...Use a bit of mustard.

O, rejection letter! Ye bearer of inclement news. Thou slim-sentenced excuse for common decency. Whither must thou wander so frequently into my life?

Rejection letters are an inevitable part of life. Sometimes they are helpful; they can provide a sense of closure or the motivation to seek an alternative path. But I often find these letters to be a tad mean spirited. I mean, if I've been informed that the position has been filled by other candidate, I don't need the next two sentences to proclaim that this person is better than me. I'm smart enough to infer that by the fact that they were hired and I was not.

One of my friends worked in a college admissions office for a time before heading into the wily world of HR. She told me that rejection letters are thought of as a good way to prevent lawsuits. True as that may be, it doesn't prevent many people I know from reading a rejection letter and thinking out loud, "Ugh. This is SLANDER!" Obviously rejection letters are a lot like mustard. A little can go a long way.

I have a confession to make. I've written many a rejection letter in my day. It was a responsibility lovingly schlepped upon me while I served as the lowest-on-the-totem-pole in a theater's literary department. I tried my darnedest to soften the blow. I often made painstaking attempts to provide a warm fuzzy sensation to the recipient of a note that basically boiled down to "your play just ain't our cup of tea."

I took pride in my rejection letter writing skills and, after much experimenting, I came up with an appropriate ratio of "No way Jose!" to constructive criticism. One California-based playwright even took the time to send my boss an email commending my letter as "the best rejection letter" she'd ever received. Soon thereafter, she sent another script. Her query jokingly asked if we could please consider it before then end of my tenure as an intern. I believe we obliged.

A few days ago, I started an interactive rejection letter themed Mad Lib. I'd like to thank commenter Terry Tebeau for filling in the blanks and for the benediction in my employment hunt. TT's response saved me the trouble of having to fill in the blanks with my own answers. As much as I was looking forward to using the term calipygian, Mad Libs are never quite as fun when you do them yourself. Without further bologna, I present to you Rejection Letter by Terry Tebeau.

Dear Blake Yeats:

Thank you for your recent interest in the Crucifix Polisher position at ACME. We have moistened your rabbits, and we believe your background was an amazing and chartreuse fit with our sandwichy criteria. There were five vigorously plain resumes in the job search process. Blocky consideration has been given to each spleen we shucked.

We regret to bury you that the position has been filled by another shoe whose laces and credentials were better suited for our needs. Thus, we will not be offering you the work.

Kindly note that company policy prevents us from bending the reason we cannot pursue your sink for this position. We would encourage you to continue to review your fit for shiny vacancies. We wish you the best for your future hardwood endeavors.

Aloha,

Copper Pot Team Lead

ACME

UPDATE: I've been gifted with another response from the darling and delightful Audra. Gotta love form letters! I'm having so much fun with these that I'm going to have to think up another Mad Lib lickety split.

Dear Audra Petrie Veber:

Thank you for your recent interest in the Executive Assistant position at Veber Partners. We have hurried your chairs, and we believe your background was a bland and successful fit with our cold criteria. There were one thousand begrudgingly bright cars in the job search process. Wet consideration has been given to each dog we walked.

We regret to give you that the position has been filled by another plant whose paper clips and credentials were better suited for our needs. Thus, we will not be offering you the water.

Kindly note that company policy prevents us from printing the reason we cannot pursue your father-in-law for this position. We would encourage you to continue to review your fit for nosy vacancies. We wish you the best for your future money endeavors.

Good Morning,

Phone Team Lead
Veber Partners

Reverse Psychology: Earth Day Edition

I wanted to do something in honor of Earth Day, but I was scant on ideas. Then I had a talk with my friend Chrissy about how much she hates to share the road. Eu-fucking-reka!

Chrissy and I have been friends since the 7th grade. We have agreed that we will not always agree on everything. The problem is, we're both stubborn enough to keep arguing with each other about why we feel a certain way. Our biggest point of contention usually revolves around suburbs. I hate suburbs. Chrissy loves them. We also disagree about the environment. I think conservation is a dire necessity. Chrissy couldn't give a toss one way or the other.

