year I ended up with a dilapidated book full of Christmas stories. (Huh?) When my mother and I use to work for the same company, we attended a gift exchange during which she received what appeared to be a decapitated snowman head on a string. (What?!) SUPPOSEDLY, it was a Christmas tree ornament, but it was freakin' HUGE as well as freakin' UGLY. Even now I can remember her puzzled expression as she turned to me and whispered, "What the heck am I gonna do with this mess?"

Strangely, I don't recall that ornament ever making its way into our home.

Trying out fun

For the past couple of decades, I have defined "fun" as a waste of valuable time which could be used to do something infinitely more productive. My family disagrees and has urged me to stop and smell the roses before my inability to relax results in me pushing up daisies.

Within the past year I've been making a more conscientious effort to have "fun." My trip to the Kennedy Center and to PA to see Tony Bennett, for example, were two recent attempts at leisure that ended well. Ironically, my latest venture a few weeks ago led me to the cinema. I say ironically because friends and family know how much I loathe the idea of spending $10 just to sit on my butt for 90 minutes...

But then I saw the "Oooh Cat."

I laughed so hard after seeing this commercial that I was willing to fork over the greenbacks. No, not $10 worth 'cause that's just ludicrous. Five was more reasonable. And thanks to the online ticket retailer Fandango, I was able to snag one for just that.

Thinking that all of the tiny tots would still be in bed before noon, I purchased a ticket for an 11AM show... and was mortified when I arrived at the theater. The place was like an overstuffed romper room with rows of screaming miniature heads as far as the eye could see. In my state of utter shock, I just cowered in a seat near the door and tried not to move.

BE  FOREWARNED:
This is what going to an animated film is like.

(Photograph by Dirk Anschutz from the Stone Collection/Getty)

In the end, "Puss in Boots" was kinda lame. The kids and adults around me were practically rolling on the floor laughing at the film's "jokes" while I sat stone-faced and stared straight ahead. The ONLY times I cracked a smile was when the "Oooh Cat" showed up... and that was all of twice... and certainly not worth the five bucks.

*sigh*

Maybe I'll give "fun" another try before 2012.

Monday, Monday

(Photograph from I Can Has Cheezburger?)

Today marks the dawning of a new work week,

so Your infinite grace and mercy is what I seek.

Lord, I need strength to deal with all of this stress

of coworkers, of paperwork, and red tape mess.

Get me through this morning's metro ride to work

and give me patience to deal with folks acting like jerks.

Help me to smile at that kid who just stepped on my toe

and that gal who, on me, nearly spilled her cup of joe.

Guide me off the train and into the office

where countless "adventures" await in surplus.

Jammed copier machines, crumpled fax, and clogged white-out,

paper cuts, obnoxious ringtones, and password lockout.

Enable me to get through this afternoon

when rush hour rages again like a massive typhoon.

Getting smushed and pushed by my fellow subway users

while routine delays keep me from getting home sooner.

When, at last, I'm able to lay down my head

on the well-worn pillow which lies on my comfy bed,

I'll thank You again since I survived another day 

and try not to think about the forthcoming Tuesday.

(Photograph from I Can Has Cheezburger?)

Countdown to boredom

In about 10 minutes, I will be attending another business meeting. Between the younger employees who had no idea what they were getting into when they applied for this job and the older crowd who are just months away from retiring, there will be plenty of sleepy cross-eyed gazes to go around, I'm sure.

(Photograph by Karen Moskowitz from the Taxi Collection/Getty)

Before last month's meeting my boss literally sent out an email saying, "Don't forget! This is an interesting topic!" I immediately replied out loud, "For who?!!!" Seriously, the only folks who stay awake for the duration of these things are those with advanced degrees that pertain to our company's specialty. The rest of us (the average Joes who majored in stuff like art, philosophy, and sports medicine) are pretty much dead on arrival. We're the ones chugging Red Bull, 5-Hour Energy, and Mountain Dew within minutes of the meeting because we know that's the only way we'll be able to maintain a pulse.

Today, thankfully, I have something to keep me preoccupied so that I don't have to pass the time by counting the animal hairs stuck in the sweater fibers of the person sitting in front of me. Yes, this time around I have an arsenal of about 200 vocabulary flash cards, so while they're clicking away through another drab PowerPoint presentation, I can be studying for my GRE... and thanking God that nobody cares enough to even take notice.

Now, where did I put that Mountain Dew?