Mood Indigo

I gotta break out of this funk.

Between the weather, and this thing with the brother, and the lack of time and money to do what I want to do, I just can't seem to get motivated to do anything constructive. It doesn't help that they're screwing around with my schedule at work just at the time that I need some normalcy.

NO. Nononono. Don't play the blame game. Turn off the computer, take a shower, put on a sweater, go out to the studio and figure out what needs to be done in the next 38ish hours that you have before you have to go back to work. And stop thinking about the things that just make you want to crawl in a hole. You simply don't have time for this.

Okay, I can do this. I think.

Belief in Santa Claus Is Not A Value

I unfriended my brother on Facebook.

He said something that offended me so much that I just decided I didn't want to deal with him for a while.

The thing is, I don't know why it hurt me so much. He didn't really say it about me; he said it about a version of me that only exists in his own head. Before, I was able to just dismiss whatever it was that he said about this other Ron, ignore it, even if I didn't like it. Not this time.

Several years ago, when Rosie O'Donnell had her daytime talk show, she talked about how much she liked reading about herself in the tabloids. She said that since none of the stuff in the tabloids had anything to do with her real life, it was like reading about a fictional character, Tabloid Rosie, who led a much more interesting life than she did.

I don't feel the same way about Tabloid Ron. Tabloid Ron, to me, is a smothering blanket that I must fight my way out of. I explained something like this to him the night I came out to him. Instead of just telling him I was gay, I actually took him out to my favorite club in order to "blow the sides out" of the box he had me trapped in.

Now, I have a tabloid Scott, too-- a version of Scott filtered by my interpretation of my experience with him. Scott is a force unto himself. He's got to dominate every conversation and be the center of attention in every room. Everyone is entitled to his opinion, and no one is allowed to have an opinion of their own. For him, it's a competition, and he's got to win. Any dissenting opinion will be punished: maybe not now; maybe 20 years in the future.
He'll remember what you said (or something like what you said, or maybe something someone else said that he attributes to you, or maybe he'll just take the words you said and jumble them around so that they can become something he can gripe about for the rest of your life), he just won't have ever known what you meant. He's simply not interested. You can try to explain, but it's a futile effort. He doesn't care what you think; he only cares about what he thinks about what he thought you said. This is the womb of Tabloid Ron.

Scott said once that he's a person who gets in trouble because he likes to ask "why". He doesn't. Instead, he asks "whether", which is a much more limiting question. "Whether" is a cage the truth must break out of before it can be itself. But breaking out of the cage requires a dissenting opinion, which is always going to be seen as an attack, and which, as I've already said, will be punished. It also requires a lot of words, all of which will be misunderstood, and every half dozen (or fewer) will require at least half a page of rebuttal... each. The rebuttal(s) will not have anything to do with what you said (meant). If you try to clarify, eventually you will find yourself drowning in quicksand.

Over the last few years I've come up with some guidelines for online communication.
1. Only answer answerable questions. Keep it short and to the point.
2. Do NOT respond to opinion. He's entitled to an opinion (even if you aren't), and it's just an expression of where his head is at at the moment. Comments are unnecessary.
3. If he asks for an opinion, approach with caution. Usually it's a trap. Keep it short and to the point. Remember the quicksand.
4. He loves "chasing rabbits". Don't follow him.

Needless to say, this severely limits our communication. At least online. But he lives almost 12 hours away, and Facebook and email are the easiest ways to keep in touch, especially with my schedule.

Somehow, though, when we talk on the phone, everything works itself out. Even more so than in person. Weird, huh? And this time, I had provoked him into wanting to know my point of view on our points of contention. So we talked. And talked and talked and talked. We talked about our different perceptions of things that had been said or done in the past. ("Christie sent you an email about..." "And I gave her a snarky answer because I thought it was you." "Yeah. Why did you do that?" "I didn't think you seriously wanted an answer. You were just looking for a reason to grind my face in the mud." "Ron, I'm always looking for an answer.") I explained that I care very little for debate, but do enjoy exchanging ideas, and that I feel his communication style makes me feel that my opinions aren't worth anything to him. He explained that it's not his intent to make me feel bad; he's just trying to pull out more information. All this took about four hours.
Anyway, as usual we've ironed things out for a while. And while we were talking, Scott got a new friend request, which he accepted.

