The sports news turns to football (soccer for my American friends) and transfers (players changing to different club teams.

I hear the presenter say something about the transfer of a donkey.

But he actually said (Growler tells me) something about the transfer of a goalie (as in a goalkeeper).

Hmmm. That would make more sense.

So this morning, as I charge my pod at my desk for this afternoons gym jaunt, I send him this message...

Should you decide to surprise me with an iPod instead of flowers, I have two requests...
1) please remember that it needs to come to the gym with me.  While the touch is wicked awesome cool, will it fit in my shorts?  Well, okay, I know it will fit in my shorts now, but what about when I'm disappearing-sideways-skinny.  Who are we kidding?  I'll never be that skinny.

2) said unit needs a harness.  Not unlike a banana hammock, but if it won't fit in my pants, it needs to clip on my pants (not my arm, that's way lame).  And if it won't fit in my pants, [insert inappropriate sexual commentary here].

Right, so, yeah, see how much easier it would be to just buy me some pretty flowers?

And the answer itself was the source and therefore only furthered any bickering.  Such a frustrating state of affairs!  For example:

She had noticed he was going to a certain place fairly often and not a place that he typically would have gone.  After several mentions of going there, she assumed (first mistake) that there must be a reason he  seemed to go there so often.  This practical deduction then led to an awareness of his behaior:  he would be going there only if there was something or someone he found interesting in that place.  She knew it wasn't something, she had been there herself, so the logical answer was that it most likely was someone.  This never bothered her in the slightest, aside from random curiosity.  Random, as in, a passing thought's question and not a question to ponder over and over, since the answer did not matter one little bit to her.

So after the 5th or 6th mention of this place she asked, "Why do you go there?  Is there someone you like that hangs out there or something?"

He responded frustratingly with something along the lines of, "No I don't (voice mimic here)'like someone that hangs out there'.  Why do you always make it about that?"

And she realized that he truly had no clue that the answer didn't bother her either way or else why would this be a source of his frustrated answer?  Additionally, she knew that she really did not bring this up at all, much less "always".  And this frustrated her, which would lead to her trying to explain that it was just a random question of curiosity and she had nothing tied up in the answer; no interest in what it was or wasn't.  It was just that after his mentioning it more than a few times, she finally just asked the question that came to mind.  Period.  No ulterior motives in asking, no investment in the truth of the answer. 

In fact, on this particular topic the interesting thing was that if she did have a care in either direction as to the answer, her "care" would only be the hope that he did like somebody and was going there to see that person.  Not that that was a particularly huge source of thought or concern in her mind either.  It wasn't.  However, that particular answer might possibly solve a lot of lingering issues she had been trying to get resolved for some time now.  So, the deep truth of the matter was in a small way, she supposed the answer did matter to her.  Frustrating to her was it was not in the slightest for the reason he would assume it mattered, but actually its very opposite. 

Therefore, the reason this was a frustrating question for him was all for naught.  And that just seemed so silly and unfortunate to her that he would have to try to make it into something it wasn't, get frustrated, accuse her of feeling a way she truly did not about the issue, and then naturally insist he was right.  And it was a strange thing that when this particular question had come to mind in the past, she had intentionally chosen not to ask him because the result was so predictable and sure to be ridiculous.  The whole thing became  just an obnoxious lesson of futile frustration, as it came back again to the fact of the matter being that she didn't care one way or another, it was merely an issue of satisfying her curiosity.... and the entire process that would follow would just be an absurd waste of energy and predictably an unavoidable (at the moment of its existence) miscommunication.  It truly was absurd and as usual, after finally giving into her curiosity and asking, it became an instant source of regret.  Why had she fooled herself into thinking it might just even possibly go any other way, when she knew it would not?

And this was particularly frustrating to her on this day because the sole reason she had gone to him was because she felt so misunderstood by so many and she wanted to reach out to the one person who, of all people, should know her (for all intents and purposes) and have some basic sense of understanding her as a human being.  She needed that reassurance today.    She felt extremely disconnected from the whole and that was making her feel extra scared and lonely.

So then there was this little communique to help further along and reinforce her fear that she really was misunderstood by just about everyone who knew her.  Misunderstood.  Gosh, she cringed a little to even think that word in her mind, because it was such a cliche and cheesy concept.  However much of a nerd she might be at times, she was not cliche.  Yet, being misunderstood seeemed to have become the bain of her existence.

