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On Role Playing & Biting Reality
1 June, 2011
ne of the greatest disappointments of my early adulthood was the tragic and distressing realization that, at 24 years old, I was older than the angsty but attractive Gen-Xers in my favorite movie as a teenager, Reality Bites. Although nearly ten years younger than those characters, myself teetering on the Gen X/Y cusp, as a misunderstood fifteen year-old I looked to their hapless attempts at post-collegiate life and romance with envy. I couldn't wait to be the frustrated creative pixie who would be lured by the well-dressed executive yuppie but ultimately choose my grungy, tortured, goateed musician best friend to fall in love with. I wanted their idiosyncrasies, their irreverent fun and games, I wanted ever third line my friends and I uttered to be a clever sound-byte ("You are a master at the art of time suckage." "This girl is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs." "He's the reason Cliff's Notes were invented."). I didn't know it at the time, but my role-models may have been the country's first hipsters.
When I was 19, I chopped off all my hair to replicate Winona Ryder's 'do (and found out it didn't suit me, at 19, at all, despite my current coif). I bought vintage dresses and clunky shoes. I tried to fill my brain with as much esoteric pop-culture as I could get my hands on (not easy for a kid growing up without cable television). When I was 20, I found my first unwashed musician to crush on and rejoiced. When I was 22, I got a real job where I was overworked and under-appreciated by my ego-driven boss. I had dramatic friends, aimless friends and gay friends. I was on the right track to living the life of my bemused idols!
Quickly, though, I got caught up in the right track and where it was leading me. With the job, the friends, and another ill-fated relationship with a musician, time moved quickly. One day I woke up and had turned 24. I was old. I was past the rule-book that Ben Stiller had directed for me, essentially left to my own devices from here on in. Panic.
I'll admit that as time went on and my adult life took shape, I gave up caring about those fauxhemian ideals that Reality Bites inspired. I created new ideals and discovered that (while I will likely always harbor a favoritism towards dirty-ish musicians) I am happy to have moved on into a more satisfying, self-actualized life than that in which I left Lelaina Pierce. I don't have it in me to live as dramatically as 23 year old Winona, Ethan, Janeane, Steve or Ben did. Nor do I want to.
But I'd be lying if I said that I'm entirely immune to the allure of the sensational lives that movies and TV present. We may all know better than to expect a dreamy ending… but I think you'd be hard-pressed to find someone who is entirely willing to abandon that dream. I may have gotten past expectations of Julia's "I want the fairy-tale," declaration when it comes to lurve and romance, there's still something in the day-to-day that glimpses a sense of the drama that lives only on the Big Screen and Boob Tube.
Drama may be too strong of a word. The quirks of cinematic stories are supposed to be attractive. That's why we cast beautiful people, even in ugly roles, and why too many people smoke cigarettes. Case in point: my all-nighter dinner of choice during my senior year of college was a bag of microwave popcorn and 3, sometimes 4, cans of Diet Coke. Yes, low-fat popcorn, and yes, diet soda, but a healthy dinner it was not. But look at me! I was just steps away from calling Cheez Doodles and Diet Coke dinner, a la, yes, Reality Bites! O, the glamour!
Beyond ill advised, nutritionally void meal choices, there really is an air of movie magic in certain situations. The other day, I had plans to see a friend and catch up on the last few months—tumultuous months for me, delightfully love-stricken months for her. As the work day was winding down, I looked forward to the evening's plans and was surprised at what image my tumultuous head conjured up: I saw my friend and I at a delightfully chic cafe, dramatically light with vague and soft lighting filtering through a frosted window, as we sat across from each other at strategically placed angles. The din of the restaurant's other patrons was muffled as our conversation overflowed with a balance of emotion, humor, sympathy and confidence. There'd probably be some sweet score swelling at the particularly poignant parts of our chat.
Then—POP! Like in a cartoon, the bubble of imagination burst as I realized that what I was considering was not a likely reality. It was what my evening would look like if I were living in my own New York-in-2011, 30 year-old single gal version of Reality Bites. Or, worse, some toned down and less extravagant downtown Sex In The City (perish the thought!). But you know what? Our evening was delightfully cinematic—low lighting, attractive 'extras,' indulgent food, smart cocktails and inspiring heart-to-heart . In fact, we even managed to swap a few clever sound-bytes.
Two weeks ago, I had a most fabulous girls' night out — six dear friends and I gathered to see a powerful Adele concert at the Beacon Theater, we had pre-show beers, post-show wine and cheese, and hours of chatting, dancing, singing, revelry and — dare I say it, bonding. The night's confabulations hit upon careers, friendships, family, lifestyles, hair styles, love, vacation destinations, the French language, movies, aspirations and relationships. It was the kind of night that Nora Ephron, Nancy Meyers and Nicole Holofcener dream of.
Keen observers might notice that this exact line of thinking is the antithesis of what Fear Of Syndication stands for. After all, this blog tries its best to abide by its log-line: The dramatic tales of an anti-drama Brooklyn gal. So why the veneration for Silver Screen imagery? How could I subscribe to that? In a way, I was surprised to see how fast I clung to movie-made beliefs. But then again, since the days when Reality Bites was looping on my VCR and leading through my career in the film industry, I've held on to a love of the cinematic life. I may not need the drama (although often it feels like drama needs me), but at the end of the day, everything is better with the right lighting and good sound design.
You know that over-used and abused quote, "You are the hero of your own story"? I'll be damned if it's not true… or, at least, mostly true. We may not always be the hero of our stories, but we are the protagonists. I was able to stop rueing the fact that my life is not a mid-90s 'slacker' movie because I no longer want that to be my story. I've realized that I don't want my life to resemble any one movie, or even any one genre. The past year has brought me into a romantic comedy, a painful drama, a frightening horror, an empowering against-all-odds tale and, yes, even a chick flick. Every day, the opening credits roll. And the days play out one by one, ultimately amassing into some Divine Comedy.
Yes, I learned the definition of the word irony from Reality Bites. And, thankfully, like Lelaine Pierce, I know it when I see it.
On Ch-ch-changes
13 November, 2010
"Do you believe people can change?" T asked me earlier this week.
Desperate to articulate rather than ramble, I paused and thought for a while. My instinct was to answer "yes," but I easily thought of far too many reasons why that was wrong. But to answer "no" made me depressed.
T had been asking because some people seem to disappear from our lives only to reappear again at random intervals, and so can we – should we – ever learn to trust them when they return?
In a moment of clarity that a steady diet of daytime/nighttime cold medicine had not afforded me for several days, my reply escaped from my lips before I could even digest the thought.
"I think that people's priorities change, but not their personalities."
I was instantly pleased with the breakthrough I had stumbled upon.
If it is that we act according to our priorities, then it stands to reason that as our priorities change and shift and grow, so too does our behavior and beliefs, sometimes together, some times in discord (oh, how j'adore cognitive dissonance!). But who we are at our core – beneath the other layers of self, like behavior and beliefs – that which truly comprises our being remains constant.
In thinking about this in recent days, my notion seems to be universal in a comforting way. Suddenly, the behavior of a girl who was my friend in 5th grade but refused to speak to me in 6th made more sense (my memory of the pain I felt at the time is no less acute, but my ability to dismiss this ancient event is now easier). That girl may have been a cruel bitch, but her behavior changed because her priorities – acceptance by a different group of friends – changed. Her personality, which was never all that loyal to begin with, had no problem implementing that change. In more recent events, someone with a self-destructive personality may find a new priority (say, in a short, charming brunette), and so he may sustain behavior that is actually productive and progressive for a while… but he's ultimately unable to rewire that sense inside of him that simply needs things to be worse instead of better. (I do hope that one day, this someone can find the priority that can maintain its triumph over the personality, but I don't think that will happen for a long while.)
Of course, I realize that this hypothesis of mine holds true for me as much as it does for people I've known (which confirms it's accuracy). Every single element in my life may shift and change or just up and disappear, and that all shapes me and who and where I want to be in profound and indefinable ways. But these shifts and changes do not alter who I am, they change how I react, this time and next time. They change what I want and how I go about getting it, but they cannot change that it's me, who I am and who I've been, who is wanting it.
I think this way of thinking lends itself to a certain degree of forgiveness for those who come back into our lives, but does not inherently provide an excuse. I remember the first guy I ever dated in New York – I was 23 and he was 40. He did not break my heart, but I had made a substantial emotional investment in him, which made his unexplained withdrawal from my life sting considerably. Six months after the last time I had heard from him, he called me up one evening to let me know that he could not stop thinking about me. Standing on the phone, on the rooftop of the Soho House, nearing the wise old age of 24, I probably first realized what it is about people that changes, and what it is about people that doesn't (it's just taken me seven years to be able to articulate that). This guy most likely believed that what he was telling me was true ("I know I didn't treat you right, but I've really changed since then."), but he had, six months prior, already given me every indication that, at his core, he was near-sighted and only knew how to go after what he wanted at that very precise moment. His feelings for me had not magically changed so as to make me the kind of priority that would cure him of his out-of-sight-out-of-mind affliction. It was just his loneliness that night that had prompted a lie. Ultimately, I felt sorry for him. Part of me still does.
For a long time, I found the "you can't teach an old dogs new tricks" adage to be fitting to that old story, but these days, "you can't make a dollar out of 99 cents" seems more apt. I like to believe that old dogs can pick up new tricks. But when there's only 99¢ in your pocket, you know can't turn it into a dollar. Your only option is change your mind so you don't mind buying the item that was one cent less in the first place.