I consider myself to be progressive in my social and political views. One thing I appreciate about free speech is that the people I disagree with have as much a right to be heard as I do. When people are spewing off some idea I consider verbal diarrhea, I can see it as a reminder that not everyone agrees with my well-reasoned prerogative. It adds a sustainable energy source to my fire and gives me a little more impetus to speak up and to be heard.

I've compiled some gems from Chrissy in order to stoke your flames. To be fair, Chrissy does have some redeeming qualities. I swear!


Chrissy on architecture:

C: I know you like living in all of these old buildings, but I'm only going to live in a new construction. I know you probably have a problem with that.
K: Well, it depends. I'd have to consider land use issues, but a lot of new construction has improved emissions and is generally more energy-efficient than older properties.
C: So why don't we just tear everything down and build everything new?


Chrissy on energy efficient appliances:

C: How can you live here without a dishwasher?
K: I've thought about getting a portable one. It uses less water than hand washing.
C: I don't think we're going to run out of water anytime soon.

C: I'm not going to buy something because it's energy efficient. I'm going to buy something because it's cute.
K: What if it's both cute and energy efficient?
C: Have you seen the Prius? That never happens.


Chrissy on clear cutting:

"What are you complaining about? They kept all the trees along the side of the road. Those are the ones you're going to see anyway."


Chrissy on taking only what you need:

C: Where's your cup sleeve?
K: I don't want one.
C: But you need one. Your drink is hot. Here. Take two.
K: If don't want one, why would I need two?
C: How else are we going to tell our drinks apart?


Chrissy on recycling:

C: I don't understand why you're keeping all that stuff for recycling.
K: I want to.
C: You want to what? Get five cents back? Not worth it.

"I remember when they made us recycle for Girl Scouts. I had to give my dad's license plate number to get the money. Collecting [recyclables] was a pretty tedious way to learn a 7-digit alpha-numeric code."


Chrissy on public transportation:

K: Let me get this straight. You just complained about gas prices, getting stuck in traffic every day, and paying too much money for your parking spot. But you're not willing to ride the MAX?
C: Yep.
K: It stops right in front of your office.
C: It costs too much money.
K: It's less than your parking permit.
C: But I don't have to deal with other people in my car.
K: What about traffic? That's dealing with other people.
C: Well, only weirdos ride public transit.
K: I took public transit all the time in DC and for the first two years I lived here.
C: That's because you're a weirdo.


Chrissy on sharing the road:

"One reason I'll always like San Jose or The 'Couv better than Portland is because there's way less cyclists an pedestrians. I mean, why don't these people get cars?"

C: When you used to ride your bike over it would freak everybody out. My Mom would freak out 'there's a bike in the driveway! there's a bike in our driveway!' like it was poisonous."
K: Chrissy, I only lived a few blocks away.
C: Well it's not like you were next door. It doesn't make sense that you wouldn't drive.

"The roads are too narrow, I'm going to hit one them. If I hit them while they're in an SUV, I don't have to worry so much about them being dead."

C: The only reason someone should ride a bike or walk somewhere is because something is wrong with their car.
K: What if they can't afford one?
C: That would infer that there is something wrong with their car. Not having one is definitely something wrong with their car.

Don't get hot and flustered...

I woke up to a phone call this morning which delivered some disappointing news: I didn't get the job I had interviewed for last week.

I had tried to keep my expectations low. I knew I was a last minute interview, and (in my experience) arts organizations seem to draw from a steady stream of inside candidates. I can't tell you how many inches my heart has sunk upon hearing that I've lost a job to Ms. Whosorwhatsit, invariably the daughter of someone's college roommate and minder of their beloved pet beagle, Chuckie Darwin.

For the record, I don't know nor do I particularly care if that's the case in this instance. I am mostly feeling disheartened because sometime between the interview and this morning's phone call, I had started to mentally prepare myself for a transition into a new work environment. I am really looking forward to the prospect of working, and I feel particularly discouraged by the fact that this news means I will not be returning to the workplace as soon as I'd prefer.