How was it possible that she was as authentic and genuine as society could accept and still be so very (and perpetually) musunderstood?  It felt a little like a cruel joke sometimes.  A joke because it was funny(haha) in its very contradiction and cruel because she insisted on being so real precisely in order to attempt to avoid misunderstandings with others.  Lately she had been working to accept this was just a fact of life for her.  People were not going to "get it" and they were still going to think and insist that they did  "get it" no matter how inaccurate they were.  She had come to acceptance that what people thought really no longer meant much, as people were so often wrong anyway, the very issue negated itself.  And yet, still she struggled to accept so many accusations and labels that were a direct contradiction to any truth about her.

How could it be that the very essence of her being was a complete mass contradiction to the opinions held by others?  How was it possible that the more real she became, the more direct, the more purely honest, the more carefully she tried to be that her actions actually demonstrated her person... the more she was misunderstood.  That was not a 2+2=4 equation.  It made no sense and was so difficult to accept.  It seemed impossible to reconcile this within her mind, as impossible as trying to convinvce herself that water was not wet.  And yet if she wanted to lose a huge source of frustration in her life, she desperately needed to accept this state of contradictive being as what just is.  Something that she was never going to have any control over or have any ability to influence either way and for her own preservation, she would just have to accept it and let it go.

I wrote my first post about Steve and Barry’s last week.  It was a 2343 word long grievance summary.  It discussed all the things I thought were wrong with the company (its lack employee recognition, its long hours, and its terrible location), but that’s not how I wanted to write about the company.  I set it live for a grand total of 24 hours (on and off) and the readership spiked.  Some of the readers were from the S&B (if it’s corporate or store, I do not know).  So, I guess this is take two.

This was the name of the company when I joined in the fall of 2006.  It was a long name with a huge blue and yellow logo.  The first day was nightmarish.  The first month was more of the same.  I got wrecked at the Holiday Party and made a fool of myself.  I managed to get myself sent to Columbus, OH where I learned the hard work of manually loading trucks.  I began work with our India office and was sent to train them.  I wrote manuals and did communications work.  I had more responsibility than any 22 year old should have.  By my 23^rd birthday, I came to the realization that I might not advance anymore and that the field I was in was not for me.  By the time I left, the logo was sleek and stylish - they no longer specialized in t-shirts and had expanded into the world of true fashion.

For the experiences, I am actually grateful.  My resume looks much nicer now than it did before I started.  I wrote this note to my co-workers before I left (I edited it slightly – there were some embarrassing typos).

Hey guys,

I just wanted to let everyone know that I am leaving Steve and Barry's on Friday, August 17, 2007.  I'm starting work with a nonprofit organization. Sadly, this new place is business casual so no shorts or flip flops.  Meaning, I'm going to have to go on a shopping spree before I'm no longer a S&B employee.   But all joking aside, this has been the most unique work environments I have ever joined.  The energy and talent here are tremendous, and with the right guidance, this company can change the world of retail...

...it has been a great pleasure working with all of you.  I should make it to a couple of more happy hours - can't let them forget my favorite beer - so it won't be good bye. It will be "See you at Lennon's."

JJRC

I like the foreshadowing present.  I wrote that line about proper management to be subtle in my display of discontent with our corporate hierarchy.  It seems like it has validated itself.  The decline of Steve and Barry’s has been something I believed would happen from the when I saw the rapid store expansions, the continuous miscommunications, and the adversarial nature of the New York Office’s (NYO) relationship with stores and the India Office.  There was no cohesion across the entire company. 

As a new hire and recent graduate, I didn’t know what to expect from working.  The first lesson was to be tough.  I was told be harsher with our department’s partners, with the stores and with our India counterparts.  We were corporate and we knew better.  This was the message pounded into my brain, and by the end, I began to agree with that thought.  On my last day, I yelled at a Regional Manager for disrespecting one of our new co-workers.  Though I believe that it was justly deserved, that man could have easily been twice my age.  He was the Regional Manager in California, and he got punked by a 23 year old “professional.”

I read the blogs, and I hear things about the idiots at the NYO.  Those “Ivy League babies” at the NYO.  I read about the “rich who have mommy and daddy pay for their schooling.”  It is an unfair portrait painted of the corporate staff.  Yes, the recruiting department (under the guidance of Steve Shore) recruited aggressively from Ivy League schools.  Shore himself attended Tulane which made me think his obsession with the Ivy League was odd.   Many people at the company were not elitist – we were trying to do our jobs right.  We had superiors who had superiors who had superiors who answered to Steve, Barry, Gary and a slew of older men and women.  I believe most of us followed orders and achieved successes in our posts as it was designed.  We didn’t break out of our molds.  We fit into them nicely – because we had to succeed in this “corporate” world.

