More wallowing in 'Yay me'-ness

(because if you can't do it on your own blog, where can you?)


1. The company owner and president was not supposed to announce my promotion Friday. I guess he was just too excited for me and couldn't hold back.

2. New official title will be Account Executive. This rocks. Here's why: in the post where I talk about my initial interview (and bet myself I can get promoted in 4 months), the CFO said that one could expect to be promoted to Assistant Account Executive after 6 months. I get to skip a grade! (again--gotta love us RHPers)

3. My raise is proportionate to the number of rungs I'm climbing. Am very excited that my income is starting to exit the 'paying my dues' bracket.

...that being said, it is now past midnight and I'm still working on a client-requested presentation. I did take some time out to go to chorus rehearsal and stop at the market to get myself carrots for the anticipated stress munching, but still. 12-hour+ days suck.

...that being said, I'm totally billing the time I took to write this post to the client.

Local Employee Misses Announcement of Own Promotion

WOODLAND HILLS, CA--Adrienne Graves, a former account coordinator at a local direct marketing agency, was not present Friday when the company owner and president announced her promotion to basically everyone else.

"We have a staff meeting every month for birthdays and bonuses, and since a. neither applied to me and b. it's just a good idea for me to stay away from cake, I didn't really see a reason to leave the meeting I was in and go."

Despite Ms. Graves' error in judgment, she managed to smile and say thank you when she received congratulations from people who had actually been present, because "like, that's just what you do, even if you have no idea what they're talking about."

When asked if she had already known about the promotion, in which case one would think she'd have had the good sense to attend the meeting so she could at least brag about it to a larger audience, Adrienne replied, "I kind of knew it was coming, but my boss was out of town and hadn't said anything and I figured it wouldn't become official until the following week."

Ms. Graves has worked in the capacity of account coordinator since she started her job four and a half months ago, and is looking forward to the slightly more respectable title of whatever comes next.

"I doubt the day-to-day work will change too much, because we're hiring on an account coordinator to do the stuff I don't have time to do now. I'll totally get to boss them around though. Sweet."

Upon being asked additional questions, Ms. Graves started getting irritable and said, "Look, it's already past six on a Friday and I've gotta give comments on these concepts, okay? Go away."

Looks like it's going to the bitch's head already.

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In all seriousness, yay! I got a promotion! And I wasn't too far off when I bet myself I'd make it in four months. Don't have details like new title, raise, etc., though I have my suspicions and definitely have my own ideas about what they should be. I find all that out next week during an official review process (scary).

Meanwhile, celebration plans look something like this:


(photo courtesy of this friggin' awesome website... don't be fooled by the german)

Unfuckingbelievable

Yesterday's game has to be the most intense I've ever been to. EVER. I'm going to have post-traumatic stress flashbacks every time time I see clips of USC playing Notre Dame until forever. Let's have a quick look at what these will entail:

Standing (no one sits) in the Notre Dame student section, wearing bright red USC gear that made us an easy target for all the Irish surrounding us. That and our lone cheers and screaming every time USC made a good play.

Complete shock over the fact that we were trailing most of the game, compounded by a sudden burst of penalties the likes of which we haven't seen since the days of Paul Hackett.

A raging battle between hope and fear, each to such a degree that it's a wonder I didn't spontaneously combust.

The whole 4th quarter, with the entire stadium on its feet, screaming at the top of its lungs no matter what happened.

The end of the 4th quarter: the clock running out, Notre Dame rushing the field, standing there believing we'd lost, and then watching it all happen all over again but with a different ending, and not being able to believe we'd won, then seeing the flag thrown and believing again that we'd lost, and then missing the extra point, and then standing there for the kickoff to Notre Dame in the final 3 seconds of the game convinced they were going to run it back for a touchdown and take our victory away again.

I can't handle shit like this. I'd still be in shock now if I weren't so hung over.