Where anecdotes go to die
6 October, 2010
Now there's a wall between us; something there's been lost
I took too much for granted; got my signals crossed
Just to think that it all began on an uneventful morn:
"Come in," she said,
"I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Not that I needed to, but I was able to close out my 20s with a final cross-off the Life Experience List: that silly thing called a "real relationship," start to finish. At this rate, I'm due for a 6-month relationship which will end right before I turn 60.
Now, not supposing that my experience has been anything typical (for if it was, I'm quitting this dating game right now), but I can certainly appreciate the path of getting-over-it that must be fairly common. There's frustration and confusion (if you're me, anyhow), there's being upset, there's being angry, there's being utterly exhausted from being upset and angry. And then, with some mental and emotional stretching and coaxing, there's a deep breath of air and you look around and realize that you've returned to something that resembles normalcy—wherein "normalcy" is whatever your life was like before the other person was a part of it.
But then you're faced with the challenge of functioning like that "normal" person again—a challenging task no matter what, made worse when suddenly, strange, pesky moments of memory drift into your consciousness, like a subtle but unmistakably familiar aroma, reminders of everything that was, and everything that you must move on from.
That's a sad part about the end of the relationship.
Once you get past the icky feelings, once you learn that you can swallow the hurt enough to move on, there's a lingering bittersweetness, that in the right light can seem almost wistful. And for a glorious nanosecond, the warm fuzzies of the relationship return, as you hear a certain song, pass a spot of a memorable date, or remember a ridiculous inside joke. That's the fleeting sweetness; because in the next moment, the bitter sweeps in with something like the sharp pinch of a mosquito bite. It's acute, targeted, and even though you know the mosquito's gone, you know its effects are not.
So now you have a host of these itchy little 'bites,' not quite memories, but not quite disposable. They're things that made the relationship unique and intimate, made you smile throughout the day and your time apart. They've become tiny moments that are unavoidable. (If we used to laugh at a certain phrase that my boss used, who do I laugh with the next time he says it?) Sometimes, they're moments that we need to address, for ourselves, to force our way through them enough times that we become desensitized to their sentimentality. (There are too many songs on the relationship playlist for me to start associating them all with that wonky break-up… And so I refuse to stop listening, no matter how many times we may have fallen asleep to them.) (Songs are really tough; the soundtrack to a good time can easily become the soundtrack to a maudlin montage of memories that beckons forth a depressed nostalgia.)
I've never been one for any kind of ultimate finality—for as much as I am a fan of cleansing, the thought of burning items associated with someone else makes me sad. (This is probably why I still have a small shopping bag filled with candy and tea that I had intended to give to Mr. Is-No-More sitting by my front door… Truth is, when I really need to get rid of someone or something, I much prefer to bury over burn.) But these anecdotal moments that have me caught up lately are intangible and powerful; they're in the air, vapors that are immune to permanent destruction. Yet once they work their way inside, they coalesce and conjure up very real memories, which then play out in my mind like a collage of romantic comedies, poignant and affecting, misty watercolored memories that are easier to indulge in than to fight.
But like most drugs, the indulgent high is followed by an empty low. For, really, all of these little moments wind up meaning precious little. No matter how bitter or sweet, they lead you to the same place: that's all over, and you're alone.
And I've begun to think that that's why there's something that feels good about clinging to these moments when they appear. In some cyclical equation that I'm trying to wrap my head around, these hints of memories of the relationship are the best distraction from the relationship itself. It's not living in the past; it's just learning how to not be tormented by it. It's like that mosquito bite that appears in late autumn—it may not be pleasant, but the thought of summertime is sweet. It's still jarring when a new little 'bite' pops up, like when I heard an old favorite song on the radio the other day, and remembered serenading him with it in the back of a cab while confusing all the lyrics. The memory began to make me sad, but I'm learning how to handle it. I smile. I sigh. I remember. I miss what was.
I move on.
On Relativity
1 October, 2010
3 days til 30
A man can't know where he is on the earth except in relation to the moon or a star. Astronomy comes first; land maps follow because of it. Just the opposite of what you'd expect. If you think about it long enough, it will turn your brain inside-out. A here exists only in relation to a there, not the other way around. There's this only because there's that; if we don't look up, we'll never know what's down. Think of it, boy. We find ourselves only by looking to what we're not. You can't put your feet on the ground until you've touched the sky. (Moon Palace, Paul Auster)
I've spent the past week trying to figure out the appropriate angle for a blog entry about this past week; something in my signature-style of vague if underhanded life lesson that's disguising some deeper inner turmoil.
In trying to deal with that turmoil, I've also spent the past week immersed in a book; perhaps not the most amazing book, but an engaging story with a fast-paced writing style that allows for complete distraction. For that, Paul Auster, I am eternally grateful.
So there's all this stuff going on in my life right now, and I've chosen to include "turning 30" as part of that stuff, because it feels, for some reason, like something to tackle, something that, come Monday morning, I can check off. I have no trepidation about this milestone, I'm simply excited for the next chapter. Yet, in matters that have nothing to do with my age, the past seven days have been fraught with an anchorless emotional anxiety that's brought many questions and yielded precious few answers (the only answer so far, in fact, has been: Yes, you will get through this).
When I came across the afore-quoted passage in the book, suddenly everything before me was brought into a sharper perspective. I could read each sentence a hundred times over and be equally touched by its accuracy and simplicity each time. My brain was, indeed, beginning to turn itself inside-out. And I found that while my emotional burden was hardly lifted, it was no longer isolated, it was in a context now that brought comfort, too.
Because if we continue the thinking that Mr. Auster began, wouldn't it be true that there is only happiness because we've known sadness, and, inversely, only sadness because we've known happiness? As Joni said, "you don't know what you got til it's gone;" we only have people and things to miss because we've had people and things. Even Tennyson says so. From here, my brain continues: we can only grow from an experience if it's been profound enough to mark us, profound enough for us to care. Which means that without experience, we do not grow, we do not change. We can own our scars because they are proof of our humanity, of our progression. And that is the most positive spin I could possibly hope to put on this week-of-shittiness, because it says, simply: It was all worth it.
In the larger picture, too, the quote is no less relevant. For as my 30th year rapidly approaches, I am trying (probably too hard) to take stock of who I am, where I am and what I want. These questions exist every day, of course, but on birthdays, I actually try to articulate answers for them. And what gets me about the book's quote is that this Theory of Relativity (for that is what it is), applies not only to the world around me; Earth to Moon, here to there, but it applies to me to me. I am, now, relative to myself, then. What Auster writes is true, it's been the axiom for the past twenty years of my life: "We find ourselves only by looking to what we're not." "What we're not" can certainly apply to how we define ourselves by reacting to others, but, as I'm only now truly starting to understand, it can also mean "what we are no longer." We can define ourselves in the present by looking at who we were in the past. We are not only amalgamations of our experiences, but we are reshaped by them, parts of ourselves are discarded, or eaten away, or re-molded to reveal an entirely new form, one that bears resemblance to previous forms, but is wholly unique.
And, in looking at things this way, both my recent emotional hiccup and my larger "Who Am I?" issues are addressed: Experience must sometimes break us down so we can rebuild ourselves, strengthened for the next time. We remember what's passed as emotional and functional: memories, already tinged with bittersweetness, are also lessons, sometimes cautionary tales, sometimes exemplary models. They become notes for our playbooks, what worked, what didn't, and how to improve for next time. We can look back to last week, last month, ten years ago or twenty-seven years ago (which is about where my memory kicks in). We can even reinterpret previous interpretations of the past. When I was 20, I reacted to my teenage years very differently than I do now. I am shaped by those teenage years, but also by the shape of myself at 20. We are glorious monsters of pastiche.
Every day of the past informs the present. Because of that, we can walk confidently on the ground knowing that our fingers have grazed the sky. We have looked down, and thus can safely look upwards again, knowing what exists in both the depths and the heights of ourselves. We can heal ourselves; we know that the present hurts only because the past didn't. We can look forward because we know what's behind us. We are here because we have been there. We are now, because we have been then.
On The Past
7 July, 2010
Call it a crush, a preoccupation, a notion, a flirt, a 'that-guy', an 'I'm-not-quite-sure-what-he-is-to-me' – it's fun to have someone in mind, someone that you can allow yourself, every now and then, to stop and think of and smile to yourself, because you know they like you, and you think you like them, too.
So let's say I got me one of them (yes, it HAS been a while). While I'm hardly filled with the fresh stirrings of unrivaled passion, I'm having fun, and that is always welcome, and, c'est vrai, overdue.
Just a few light weeks into it, I have started to indulge myself in the occasional split-second daydream, the kind that leaves me with a quick sigh and reassurance that someone likes me (in case this sounds trite to you, you are probably lucky enough to have that kind of confidence on a regular basis. I last enjoyed it in 2009).
Imagine my surprise – and utter confusion – when a stolen moment of recalling l'homme nouveau conjured up not his face – but instead the visage of an old, old friend from high school, someone I haven't seen or heard from since 1998 (possibly 1997). Lordy, was my subconscious messing with my conscious! I stopped myself and carried on my day, but the next time a daydream got the best of me – I once again saw in my head the same face of the boy who liked me in 10th grade.
This old friend – we'll call him George, which is not his name – has previously been mentioned in this blog, cited for being one of the parties who once-upon-a-time fought over my affection. We had a nice if strange friendship, at least preceding the drama. We had several classes together, and he would pass me notes declaring his deep, true feelings for me, and I would blush and remind him that he had a girlfriend. Unfortunately for him (and me?), I enjoyed his friendship only platonically, and will never forget the shared embarrassment we both felt later that summer when (newly single) he tried to put the moves on me. Still, he remains an integral part of my personal and emotional history – perhaps because he was, I believe, the first person to show that he desired me, maturely, sexually. Of course, 15 year-old me had no idea what to do with that, and waited until those sentiments came from his friend, the victor of their fight, to actually explore them. But when I stop and think about it – as I was forced to do earlier – I do remember the strange, new sense of flattery and confidence that I felt around him, and how that indicated a clear, tender and sweet transition away from innocence.