It has gotten the company nowhere.  A few men and women set out to guide a company to success, and they have failed.  The corporate staff made of alums from the best universities has failed.  Store managers and directors and other members of the field staff have failed – at no fault of their own.  They were misdirected – they were mislead – they were deceived. 

The fault does not fall on the NYO or the stores.  It does not fall on the lack of money and the economy. It falls on the lack of experience and the relentless demand to conform to the “new” model.  It was a system of patching up a sinking boat. Why reinvent the wheel?  Why devise a completely new system when retail stores that have been successful in the past and have been profitable.  Even smaller chains like Pamida in the mid-west have been successful.  There are the Conway stores in Herald Square that have been success for as long as I can remember.  The clothing is even comparable to S&B in price – and at times cheaper.  They established a loyal base and have maintained their standing as a retailer that will deliver to their customers at their 3 or 4 locations around Manhattan.  I don’t know if Steve and Barry’s ever had that to a great extent.

The lack of experience is the downfall of this company, and the lack of communication is the creation of the backlashes I see on the blogs.  The discontent at the store level is not surprising.  With the NYO and India forcing them to conform – I would also be bitter and angry – especially if I heard nothing from corporate staff regarding the bankruptcy proceeding for more than two weeks.  It's not the staff's fault - because they know as little as the stores.  It's the lack of communication between the directors and everyone else.

Steve and Barry’s was not profitable in 2007 when the economy was better – now in 2008 they are forced to downsize more than they did in December of 2007 – two weeks before Christmas.  There was no holiday party this past year – nor did staff receive a 5 lb. bar of chocolate from Hershey’s.

I wish all my former co-workers still at S&B the best.  I met some of the best people I know at the NYO, in India, and on the field level – I had good relationships with some of the stores – poorer relationships with others. I wish all the store managers the best – and I am sorry if you read this, and it was me that caused you grief on any occasion.  I didn’t know what I was doing – I lacked experienced, and I apparently I lacked the idea of “the human other.”

JJRC

According to Bakhtin, "Language is not a medium that passes freely and easily into the private property of the speaker's intentions; it is populated--overpopulated--with the intentions of others." The speaker's intentions. Can the speaker know her intentions? Joan Didion on writing: "Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write." Nothing makes me feel more stupid, more inept than language. Few things frighten me more than the slip of tongue that causes me to misuse a word. Most commonly used computer application on my computer: dictionary/thesaurus. Most commonly used? Isn't there a word for that? 

A note to the reader: The length of this post is inhibited by my lack of language and so I leave you with this wondermous masterpiece that will certainly leave you speechless.

To wit:

Step 1- Analyze what went wrong

Now the important thing to do before you try to get your girlfriend back is to take some time and think about what went wrong. For instance you should ask yourself:

• Is there another guy?
• Does she no longer like you in a romantic way?
• Has there been a dramatic change in her life?
• Are you doing certain things which drive her crazy?

The reason why you ask these questions is to determine if things are fixable between you and your ex-girlfriend. If she's with another guy or was harsh about the break-up, then you probably have LITTLE chance of getting her back.

So before you implement this system, you should first find out if you have a chance of succeeding.

OK, chances are you're doing shit that drives her crazy, crazy, CRAZY and she's told you but you keep doing it. It's good to think about what went wrong, surely. But you still have a chance even if she's with another guy. She may be with him just to make you jealous. Which is retarded, but it happens. (See Step 3.) Also, let me tell you this - the "harsher," more upset and hysterical she is during the break-up, the HIGHER your chance of getting her back. It's when she's all, "Oh, whatever, get lost, I don't care" that you need to give up. Indifference is love's worst enemy. I'd rather have a guy screaming in my face calling me a bitch than be all nonchalant about the break up.  

 Step 2- Change yourself

Once you've analyzed what went wrong, you need to make changes to your life. The main reason guys get dumped is due to a lack of attraction. (WRONG) So if you want to get her back, you must make subtle changes to yourself which demonstrates attractive qualities.

Now the reason women want to date other guys is these men provide excitement in their lives. Without even knowing it, you probably developed a pattern of wussiness with your ex-girlfriend.