Initially, I dealt with the disappointment by applying to another job and taking a rather lengthy walk through my neighborhood and several surrounding communities. I didn't think this let down was worthy of tears. I also needed to have a good think, and I know better than to believe that enlightenment will come from the comforts of my key snatching couch.

First priority during my big think was to more clearly gauge the level of my desperation. I can cite several examples that suggest that things are inching towards a critical level. For example, I've been plagued by serious pangs of jealousy anytime someone gripes about being stressed out or over-burdened by their job. I mean, these people seriously have no idea how lucky they are to be dedicating themselves to something other than their neuroses. Plus, they possibly have health insurance. Lucky bastards.

Second issue on the big think platter was how to make myself feel better in the interim. The best solution I thought of was going to church. After all, Jesus H. Christ is probably the most sanctimonious freeloader of all time. I can't help but think that if I hang out with people who think he's cool, I will feel like less of a loser. I don't know that this will actually help. Unless I know people in the congregation, the only merit to church is the opportunity for daydreaming during a sermon. My daydreams are rather dark and depressing lately. Besides, I'm starting to believe that I may be too old for my other pew-bound pastime, doodling on the bulletin.

Lastly, I dedicated part of my big think to developing a better strategy in the whole "hurry up and wait" fiasco that seems complicit to any job search. I thought that I might use the spare time and my impetus for working to write some research papers. I even thought of a couple of semi-feasible research topics, including the civic role of Czechoslovakian theaters during the Velvet Revolution. Yes, I am that much of a geek.

I returned home not feeling much better. But I took solace in a couple of words of wisdom plucked from, of all places, The Rocky Horror Picture Show:

"Don't get hot and flustered...use a bit of mustard."

Doctoring up food with condiments can make a bad thing taste a bit better. Somehow my mind wandered to another way that a ho hum situation can be made to be a little more saucy.

Mad Libs.

I have not so secretly delighted in Mad Libs for a long while. So, I immediately knew that I would have to please all 2 1/2 quasi-regular readers of this blog with an interactive Mad Lib entry. In the spirit of the day, this mad lib is titled Rejection Letter. Post your answers in the comments. I will post the completed Mad Libs here in a post on Thursday afternoon.

To fill in the blanks, I need:

1. Name
2. Job title
3. Company Name
4. Verb ending in -ed
5. Plural Noun
6. Adjective
7. Adjective
8. Adjective
9. An Amount
10. Adverb
11. Adjective
12. Plural Noun
13. Adjective
14. Noun
15. Verb ending in -ed
16. Verb
17. Noun
18. Plural Noun
19. Noun
20. Verb ending in -ing
21. Noun
22. Adjective
23. Noun
24. Salutation
25. Noun

Jumping on the Bandwagon

I waste time so you don't have to.

I'm toying with changing things up around here. I want to call it a regime change, but really it would just mean a little more structure and routine. I generally wrinkle my nose at the thought of structure and routine, then succumb to those same forces. Typically it happens to make my life better. For example, I know my mouth tastes a lot fresher in the mornings when I floss regularly. Structure and Routine. I hate you. I love you. What is my problem? Where's the dent-o-tape?

One idea I've had is a new segment in which I waste time so you don't have to. Basically, I would seek out some decent vehicles for procrastinating so you might be able to use more of your time effectively. Consider it a gift unto you, dear reader.

To get things swinging, I thought I'd share some gems I discovered via YouTube today. People often ask, "Hey, Crow. Where do you find all those videos?" I feel that the only appropriate answer is, "Who says they don't find me?" Think about that while you watch and enjoy.

Watching these videos will waste approximately 7:11 of your time.

The first video, Kewpie Tarako Pasta Sauce was a great way to start a morning after a restless night. This video came my way via the same gent who started Layer Tennis (a.k.a. another good way to pass the time twixt hither and thither). I love the girl's expressions. She is mesmerized; so am I.



Like I said, these videos just seem to find me. Then, finding one might lead to another. For example, the wonderful person who uploaded the previous video listed this one as a favorite. From The Muppet Show, Danny Boy featuring The Swedish Chef, Animal and Beaker.



