Joann Keder

Word of the day (Which has absolutely nothing to do with the blog topic)
darkle
1. To grow dark, gloomy, etc.
2. To appear dark; show indistinctly.

I don’t have to tell you how reliant we have become on electronics. The cell phoneless individual is rare. Most everyone has access to a computer. One day at the gym I mentioned in passing that I didn’t own an Ipod and awkward silence ensued. I’m sure it was more a communication breakdown, and that the pounding beat of an alleged Kanye West melody just drowned out my attempt at stimulating conversation. I’m sure it was just my imagination that said individual backed away slowly, head pumping to the beat, and that all further conversations began and ended with “hey.” (Someone needs to work on their verbal skills. Just sayin’.) Despite my lack of ipodian immersion, I do have a deep and serious issue with electronic addiction.

One day I needed a very specific item from the top of my dresser. Never mind that I forgot (twice) what exactly that item was before I reached the outdated clothing receptacle. I walked out of the room (twice) and came back in, hoping it would stimulate the “of course that’s what it was! I was just practicing old age. Boy, was that fun” part of my brain. I returned the third time with steely determination. I marched toward the dresser and soon realized the item I had just remembered was nowhere to be found. Where was it? I didn’t walk, but ran for my computer. Google would know. Google knows everything. Then that other, humorless part of my brain took over. The “are you a complete imbecile?” section. Yes, rationally I know you can’t find your special chapstick using the best friend/teacher/parent of a search engine there ever was. But I certainly have conditioned myself to become completely reliant on it. I suddenly felt myself flailing, grasping for something to hold on to, something that made sense. Later, as I grudgingly applied the not-even-close-second-choice chapstick, I was able to comfort myself with the idea that someday, somehow, Google will conquer the problem of lost chapstick. You know they will. And every other deeply troubling issue which currently can’t be solved by some search engine or special app will be resolved. Google will take the place of every friend who was awkwardly asked, “Do these pants make my butt look big?” There will be an app that scans your room for any item, no matter how random or miniscule, and it will find it. There will be some sort of system that will ask the user, in an even tone, “which object in the room would you like me to compare to your butt size?”

I would like to make this some sort of cathartic moment in time, when I decide I’m going to take a break from my flat-screened existence and experience the world as it was intended – with smelly, engaging, awkward, funny, human relationships. Sorry. My electronic family is just too important. Not that humans aren’t kind of fun, they are. But what would I do the next time I lost my eye shadow?

It’s been awhile since my last entry. It seems as though sometimes the life of the unemployed and otherwise unengaged can be busier than one would think.

Today in going over my résumé, I noticed the key “buzz” words a wise (and gainfully employed) friend once encouraged me to use. Team Player. Self- Motivated. Responsible. Computer Literate. Well, who isn’t, at least within the confines of résumé land? While marketable and respectable skills, these do not seem fully representative of my admirable list of life skills, making me the ideal employee for the ideal employer. There is so much more value to everyone than the few, eye-catching words on that single sheet of information, making us a real find for any business. Wouldn’t it be nice if we could, instead of making a resume, proudly present a….wait for it…resuME. These gifts/skills could easily translate to the traditional skill set.
For example: there was one time I had to go to the bathroom really bad. Unfortunately we were miles from the nearest gas station and in the middle of a major winter storm. So from the point of “critical” to the point of “organs may explode” was a period of about 3 hours. No, I didn’t force an unscheduled slide, off into a snow bank to end my suffering. I soldiered on until reaching bathroom nirvana. I feel this story is much more representative of my sheer will and determination than simply calling myself motivated. Of course these samples of quality qualifications would require more than one sheet. Each section would have its own chapters. “Chapter One. Team Player.” This would have to include those many nights of teendom when a friend’s suspicious mother called, asking to speak with her daughter. “She is in the bathroom. Yes, again. Yes, she will call you back after I call her at her boyfriend’s house…I mean when she is done in the bathroom. “Team Teen Got-Your-Back. “ (This resuME is taking a definite bathroom direction. Let’s move on. )

“Chapter Two, Self-Motivated.” Recent self-motivating events, such as learning new languages, knitting and learning hip, obscene gestures from the youtube may be covered in a later chapter, “Extraneous Skills.” Because the resuME just like the résumé must be chronological, the Self Motivation chapter must include early events, like getting out of bed at barely-legal and hardly-light times of day to exercise. Not just to exercise, but to really sweat and make it count. One time I was forced to go to the gym shortly after it opened for the day. (For a long time it just seemed like it opened a noon. I was shocked to see employees fully clothed and engaged in serious conversation before sunrise.) Most of the other people in the room were hardly awake. There was definite drooling going on, along with vacant stares and one person curled around a ten-pound weight in the fetal position. It made me realize just how dangerous it was to be on the road driving there with the rest of these barely-coherent people. So let’s include the element of danger in our chapter on self-motivation.