Still, George has all but disappeared from my life – every 3 years or so, I'll look him up on the internet, but he seems to be untraceable, free from the confines of Social Networking webs and apparently not doing anything so noteworthy as to wind up in the news. I don't think he died (surely, that would be in the news). Perhaps he changed his name.
His obscurity only aggravates my confusion as to why, when concentrating on conjuring up an image of the new guy in my life, I only see this relic from my past. Physically, I suppose they share the same wavy dark hair – but that's about where the similarities end. Upon closer consideration, though, they also share the same awkward approach to me, to whatever we maybe forging – but is my subconscious really so sophisticated as to pull that out from obscurity? This seems more like the stuff that dreams are made of – surreal, symbolic and suggestive. But to pop up in a daydream… that's so overt! So blatant! So flummoxing!
I've spent a few days trying to figure this out, as it wasn't until I saw the new guy earlier today that I was able to finally rid George's face from my association. I've decided that there are more contributing factors to these crossed signals than I had originally thought – all minor, all subtle, but all undeniable. It's in the posture, the clumsy confidence that is bolder than it seems, the way they look at me, with eyes that have a lot to say but refuse to utter a word, small mannerisms, the steady trot, and–perhaps more than anything else–the way they each wanted me, a sweet awkwardness.
All that being said, what surprises me most today is not that my brain drew a connection between these two gentlemen–it's that it did so even though I have changed so much in these 12, 13 years. George will always remained fixed in my memory as a 16 year old boy, and I exist in that memory as a 16 year old me, too. I'd like to think that I have outgrown much of my own maladroit cluelessness and naivete since then, and it's troublesome to have to wonder if my subconscious hasn't yet noticed that change.
Having seen the new beau, I think I can more safely keep the two entities separate – one as a memory, the other as a reality. There is is now an invisible thread endearing the two together, though, and I've come to appreciate the way the past has, oddly enough, sweetened the present.
On A New York Memory
2 June, 2010
Wherein I recall a vintage New York soundscape.
Growing up in Central Jersey in the 80s, we lived in the plush suburban periphery of New York City. As the product of two very New York parents (themselves the result of Brooklyn, Queens, Brooklyn and Brooklyn parentage), New York's cultural legacy runs rich in my blood, but as a girl, my cognitive awareness of the city was fueled by what I saw on TV – the Nightly News more than Night Court. In my mind, the Center of the Universe was a blend of the stories from the news of drugs, rape, murder, homelessness and filth and Adventures in Babysitting, which only mirrored what I believed the entire city to be.
My family maintained a fairly regular tradition of a monthly dinner in Chinatown, and these journeys were eagerly anticipated – not only for the promise of scallion pancakes and cold noodles with sesame sauce, but for the excitement of spending a few precious (and delicious) hours in the city.
I've always had a good memory, and have held on to so many moments from those New York Outings. I remember the magic of the Lincoln Tunnel, anxiously awaiting the tiled indicator between "New Jersey" and "New York," and the moment when my parents would, technically, be in New York and my sister and I in the backseat would still be in New Jersey. I remember the looks on my parents' faces as we circled Mott Street searching for a parking space – my father would always turn down the radio to help him concentrate. I remember bouncing up and down on my father's shoulders as we walked towards the restaurant where our friends would be waiting for us, downtown feeling gritty as could be but often bathed in a warm, orange sunset. I remember shying away from the headless roasted chickens hanging in steamy windows, the intoxicating smell of a hundred restaurants drowning in brown garlic sauce, and the oil that would cling to my fingers as I greedily devoured scallion pancake after scallion pancake. (My appetite was as healthy as my memory.)
I have two distinct sound memories from these nights; two, that is, not including the laughter of our party's conversation and banter. One is awfully specific – we passed an honest-to-goodness New York rocker (or so I thought), walking down the street with a boom-box balanced on his shoulder. He wore a denim jacket that was no doubt stone and/or acid washed, and I believe he was wearing sunglasses, despite the late hour and darkness. This moment may have been my very first validation of coolness as (present-day Me is not so proud to admit this, but I remember how excited 6-year-old Me was) his boom-box was playing the first and only cassette tape that my sister and I owned/shared: Starship's "Knee Deep in the Hoopla" (not that we knew it was called that), and it was blasting the second 'best' song on the album: "Sara." I tripped over my words as I interrupted any and all conversations our group was having at that moment to brag that we had that song too! And to think – we heard it in New York City.
But now – on to what inspired this blog post, on to what it's really about. There was one other sound that I associated with growing up and Koch's New York City; music that was as far as you could get from Blondie or The Ramones, or, gratefully, Starship.
It was the slow, soulful wail of a saxophone, moaning long into the New York City night.
To be perfectly honest, I'm not completely sure if this memory truly mine, or if, too, belongs to the movies and television shows of my youth. Was not every low-angle shot of a desolate and dirty midtown street accompanied by the wail of a lonesome sax? Surely. But somewhere in the recesses of my long and twisted recollection lies the soundtrack to those evenings in New York City as a child, and that soundtrack consists of a low cacophony of languages underscoring the whoosh of cars and far away sirens. The prominent sound, though, was that of the saxophone, which felt to me like a cry out to the lost souls I imagined roamed the city, uniting the disparate and displaced, the wayward and the worried, those who were still awake it hear it's howl.
All of this was easily delegated to the corners of my mind, stowed away in my memory with the smell of my grandparent's old house and the feel of bunnysleepers against my young skin.
Until this afternoon.
This afternoon, I left my office in search of liquid salvation, that sweet ambrosia called Diet Coke. I walked outside and squinted against the bright June sun and breathed in the warm, heavy air. Then I heard it – as out of place as a 25 year old memory, yet just as desperate: the whine of a solo saxophone, played by a man who seemed just retro as the tune he played. In a white tank top tucked into red shorts, a long ponytail pulled at the base of head and a pair of cheap sunglasses wrapped around his head, this man played notes from that long-ago score as few passersby dropped spare change into a neon green case propped up on the sidewalk.
Instantly, I was forced to reconcile present-day awareness – a bustling Chelsea block, the middle of my lackluster workday – with this sound that came straight out of the 80s, out of the place in my brain that lives next to "We Built This City," and out of nights filled with General Tso's chicken and Häagen-Dazs. I circled the block, taking in the fresh if thick air, and the saxophone's notes followed me, linking my tedious day with an ancient memory of carefree nights. It was so glaringly incongruous, yet no one else seemed moved by this, the sound that was as vintage as the high-waisted jeans that have unfortunately come back in fashion.
Once back in my office, through the half-assed windows that let in the winter draft, the sax wafted in, although muted, and filled my afternoon with a strange nostalgia, for a far-away part of my childhood, resurrected by the sound of a New York that I never really knew.
2010: A Different Hope
19 December, 2009
2009 was ushered in on the tails of a Collective Hope – we, as a nation, had spent a huge portion of our energy on ensuring that Barack "Hope" Obama was elected to office, and the celebration that followed his victory in early November lasted roughly 10 weeks, through to his inauguration on that frigid day in January. We felt the pressure of the world on our shoulders, and suddenly, it wasn't enough just to vote, but we expended a great deal of mental and emotional and sometimes physical energy hoping so damn hard that this one moment would be the change in history that we, as individuals, as a country, as members of the world, so desperately needed. It was the biggest Care Bear Stare in history, as we all gathered to concentrate our Hoping on putting Barack in office.
We succeeded.
And then, we were exhausted.
Last night, at annual holiday dinner party, my friends and I each volunteered what we were thankful for in our lives right now, and what our high points of 2009 had been. No one had very inspired answers; the best being "when I got laid off," and the worst being "nothing; nothing good has happened in 2009." It seemed low-points were far more plentiful and easier to conjure.
It got me thinking that maybe what we were missing last year around this time was the hope for ourselves. We were so fixated on the political hope that perhaps we invested too much in that; for although we all believed heartily that Obama's election would change all of our lives for the better, his message of Hope did not apply to us on a personal level. Hope for the nation, Hope for the world, but what about for us?
I can't help but wonder if, recession notwithstanding (I realize I'm asking a lot there), we just didn't have the time or energy to position ourselves in the metaphysical space needed to enter 2009 positively, with optimism for our personal futures, with the knowledge that the ability to make our lives better begins and ends with us. We readily became proud citizens of the country for the first time in eight years, and our energies went towards hoping for better things for the group we belonged to – citizens – rather than for just ourselves, not simply as citizens, but as individuals, as unique snowflakes in this global blizzard.
By beginning the year neglecting our own need for hope (without which we're pretty much doomed), we all started the year on less stable footing. For some of us, the ground was already fairly shaky and became increasingly worse. For others, the cracks in the once-solid ground came out of nowhere. Either way, as the country sunk into recession, we as individuals descended into depression, realizing that no one was there to hold our hand through these hard times, and despite friendships built on newly available unemployment time, we all had to learn what it was like to be a little more alone. There was an emptiness that grew more vapid as the months wore on, and I'm starting to believe that the void was created by our wearing out our energies too early, on causes other than ourselves.
