Once More... With Feeling

File under: A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing...

After one last photo-op, I left my friends this morning, after making sure they had survived the end of the night of fortieth-birthday festivities. (They apparently stayed up until 4am. I had been asleep for 4 hours by then...) 

I headed south from their place (in Northeast South Dakota, just below that weird notch where Minnesota juts into South Dakota) to my parents' home in Southeast South Dakota (they still live in the same house I grew up in). It was a shorter trip than when I drive "home" from the Twin Cities--only 3.5 hours of driving--so I decided to make a side-trip through Brookings, SD, the town where I went to college from 1985-1989.

Over the past 19 years I've gotten a lot of alumni mailings telling me how much the college and the town have changed, but I hadn't gotten to see it for myself. So this was my chance, and since I wasn't on a schedule, I decided to take it. I pulled off the interstate in Brookings and headed down the streets without even looking at the names. I guess even 19 years away didn't really matter after living there for 4 years. 

I pulled into the parking lot near Pugsley Hall and took a look at the house I lived in for my senior year, then headed cross-country as I walked the campus. I took some pictures of buildings (including the Campanile and Sylvan Theater on the main green), noted the loss of the "Bunny Wash" laundromat, walked through the new Student Union and even circled the new Performing Arts Center, but found myself drawn to the old Admin building. 

I graduated from South Dakota State University with degrees in English and French, but I came into those later in my college career. I had started out in Theater, and the main performing space at the time (and even to this day for many things) is in Doner Auditorium--which is housed in Admin. So I was pretty excited to see someone open the front door of the building and walk right in. 

I circled the building before going in, though. I think I was worried that my memories would lose some of their luster if I went in. I was surprised and a little bummed to see that the old rickety fire escape which comes out off of the stage (one story above ground) has been upgraded and looks completely safe and sturdy. 

What fun would that be in mid-winter when you have a quick change to do and have to exit the stage, slide down the fire escape, re-enter the building on the first floor, plow into the costume shop, and change--all in 3 minutes?

When I finally opened the front door to the building, I was met with a smell that is unlike that of most academic buildings. Admin has never simply had that "musty old building" smell, partly because of the Computer Lab (which apparently still exists), but also because of the smells of paint and makeup and... well... theater... which come from Doner Auditorium. I've worked in other theaters since that time, and there is always the smell of paint and makeup, but there is something particular about Doner--and I think it's the extra mix of the old mustiness of academic halls. 

I swam upstairs through the memories and found myself walking into the back of the auditorium. It was mostly dark, but some of the lights at the rear of the house were on, so I walked forward and soaked it in. 

Before I left I headed up onto the stage for one last look out from that vantage point. It's been a long time since I was on that stage (and I'm not going to lie--I was never a lead in a show, although I did have some "center stage" moments), but it felt great to be back there.

 

I can't begin to tell you the stories that went through my mind. (Well... At least not right now... this post is getting long enough!) What I can tell you is that I found myself surrounded by the memories... and flooded by the friendships. It took me a long time to walk back up the aisle and out the door. But I have to admit that I felt good knowing that it was all still there. 

I guess that's what this weekend has been about--reconnecting with the past in the present. And it was nice to find out that we still get along.

Okay... That last sentence is way too "Doogie Howser, MD" for me to end a post on, so let me just say that there is one other reason I was so happy to be wandering around in Brookings: my cellphone finally picked up a signal again, and I was able to send a text to my partner to tell him how much I missed having him with me this weekend. Yeah. There are times when the past just can't compete. 

Going Beyond the Garage Party

File under: Better than a Frozen Fish Fight. 

Alright... It's late and that I've just gotten back from my friend's 40th birthday "Garage Party." So I hope you're not looking for anything too long from me for today. But don't worry--I do have a few things to comment on.

**explanatory sidenote** A typical midwestern Garage Party includes some or all of the following: a keg of beer; various people bringing salads (especially potato or pasta salads); chips and dips; a radio or CD player playing more questionable music as the evening progresses; one or more people who get too drunk too quickly and make the rest of the crowd really uncomfortable. **end explanatory sidenote**

1) I'm glad that I have great people in my life--and I'm even more glad that some of them are people who have been around for many years and through many stages of life.

2) I'm excited that my friends know me well enough that they would invite me to a Garage Party--but relieved that they wouldn't ever think of throwing me one. 

3) Bursting out laughing because the possibly-twelve-year-old kid behind the grocery store counter practically scolded you for buying four bags of tortilla chips at 9:53 on a Saturday night is probably not a good reason to run a stoplight--even if the friend you were buying the chips for is on the police force.