In order to become an attractive to your ex-girlfriend, you need to develop attractive personalities. This includes manly characteristics like confidence, initiative, an interesting personality and determination. If you're able to show these core character traits, then you'll have the attractive personality which ALL women want.

What? I'm all for change, especially if you're lacking in these qualities, but you can't do this overnight. What turns women off is when you fart in bed, never take her to dinner any more and get lazy with your affection. If you're a true wuss, chances are you're not dating anyone. But hey I'm just one girl talking here. I do believe people can change, and these so-called "manly" characteristics are attractive in everyone, not just men.   

 Step 3- Start dating other women

It might seem counterintuitive, but dating other women is a great way to get a girlfriend back. Now it's hard to explain, but women have a crazy logic. They are highly attracted to guys who are "preselected" by other women. By dating other women, you'll be able to trigger her jealous reactions.

WRONG WRONG WRONG! WTF? "It might sound counterintuitive" BECAUSE IT IS. NOT A GREAT WAY. TERRIBLE WAY. If your ex girl sees you with another girl, she's going to 1) feel like you stabbed her in the chest repeatedly 2) think of ways of burning down your house without getting caught 3) imagine tearing the girl apart with her bare hands, limb by limb, and peeling her skin off with a cheese grater, dousing vinegar and battery acid on the wounds and using smelling salts when she passes out from pain so she'll stay awake, among other things, and most importantly 4) NEVER WANT TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN. Because she'll keep picturing you with her over and over again in various exotic sexual positions, and it will drive her absolutely farking insane. To the point where she hates the very air that you breathe.

On the off chance this very dangerous game works in your favor, all you're doing is playing to her (possibly quite violent... nothing to see here... *whistles*) jealous streak, so when you get back together it will last two weeks tops because you still have all the problems you had before ("you" meaning both of you). Then she'll dump you again.

 Step 4- Become friends with her

Now that you've made changes to yourself and started to date other women, you should contact your ex-girlfriend. When you talk to her, try hard to get her hang out with "as friends". This means grabbing coffee, catching a bit to eat or playing a quick game of pool.

Once you're on this date, just act completely casual. In other words, don't try to convince her to get back with you. Instead just show confidence and amp up your role as a friend. Then every so often make an allusion to one of the women you're dating. Don't be overt about it, but non-chalantly mention that you're actively dating other women. [sic]

God here we go again with the parading other women in front of your ex. Unless you want a pool cue shoved up your ass and a crying ex girlfriend hauled off to jail, DO NOT MENTION other women you're sleeping with to her. This is just flat-out cruel. And, chances are at this point she's totally moved on with her life and any contact you initiate "for coffee" is going to come off as pathetic and sad.

 Step 5- Proceed with normal attraction techniques

Since you're now talking to your ex-girlfriend, you have an opportunity to demonstrate positive qualities. Instead of trying to rekindle things with her, I recommend that you show exactly how much fun you can provide her.

So it's important that you treat her like you would with other girls. This means that you follow the basic attraction and seduction techniques which I recommend.

For instance, you should be cocky/funny, show confidence and act like you don't care about the outcome of your interactions. (i.e. don't act like a desperate slob) If you do your job correctly, she'll start to realize that she's missing out on a golden opportunity. Once this happens, she'll start to pursue you!

 "Treat her like other girls." How else would you treat her? See you should have been doing this all along. This is where you guys fuck up. Not saying it's all the guys' fault here, but if you quit making the effort to be funny/cocky once you've gotten your girl, she's not going to like you much longer.  Fun is always good, whether you've been together five minutes or five years. People you have fun with are people you want to be around. That doesn't change.

 "Being able to get a girlfriend back is hard for many guys to accomplish. But if you're smart enough follow these 5 simple steps, you'll dramatically increase your chances of getting her back into your life."

 I wonder what this guy's dating record is like. I mean, I'm curious.

Reference:

Schramm, W. L. (1954). The process and effects of mass communication. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press.

I heard ...

Umpire: Steady on

I thought that was an odd thing to say. 1, 2, 3 seconds to process and I realised he said ...

Umpire: Thirty - love

“Chair” is a relatively benign example.  What about “hierarchy?”  Or “supervision?”  Or what about the mission statement or vision statement of your workplace?  When problems occur in the encoding/decoding processes, for example, when the concepts that I decode are not the same as the concepts you encoded, miscommunications occur.  I think one of the most common sources of miscommunication is when I think a word means one thing and you think it means something else.  Neither is “correct”—the meaning is in the people not the words, but we act as if the meaning is in the words.