Going in to 2010, a new decade that couldn't have come too soon, we are too weary, too jaded, too afraid to invest much faith in anything – but placing faith in the greater picture just seems futile. 2009 was proof of that. Don't get me wrong – despite the frustrations and disappointments, there's no other person who should be in office right now other than Obama, and I believe that we did cause that change – but we've learned that entrusting so much of our hope in an entity so far out of our hands does not yield a fair exchange. Our Hope Portfolios need more diversification than we were willing to undertake last year; but the safest investment, the one most likely to grant the most returns, is putting our hope for the future in ourselves. Sure, we bear the brunt of the responsibility for it (call me a romantic, but I refuse to take all responsibility for what happens in my life. See "The Traumatic Bike Theft of 2009" for proof), but our accountability is more real, and thus, our rewards are that much greater, that much more fulfilling, that much more meaningful. And that works to renew our hope for another day, another month, another year. 2009 flew by, but each day was a chore, no matter how it was filled. I want 2010 to snowball – whatever hope we can muster to start the year off, as long as its a personal hope, as long as its genuine, to make January better than December, which will make our approach to February that much more positive, which will make it that much easier to wake up in the morning and face the life that awaits us.
On my way home from the dinner party, I sighed to my friend Elaine that 2010 simply had to be better than 2009. She smiled her comforting smile, patted my knee, and said "It already is."
Do two cowards make a right?
15 December, 2009
I don't really hate anyone. I am irked by many, disinterested in some, and simply don't care enough to form an opinion about others. On the whole, though, I'm a lover, not a fighter, I'm a good girl who believes there are better ways to spend our precious time than hating. In fact, even when I have the right to be mad at someone, my overwhelming inability to hold a grudge usually prevents me from doing so.
The past few years have seen one major exception to all that, as there are two people, both former supervisors at an old job, whose callousness and cowardice run so deep in their characters that they are, simply, detestable. I am not at all apologetic that I feel that way, nor have I ever tried to excuse my feelings or hide them. These folks are serpentine, and the enigmatic smile of one and blank, mousy-eyed gaze of the other does little to hide the fact that they are swine.
I won't go into the details of my grievance with them, save to say that it was in their cowardly and unprofessional approach to management that their sin was committed. Thankfully, I recovered from the incident in question quickly, and had managed to avoid these two slimy beasts for a year and a half, although there's been a handful of close calls (which were accompanied by panic, shallow breathing and sweaty palms). The panic set in because no matter how far "past" the incident I was, I had little faith in my ability to restrain a verbal barrage of insults from hurling out of my mouth before I had a chance to try and stop them.
Last week, that 18 month bastard-free reign tragically ended. The tragedy was two-fold.
A) the longer I went without seeing either ugly mug, the better, as I was sure that the sight of them would make me ill. (I was correct.)
B) I had long imagined the moment when I was forced to address them face-to-face, and the glory of my damnation, the sweet satisfaction of calling these two milksops out for exactly what they are. But instead of a verbal beat-down and a glowing, virtuous success, I found myself betraying myself! I suddenly succumbed to the pressures of so-called 'maturity' and 'niceties' and was forced to endure not just the phony, inscrutable smile emitting from the face of a jackass, but – mon dieu – suffer a filthy kiss on the cheek from such a hated man, while trying to swallow the sick that rose up in my throat.
Oh, the heartache. I instantly felt empty, defeated. I had lost my chance at revenge; at accusing the most cowardly man I know of being just that, of kicking him in the shins, both literally and proverbially, all in the name of some godforsaken professionalism.
Was I the bigger person? Or did I commit the sin of playing into his delusional fantasy of being universally-adored, of doing no wrong, of being so in charge that his every whim and wish becomes the law of the land?
I felt dirty and ashamed, felt like I had reneged on and disappointed my pride. Worse yet, I'm afraid I'll never again have the chance to tell him squarely: "Your behavior towards me proves that the only thing more enormous than your ego is your fear. There was never any dignity in avoiding me, in avoiding the truth, in avoiding bad things in an attempt to believe they're not really there. Live in misery with the knowledge that whatever your title, salary or role in life, you have acted with a cowardice that will not be forgotten, or forgiven."
… followed by, at least, a knee to the groin.
So who is the worse person? Him, for being an asshole? Or me, for swallowing my feelings when I've never before been so right to express them? The last few days have seen me plagued by thinking of all the biting lines I should have said to him. I need to move on, and learn that although I may have let myself down this once, I can take comfort in knowing that I will never, ever let a such a ripe opportunity to speak my mind pass me by again.
The Power of Negative Thinking
11 December, 2009
This one's rated "A" for abstract, kids. Reader tolerance is requested.
There's no such thing as a single, solitary outlook (on life, on love, on work, on friendships). Anytime a situation, conflict, issue arises, we struggle with the right way to deal with it – 'right' taking on a variety of meanings… There's right to our heart, right to our heads, right to other people, right ethically, morally. So we start to divide our feelings, our approach. That's when the "If…"s start to rear their curious little heads. We begin to vacillate between the imps and angels on our shoulders (when it's easy) or we dig deeper and deeper inside ourselves to try to find something that resembles the truth (when it's not).
Recently, I got tired of mixed emotions – stemming from nearly all parts of my life – running amok inside my head. I needed to find some peace that would afford me sleep, and some degree of comfort. I recalled that a few friends of mine were ardent believers in the power of positive thinking – if not so much as a way to get results, than as an effective approach to not let negativity get the best of them. Desperate for a change, I sucked it up and tried it. I not only placed every part of my life in a positive and forward-thinking context, but I went so far as to project whom I wanted to become in the place that I wanted to be. I even situated other people inside these projections – who do I want to work with, who do I want to spend my time with, and who do I want to be with these people?
It wasn't easy; in fact the effort was relatively enormous ('relatively' being the operative word there, but it's hardly my fault – times like these do not lend themselves to inherently positive thinking). For about a day, despite the effort exerted, I felt great. I was energized and created a huge map of the road from "now" to "happy place" and spectacular energy abounded in my apartment. The future seemed within reach, and the troublesome, tedious, stressful days of my past were numbered. What joy! What relief! What shit-eating shame that I had to admit my superstitious friends, in their optimistic glory, were right.
24 hours passed. Then, the fissures began to show. First, the effort required to put on a happy face became tiresome – if only because my cynical mind is not used to taking a backseat to blind hopefulness. Second, to me (here's that cynicism), optimism is often equatable to vulnerability. Expectations are great, investments are high and defenses inevitably come down. This a dangerous place; this is the place that leads to disappointment, to hurt – two familiar and detested emotions.
Still, I was reluctant to break up my fling with positive thinking altogether. I searched for a way to adapt what I still viewed as a naïvely juvenile world view into the more comfortable, if more pessamistic, outlook. I wanted to see the world through purplish-tinted glasses; not quite rosy, but not quite dark. Oddly enough, I found that turning my view completely around – more balanced, even if it did skew towards the negative – helped me get back to a not-unhappy, safe place that I wanted to be. Dissonant, for sure, but not-unhappy, and that felt good.
I tried to explain this to a friend, citing a frequently troublesome and blog-worthy area of my life (hint: it's not the MTA). My Day 1 outlook on the topic was confident and mature, but sadly, existed in a space that was foreign to me, and so it felt largely inauthentic. My Day 2 outlook reined emotions in to a place where I could embrace whatever may or may not happen, and, importantly, be A-OK no matter what. (Some might argue that this takes the fun, the butterflies out of it. I do not necessarily disagree.) But although I was ready to accept this change as "negative," I soon realized how much better this safe if contained approach made me feel, and that, friends, is it's own positive thinking. If you don't care enough to expect things from people, it's infinitely more difficult for them to let you down. That may seem callous, but there's a practicality there too that I'm learning to love.
From that standpoint, I took what seemed to be a tumble downwards, but, again, the so-called fall only served to reinforce something solid and settled. I began to entertain that a certain pesky situation I was in as simply entirely over and done with. Fair enough that you might think that I've hit the lowest depths of negativity, and you might be right in wondering what kind of investment I have/had in it at all. (I do not have an answer for you). But by nay-saying (or nay-thinking) I've fortified my resolve and secured my sanity. At best, I told my friend, I am pleasantly surprised by what the future holds. At worst, which is hardly worst, I stay no worse off than I am currently. And the safety in realizing this suddenly felt more positive than any allegiance to "The Secret" that my friends extolled. "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," my friend summarized. The way I saw it, only good things can come of that, even in matters of the heart.
Of course, it's too easy for this tirade to end there, with my upside-down, bass-ackwards point of view bringing me undue solace. For I next began to wonder, as I truly did slip down into cynical terrain, how can one prepare for the worst while not projecting those fears? Like brown eyes and dimples, negative thoughts are dominant, and tend to cloud the presence of other emotions. Throw a projection-inclined gal like me into that mix, and suddenly what I had seen as a "rational and safe" approach grew into the scowls and thick walls of a skeptic. I found that neat coincidences could wind up under the "Positive Thinking" banner, but later couldn't help but think that I was manifesting disappointment by specifying a more negative outlook. Suddenly, my negative-yet-positive vantage point was devolving, turning into a reclusive-and-negative view, conditions that the universe seemed all too eager to satisfy. And this worried me.
If we prepare for the worst, do we not invite panic from our neighbors? If we emotionally cast aside people we once cared for (likely in a veiled attempt to save ourselves from hurt, but that's a blog for another time), then what's to stop them from doing the same to us? How do we live a life of caution but convey an attitude of devil-may-care?
It is not so much that I wish to be a rock, an island, to feel no pain or to never cry, but I do sometimes wonder if our outlooks on life – on love, on work, on friendships – would be better suited if equipped with a moat. Not impregnable, but not susceptible; not foreboding, but not exposed. Then, there'd be no reason to choose Positive vs. Negative Thinking, nor to spend hours calculating which is the more effective, tenable and lasting approach. The challenges before us would serve to strengthen us, and the task of others reaching us would prove to be that much more rewarding. We would be safe, but not alone.