Gonzaga Karma, or, How I Got My Ticket to the USC-Notre Dame Game

I find it somewhat ironic that, now that I'm back living in LA and could theoretically go to every USC home game, the first game I'll be going to this season will be... back in the Midwest. Despite the best of intentions, a stressful job and lack of cable have conspired to keep me relatively in the dark when it comes to, well, current events of any sort (Supreme Court, what? Is that like a new Taco Bell menu item or something?) and the life and times of Pete Carroll in particular. I never know if games are home or away, if we're playing someone who might be worth paying attention to or not. And the quality of my trash talk when it comes to Pac-10 rival coworkers has suffered considerably. Comebacks now uniformly consist of a very forceful "So?!"

But no matter; I'm headed for Chicago next weekend, and will attend the USC-Notre Dame game all decked out in my USC gear, along with Brendan and Becky... the three of us will make a nice-sized red target in the green and yellow Irish student section. (I'll show you team spirit.)

Next week's brush with death comes courtesy of what I'm convinced is Gonzaga karma. Brendan has been a fan of Gonzaga's basketball team for years (and I have to admit that I would be too if I cared at all about basketball... I picked them to make it into the Elite Eight in a random pool back in high school because I thought they had a funny name: that was the year they won). And thus he has his share of Gonzaga gear to show his support, and asked me to pick him up something from the school, if I had the chance, while I was passing through Spokane on my way back to LA from Chicago back in May. And I did, and had planned to give it to Brendan next time I saw him. Am glad I didn't get him a t-shirt, because he already has one--at the beginning of this school year he became friends with an ND 1-L who was a Gonzaga alumna because she saw him in the t-shirt. And it turns out that she's the one I'm getting my ticket from.

Next weekend promises to be a good one (if I can stay awake for it--am taking the red eye on Thursday night and it includes a 4-hour layover in Vegas). I'll be at the Notre Dame game (and ESPN College Gameday, if the rumors are true), I'll see my friend Meredith's brand new baby, Roxanne Helen (the Helen is in homage to fellow Trojans Doug and Meredith's alma mater... if it was a boy he was was going to have Troy as a middle name), I'll get to see some of my grad school friends and I'll be back in my favorite city in the world.

...That is, if my roommate doesn't kill me when she gets back from her weekend climbing trip and sees the mess I made of our apartment in my attempt to paint my bedroom. (Am considering just leaving the primer and calling it a day.) DIY my ass.

FireWatch 2005

News headlines like that make me wish that broadcast journalism would fuse with reality TV so that reporters aren't just watching the damn fire, but competing with other networks in structured little games like "Who can assemble a firehose and put out a campfire fastest" and "Who can keep a straight face the longest". Viewers could text message their votes for most white trash interviewee, which is announced at the end of the broadcast and accompanied by the presentation of an "I'm #1" wifebeater to the winner. I mean, journalism in this country could use a bit of sensationalism--how could the population at large possibly be expected to follow something that's, like, all serious and stuff?

But I'm watching anyway, largely because I noticed smoke (which I first took to be a rain cloud that was, um, coming out of the ground) out my office window yesterday. When I did figure out that it was a fire, I still dismissed it: we have firefighters to handle things like that. It was when I was driving to work this morning that I remembered that I live in Southern California, prey to the apparently arsonist Santa Ana winds, which had blown a huge plume of smoke all over the west end of the valley. A number of people at work had been evacuated late the night before, and the air outside got darker as the day progressed. By 4 o'clock, the outdoor patio smelled like a barbecue (note: there is no barbecue on the patio) and there was a distinct glow that looked like a nice orange sunset at first glance... until we realized that the sun doesn't set in the north. There were rumors running rampant that people wouldn't be able to get home because of road closures, or there wouldn't be a home to go back to at all because the fire was practically across the street, or that anyone who wanted to go loot the Target down the street should meet at 7 on the third floor. (Regretfully, I couldn't make it, but did put in a request for the Lost Season 1 DVDs, if anyone happened to wander through that section.)