Things I'll Never get Around To, Chapter 1

The subject of a T-shirt I want to make came up in a discussion a while back. For years I've had the idea to make a T-shirt reading "Amberfimbie and Crotch, " just to see if anyone notices. Gaby suggested that we should make two Ts, one with Amberfimbie, the other with Crotch.

I get dibs on the Amberfimbie.

Holidays

My brother, his wife(ish) and his daughter came to visit for the holidays. I had four days off work so that I could visit with them while they were here (unlike last year, when I had to work almost every night.) Because of his schedule, we actually celebrated Christmas on New Years Eve. This is normal for us. One year we had Chrismas ten days early, another it was in February.

Earlier that day, we all went out to eat at a local steakhouse. While we were hovering around the salad bar, I asked Christie to do something for me. When we got back to the table, she upset the vegetable equilibrium. Yes, that's right; she spilled the beans. She started asking questions about the wedding. So now my parents know...for sure. They might have guessed or suspected already. I'm not sure.

Anyway, now that it's out in the open, I guess I might expect one or the other to ask questions, maybe. Eventually. Or not. I can't tell.

Shang-Haied, Commandeered, Hijacked, and Seized!

I received a devastating blow last night. My brother, who pays for my website, said that when my subscription expired a few days ago, Japanese pirates selling Viagra or something swooped in and grabbed up my web address. Apparently, they do this in hopes that it's a high traffic site, and nothing can be done about it until they figure out that it is not, and their subscription ends next year. So PLEASE do not try to visit my website.

Pride and Groom Goeth Before a Fall

I've coined a new term: EXPECTOREE n. -a person who, by his actions and attitudes, invites the waiter to spit in his food.

I escorted the newlywed couple up to their room, one of the suites on a lower floor. Her dress was beautiful, as was she, and I gave her my usual compliment: "You look lovely. You should wear that all the time." They obliged me with a laughing agreement. I asked how long they would be staying with us, and they said they had to leave at 5:00am (it was already after midnight.) I've never understood the couples that got married one evening, then catch an early morning flight to Aruba, or wherever, going from one stressful day to another with no rest, and I made a comment to that effect. They responded with a yeah, we know. I gave a shortened tour of the room, introduced myself, and offered my availability for the night. The groom asked me if I could have room service send up some champagne, which I did.

Flash forward to 4:00am. Vizzini, our front desk clerk, calls the room for their wakeup call. No answer. So he waits a couple of minutes and calls again. No answer. On the third try, someone picks up and drops the reciever. Often, guests think we have an automated system, so it was reasonable to think that someone in the room was awake now.

At 5:00, Vizzini called the room to let them know their taxi was there. No answer. I suggested they might be on the way down. But after a few minutes, there was still no couple. Vizzini called the room again. No answer. Vizzini called our security officer and asked if she could go up to the room for a phisical wakeup call. When she heard what room it was, she told Vizzini that that was the room that called down for alcohol after the bar had closed, and then griped the room service waiter out for not selling it to him. She asked me to go with her.

On the way up, I told her that I had taken the couple up when they had arrived. She knocked, and then pounded on the door, saying "security" loud enough to be heard through the door. There was no response, so we discussed whether she should enter the room to see if they could be roused. She decided not, since this was the wedding night and doing so could be indiscreet. When we got downstairs, Vizzini tried once again by phone, and still got no answer.

Vizzini told the taxi driver that we weren't getting any response from the room. Taxi Driver said that that was alright because he was pre-paid, and he left. Vizzini continued calling periodically, but by the time he had clocked out and gone home, he still had gotten no answer.

When FOM got to work at about 7:30, he read Vizzini's email about the events of the night, and asked me what had happened with the wakeup calls, and asked why security hadn't gone ahead and entered the room. I explained our discussion. He wasn't sure he agreed with me, but he understood.

A little while later, FOM came to the bellstand and told the four bellman that that room needed luggage assistance. By that time, I had explained the situation to the morning guys, so they knew that the couple probably was upset. I volunteered because the couple already knew me.

Upstairs, the groom answered after the second knock. He was obviously angry, but he was polite to me. I loaded up the bellcart and asked him if he needed us to arrange for another cab. He said his transportation had been taken care of. I took the bellcart downstairs, stowed it, and went back up to see if they might need anymore help. I almost ran into him as he entered the elevator.