Ok, so this is probably not going to catch on. Too wordy and self-absorbed. But you have to admit, it’s much more interesting than the standard version. I’ll probably continue though for pure entertainment value. Drop me a line if you think of new chapters to add.

I recently encountered someone I hadn’t seen in awhile. The person, (let’s call him/her Sandwich to avoid suspicion, and because I do enjoy a good sandwich) had at one time been a very competitive, highly successful individual. Sandwich was good at many things, but mostly just competitive. In Sandwich’s mind, this master-of-the-protein-and-carb-union had the highest IQ, the nicest car, the cleanest house. And Sandwich was never wrong unless he/she was portraying a person in the wrong purposely. (Sandwich didn’t act, but could put on a performance during a lengthy story.)
Then one day, Sandwich decided to give up the competition and become the complete opposite. Non-competitive? You really couldn’t say unambitious, because it does take a lot of work to fight competing in even the smallest way. Sandwich refused to eat something that someone else might have tasted already. Sandwich wouldn’t take a step if it led to undiscovered (by Sandwich) scenery. Sandwich wouldn’t read opposing views or listen to opposing thoughts because he/she might not be able to challenge them and win. So my question is, did Sandwich just give up, or has this fully-crusted bread reached a new, safer level of the game? Can one compete by refusing the challenge? The tortoise beat the hare by refusing to run. Hmmmm….
Let’s give this a try. Because of my fondness for lists, here are a few ways to practice non-competitive competition.
1. Sitting in the coffee shop. Don’t bother purchasing anything. You have obviously beaten anyone else to this table. Revel in it.
2. Walking down the center of the sidewalk. No one can go on either side, so you’ve conquered the concrete. You are the master of your walkway.
3. Holding the phone in your hand and listening to the dial tone. You have triumphed in the battle of the phone call. No call-waiting master can beat you at this game.
4. Listening to someone talk endlessly without answering back. Bask in the glow of your success. You have totally dominated the silence. During the next conversation you will revel in your rightness that syndication is completely different from first-run shows. Double score.
Maybe I’m developing a new appreciation the Crusty One.

“What do you DO all day?”
That question was highly insulting as a stay-at-home mom. There was always something involving kids, housework, volunteering, etc that swallowed the hours. I would argue that working at home has a different set of challenges, in that there is nowhere to go when you’re off the clock so therefore you are never off the clock. There is a sense of relief in procuring a full-time job. Everyone just assumes a level of productivity and usefullness not achieved in the home environment.

Now that my kids are gone and I’m not teaching, studying or offering any formal name for what fills my days, it does lead to a few well-meaning but insulting remarks.
“How do you entertain yourself?”
“How can you possibly be productive?”
“Why don’t you just work at McDonalds?”
Here’s a quick but succinct reply: There is nothing remotely entertaining about surgical recovery and job searching. Productivity comes in waves, like nausea. McDonalds doesn’t have stool-perched greeters. (But who can resist the Shamrock Shake, I mean really?)

So now that I’ve had a chance to think on it, here are more entertaining replies that do not necessarily represent me accurately.
Things I do all day:

Search for typos on cnn.com. Too easy.
Sit in my own filth eating Oreos, which in themselves become filth when sat upon. Let’s not go there.
Stare at surgical wound sights and will them to heal.
Find moistening eye drops after I discover the effects of too much staring.
Apply only for jobs that promise “easy money.”
Endless counting.
Watch enough daytime talk that Scorned Wife from Dr. Phil looks suspiciously like Mother Who Eats Sofa Cushions from The Tyra Banks Show.

As you can see, my days are quite full. I didn’t even get to the kitchen tool play or sock inspection. I’d love to explain more, but I’m really on a tight schedule.

You will note there are several words or phrases within this post that sound bad but really aren’t. You are hereby officially required to keep your mind out of the gutter until further notice.

The weekend crowd at the coffee shop is much different than the M-Fers.  The week day suits and black dresses are replaced with thongs and tank tops. The job seekers are also absent, with the exception of me. Do most unemployed take the weekend off? From being unemployed? It certainly makes sense. It is mentally exhausting to search the posts, and mentally draining to be reminded continuously that you are not qualified. Quite the strange dichotomy of rejection and Starbucks Cool Jazz. There are also lots of little kids running in and about. The relaxed weekend atmosphere allows the staff more time for sweeping up, wiping down and bun counting. They seem pretty pumped about it.

The conversations also take on a different tone. Lots of medical talk, home improvement and introspective thoughts. Some probing questions that will stick with me include:

Why are “sunglasses” plural? Could you actually wear half?

Can you get it without the creamy parts?

Where do all the used coupons go?

