Mind Your Own Business: Election 2008

Our shoulders bear an awful weight, but still we trudge on just the same

As this election draws ever nearer, I want nothing more in this world than to find the courage to actually, physically, shove socks down everyone's throats. Heck, not just physical throats. I want the power to shut down the internet, pull the plug on news stations, and give every pundit a terrible, permanent case of laryngitis.

Don't misunderstand me. I, ever so meticulously trained in the Socratic method and Aristotelian rhetorical methods, understand that the only way to get things done in this world is through discourse. Asking questions, argumentation, and debate are the pillars of our society. It is how we create change and raise awareness.

However.

There is a time and a place, people. With infinite more importance than your message are the concepts of Time, Place, and Audience. Before you go spewing marginally true facts and bloviating about your candidate of choice, take a moment to ask yourself these questions: Is the person I'm attacking likely to take heed to any of my points? Are we in a public place? Does this argument serve any purpose whatsoever? Do you even know what you're talking about?

I'm going to vote for Obama, for better or worse. I believe he is, indeed, "The Change We Need", if only because we need a change, period. As my dad, perhaps unwisely, said to some church friends the other night, "Anyone who votes a Republican into office again clearly hasn't been paying attention these last 8 years."

So, please. My mind is made up. Don't tell me what an asshole Obama is. Don't rattle off his Senate record. Don't send me links to videos and articles telling me about all his bad points,especially if they're from Fox News or the GOP. Don't wax eloquent about how he's just gonna be assassinated, or how by electing him we're bringing another 9/11 on our heads.

Just... don't. Stupidity makes me physically ill, and I'm far too apathetic to bother telling you why you're an idiot for citing Bill O'Reilly as the source of your information.

My brain is tired and my eyes are about to fall out of their sockets from all of the involuntary rolling they've been doing.

Is it November 5th yet?
Cathi

Know Your Name and Go Your Own Way

If you're shocked, it's just the fault of faulty manufacturing

Lately I've been feeling a vague tug somewhere around my heart/lung area, which I'm attributing to a sense of Wanderlust, and not, say, the plague. Between my 3-ish jobs I'm working more than full-time and getting less than satisfactory sleep, but I've got this nagging feeling that I'm not doing much. My life consists of my path beween NCC, the condo, Friday's, and the radio station. Every so often I'll drive the other way on 55 and spend a few hours staring at The Boy, or mosey a couple miles to the west to see my dad, but all in all I'm on a very narrow wheelbarrow path.

I want to get out and experience life outside of my Naperbubble. I want to move away. Just get up and go. Start my grown-up life in a place where I'll be forced to make new friends, learn new roads, adjust to a new climate, shop at a new grocery store, find new parks to walk in and movie theaters to frequent and bars to loiter in. I want a new view out my window where, for a while, every day feels strange and fresh, and perhaps even a bit lonely. I'm getting clasutrophobic surrounded by all this familiarity.

In the meantime, I'm making a pledge to myself to simply experience life. I'm going to read the newspaper and actually figure out, as best as I can, what's happening to our economy outside the scope of dwindling restaurant business and lackluster tips. I'm going to start conversations with people who are passionate about this election, one way or the other, and find out what makes us tick. Come election day, I want to be in a crowded room with other people delirious with hope, so we can be lifted up or crushed together. I'm going to take more walks where the air actually moves around me and the temperature changes from shadow to sun instead of sitting in my climate controlled hive watching crime dramas. I'm going to laugh more, think more, and attempt to feel more, so that when I do feel a minor twinge of emotion it's because it's something genuine and true, and not just a random misfiring of my robot heart.

Who wants to come with me?
Thrine

And sometimes, I feel very small

But love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken "hallelujah"

I've only ever given one ultimatum in my life, and for reasons far beyond my comprehension I was tested on it today.

Ultimatums are tricky things, which is why I've only ever levied one. Not only do you really have to mean what you say in the moment, and not only do you have to be prepared to actually act upon it, but you're going to have to deal with the sense of betrayal that accompanies whatever it was that violates your terms.

If it wasn't for "Fate", I might not have been able to stand firm, which troubles me. At the time when I issued my ultimatum I was trusting more in the recipient's ability to be a good kid and not cause me to make good on my treat than I was in my ability to follow through. And so, when push came to shove, I found my shoving-arms to be malfunctioning until other circumstances helped me save face.

But now, Interested Party, I'm at a bit of a loss with how to proceed from here. I don't think my army of acrobats with their safety nets can weave me a plan big enough to deal with this. Do I issue another ultimatum, even though I just learned that I very likely don't really mean it? Should I forgive and forget? Or perhaps I should take this as a sign, put my acrobats into suitcases and bail out now.

It's not exactly earth-shattering, but my world has been sufficiently rocked. I suppose my first step should be to find my footing, then loose some arrows and well-honed barbs, enough to teach my former-"good kid" not to do it again. Maybe I'll just cry.

Smoke and mirrors,
CB

Summer Summary

I will walk beside you, carry on

I constructed a long list of things I would like to do to improve myself (brush my teeth more often is at the top of the list), but I think shoveling a plate of home made nachos into my mouth at an astonishing rate isn't quite what I had in mind when I added "eat all my meals at home 6 days a week" to my list.

So, history has shown and the current times prove that I categorically suck at blogging. The last time we met was about a month ago where I was freaking out about the future.