Oh boy oh boy indeed, Animal.

Okay, okay. I didn't find this last one today, but it is one of my all time favorites. I want to take up Flamenco every time I watch it. This is from the a scene from the Carlos Saura film Flamenco. I think it came out about 10 years ago.

Alegrías

Where my thoughts escape me.

There's a joke amongst my friends that I've heard so often, I can't remember how it started. It's not one of those, "What's green and has wheels?" sort of jokes, but rather a loving jab in my ribs. Essentially, it's something along the lines of, "If Crow worked from home, she'd never leave her house."

Well, it is a nice place to be, if I do say so myself.

Environment is important to me, even if my disdain for domestic upkeep suggests the contrary. I'm mostly pleased with the twigs and bits of fuzz I've assembled to make my nest. I like just about everything in my home, with the exception of a second-hand couch gifted to me by a family friend. I've locked myself out so many times because my keys have fallen between the cushions and into the framework of the sofa. I think the only fair retribution for the repeated theft of my keys is to torch the fucker out front and roast marshmallows on its carcass.

Other than my prickly relationship with the davenport, I'd tend to agree with this joke-at-my-expense. Were I to work from home, I theoretically have very little incentive to ever leave the place. But here's the problem: I cannot for the life of me work from home. I can't get a damn thing done here.

This isn't for lack of trying, either. I've been intermittently self-employed for the past several years. Although this work often requires trips to the library stacks and/or long hours in the rehearsal hall, it would be incredibly convenient to do a big portion of the work from the comfort of my home. But, as I said before, I can't get a damn thing done here. Instead, I head to libraries, coffee shops, city parks, or any other place where I can manage to cross one of the many tasks off my list.

I used to place blame on the fact that I live in a studio apartment. When I suffered insomnia problems in the past, Ye Ol' Sleepe Doctor's first suggestion was to eliminate all non-sleep activity, electronic stimulants, strange smells and other distractions from the space occupied by my bed. Studio apartment living means that all living activities occur in one room. Following the sleep doctor's logic, I wondered if the root of my dilemma might be the lack of opportunity to separate a space designated for productivity.

Then I thought a little harder. I thought back to all my former homes. I haven't always lived in one big room. In the past I've had luxury of a special spot designated to productivity. I distinctly remember having a difficult time getting things done in those places, too. I recalled a half-dozen or so domiciles that required me to head elsewhere in order to be productive.

I've thought it through to the point to where I'm driving myself nuts. I think I just need to resign myself to the fact that my home is not a place for accomplishment. If I need to get something done, I have to go somewhere else. If I need to have a good think, I'd better take a long walk.

Lost In Translation

Now that I'm mostly recovered from my recent ailments, things are going back to the way we were. I must say, I've surely gnawed on greener pastures if getting knocked on one's ass with an illness constitutes a welcome break from reality. I've now reclaimed my perch on the corner of my couch. The one where I sit balled up all day in the fetal position chanting my "om mani padme everything sucks" mantra. Except now that I've been sick, this mantra is staccato'ed with the occasional exclamation, "This place is too clean!" and the increasingly frequent panic attack.

But I look good, or so I've been told, and that's what counts when one is attempting a facade of normalcy. My hair is brushed, my teeth are flossed (holy calamity!) and the kettle is on the boil. One might hardly suspect that the delicate ecosystem which makes up my well being was seemingly trampled on by Godzilla or Mothra. Or, really, by Godzilla since he seems to be more keen on the trampling action.

I know very little about Godzilla (and even less about Mothra). As pop culture icons, I feel that I know them well enough without actually having to sit through a monster movie. I understand certain things about Godzilla just because he exists. The extent of my knowledge can best be summed up in the following list:

1. Perry Mason is in the "original" American version.
2. Godzilla came from the sea.
3. That monster smashed the shit out of Tokyo.

I think the low brow special effects goes without saying--it's sort of a presupposition of the Japanese monster flick.