Why do they expect you to eat a sticky bun with your fingers? Isn’t that cruel and counter productive? You get a fork with less messy items.
Now that your fact-seeking juices are flowing, (and I would like answers to all of these questions – for the M-Fers, you can take your time. I know you are busy.) consider this: there is a wealth of knowledge and information swirling around a coffee shop on any given Saturday. Just think if we could apply that to something useful, like finding me a job? Solving the health crisis? Saving all soap operas from imminent demise? The collective power of the caffeined masses is truly inspiring to think about.  It’s also a bit frightening. Who knows what all of those anti-social, single-table, computer nerd types are thinking. They can sit for hours without saying a word. They…I mean I…oh wait…

You are hereby officially released from proper mind movement. Your mind is free to move about the cabin (or coffee shop) as it sees fit.

There are many interesting programs to fill an afternoon. With the demise of soap operas, endless talk shows have stepped in to fill the void. (We have discussed before the redundancy of “The Talk.”) My favorite network day and night, (because they replay episodes of their shows continuously at every hour) is the Food Network. Both the competitive nature of the Iron Chef (there is an understanding that someday, someone will receive a samurai slash right to the intestines for their subpar lamb chop) and the nail-biting, will-they-finish-in-time premise of… well, every show that keeps me hungry for more.

The best show for pure entertainment value is “Chopped.” Four random ingredients are placed in a basket in each round. World-renowned (or at least real famous on their street) chefs are then required to complete a dish in each of three rounds: appetizer, main course and dessert. Each round one chef is eliminated – sorry-“chopped” until the final two are left to compete for the grand prize. Three judges sit and comment, often quite snarkily, as the chefs work. “Does he really think he can pull off that cut of meat without us laughing heartily?” “She looks a little puffy. Did she inhale the salt during the commercial break?” It is sometimes unclear whether or not the chefs can hear the commentary.

The real “meat” of this show is the fact that the basket ingredients are not meant to go together. “For this round, your ingredients are… Celery. Mangos. Pizza Sauce. Comet. And…go!” As the chefs scurry around to see what else is available to create their masterpiece, the commentary begins.

“This should be interesting, Bill. I’ve never seen anyone brown celery in pudding before.”
“Why are her brows so furry? She needs some work.”
Often, there are injuries in the kitchen from the frenetic pace of their chopping and dicing. “Did he just cut his finger completely off? This may slow him down.”
When presentation begins, the chefs are sweaty and sometimes appear exhausted.
“”I dusted the mozzarella pizza balls in Comet, finishing them off with a celery mango coulee.”
(The judges nibble, no facial expressions are visible.) “We noticed you cut your middle finger completely off, George.”
“Yes, I did. “
“We love how you julienned it and incorporated it into your dish.”
“Mmmmhmm.” They all nod in agreement.
“Thank you, judge.”
Inexplicably, at the end of the show, the most-maligned chef is generally the winner. “We loved your Teflon-blackened macaroni, Chet. The infusion of burned bits and pan coating material really sealed the deal for us.”
The down-trodden chopped chefs go back to their mundane lives while the winner goes on to fame, fortune, and presumably a life free from these hideous creations.

Let’s face it: No job means vacation options are limited.  There are only so many times you can run to the grocery store and pretend like you’re on an adventure. (Buying a new and exotic spice is not as exciting as it sounds.) If physical transport is not an option, a “mental drift” seems like the next best thing. Day dreaming becomes impractical, especially when some sort of human contact involving full sentences will be required.

I find that taking a nice “mental drift” at bedtime is the most effective.  It doesn’t have to involve just one fantasy; it can become a mixture of many. Don’t waste precious drifting time on that one idea of lying on a sandy beach; that’s not stretching those mental muscles enough! (Its not just a vacation, its an excercise too!) Make it a book signing on a sandy beach. I’m pretty sure this is how cats make it through the day. Fluffy would be a drooling
ball of animal floof if he weren’t combining fantasies of eating mice and climbing that one piece really expensive piece of furniture.

So here’s an example for your my drifting pleasure, one mid-day fantasy:

Fantasy opens in an out- of- the- way restaurant, one where you wouldn’t assume you would find anyone of note. George Clooney, with hat pulled low and incognito, Target-brand jeans is having coffee, black, with another person.

I am sitting with a friend, having an exceptionally good hair day. We trade stories and my responses are absurdly witty and on point.

Insert famous director, too famous to name comes over to the table. “Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“My dining partner and I couldn’t help but overhear your
conversation.” He smiles.

“Oh?” (Head cocked to the side, glorious hair style at an appealing tilt)

“Yes, that was some absurdly witty and on-point conversation.”

“Oh?”  (witty conversation has been temporarily suspended)

“I would love for you to come and work on my next project. I’m planning to pay you a silly amount of money, and of course you won’t work more than 6 hours per day. We usually offer our writers daily massages to stimulate those creative juices. ”

“Oh? Well, I don’t know…” (This is where the fantasy goes
south, because fantasy negotiations can be tricky, and as such too much work
for the run-of-the-mill bedtime thoughts.)