4) Time changes some things. Time also leaves some things the same. It's up to us to figure out what to do with what remains.

And thus, for tonight, it's time to head for bed. 

Roaring Back into the Past

I really don't know much about cars. I admit it. I know what I like in a car. I know what I don't like in a car. But I don't know much about the cars, themselves.

And yet, when the garage door opened and I saw the burgandy 1967 Camaro SS with the massive scoop on the hood, I knew there was something going on in that car. Which doesn't say that there was anything wrong with the convertible red 1967 Firebird sitting in the driveway, it's just that... well... the Firebird looked like the kind of car you cruise around in with the top down. 

The Camaro looked... well... For lack of a better way to describe it, the Camaro--with its "ghost flames" and black hood--is a Hunk. Macho. Full of raw power. Not handsome or pretty, but oozing sex appeal--like Daniel Craig's James Bond. And the engine had the rumble to match.

Wait. I don't want you to think I'm being unfaithful to my 2000 Subaru Impreza Outback--or my partner for that matter. Let me explain.

I'm currently in South Dakota for a college friend's 40th birthday. His wife invited me as a surprise, and I fully admit that I was nervous. I mean, he and I were great friends during college, but that was in the late 80s. We've always kept in touch, and I was a groomsman in his wedding--but that was something like 10 years ago (or was it more?). Actually, he was one of the first non-family people I came out to, which I did during the same phonecall when he asked me to be in his wedding. (His response to my telling him I was gay was "Okay. So are you going to be in my wedding, or not?" A response for which I will always be thankful.) I gotta say that walking into their house and seeing the look of shock and surprise was great. We pulled off that part of the weekend perfectly, but in my mind I was still wondering what the coming 36 hours would be like.

After dinner, though, we walked out to the garage and his wife suggested we take a drive in that 1967 Camaro while she put the kids to bed. So the two of us slipped into the car and went for a drive. As he revved the engine and we tore down a few back roads outside of town, the conversation flowed and the time slipped away. We were back in college in his black Z28 with gold markings and the "after-market" glass T-tops. That old Z28 (long since gone, sadly, although it did make a reappearance at their wedding) had the same feel as the Camaro--it was another hunky car. 

Those two cars, with their rumbling engines, where any conversations involve yelling more than talking, somehow--for us--created the perfect cocoon for talking. In college we talked about music, classes and the future. Tonight we talked about jobs, mortgages and our families. That cocoon that somehow always helped us talk about hopes and dreams while talking about gearshifts and miles per gallon worked its magic again tonight.

So amid the rumbling tonight we once again found ourselves talking about our lives and our hopes for the future. Oh, yeah. And cars.

A Private Dip in the "Poole"

Third time was a charm for us finding "Henry Poole Is Here." Granted, it was not only the third week of searching for it, but also the third movie theater we had tried. 

After the first theater kept bouncing it for "Elegy," the second theater bumped it for something listed as "Special Event, A"--which I somehow suspect was connected to the RNC being in town. So we made the trek to a movie theater about 10 miles out of our way. I had google-mapped the location in advance, and had plotted out a list of errands to do, and was all excited that my oil was changed, my hair was cut, I picked up a snack at McDonald's, and I was still able to buy and read the first chapter-or-so of a book on HTML programming before having to be at the theater. I ended up in the parking lot about 30 minutes before the movie, and was happy to see that the movie's name was displayed on the marquee.

But as I sat in my car studying my HTML (it's to help with the unemployment factor... it's NOT my usual choice for light reading), I started to notice that no one else was pulling into the lot. At about 10 minutes before the movie I decided to go ahead and walk into the lobby and buy my ticket. Yep. The place was empty. There were 4 cars (3 plus mine) in the lot. I was sure that when my movie-date showed up, we'd end up being told that they weren't open. But we headed into the movie and got to choose our seats... out of the entire theater. Yep. Private showing in the theater. How cool is that? As if the Cinema gods were rewarding us for our efforts.

Usually, I hate it when people talk in movies--and this includes anyone who is with me. But I have to say that it kind of helped in this movie. Which is not to say that I regret chasing "Henry Poole" for three weeks. It's a very nice little movie. I loved both Luke Wilson (who plays Henry) and Adriana Barraza (his neighbor Esperanza Martinez). They were really amazing to watch as they debated faith and religion without really debating it. Her passion and quiet intensity was amazing. And he was just so likeable, without trying to be. But some times there were blank spaces that we had to fill.