I remember hearing about the fires last year, with the polluted air, the ash raining down, and (what no one mentioned but am sure was the case) the pervasive smell of charcoal. I was hoping the Westside would be smoke-free but no such luck. I was looking forward to sailing to Catalina this weekend, but a radar image (or whatever) showed the smoke being blown in a straight line from the fires to Catalina Island. If that wind holds to get us over to the island quickly, I'll try to make peace with it, but seriously, I don't think it's too much to ask for a little fresh air 24 miles out to sea.

Life after Katrina

While a mention here pales in comparison to Brendan's coverage, I've been reading all these stories about the anarchy that's taken hold of New Orleans (and, I'm sure, other hard-hit areas where there are enough people left alive to make each other's lives hell) and the questions that are beginning to surface about the future of the city. Will they rebuild? Starting when? Can the city ever become even a shadow of what it was a week ago today? I don't know the answers to any of these questions, or am even able to surmise an educated guess, but I do think that history is instructive, and came across an excellent article (subscription required...always is for the good stuff) in the WSJ that outlined 4 other such disasters and the aftermath. What follows is a wee bit of plagiarism:

1871 Chicago Fire

Whether Mrs. O'Leary's cow really kicked over the lamp that started the whole thing or not is still a matter of debate. But the fact is that somewhere near the O'Leary barn on the evening of Oct. 8, 1871, a small fire became a big fire that became an out-of-control conflagration. It had been a dry fall, and Chicago firefighters were already stretched thin. By the end of the next day, the city's "burnt district," as it became known, covered a swath four miles long and about three-quarters of a mile wide.

The fire killed perhaps 300 people, destroyed 18,000 buildings, left 100,000 Chicagoans without homes and caused some $3.2 billion in damages, at today's prices. Half of the city had insurance, but only half of those actually got paid from their policies.

Smallpox and cholera spread in an atmosphere of poor sanitation, close living and filthy water. "The city is infested with a horde of thieves, burglars and cut-throats, bent on plunder, and who will not hesitate to burn, pillage and even murder, as opportunity may seem to offer them to do so with safety," the Chicago Evening Journal advised the day after the fire, according to an essay published by the Chicago Historical Society.

An artist's rendition of the Chicago fire of 1871 as people flee downtown.

The authorities declared martial law, and Lt. Gen. Philip Sheridan, the Civil War hero and a Chicago resident, led troops in to help preserve "the good order and peace of the city," in the words of Mayor Roswell B. Mason.

Yet almost as soon as the embers had cooled, Chicago business leaders deployed to New York to persuade investors that this was the time to put more of their money into Chicago, not less. Peter Alter, curator of the Chicago Historical Society, recounts the story of William D. Kerfoot, a real-estate speculator whose offices had burned. The day after the fire was extinguished, Mr. Kerfoot erected a crudely made painted sign: "All Gone But Wife, Children and Energy."

The stockyards had been spared the flames, as had much of the city's heavy industry. "Five years will give Chicago more men, more money, more business, than she would have had without this fire," John Stephen Wright, one of the city's most vocal boosters, said at the time, according to the Chicago Historical Society.

He proved prophetic. Chicago, on the shores of Lake Michigan, was a crucial crossroads of agriculture and industry, too valuable to give up. By the end of the decade Chicago was bigger and better than before. The city had a population of roughly 300,000 before the fire. In 1880 it was home to half a million.

"Chicago was both built and rebuilt so quickly because the rest of the national and international economy needed it so badly," says Carl Smith, a professor of English, American Studies and History at Northwestern University in Evanston, Ill. The rebuilding accelerated the division of the city into commercial and residential districts, and hurried the adoption of fire-resistant building materials. The city grew so quickly that many of the buildings put up after the fire were torn down within a couple of decades to make way for the new skyscrapers.

1906 San Francisco Earthquake

When the last fire was extinguished after the San Francisco earthquake of April 1906, survivors emerged from their makeshift shelters to find three-quarters of their city in ruins. All telephone and telegraph communications had ceased. There was little water for drinking.

A man photographs the ruins of a building following the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.