About 10 years ago, I spent a very long week in Japan. Between the visits to many shrines and a cultural theme park with staged ninja vs. samurai fights, I mostly recall the culinary novelties, superior office supply stores, and a plethora of very blatant perverts. Thanks in part to an embarrassing bout of altitude sickness at a ryokan, it wasn't my most culturally sensitive trip abroad. But as many Americans who have gone before me will tell you, it's difficult not to feel like a water buffalo there, particularly when one has blond hair, blue eyes and an ample bosom.

When I went over there, I knew very few words of Japanese. I came back knowing only one or two additional words. I learned a majority of this from my genius sister, a speaker Japanese (and a couple more languages besides).

I learned most of the phrases I know several years after my return when I rented a room in my sister's house. This was when I was witness to and a participant in many arguments in anywhere between one and five languages. Most of these fights had to do with the air-con (Japanese for air conditioner). Namely, my sister and I occasionally wanted to turn it on and my cheap bastard brother-in-law was neurotic about turning it off, even when it was 98 degrees with 98% humidity. If you have not tried it before, stringing together insults in many different languages is quite satisfying, though it may lack some efficacy with your intended target.

This isn't the first time I'd lived in a multilingual household. Nor was it the first time I'd willfully participated in the linguistic bastardization of each tongue. When I lived in Ireland, my roommates used to say certain things exclusively in Irish. For example, instead of asking "What time is it?" they would ask, "Cen t-am a e?" To make things more confusing, the response was almost aways hybridized, "Ta se half ten."

I asked my roommate Fiona about the bilingual blending phenomenon once. Her response was something akin to, "I dunno, we learn Irish so we can go to university. No other reason for it." This comes from a girl who was studying law. Ireland's constitution is in Irish. Nope, no other reason for learning the language.

Another one of my Irish roommates, Niamh, was more helpful in shedding light on this predicament. As she explained, if everyone knows both languages one might as well default to the one that most pleases a lazy lilting tongue at any given moment. Ironically, I remember returning from Ireland with a greater appreciation for Spanglish.

Returning to my pithy handful of Japanese words, it occurred to me that certain things are completely lost in translation. Being an auditory person, and a native born westerner, I have a particularly difficult time divorcing eastern words with the meaning of their aural western equivalent. The problem with cross-cultural homonyms rests in the fact that the East vs. West meaning is completely different. Here are a few of my favorite examples:

Shizen vs. Scheißen

This first became apparent during a recent walk through my neighborhood. There's an empty lot advertising condos for sale. The property developer boasts an upcoming multi-unit condo complex which will be quite remarkably environmentally friendly. For the time being, the developer is spending a lot more time building their website than making any sort of improvement to the property. From this site, I learned that Shizen is the Japanese term for nature.

Scheißen, of course means shit in German. And it is a pretty accurate description of the state of this empty lot. Besides, one might actually be full of the stuff to conceive of sticking 7 condos, plus underground parking and über-sustainable water storage in that tiny space.

Chicken vs. Chikan

Chicken in English means...


Or sometimes...


And, if we're going to stretch things a little here, it means...


Chikan is a Japanese term for pervert. Or sometimes it means molester. In general, it is used to refer to someone inclined to the lewd and inappropriate. It's a person who would make the English speaking chicken "Bwaaak?" uncomfortably, shifting her beady-eyed gaze askance while hastily making her way to the exit of the coup.

Chikan also means "limpy" which is a descriptive term that does not get used nearly enough in my presence. I cannot say, let alone type the word limpy without feeling the corners of my mouth turn slightly upward. Yes, my humor is juvenile. I blame Mama Crow.

Connemara vs. Kanamara

The Connemara is a region in Ireland known for it's unique landscape. There's sort of a connotation that the region is barren due to the fact that many plants are small in order to withstand the elements. It's beautiful, but windy.


The Japanese Kanamara Matsuri refers to the annual Festival of the Steel Phallus. According to Wikipedia this Shinto fertility festival, "is centered around a local penis-venerating shrine, once popular among prostitutes who wished to pray for protection against sexually transmitted diseases." I am excited by this, if only for the opportunity to post the next picture.


It's so pink!