The tension in the elevator was thick, so I tried some light conversation (which was also an attempt to let him know that he had not been neglected by the hotel.) I said, "Boy, you guys can sleep through anything. We couldn't even wake you when we were banging on your door." He grunted some kind of acknowledgement, but it was obvious he didn't want to talk.

From the elevator, we walked to the front door and watched out the window for his ride. I asked what type of vehicle we were looking for, and he said that he wasn't sure. It could be any one of three, but he would recognize it when it came in. He leaned against a column for a bit, and then turned and left. I didn't see where he went, but thought he might have gone back upstairs to check on his bride.

FOM had been hanging around in the lobby hoping to find and speak to the young man, but, of course, he had no idea who he was looking for. He asked me if it was the guy that was just with me, and I said yes, but he's gone back upstairs.
"Isn't that him in the bar?"
"No, his wife is still upstairs, and...oh, yeah, it is."

FOM went over to the young man, introduced himself, and asked if he could sit down and talk to him about the situation. The young man said no. So FOM stood. He tried to let the young man know that although we had tried to wake him up many times, he was sorry the situation happened the way it did. FOM is a very conciliatory person. But the young man cut him off and, in rather obscene language, told him to go away. So he did.

But a moment later, The young man came after FOM in a way that made FOM think he was going to be punched in the face. (He told me later that he had to conciously remind himself to keep his hands behind his back.) The young man got right up in his face (with his really bad alcohol breath) and started yelling, "How does it feel to ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ for a living?!" After that, he went on an icredibly obscene rant in front of all the guests and employees in the lobby. FOM remained outwardly calm, and his only response was to point out to the young man that this was abuse, and the police would be called. FOM went to the front desk and told one of the morning clerks to call the police, which she did. Then he went to the office and started taking notes of all he could remember of the events of the last few minutes.

In the meantime, a car arrived with the parents of one or the other of them. In spite of what just happened, the guy is still my guest, so I was as helpful and cheerful as if nothing was going on. After I got all the luggage loaded, I went and stood at a respectful and attentive distance (that is, close enough to be ready if they need me, yet far enough away so I'm not up in thier business.) The parents went inside to get the bride, leaving the young man and me outside alone. He said, "You go ask that ▒▒▒▒▒ of a boss of yours what it feels like to ▒▒▒▒ a ▒▒▒▒. 'Cause if I ever see him again I'll beat the ▒▒▒▒ out of him. Now you go inside. I'm done with you. And you get no tip." (As if the tip was an issue.) I shrugged my shoulders and went inside.

FOM was just inside the door and asked me how it was. I replied, "Charming." I went over to the elevators so I could be ready to help when the bride came down. I could see the groom in the back seat of the car. He appeared to be crying.

FOM came out to the front desk to ask for the wake-up sheet (important evidence) and check to see when the police would be there. The front desk clerk called them again. I went into the office with him to try to find the wake-up sheet, which seemed to have gone missing, though we found it soon. While we were in the office, the front desk clerk asked what was going on. FOM explained the situation, and by consulting his notes, was able to tell her exactly and verbatim what the young man had said to him in the lobby. I added what the young man had said to me. FOM wrote it down.

I went back to the lobby in time to see the car pull away, taking with it the culpret and his bride. FOM came out and asked about the police again. The front desk clerk told him that she'd already called again and was told that they couldn't get a patrol car to answer. I informed them that the couple had already left, so FOM told her to call back and cancel. Then he went back to his office.

It was way past quittin' time for me, so I said goodbye to the guys out front, and went back to clock out. Before doing so, I went and sat down in FOM's office. He was scribbling notes on paper, and typing them into the computer. "Look at me," he said. "I'm so upset I'm shaking." He told me the story from his point of view ("He's gonna hit me! He's gonna hit me! Keep your hands behind you back! Oh, God, this is it! Keep you hands behind your back! Oh my... god his breath stinks!") and we compared notes. At one point I got up to go clock out, but he said he wanted me on the clock for this. I didn't get out till after 9:00.

Thing is, I really don't understand what his beef with FOM was. FOM wasn't even involved until late in the story. But one thing I can say, if I could give advice to his bride it would be this: When you go out to dinner, make sure the waiter knows which plate is yours.

Historicity

I just got back from a booksigning. A couple of local newspaper guys have written a book about the hotel I work at, and I had to be there to get my autographed copies: one for me, one for my mom for Christmas. It's fun working at a historic hotel. No one ever wrote a book about any of my other places of employment.