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Getting in Top Cardiovascular Shape
Being in top cardiovascular shape means having a high exercise capacity; you've trained your heart and lungs to support a fast 5k or a personal best in your sport. This will take time and dedication, but in the end will be very rewarding. If done properly, you can be in top shape in a few months' time. A steady progression of intense workouts will help you reach your goal, but consult your doctor before beginning a new exercise routine.
Build a Base
Prior to ramping up the intensity, build a base. Whether your preferred type of cardio exercise is running, swimming, biking or elliptical, it is important to prepare your body for the hard work that lies ahead. Begin with three to four days each week of easy to moderate exercise. Exercise anywhere from 30 minutes to one hour. This phase of training is not about winning the race, but simply about allowing your muscles and cardiovascular system to begin adapting. The last thing you want to do is overtrain or injure yourself, because then you would lose the effect of all that training.
Interval Workouts
After at least one month of building a base, begin to incorporate more intense workouts into your routine. Interval workouts will quickly get you into top cardiovascular shape. Warm up for 10 minutes, and then alternate an intense minute of exercise with an easy minute. Alternate intervals for 20 to 30 minutes and then cool down. Try to do two interval workouts each week, and do your standard cardio workouts an additional one to two days. After three to four weeks of regular intervals, begin to increase the length of your intervals. Try two minutes intense actvity alternated with one minute of easy activity.
Heart Rate Zones
To ensure that you are training your heart and lungs properly to improve their ability to pump blood and oxygen to your muscles, utilize heart rate zones to track your workouts. Calculate your maximum heart rate by subtracting your age from 220. Multiply your max heart rate by 80 percent. This result is the heart rate you want to maintain or exceed during your hard intervals to strengthen your heart. On the days you are not doing intervals, you still need to maintain a minimum intensity level, so multiply your max heart rate by 65 percent. On your noninterval days, stay at about this heart rate.
Progression and Rest
Learn to progress properly. It is easy to do too much too soon, so follow the 10 percent rule: Don't increase the amount of exercise you do from week to week by more than 10 percent. For example, if in week one you exercised 120 minutes, in week two do no more than 132 minutes, adding 10 percent of 120. Rest for your body is also critical; plan at least one day of rest every week. If you are ever feeling overly tired and fatigued, take an extra day or two off.
- The Stretching Institute: Interval Training
- ACE Fitness: Cardiorespiratory Training
- Exercise Physiology Theory and Application to Fitness and Performance; Scott K. Powers
- High-Performance Sports Conditioning; Bill Foran
Photo Credits
- Jupiterimages/Brand X Pictures/Getty Images

subset: commoncrawl


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The next generation of BMX riders were given a first look at the site of a planned £2million BMX track today (Monday) exactly two years before the facility is first used at the Glasgow 2018 European Championships.
The new facility, which will be built in Knightswood Park in the north west of Glasgow, will be the first and only world championship and Olympic standard BMX track in Scotland and the second in the UK, outside of Manchester. It is the only new venue being built ahead of the Glasgow 2018 European Championships and will complete the city's portfolio of cycle sport venues as well as increasing the profile of cycling across the country.
The Olympic and World Championship standard track will be the new home of the Western Titans BMX Club and will also be used by local clubs, schools and community groups. It will first be used in major competition during the European Championships – an exciting new multi-sport event that brings together the existing European Championships of athletics, aquatics, cycling, gymnastics, rowing and triathlon and a new golf team event.
The European Championships is being staged for the first time in 2018 in a partnership between the Host Cities of Glasgow and Berlin. This sporting partnership will create a new event on the world stage every four years elevating the status of European Champions and attracting a potential television audience of 1.03 billion with a wider audience via digital platforms.
As part of the inaugural European Championships around 3,025 athletes will visit Scotland for six events (aquatics, cycling, golf, gymnastics, rowing and triathlon) while a further 1,500 athletes will compete in Berlin as part of the European Athletics Championships. The event will build on Glasgow and Scotland's track record of hosting major international events including the 2014 Commonwealth Games, 2014 Ryder Cup and 2015 World Gymnastics Championships.
Paul Bush OBE, Director of Events at VisitScotland said: "EventScotland is delighted to support such a new and innovative concept within the sporting industry. Scotland is the perfect stage for events and our involvement in the 2018 European Championships perfectly highlights our capacity to host unique major fixtures."
Click here for more information on the 2018 European Championships.


text:
|Image courtesy Anthony Freda
Back in 2003 when Bush Jr. proposed to attack Iraq on the basis of lies about their offensive capabilities, millions around the globe poured into the streets to protest. The invasion happened anyway, and the U.S. is still there.
During the Obama years, liberals in the U.S. went silent. We were still in Iraq and Afghanistan (and building bases as fast as we could in Somalia and Sudan, and bombing Libya, and arming "moderate" rebels in Syria and "pivoting" toward Asia) and the Pentagon's share of budget was still climbing upwards from 50% of the total. But the commander in chief was handsome and his wife and daughters were beautiful and, besides, "terror" and "9/11" were words often heard from his lips.
|Image courtesy Anthony Freda
So with the ascendance of the demogogue with bad hair I've been curious to see if people would flood back into the streets to protest the crippling costs -- environmental, financial or spiritual -- of U.S. wars that now seem designed to be endless.
Not seeing it.
Masses of white middle class women whose reproductive rights are threatened will not come out against wars. They mostly supported Hillary or Bernie, both of whom had long pedigrees as warmongers. Their privilege and lack of initiative in finding real news for themselves will continue to blind them.
But there are glimmers of hope.
|Alli McCracken and associates January 20, 2017 in Washington DC (photo: Nony Dutton)
Today I'm taking a meeting with two young people in Maine who responded to my "Open Letter to Young Organizers: I'm Against Imperial Wars, How About You?". My pitch was basically, I'll gladly support your issues and I invite you to consider supporting my opposition to wars.
|Image courtesy Anthony Freda
Environmental advocacy is what young people care fervently about as they contemplate their future on a devastated planet. My job in my remaining years here is to connect the dots between militarism and pollution.
Decades of failing to count the carbon output (and other pollutants) generated by the Pentagon and its contractors has enabled the elephant in the room to evade notice. As Professor Tom Hastings of Portland State University noted, each time a new administration comes into office, advances in holding the Pentagon accountable for its carbon footprint are swept away by the "new" regime.
Plenty of signals indicate the waging of war will continue apace no matter whether the occupant of the White House has a D or an R after his or her name.
An inaugural promise by the demagogue with bad hair to "eradicate completely from the face of the Earth" the threat of "radical Islamic terrorism" is idiotic of course. For one thing, terrorism is a strategy and not a thing that can be eradicted. Secondly, our relentless bombing and invading of oil-rich nations and strategically located nations has only produced (as predicted) far more radical Islamic warriors. As intended. How else to keep the profit mills spinning so that the CEOs of war profiteers like General Dynamics and Lockheed Martin can continue to rake in the spoils of war?
Conversion to a peace economy is the only path forward out of this wilderness, but that possibility will be squelched and silenced by squeals about terror.
|cartoon by Will Park
My friend organizer Bruce Gagnon is convinced that the master plan is to cut social programs to the bone to continue funding Pentagon-affiliated profit centers. This is hopeful in the sense that most people will not rise up and demand change until it is their ox that is being gored.
Are the powers that be just waiting until the elderly voters of the baby boom generation are out of the picture? I predict they will be amazed at the rising generations of resistance.
|Kecia Lewis as Mother Courage in a 2016 production by the Classic Stage Company
German playwright Bertolt Brecht created his historical play Mother Courage and Her Children to comment on how a society at war makes everyone dependent upon the conflict even as it consumes its own young. Created in resistance to the rise of Fascism and Nazi warmongering, the setting is the Thirty Years' War that engulfed Europe from 1618 to 1648. It probably seemed endless to those who endured it.
In 2002 then U.S. Ambassador Richard Haass laid out the master plan in effect to this day:
There can be no exit strategy in the war against terrorism. It is a war that will persist. There is unlikely to be an Antietam, a decisive battle in this war. An exit strategy, therefore, will do us no good. What we need is an endurance strategy.
Ours is not the first empire to fall prey to this kind of hubris. Romans, Ottomans, Persians, Nazis, Japanese imperialists: all thought they were mighty unto eternity, and all wheezed to a halt when their resources had been exhausted.
|Image courtesy Anthony Freda
This time the resource we exhaust may be the capacity of the planet to support our form of life. Earth may have the ultimate endurance strategy, and it many very well not include us.


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Objectives Edit
Toss Orange-Colored Turnips in front of 12 Virmen Hoarders.
- Virmen tricked with Orange-Painted Turnip (12)
Provided item:
Description Edit
Uncle Chen's still got his eye on me, which means I won't be wandering off any time soon. I guess it's up to you to take these turnips... I mean, "carrots"... into the Twisted Warren and deliver them for me.
It should be pretty simple. Just toss the vegetables in front of virmen, then watch their reaction when they find out it's really a turnip!
Completion Edit
Bah ha hah haaaa! I love messing with virmen.
Rewards Edit
You will receive:
- 9 80
- [Turnip Punching Bag]
Dialogue Edit
After lobbing the "carrot", the virmen have various responses when they discover it:
- I just notice funny-looking carrot!
I trust it.
I love it. I love this carrot.
Carrot? For US?!?!
Mmm... carrot!
It so juicy!
I think we should eat it.
Why we not eating carrot?
Carrots never bad!
Upon discovering the truth:
- Carrot was turnip! Run!