This fantasy would obviously lead into tomorrow night’s offering, involving a chair with my name on it and a complicated coffee provided by a starry-eyed intern.

See? Easy. Cheap. Now it’s your turn. Go forth and drift.

Someone once gleefully proclaimed to me, “Its hot dog and pop day at the car dealer!” I nodded, pretending like I understood the significance. Later, when the children of this individual (not using sex or hairstyle to identify this very identifiable person) arrived, their excitement equaled that of their parent.

“What’s going on?” I finally asked.

“It’s hotdog day at the car dealer,” one replied.

“Yeah, I hear.”

“That means we’re going out for dinner!”

At the time I was horrified, and frankly, too big for my britches. (Not talking about the kind you wear, but the mental britches that now are identified by a level of “all that-ness.”) Now that I’m gainfully unemployed, the lure of new products and let’s face it, free food, really ups the excitement level of any kind of giveaway. I’m especially partial to grocery store grand openings, re-openings (Come see our bathroom remodel!) and celebrations of: It’s Saturday and We Know You’re Coming Anyway. Today’s bounty included cake in the unfortunate front-of-store location. Your choice is to eat dessert first (ok, that’s not really a downside) keep it in your hand and push your cart, or try and remember on the way out. Free food etiquette clearly states that dessert items be offered when you can’t possibly stuff another thing in your mouth. I read that somewhere. Or probably made it up.

I would wager there are way too many people who will take two plates or more for the “friend” who is at an undisclosed location waiting for scraps. Unlike my friend, (of unidentified hair style and gender) today’s parents couldn’t really feed their kids on most of the half bite-sized portions offered. You can’t blame the store. Just today there were a few people who left the hot dog table only to casually meander by a few more times until they consumed an entire serving. Who can blame them – it’s not a real hotdog testing until you’ve tasted all three types of mustard.
After consuming cake, 4 different types of cheese, a piece of hot dog and items almost too numerous to mention, I felt somewhat obligated to purchase something. After all, isn’t the basic premise of entering a grocery store to purchase food? As I stood in line with my package of gum, I reflected on the experience. I did meet new people. The hot dog lecture was informative. It IS a dining experience. Next time, maybe I’ll dress up.

I started this blog a few years ago to promote my book and all of the interesting events in my life. Remember all of those posts? Me neither. So I’m starting fresh from today. While I search for a job and continuing rehabbing from foot surgery, I’m going to keep a bit of a journal of observations on life and the challenges facing those of us who fall somewhat short of mainstream.

Feel free to copy and enhance for your own in-between-jobs  actitvity.Hope you enjoy!

The first entry is helpful for those who find that soap operas, Dr. Phil and The Talk ( I feel insulted even watching a show that assumes it needs to explain to me why six women would be sitting together on a couch) aren’t fulfilling daytime activities.

Things to do while you’re job hunting/rehabbing:

1. Talk to the teacher on your exercise DVD every day. Some days you may wish to expand your vocabulary, while other days you may want to reinforce your basket of expletives. No matter – he will always respond with the same platitudes. “You can do it!” “Reach for the clouds!” “The only
thing holding YOU back, is YOU!” Get your full $29.95 out of that program.

2. Sit in Starbucks and assess the footwear. You can really make up a lot about a person just by judging what is on their feet. For example, flip –flops with well-manicured toes says, “I’m such a badass that I wear $2.00 shoes after getting a $40.00 pedicure.” Also, army boots on non-army personnel in the middle of June just doesn’t bode well for what will happen after he’s consumed some caffeine and sugar. There is definitely some digging going on in that yard. Hopefully for redecoration and not body placement.

3.Walk purposely from the car into a store in the strip mall. Then turn around and go back with the same purpose. You’ll be surprised how many people will nod in silent agreement, wishing THEY had the courage to walk so with so much meaning. After a few minutes, this one does become monotonous. Try and stretch it out over a period of a few days.

4. Go to the book store and read a book. In its entirety. During my tireless research, I found to my surprise, that the people who occupy the benches in the back of the chain bookstores do so for hours at a time. They read shamelessly until they have finished their novel, instruction manual, too-naughty-to-purchase exposé, dictionary, or biography. Some are even brazen enough to put that book down and pick up another, without so much as a sideways glance to make sure the store personnel haven’t caught on. Maybe my next job should be matchmaker. These people really need to meet the flip flop-pedicure people and exchange notes.

This list is purposely short. There may be a time in the future when Oprah decides to do a one-hour special entitled, WHAT
TO DO NOW THAT I’M GONE, and frankly, I want to be available in case the DVR is full.

There are many more adventures to be had in
the world of job searching/rehabbing/world observation. Stay tuned.