Unfortunately, here is the thing about a movie which focuses on the possibility of miracles: No matter how it ends it's going to feel like it cheated. I really really liked about 85% of the movie. But I probably should have left about 10 minutes before the end. I think it's a movie where ending with a big question mark would have been great.

On the other hand, I should mention that I loved "Definitely, Maybe" which I watched on Netflix over the weekend. It focuses on Will Hayes (played by Ryan Reynolds--who has hunky potential, but in this simply plays a great guy who simply happens to be good looking) and his daughter Maya (played by Abigail Breslin). 

**sidenote** Have you ever noticed that both Luke Wilson and Ryan Reynolds have really good hair? Luke's frequently looks like it needs to be combed in the movie, but they both just have great hair. **end sidenote**

The essence of the first 3/4 of "Definitely, Maybe" is Will telling his daughter about three women he dated, all so that she can try to guess which one is her mom. The movie jumps back and forth in flashbacks, and you find yourself falling for these three diverse women--not to mention falling for Will.

In the end, yes, you do find out who Maya's mom is. And, you know, it's okay. Even more so, although Will's character ends the movie with a little bit of a question mark, you end the movie with a feeling of "Okay... They'll be okay... These are people I like and I think they'll be okay..." 

I wish I felt that way at the end of "Henry Poole." I really liked the main characters (and some of the great secondary players) at various times during the film, but I was too bothered by how the end of the movie worked itself out to contemplate whether they were going to be okay or not. On the other hand, I really do wish I had Luke Wilson's hair.

Interview follow-up

And... no... that doesn't say "Follow-up Interview."

This showed up in my email inbox, late yesterday afternoon:

Hello Robert - 

Thank you for your interest in employment opportunities with [us]. We enjoyed meeting you recently at our group interview and hope you left with the same level of enthusiasm that we all share for our company.

We had some really tough decisions to make and, at this time, do not have a position to offer you. We will keep your application on file and should our situation change, we will contact you.

Again, thank you for your interest in [us]. We wish you much success in your job search.

So here's the thing... When I applied with the company, I had applied online for a Managerial position. I was contacted by the company and told that they had already filled the Managerial positions (apparently at least 2-3 weeks prior to my finding the online posting, since one of the guys who conducted the interview was "brand new" and had been with the company for 5 weeks). I wrote back and stated that I would be interested in some of the more administrative positions (in-store Training and HR--which I've done a lot of in the past). 

By the time I went to the interview I had already spoken via email and on the phone with two different people. Through those conversations, I made my desire to look into these less-sales-oriented positions very clear. And, yet, through the dynamics of the group interview, we were all put into the same pool of candidates for basic sales positions. When asked about what we wanted from the company, our only choices were full-time or part-time. Never were we asked about specific job position desires.

Now I have to say that I've been on both sides of the interview process. I know that group interviews are a good way to get a general feeling for the pool of candidates. But it would seem to me that the two interviewers probably had no idea what specific skills any of us were bringing in. So someone like me, who has done staff scheduling for staffs of various sizes, as well as teaching and staff training for multiple years, probably didn't make it to the next interview because I didn't come across as "sales" enough. It makes me wonder if the woman who worked in Target corporate is getting a second interview; or whether the woman with years of retail experience, who was meek when speaking, is getting one. 

I guess I should be happy that at least this wasn't a job I was dying for. And I can always look at it as "interview practice" for whatever comes along next, right? But I do wonder how different the outcome would have been if the interview had been one-on-one.

Oh, well. Back to sending my resume out to see what computer program will scan it for "applicable keywords" this week. 

I'll keep you posted. (oh. sorry. no pun intended.)

Let's get pizza! Wanna get pizza!?

File under: It's better than a Frozen Fish Fight.

(Does anyone know what Saturday Night Live skit that Title line is from? I barely remember it, and I really don't want to think about how many decades ago it was on TV!)

In the off chance that you know of anyone who might be interested in getting pizza, I have a soft sales pitch to throw your way. Although... This being me... you know that there has to be a digression before the main point, right? Not wanting to disappoint, here you are:

I know we've all had to do the door-to-door fundraiser thing. Whether it be Girl Scout cookies or gift wrap or--yes--pizza kits, we've all done it. But I think I've done one of the worst ones ever. 

You see, I grew up in a small town in South Dakota. Not the smallest town in South Dakota--after all they still do have a grocery store, K-12 schooling, multiple bars, and a hospital--but it was small. Small as in "There were more people who lived on the floor of the dorm my first year in college than there were in my entire graduating class" or--even better--"There were more people in my partner's high school than there were in my entire home town." 