Stay away! We no know what it can do!
We been duped!
Ahh, turnip! Get out of here!
No, we been tricked!
False carrot alert! False carrot alert!
Get away from it!
NO! Not turnip!
Run away! Run away!
Who would do this?!
Notes Edit
- Consider pairing this quest with The Warren-Mother and Thieves to the Core, as they are in the same place and using the [Orange-Painted Turnip]s will minimize the amount of fighting.
Progression Edit
- [86] Great Minds Drink Alike
- Complete all of the following:
- [86] Yellow and Red Make Orange
- [86] Leaders Among Breeders
- [86] The Warren-Mother and [86] Thieves to the Core
- [86] Legacy
- [86] Muddy Water
- [86] Li Li's Day Off
- Optional side quests at the Silken Fields:
- [86] Where Silk Comes From
- [86] The Moth Rebellion
- [86] Mothran!
- Optional side quests at the Silken Fields:
- [86] Broken Dreams
Patch changes Edit
- β Patch 5.0.1 (Beta): Added.


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Bullying Fight Heats Up as County Auditor Joe Harn gets Called Out
Bullies are not new, nor is working with them new. El Dorado County has been addressing workplace bullying for years and has made great progress but recent events highlight some areas that are pernicious, endemic, and unaddressed. There are numerous laws on the books protecting "regular" employees in the state and they are enforced in the county. Employees and managers have a legal framework of laws and procedures that dictate improper behavior and step-wise responses to be take by managerial supervisors or the Human Resources department. But the "protection" in the county's regulations fails when applied to an elected officeholder.
Allowing bullying at the bottom of a management line will lead to many troubles, but allowing it at the top is far worse as it sets a Cultural Climate of bullying being acceptable and to be expected.
The normal matter in dealing with Bullies is to have the supervisor reprimand them in a stepwise progression leading to dismissal if not corrected. But an elected officeholder is elected by the people, and only those people, (and some court actions), can "fire" them. The regular process for an elected officeholder to be fired is called a "recall election." The overriding theory being that the people that hired the person by electing them, can fire them by the same means, a popular vote.
In El Dorado County we have a number of elected officeholders including most of the highest level decision makers. They run departments such as the Sheriff and Registrar of voters. They also included the beleaguered office of the Auditor-Controller Joe Harn.
Joe Harn has been accused of of sexual harassment so often that he makes jokes about it saying things like he can't go to certain states because he might have warrants there. Little is known by the public about what goes on in Joe's office because of a wall of secrecy blocking the public's scrutiny of "personnel" issues like harassment.
One unconfirmed report accused Joe Harn of harassment of his female subordinate. Although the complaint was founded, the county had little recourse but to try to minimize the cost to taxpayers. Because of Joe's status as an elected, he was exempt from many of the normal remedies. Rather than expose the county, and its taxpayers, to a major lawsuit they choose to deal with it internally and transferred her to another department and made other remedies to her to cause her to accept a settlement agreement.
This reported incident cannot be "officially" confirmed, but it is acknowledged by several sources that were involved with it a few years ago.
Now we come to last week when the topic of stopping workplace bullying was on the Board of Supervisor's agenda when several people stepped up to the mike to make public testimony to the Board members. One of those speakers was former county employee Chris McCaffree.
Another Former Civil Servant said on January 26, 2014 - 1:45 pm
"As a recently departed Department Head and former member of the Board of Supervisors appointed Accountability and Culture Investment Team, until my departure from 20+ years of County service, I would like to share that in my opinion this is the single most important issue currently in El Dorado County Government. The nature of the culture in the workplace involves the Board, some elected department heads, HR, Risk Mgt., County Counsel and the CAO's Office. I have not met the new HR Director, but the citizens should not believe that she will receive the support she will need to address this problem from those above her. The reason bullying is so out of control in El Dorado County is that there are some of those members in charge that are in my opinion included in the inappropriate conduct. Even in the very influential position that I held in County service, I could not stop the bullies, although I really tried which resulted in the ending of my career. The County fights hard to protect its secrets and liability. I hope this HR Director is successful. However, I believe she will have to take on those who brought her to EDC in order to achieve her stated goal".
In a related story published more than six months ago McCaffree wrote:
What I am about to describe about Joe Harn is based on my own experience. One of my duties at the county made it necessary that I work with a woman in Joe Harn's office on budgets…Joe Harn (dressed in his usual morning sweats) came right down from his office upstairs and started yelling at me about a variety of nonsense none of which was true. While yelling he came closer and closer pointing a finger in my face. I had never had a conversation with him before this. I was shocked and surprised by this very unprofessional behavior. It was then I realized that the stories might be true that Joe Harn had had a sexual relationship with this woman… (Story "Creating a climate of fear and intimidation with County employees" http://inedc.com/1-5131 )
Chris McCaffree went into more details last week when he made comments to the BOS. After the Board had heard the details they voted to approve an $140,000 appropriation to HR to investigate the complaints. The issue was brought up again this week to clarify a number of issues including allowing an outside firm to do some of the conflict-laden issues so potential retaliation and untoward influence could be combated. An issue also clarified was that the problem with dealing with bullies that are elected officeholders would be addressed.
The county CAO indicated that now that the subject was brought out in public comment to the BOS, it would definitely be something they would be looking at.
But not everyone is convinced. Community activist Melody Lane has made a public response that includes,
"Now is the time to heed the messages of the civil servants who've paid the consequences for speaking the truth, and in so doing they forfeited their positions and moved on to a safer, and hopefully a healthier work environment.
During my 15 years of HR experience it's been proven that surveys/interviews are a waste of money because they never provide an accurate assessment of the root issues that need to be addressed. It's like trying to nail Jello to the wall. FEAR of retaliation or losing their job will cause employees to maintain the status quo just as the bully intended.
This is a problem that money and surveys can't fix. A $140,000 appropriation to HR will NOT provide the remedy that Pam Knorr needs to achieve the goals she outlined last week. We need a Board of LEADERS to empower Pam without the fear that she'll be victim #12 in a long line of HR Directors over the past 11 years who've succumbed to the GOB "go along to get along" culture in this county.
It's time to "clean house" starting at the top of the org chart…
In closing, the last quote I'd like to share is from the article I mentioned initially when Phil Veerkamp addressed reporter Chris Daley - "Chris, you note, "The county's District Attorney, Treasurer-Tax Collector, Sheriff, Auditor-Controller, Recorder-Clerk, Surveyor and Assessor are all positions elected to four-year terms. But Chris, you chose to not report on Chris McCaffree's revelations to the Board of Supervisors about the elected Auditor-Controller, Joe Harn's, abusive behavior. WHY?"
Phil continues: "The Mountain Democrat has had a LONG time to investigate and report on Joe Harn. Why have you not? The taxpayers will pick up the bill if Joe's next victim displays enough moxie to sue. You are not doing your job, Mountain Democrat."
If one doesn't respect the law as a matter of principle and character, how can one be expected to abide by it? The Brown Act does permit brief dialog and this is an appropriate venue for addressing these core questions:
- WHY has the Board failed in their fiduciary to address the problem for so long?
- WHAT is the Board going to do about it?
- WHO is going to be first bully to have their feet held to the fire?
- WHEN can citizens expect to see this policy implemented within a reasonable time frame?
- HOW exactly does HR plan to enforce policy E-5? As it currently stands, the fox is guarding the henhouse (i.e. CAO, Risk Management, County Counsel & DA Pierson)
Bullying is like pornography, you know it when you see it, but defining it is not so easy. Here is how is is defined by the Workplace Bullying Institute: bullying, psychological harassment, psychological violence, emotional abuse.
Have you been bullied by El Dorado County employees/officials? Don't feel like you are getting anywhere with the internal solutions? Send a message to this group of local citizens that hold public officials accountable and force the government to respond: C.O.V.A.C., Committee of Vigilance Against Corruption - http://www.covac.info/
Are you being bullied now? Look at this three-step program.
Step One - Name it! Legitimize Yourself!
- Choose a name — bullying, psychological harassment, psychological violence, emotional abuse — to offset the effect of being told that because your problem is not illegal, you cannot possibly have a problem. This makes people feel illegitimate. The cycle of self-blame and anxiety begins.
- The source of the problem is external. The bully decides how to target and how, when, and where to harm people. You did not invite, nor want, the systematic campaign of psychological assaults and interference with your work. Think about it. No sane person wakes up each day hoping to be humiliated or berated at work.
- There is tremendous healing power in naming. Hard to believe at first, but very true.
Step Two - Take Time Off to Heal & Launch a Counterattack
Accomplish five (5) important tasks while on sick leave or short-term disability (granted by your physician).
- Check your mental health with a professional (not the employer's EAP). Get emotionally stable enough to make a clear-headed decision to stay and fight, or to leave for your health's sake. Your humanity makes you vulnerable; it is not a weakness, but a sign of superiority. Work Trauma, by definition, is an overwhelming, extraordinary experience.
- Check your physical health. Stress-related diseases rarely carry obvious warning signals (e.g., hypertension - the silent killer). Read the current research on work stress and heart disease.
- Research state and federal legal options (in a quarter of bullying cases, discrimination plays a role). Talk to an attorney. Maybe a demand letter can be written. Look for internal policies (harassment, violence, respect) for violations to report (fully expecting retaliation).
- Gather data about the economic impact the bully has had on the employer. Put dollars and cents to each instance of turnover (at least 2x the salary of the person affected) to include all expenses associated with replacement (recruitment, demoralization from understaffing, interviewing, lost time while newbie learns job), and absenteeism, and lost productivity from interference by the bullying.
- Start job search for next position.