The railroads had been destroyed; the port was completely blocked by debris. Few, if any, hotels, restaurants or cafés survived, and 300,000 people were homeless. Banks were closed, and would remain so for a month. Despite martial law, looters roamed the streets, and the mayor ordered them to be shot on sight.

"As regards industrial and commercial losses, the conditions are appalling," wrote Victor H. Metcalf, secretary of labor and commerce, in a report to President Roosevelt. "Not only have the business and industrial houses and establishments of one-half million people disappeared, leaving them destitute financially and their means of livelihood temporarily gone, but the complicated system of transportation indispensable to them has been almost totally destroyed."

Yet there was never any doubt, among either the survivors or their elected officials, that San Francisco would be rebuilt. Indeed, just five days after the earthquake, California's governor, George Pardee, told a reporter, "The work of rebuilding San Francisco has commenced, and I expect to see the great metropolis replaced on a much grander scale than ever before."

San Francisco's mayor, Eugene E. Schmitz, quickly appointed a group of local businessmen, lawyers and journalists, known as the Citizens' Committee of Fifty, to organize the recovery. In the first days and weeks after the disaster, that meant trying to feed, clothe and shelter survivors while raising money to repair the city's infrastructure. Private citizens from across America pledged $10 million, as well as train cars full of goods. The federal government voted to give the city $2.5 million, and Japan and Canada contributed to the relief fund. New bond issues were authorized, and Eastern financiers were encouraged to buy about $14 million of previously authorized but unsold municipal bonds.

Engineers, contractors and draftsmen were recruited from other parts of the country, and the city began trying to buy all the lumber, cement and glass it could find. Temporary structures were erected in several centrally located squares for use by architects, transportation and insurance officials and lawyers.

Labor unions quickly convened to mourn their lost members -- and set rules for the coming boom. The painters' union, for example, suspended many of its trade rules: "No overtime will be allowed; straight time for night or Sunday work. The brothers are requested to be satisfied with eight hours' work and give unemployed brothers a chance." Members of the Plumbers, Gas and Steam Fitters' Union, 80% of whom said they had lost their tools, voted to volunteer their services; about 500 plumbers worked around the clock for more than a week repairing broken pipes.

Obviously, all did not go smoothly in the three years it took to rebuild San Francisco. There were complaints of red tape and poor coordination among relief agencies. Unscrupulous building contractors installed new foundations made of mud rather than cement.

Some public officials, including some from the citizens committee, or "boodle board," as it was nicknamed, funneled donations into their own pockets. Yet just three months later, in July 1906, the St. Francis Hotel Annex re-opened, and hundreds of buildings were under construction.

Charles B. Sedgwick, editor of a newspaper called the British-Californian, described the resilience of the people of San Francisco the day after the earthquake. "Men and women came to see what was going on, gazed about in blank astonishment for a few moments, then went their way as though nothing extraordinary was transpiring," he wrote. "It was this indifference, or philosophical resignation to the inevitable, that struck me as the most marvelous thing in connection with the great tragedy. This, and the ease and quickness with which people grew accustomed to the changed conditions."

In both the Chicago Fire of 1871 and the San Francisco Earthquake of 1906, people were left in similar situations immediately following: no water, no plumbing, no place to live, and no one to protect them from the looters who saw an opportunity and grabbed it. In both instances martial law was instituted and citizens set about the business of recovery as fast as they were able. Even now that's what's happening in New Orleans: no one's giving up. No one is leaving those stranded to their fate. No one is talking about farewell ceremonies in honor of a city that once was. All anyone is doing is talking about ways to help this city get back on its feet, what steps need to be taken and how to obtain the resources in order to do so. Everything is a mad scramble right now, but it was never going to be anything else. This is just how the first step goes.

The Onion never lets me down

Not only have they come to see the error in their ways and are making access to the archives free again, but they have a slick new look and one of those new-fangled "blog" thingies. And this week's lead story is tailor-made for my inner-SEM geek: "Google Announces Plan to Destroy All Information It Can't Index."