**Sidenote** I tried to put in a link to a map, here, but my hometown wasn't on any of the South Dakota state maps I found online. If you're not familiar with the state, pull it up on Google maps and check it out. It's more interesting than you might think! **End sidenote**

You can imagine, then, that if a group of 40-60 kids in the band all got sent out to try to sell the same products, it got difficult really fast. I mean, there just wasn't that big a pool of potential buyers. But when I was in high school the band wanted to go on a trip, and we really needed money, so we headed out into the community with our information sheets and sales trackers. We practiced our sales pitches, figured out when the products would be delivered, and went on our way to sell...

Wait for it...

Don't guess... you'll be wrong...

Ready?

Fish. 

Nope. Not goldfish, but...

Frozen Fish. 

Frozen Breaded Fish. Frozen Unbreaded Fish. Frozen Filleted Fish. Frozen Shellfish.

I particulary, for no apparent reason, remember that we were selling pollock and haddock. Both of which, I believe, were marketed as "fresh, light-meat fish." 

Now, you have to give the band director credit. He arranged all of this so that the sales would end in January, and the product would arrive just in time for Ash Wednesday. Not that I went to a Catholic school, but there were enough Catholics in my senior class that prom had to have a fish option on the menu. 

So everyone in band went out into the community and sold frozen fish. And we sold it well. When the truck unloaded in the middle of winter we hauled boxes and boxes of pollock and haddock and shrimp out into waiting cars. What I wouldn't have given for a box of pizza kits! Which, of course, brings me back to the subject of this posting: Pizza Kits being sold for fundraising.

Some great friends of mine own and run Freedom Martial Arts in Bel Air, Maryland, and they're currently doing a pizza-kit-based fundraiser. Want to help them out? Go to the Joe Corbi's website (joecorbisdirect.com), order yourself some pizza kits (or cookie dough or pretzel dogs or whatever you want), and put "Freedom Martial Arts" in when it asks who should benefit from your order. If you live close to Maryland, it's pretty cheap to do. Farther away in the States it's a little more pricey for shipping, because all of the ingeredients (like the copious amounts of cheese) are fresh, so they have to be shipped fairly expeditiously. 

And don't worry--I wouldn't suggest buying it if it wasn't perfectly good stuff. I mean... it's not pizza being delivered from your favorite grease-filled pizza joint, and it's not the brick-oven stuff you get in Italy, but it IS good, and--more importantly--it's for a good cause. Even better, since you get to put the pizzas together at home, you can choose what goes onto them. Make them as healthy--or unhealthy--as you want. Add onions, leave off the mushrooms, whatever. And each kit has the making for 3 12-inch pizzas, for the price of about one-and-a-half delivered pizzas!

So... Wanna get pizza!? Let's get pizza!

(Okay. That's my last public service announcement posting for the immediate future. I promise to be completely self-serving for at least the next few blog entries. :-)

Labor Day

My weekend as a bachelor is fast coming to a close. Not that it's a bad thing. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to hearing the garage door open indicating my partner's returning car.

On the other hand, though, his return does signal the end of the long holiday weekend. Granted as someone who is unemployed... errr... ummm... freelancing, the long weekend doesn't really make a lot of difference. In fact, I spent more time editing and copywriting for a friend's website this weekend than I have anytime recently. (As soon as it's up and running, I'm sure I'll be telling you all about it!) And I spent the early part of this afternoon doing all of the domestic chores of cleaning the house and doing laundry. Obviously the basic stuff that we usually do on the weekend had to get done--even on the holiday weekend.

On the other hand (oops. I think I may be up to three hands, now), I was good and didn't go out shopping or anything. I've worked plenty of "holidays" in retail and in customer service. Not fun. Personally, I don't like encouraging stores to stay open--especially on days like this which are supposed to be set aside for people to NOT work. Instead, I watched a movie on DVD ("Definitely, Maybe"), ate some leftovers, and have been checking out some of the news and weather on TV. So I know what's going on with Gustav, and I've watched the coverage of the rioting--or hooliganism as one of the local stations is calling it--going on in St. Paul. (Oddly enough, although I've also been checking out the national news, I haven't seen any of the altercations--which have included tear gas and all sorts of minor property destruction--on the national news. Have any of you seen any of that stuff on TV?) 

Oy. I think maybe it's time to sink into the couch, watch some fluff on TV and collapse before the week ahead. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a pretty good weekend, overall.