Step Three - Expose the Bully
The real risk was sustained when you were first targeted (Targets lose their job - involuntarily or by choice for their health's sake - in 77.7% of cases). It is no riskier to attempt to dislodge the bully. Retaliation is a certainty. Have your escape route planned in advance. Remember, good employers purge bullies, most promote them.
- Make the business case that the bully is "too expensive to keep." Present the data gathered (in Step 2) to let the highest level person you can reach (not HR) know about the bully's impact on the organization. Obviously in family-owned, or small businesses, this is impossible (so leave once targeted).
- Stick to the bottom line. If you drift into tales about the emotional impact of the bully's harassment, you will be discounted and discredited.
- Give the employer one chance. If they side with the bully because of personal friendship ("he's a great conversationalist and a lunch buddy") or rationalize the mistreatment ("you have to understand that that is just how she is"), you will have to leave the job for your health's sake. However, some employers are looking for reasons to purge their very difficult bully. You are the internal consultant with the necessary information. Help good employers purge.
- The nature of your departure — either bringing sunshine to the dark side or leaving shrouded in silent shame — determines how long it takes you to rebound and get that next job, to function fully and to restore compromised health. Tell everyone about the petty tyrant for your health's sake. You have nothing to be ashamed about. You were only doing the job you once loved.
Answering critics of our approach .....
Pragmatists argue that our 3-Step Method will only get you fired. They are right in most cases. So, it is important for you to know why we suggest what we do. Our method accomplishes four goals:
- Goal 1: Your personal health must be the priority or you will not live long enouth to take another job. You have to discover if stress-related health complications have begun and take steps to reverse them. Stress exacerbates diseases that can kill. Put your health, not your job, first. See a physician, ask for blood tests related to stress-induced harm. See a good therapist to restore your faith in your own worthiness.
- Goal 2: The true purpose of the bullying-costs-data-collection-project (Step 2, Part 4) is to distract you from the emotional damage. Too many wounded targets crawl between the bed sheets and can't get out. You need something to do to continue to function, to bounce back. This task of estimating the fiscal impact of bullying is not only factual and informative for the organization (which it promptly chooses to ignore), but the employer's response to the facts will help convince you about the irrationality of the entire bullying process. You didn't cause it and they don't seem to care if it ever stops. They are too afraid to do the right thing.
- Goal 3: Compel employer responsibility for putting you in harm's way. No one is responsible for being bullied, for inviting the misery upon themselves. The employer has known about the bully before and chosen to retain him or her (attorneys call it negligent retention). Employers want a catfight between employees so that they can blame it on "personality conflict." The reality is that employers establish all conditions of work. If there are poorly skilled managers or executives, it is because of a dereliction of duty. Employers are lazy and trust on-the-job experiences to teach people to be good and humane managers. This is wrong. The leadership team is responsible for all bullying! It would not happen without executives' explicit or tacit approval. So, hold their feet to the fire. Expose the bully. Demand changes (for the sake of the organization).
- Goal 4: Take control of your departure from the place. WBI research found that you have a 66% chance of losing your job once targeted. Exposing the bully is more about your mental health than being an effective way to get the bully fired. Trauma is intensified if you leave the job (voluntarily or after being terminated) if you do not leave holding your head high and pointing accusatory fingers at the wrongdoers. In other words, since you are most likely to leave, once targeted, leave by telling everyone what happened to you and by whose hands. Targets who skulk away in silence, shrouded in personal shame, suffer the most. It can take a year or more to rebound to the point of being able to seek work. Those who leave proudly, bounce back the fastest.
Contrast our approach with traditional advice from HR types, coaches, & "career experts".....
Things NOT to do after discovering you are the target of workplace bullying:
- Do not feel guilty for not confronting your bully in response to the aggression. If you could have, you would have. You are not made that way.
- Do not limit your decisions to act in ways that sacrifice personal integrity and health just to survive to keep a paycheck. Survival strategies alone create even more serious long-term health and career problems. If the place will not change, plan your escape.
- Do not wait for the impact of bullying to fade with time. It must be stopped for the effects on you to stop.
- Do hold the employer accountable for putting you in harm's way. It is not your personal responsibility as the victim to fix the mess you did not start. Employers control the work environment. When you are injured as a result of exposure to that environment, make the employer own the responsibility to fix it.
- Do not try to reinvent yourself as a political animal. If you would have been able to be cutthroat, you would have acted accordingly. You do not have to mimic the unethical bully to counter her or his misconduct.
- Do not trust HR to give you advice that serves your own best interests -- they work for management and are management. Simple facts.
- Be wary of EAP counselors until they have proven to you that your confidential case details will not be reported to management and that they understand how work environments affect individuals' health.
- Do not ask for relief from the bully's boss. That is the person who loves her or him most. (And if there is no love there, there is fear. The boss fears the bully and cannot stop him or her.)
- Do not tell your story from a purely emotional injury angle. It scares away potential supporters.
- Do not share your voluminous documentation with anyone at work. No one cares as much as you do. In the wrong hands, it can be used against you.
- Do not ask others (HR, union reps, management) to make the bully stop for your sake. They will disappoint you. Rather, you will make the business case and ask them to stop bullying for their own self-interests.
- Do not agree to be treated by any mental health professionals who cannot believe your experience and want simply to change you so that you will not trigger similar reactions from future bullies.
- Do not pay a retainer to an attorney until you've exhausted cheaper alternatives to get your employer to take your complaint seriously.
- Do not confide in anyone at work until they have demonstrated (and not just talked about) loyalty to you.
For more information we recommend reading The Bully At Work by Dr. Gary Namie and Dr. Ruth Namie (Sourcebooks)
Quote Attributed to Wrong Person
Joe Harn must be really expensive for this county
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Bullying Fight Heats Up as County Auditor Joe Harn gets Called Out at http://inedc.com/1-7670
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text:
House of Miscegenation
Gilberto Perez
- Hollywood Westerns and American Myth by Robert Pippin
Yale, 198 pp, £25.00, May 2010, ISBN 978 0 300 14577 9
The hero of the Toy Story trilogy is a toy cowboy. In Toy Story 3 when the toys belonging to Andy, now about to leave for college, find themselves at a daycare centre, and a kindly bear welcomes them into a community of toys freed from their owners, the cowboy alone stays loyal to Andy; and when the toy bear turns out to be a dictator worse than any owner, the cowboy, who was never persuaded by the rhetoric of toy solidarity, is proved right. This Pixar animation seems to be a political fable. The daycare centre may be taken to represent the public realm, the polity, and Andy the private realm, the family; the cowboy is the hero because he stands for family values. But why make the hero a cowboy? Boys may still play with toy cowboys, but the Western has lost the popularity it enjoyed in the past. The idea must have been that family values are old-fashioned like the cowboy hero – though the cowboy riding off alone into the sunset was never exactly a paragon of family values.
A boy in the 1950s, the heyday of the genre, Robert Pippin grew up steeped in the Western. He watched them both on television (his favourite show was Have Gun, Will Travel) and 'all day Saturdays at the movies (ten in the morning until six at night) … one Western after another'. Growing up in Havana around the same time, I saw no cowboys on television but plenty on the movie screen, from the Lone Ranger and Tonto to John Wayne, and I still have a picture of myself as a little boy in a cowboy outfit with a hat and chaps and toy pistols. It's a small indication of how deeply influenced Cubans were by our mighty neighbour to the north, and the way the fiction of the frontier, which was not our fiction, held us in its sway.
What's special about the Western? The cowboy hero, as Robert Warshow said in his essay on the genre, carries a gun but uses it only when he must: the Western doesn't just tell violent stories, it tells stories about the meaning, the management of violence, the establishment of social order and political authority.[*] As Toy Story 3 recognises, the cowboy hero is a political figure. Pippin ponders the political dimension of a genre that portrays the move into new territory as the national story of the United States. 'Being an American is essentially a political identification,' he maintains: 'Political ideals are all that hold us together as a nation … without a common long tradition on the same territory.' A professor of philosophy at Chicago, Pippin looks at films from the perspective of his discipline but understands them in their own right, not merely as illustrations of ideas. He brings three movies under sustained scrutiny – Red River, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance and The Searchers – and combines film criticism and political philosophy to the benefit of both.
Pippin first examines John Ford's Stagecoach (1939), which he considers – and I agree with him – the first great Western. I agree with him, too, that the central political issue in Stagecoach is equality and that, since the film begins in a frontier town already hardened into hierarchy and intolerance, equality here is not imagined as a given, or something simply achieved in a 'Jeffersonian idealisation of frontier or yeoman democracy'. A prostitute, Dallas, thrown out of town by the Law and Order League, and an outlaw, Ringo, are the two main characters, the lowest in the social hierarchy and the highest in our esteem. The whore with a heart of gold usually endears herself to us but dies at the end to spare us the embarrassment of her irredeemability. It's a different story with Dallas, a fallen woman but as good as anyone could ask for. On the other hand, Dallas and Ringo should not be seen as 'natural aristocrats': even if they are the best people in the film, the best hope for the future, they are still very much of the common people.
Stagecoach was the director's own project. David Selznick wouldn't take it on as producer because he saw it as 'just another Western' with no big stars, and Walter Wanger, the eventual producer, would have wanted Marlene Dietrich and Gary Cooper in the leads. But Ford insisted on Claire Trevor and John Wayne (who wasn't a star until this movie made him one). Dietrich and Cooper would have turned Dallas and Ringo into the natural aristocrats that Ford didn't want; Trevor and the young Wayne assume no superiority. The aristocrat in the movie is Lucy, a woman from the South who disdains Dallas but whose baby, born at a way station, Dallas takes care of when Lucy is unwell. Lucy is grateful but still keeps her distance from Dallas, and some viewers are disappointed to find no class reconciliation, no personal acknowledgment on Lucy's part of Dallas as her equal. But Stagecoach does enact a break in hierarchy, an opening towards equality on the frontier. It is not resigned to inequality but knows that equality is difficult to secure.