Things I've Done Since Then
-Went to Hawaii
-Used chopsticks more times in one week than all previous chopstick use in my life
-Held keys for Friday's
-Found I couldn't be mean to a douche bag customer from Olive Garden
-Acted like I knew stuff at the NCC Summer Speech Workshop
-Applied to Liberty Mutual Group to be an insurance underwriter
-Accepted a part-time coaching position at NCC
-Watched 2 seasons of The West Wing
-Read more Kurt Vonnegut

Any or all of those are topics for another day. The main reason I don't blog so much is that I lack inspiration, and today? The inspiration is lacking. My apologies.

Later, baby,
Cathi

The Future Freaks Me Out

I’m a dreamer, I’m not a vicious schemer

The concept of forever gives me the jibblies. I don't necessarily mean in the infinity and beyond sense, although contemplating an infinite sense of time and universe gives me an existential twinge of uneasiness. That kind of forever isn't really much of my business.

The forever that makes me curl up in a ball and suck my thumb is the kind that that many of my peers appear to have conquered, as evidenced by the myriad of facebook status changes from "in a relationship" to "engaged". I won't say that I don't trust other people, but I am exceedingly skeptical of my own ability to adapt to the changes in others.

I mean, I like The Boy well enough, and all signs point to him tolerating me pretty well. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't foresee either of us breaking up with the other any time soon. But I cannot guarantee that at any given time, The Boy won't do something to irreparably change my esteem for him, like voting for Bob Barr in November or deferring his imminent graduation to follow his dream of living in a cardboard shack in Belarus.

I also cannot guarantee that I, myself, won't suffer a psychotic break and glue feathers to my arms and terrorize children for the rest of my life. Some things just can't be predicted.

So, when I contemplate forever it's always with an elaborate system of "buts" and "ifs" so forever is neatly dissected into more manageable pieces. If everything works out. If we want the same things. But I don't mean wedding bells. But only if you want to. Etc...

Sometimes, I curse my penchant for foresight.

I rock the Haro sport,
Catherine

Armageddon, she comes

Many times I'd planned to be much more than who I am

Dear customers,

Stop stealing my pens. This is your last warning.

Cordially,
Cathi

Call it hubris, but I like to think that I'm fairly successful in most things I do. Sometimes I have physical proof, like trophies or some sort of certificate with official looking calligraphy. Other times it's simply a mental comparison to the people around me who are doing the same thing.

I don't think it's any sort of innate talent or Jedi mind trick that allows me to float near the top. If that was true, I'd be "the best" way more often, then, well, almost never. I'll leave being "the best" to the Lindas and Sarah Bradys of the world. I don't recall exactly what my parents raised me to be or do, but I do know I have a tendency to want to be "good" at anything I do.

It's a bit of a matter of pride, I think, instilled in my wee years as a Haughty Gifted Student. I was always set apart from my peers, so I naturally tend to want to be in that (generally inconsequential) "upper echelon". I'm Cathi. I'm good at things. I do things well. It's what I do. I don't necessarily want to or need to (or, hell, can) be the best, but I do perform above average.

These somewhat boastful thoughts are brought to you by a conversation with a regular customer who commented that it's rare to find people, like myself, who care about their job, especially in the restaurant business.

I felt the compulsion to clarify: Yes, I care about my job, but not because of the job itself. I couldn't care less if I build sales or uphold "the brand". I care about my job because I'm Cathi Martin. I care that I do things well, and therefore care about doing my job well. I'm okay with being ego maniacal, I'm not okay with being a tool.

And so, I will continue to bartend and continue to hold my place on the laughable Quality Team, because it's how I roll. But please, don't ask me for ideas on how to increase customer attendance. I don't know, and I don't care.

I, robot, will never die,
Catherine

PS If I die in a tornado tonight, I want my tombstone to read "Damn you Joliet Jackhammers"

Sometimes it's a long time

A chance to build it from the ground

I'm not sure if it's possible to fall in love with someone based on their voice alone, but if so, The Boy better watch his back. Jason Mraz is stealing me away.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

As a compulsive list maker and proud owner of a BA, I think I'm somewhat qualified to make rational decisions. As a relatively successful speech-maker and debater, I also think I'm somewhat qualified to weigh all sides of an issue, or at the very least acknowledge that there are multiple sides to an issue. As a communications and foreign language double major, I can't promise that my skills will lead me down a profitable or logical path.

So please: as I weigh my options for what to do about my living situation, let me do it my way. I know about the financial benefits and drawbacks. I know about the social benefits and drawbacks. I know about the mental and professional benefits and drawbacks. Whatever the decision is, trust me that I've thought it out rather painstakingly and ultimately had to flip a coin.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Despite bets placed on the contrary, The Boy and I did not wind up hating each other after our long D.C. roadtrip weekend. He came away hating Washington, and I came away hating The Boy's tendency toward tight-waddiness, but I'd say that over all, the trip was a success.

He and I are both characteristically reticent, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that, when I scolded him for picking up his book when we literally only had 20 minutes left of our drive home, his response was a rather whiny, "...but I've been talking to you for the last two hours!"

While our nation's capital might not have dazzled me or filled me with a newfound respect, I emerged with a better sleep schedule and a heart filled to bursting. Our two-year "I love you"-versary passed with little more than a text message acknowledgment, but we're not the gushy type. We finally have nice pictures of us together, and while we may not have a lot to say, it's clear neither of us mind too much.

15 days until Hawaii!
18 days until Miranda is a palindrome!
20 days until Jaci is a palindrome!
21ish days until Illinois again!
Month and a halfish until on my own?
71 days until NOT SCHOOL!

Miss Tinkles, 

Cathi