Not a good start to today. It's supposed to be warm again, I've got killer cramps, and there was a message on the machine waiting for me when I got back at 8:30am after dropping Dave off at work.
Oktoberfest work is piling up. I know it must be bad because I avoided some of it yesterday by cleaning the entire living room (front room in Chicago-speak) instead of doing Ofest work. And I mean cleaned. Once I had all of the furniture stacked on the area rug like some kind of poltergeist tower in order to mop the remaining border of hardwood floor with Murhpy's Oil Soap, I knew I was possessed. I must have vacuumed, mopped, and dusted up a few pounds of dark red dust from the recent tuckpointing and porch rebuilding on our building. The living room and the bathroom are now sanctuaries of pine-smelling clean. (I won't relate the details of cleaning the bathroom. I will only say that I am amazed that Dave and I are not bald.) The office -- where my work patiently waits for me -- is a sty. The pathways between piles of paper and items removed from the living room are the only spaces left clear for me to walk through -- that is when I am not tripping on the phone cord that shares the space since the office does not have one phone jack. I find myself thinking of the phone cord that trails out the office door and through the dining room to the the odd jack just past the bathroom door as my tether to salvation from this mess.
So the phone message was from a man who works on one of the Oktoberfest committees -- his company (he) donated $1000 to the Oktoberfest. Which is outstanding. Except that the deadline to get logos on tshirts was yesterday. I spent the morning on the phone with him, a woman in his office, and the woman who is doing the tshirts for us. I really have nothing to complain about. The tshirt woman was outstanding and helped me to make it happen. I had a Barbara Ann moment (or 30 of them) when I ended up chatting with the tshirt woman about life for a half hour. She is also a parishioner and a 37-year-old first time mom! We talked about having babies in our 30s, raising babies in the city, becoming a stay-at-home mom but maintaining a work life with at-home work projects (she started a greeting card company), etc. It was great. So actually, I should not be complaining at all, but rather be thankful for the opportunity to get to know the tshirt lady.
While I was online to send company names and info to various Ofest committees, I got an email from The Chronicle. The Chronicle is a weekly publication about life in academe. They also have a job section that publishes available positions and articles on getting jobs, writing CVs, etc. One of their regular columns is called First Person and is columns written by people out in the job market. They write about their failures and occasional successes in finding a job or changing jobs or dealing with family and work. They are often funny and usually informative, if not supportive/sympathetic articles. The Chronicle recently advertised a call for submissions for this coming academic year for people to write about their job hunt experiences. Ten people are picked to write about four columns each. And they get paid for it. I decided to give it a shot. I wrote an article according to the guidelines they stated. I rewrote the article, I made Dave read it, I deleted huge portions, I changed the jokes, I glossed over details to protect the innocent, I made final edits. I got the rejection this morning. I got rejected from a project that would have me write about getting rejected. How am I supposed to feel about this? The email was nice enough -- which is nice since I have had many other colder rejections from "real" jobs. I didn't realize how badly I wanted that gig. I may post my article later just to set it free.
At least I'm alive. Yesterday was not a good day in Chicago for people planning on staying alive. Six people and the gunman were killed in a warehouse shooting on the south side, two people were killed and several others seriously wounded in a terrible crash on the Eisenhower (causing one of the warehouse workers to be late for work and thus saved from a violent death), and a truck driver died after his tractor trailer crossed opposite lanes of traffic and plowed into some rowhouses setting them on fire.
And then there's baseball. Dave's Cubs are playing my Cards in St. Louis. We saw the end of Tuesday night's game. We went to the bar after my Ofest meeting. The pitcher for the Cubs that night -- Mark Prior -- is amazing. Though he is a Cub, I often find myself rooting for him. He is a super pitcher. He didn't pitch a complete game that night -- which he has been doing lately. The Cards lost the game, but got to see some of the Cubs' pen that night after Prior got pulled. I told Dave and Sean the bartender that the few runs the Cards scored at the end of the game were a positive in an otherwise negative outcome for losing the game. I acknowledged that the Cubs have some great pitchers, but said that my team just needs to get to the guys in the pen for a shot. They both said "Yeah, okay, but you lost." So last night the Cards had to face Wood. He got pulled in the 7th due to the number of pitches. Long 8th inning short -- the Cards ripped through the Cubs pen and came from behind to tie and then go ahead two runs. Dave came home from an alumni meeting when the Cards were up in the 8th. He didn't know. The last time I had talked to him I told him that his team was winning 1-0. He couldn't see the TV. He asked about the game. I said,
"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"
"The bad news."
"Your team is losing 4-3 in the 8th."
"What's the good news then?"
"I was right about your bull pen."
I had to explain to him why that was good news.
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