The frontier has been made to stand for different things socially and politically, from a Jeffersonian natural democracy to a Darwinian struggle for survival and power. Ford's Westerns are in line with Frederick Jackson Turner's historical account of the frontier, or rather the successive frontiers in the national movement westward, not as a natural affair but as an encounter between culture and nature, a transaction between civilised order and the loosening, levelling wilderness, a continual new beginning for American society, a continually renewed tendency towards liberty and equality. Pippin seems uneasy with Turner's thesis and objects to the opposition between civilisation and savagery. But it is enough for Turner's argument that the encounter with so-called savagery disturbs the order of so-called civilisation and opens it to the prospect of greater liberty and equality.
Howard Hawks's Red River (1948) is not about equality but authority. It is a tale of two leaders: Tom Dunson (John Wayne) and his adopted son Matt Garth (Montgomery Clift). Dunson is the organiser of a massive cattle drive, starting out in south-west Texas and heading for a railroad in the Midwest. But the kinder and gentler Matt takes over when the cowhands grow unhappy with Dunson's increasingly tyrannical rule. Dunson vows to kill his disloyal son. He catches up with him in Kansas, pushing through a sea of cattle to confront him. A young gunfighter from the trail pulls out his pistol, but nothing can break Dunson's stride, his irresistible forward progress, and the camera moves with him as if it, too, is powerless to stop him. But when father and son come face to face Matt refuses to draw his gun. The ensuing fist fight is interrupted by a young woman, Tess Millay (Joanne Dru), who has fallen in love with Matt and who reminds Dunson of his own lost love. 'Anybody with half a mind would know you two love each other,' she tells the two men we had thought would fight to the death. Hawks is adept at mixing genres, and here he switches from epic to comedy. Love conquers the conquerors in the comedy happy ending.
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[*] 'Movie Chronicle: The Westerner', Partisan Review, March-April 1954.
[†] Romantic Comedy in Hollywood from Lubitsch to Sturges (Knopf,1987).
Vol. 32 No. 22 · 18 November 2010 » Gilberto Perez » House of Miscegenation
pages 23-26 | 5755 words


text:
Trusted timestamping is the process of securely keeping track of the creation and modification time of a document. Security here means that no one—not even the owner of the document—should be able to change it once it has been recorded provided that the timestamper's integrity is never compromised.
The administrative aspect involves setting up a publicly available, trusted timestamp management infrastructure to collect, process and renew timestamps.
The idea of timestamping information is centuries old. For example, when Robert Hooke discovered Hooke's law in 1660, he did not want to publish it yet, but wanted to be able to claim priority. So he published the anagram ceiiinosssttuv and later published the translation ut tensio sic vis (Latin for "as is the extension, so is the force"). Similarly, Galileo first published his discovery of the phases of Venus in the anagram form.
Sir Isaac Newton, in responding to questions from Leibniz in a letter in 1677, concealed the details of his "fluxional technique" with an anagram:
There are many timestamping schemes with different security goals:
Coverage in standards:
|Transient key
|Linked and signed
For systematic classification and evaluation of timestamping schemes see works by Masashi Une.[1]
According to the RFC 3161 standard, a trusted timestamp is a timestamp issued by a Trusted Third Party (TTP) acting as a Time Stamping Authority (TSA). It is used to prove the existence of certain data before a certain point (e.g. contracts, research data, medical records, ...) without the possibility that the owner can backdate the timestamps. Multiple TSAs can be used to increase reliability and reduce vulnerability.
The newer ANSI ASC X9.95 Standard for trusted timestamps augments the RFC 3161 standard with data-level security requirements to ensure data integrity against a reliable time source that is provable to any third party. This standard has been applied to authenticating digitally signed data for regulatory compliance, financial transactions, and legal evidence.
The technique is based on digital signatures and hash functions. First a hash is calculated from the data. A hash is a sort of digital fingerprint of the original data: a string of bits that is practically impossible to duplicate with any other set of data. If the original data is changed then this will result in a completely different hash. This hash is sent to the TSA. The TSA concatenates a timestamp to the hash and calculates the hash of this concatenation. This hash is in turn digitally signed with the private key of the TSA. This signed hash + the timestamp is sent back to the requester of the timestamp who stores these with the original data (see diagram).
Since the original data cannot be calculated from the hash (because the hash function is a one way function), the TSA never gets to see the original data, which allows the use of this method for confidential data.
Anyone trusting the timestamper can then verify that the document was not created after the date that the timestamper vouches. It can also no longer be repudiated that the requester of the timestamp was in possession of the original data at the time given by the timestamp. To prove this (see diagram) the hash of the original data is calculated, the timestamp given by the TSA is appended to it and the hash of the result of this concatenation is calculated, call this hash A.
Then the digital signature of the TSA needs to be validated. This can be done by checking that the signed hash provided by the TSA was indeed signed with their private key by digital signature verification. The hash A is compared with the hash B inside the signed TSA message to confirm they are equal, proving that the timestamp and message is unaltered and was issued by the TSA. If not, then either the timestamp was altered or the timestamp was not issued by the TSA.
With the advent of cryptocurrencies like bitcoin, it has become possible to securely timestamp information in a decentralized and tamper-proof manner. Digital data can be hashed and the hash can be incorporated into a transaction stored in the blockchain, which serves as a secure proof of the exact time at which that data existed.[2][3] The proof is due to a tremendous amount of computational effort performed after the hash was submitted to the blockchain. Tampering with the timestamp would require more computational resources than the rest of the network combined, and cannot be done unnoticed.
The decentralized timestamping approach using the blockchain has also found applications in other areas, such as in dashboard cameras, to secure the integrity of video files at the time of their recording,[4] or to prove priority for creative content and ideas shared on social media platforms.[5]
None of the audio/visual content is hosted on this site. All media is embedded from other sites such as GoogleVideo, Wikipedia, YouTube etc. Therefore, this site has no control over the copyright issues of the streaming media.
All issues concerning copyright violations should be aimed at the sites hosting the material. This site does not host any of the streaming media and the owner has not uploaded any of the material to the video hosting servers. Anyone can find the same content on Google Video or YouTube by themselves.
The owner of this site cannot know which documentaries are in public domain, which has been uploaded to e.g. YouTube by the owner and which has been uploaded without permission. The copyright owner must contact the source if he wants his material off the Internet completely.


text:
Artist's description:
'CA-145' is a small drawing on paper, protected with a light, fixative varnish, mounted on black foam board (using 3M-568 adhesive). It is signed and dated on the back side, and is ready to frame or attach to any surface.
In my paintings and drawings I present a unique artistic world that incarnates a kind of fantasy that lays the foundations for questioning.
For me, a kind of mythic consciousness is present in my imagery and poetic expression and can lead to a greater awareness of the psyche, the inner world, the unconscious.
A few artists who have inspired/ influenced me in my work include, Marcel Duchamp, John Cage, Edgar Varese, Jackson Pollack, Anselm Kiefer, Joan Mitchell, Gerhard Richter. Claire Denis, and Jean-Luc Godard.
Materials used:
acrylic, pastel, gouache, pencil, crayon, and ink
Ink drawing by David Ronce
- Ink drawing on Paper on board
- One of a kind artwork
- Size: 4.33 x 4.72 x 0.2 in / 4.33 x 4.72 in (actual image size)
- Signed on the back
- Ready to hang
- Style: Abstract
- Subject: Abstract and non-figurative
This artwork is sold by David Ronce from Brazil


text:
Company Secretary
- Recruiter
- Location
- Leicester, Leicestershire
- Salary
- £45,000 - £50,000
- Posted
- 13 Feb 2018
- Closing date
- 01 Mar 2018
- Ref
- Industry
- Housing
- Job function
- Administration
- Job level
- Experienced (non manager)
- Hours
- Full time
- Contract
- Permanent
- Listing type
- Job vacancy
Company Secretary
Leicester, ten minutes drive from M1 and M69 junction
Salary £45,000 - £50,000 based on experience, plus generous contributory pension scheme, 26 days annual leave and a range of benefits.
Permanent, 35 hours per week
Our client is an award-winning provider of affordable, good quality homes and they put customer service for their residents at the heart of everything they do.
Their success depends on employing the best people and their aim is to invest in and develop the people they employ in order to sustain this success.
They recently launched their new Corporate plan which sets out their vision and values and demonstrates their commitment to putting customers first and to building at least 500 new homes a year. This commitment requires us to maintain an effective standard of governance, meeting all legislative and regulatory requirements and being open and transparent with their customers and stakeholders.
This is an exceptional opportunity for a chartered secretary to join their new team in Leicester. They want to hear from you if you are an ACIS or FCIS, have the expertise to provide a smooth and efficient service to the Executive Team and Board and are aware of the regulatory standards set by the Regulator of Social Housing. You will report directly to their Executive Director of Governance.
This position requires a manager who is delivery and action focused and can provide effective solutions. You will have highly developed organisational and project management skills, and constructive negotiation and influencing skills at all levels. You will be able to demonstrate good financial and commercial acumen and a high standard of accountability and integrity.
This is a full-time permanent position located at their office in central Leicester, ten minutes drive from the M69 and M1 junction.
Our client has a full suite of employee benefits, including 26 days holiday entitlement (rising to 29 days), a generous contributory pension scheme and a shopping discount scheme.