Umpire: Fifteen - Pudding

I think it he actually said "Fifteen - Forty".

Beginilah jadinya....

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

A co-worker got a pen stuck inside our printer. He started to try and remove the pen, but I told him we don't have time for that now, just put a note on the printer telling folks not to use it and then report it to the Help Desk. So he grabbed a piece of paper and scrawled on it. I left before he finished the note.
About 20 minutes later, one of my techs comes in laughing and says he was just in the lobby, saw a piece of paper on a printer and went to investigate.
Attached is what he found. Sometimes things don't always come out the way you want them to........

He also discusses a critique of Deborah Tannen's work (which we read and discussed before) by Deborah Cameron, who points out

that much of the literature on miscommunication between men and women lets men off the hook for their inability to understand women’s speech, even though the actual linguistic evidence implies that men use the same linguistic strategies (such as indirect requests) when it is convenient to do so. The point being that such miscommunication is treated as a cultural problem when it is really a problem of unequal power relations. The same woman who fetches her husband’s ketchup when he asks “Is there any ketchup?” will treat a similar question from her daughter as a factual query, replying: “Yes, dear, its in the cupboard.” Cameron argues that treating such communication problems as a matter of intercultural miscommunication (as Deborah Tannen does), obscures the real problems.

This adds an interesting and needed angle to intercultural communication studies that I hope I can discuss in class whenever I teach ICC again.

The REAL problem came when the PowerPoint slides were passed on down to the lower level staff for implementation. There were no backup documentations. No detailed analysis. Nada. These lower level people never attended the executive meeting and never heard the presentation. All they had was a bunch of bullet points and that's where everything started to go wrong: misunderstanding, misinterpretation, miscommunication, hallucination....etc.

Millions of dollars of mistakes have been made because of this problem.

We get up around 6:15am and head north to Presque Isle. We make a quick stop at the drive-through of McDonalds for some coffee, because anyone that knows me knows that I’m not good for much before my morning brew. We get to the parking area on the beach and my son suits up in his wet suit since the lake water is still quite cold. My son forgot his contact lenses and hands me his glasses to hold while he swims. We saunter onto the sand and he heads for the water and I head for the lifeguard chair. The weather is absolutely beautiful. Sun is up and there is a cool lake breeze. Birds are everywhere engaged in all sorts of chatter this June morning. I saw cardinals, yellow finches and I think some kind of tanager with a bright orange body and brown wings. The beach is empty except for a park employee who is using a piece of equipment that cleans and smoothes the sand. So, everything is good!

Off he goes into the lake. He’s moving with the tide and as I sip my coffee, I watch him very gradually get smaller and smaller as he swims parallel to the beach inside the breakers. As he gets smaller, all you can see are his arm motions. Then a time comes when you can’t make out his arms from the motion of the waves.

And that’s when it hits me, WHAT THE HELL, I CAN’T SEE HIM ANYMORE!! I thought he would swim out and when he got to a point that he had trouble seeing me, he would just head back in my direction. So, I begin the process of what George Herbert Mead refers to as minded deliberations trying to determine what my next course of action should be. Five minutes go by and then it is 10 and I’m fighting off what starts out as annoying anxiety. But by about 20 minutes, the anxiety is beginning to mount. I begin racking my brain wondering if I had misunderstood my instructions. I silently pray asking God to protect my son. At 25 minutes, I’m starting to have those crazy thoughts everyone gets when they imagine seeing the car they are driving along side the road, crashed with lots of mangled bodies hanging out. You see yourself, your spouse and your children all laying their dead. The function of the crazy thought is that it encourages cautiousness and you slow down to a more reasonable speed. I’m seeing Tom with some gash on his head kind of like the movie “Deliverance” with his arm twisted up around his back drowned in some crazy position. At 30 minutes, I realize that maybe I should get out of the lifeguard chair and speed walk in the direction he swam, hoping he was on his way back and we would connect that way.

As I’m walking, the broader implications of the situation are beginning to dawn on me. I’m going to have to do something more if I don’t come across him soon. I put that thought out of my head and climb up into the lifeguard chairs that are positioned equidistant intervals along the beach. I get up as high as I can, but I still can't see him. I continue. As I’m problem solving this situation, I wonder if maybe Tom got out of the water and went to the path to get back to the car. He’s planning on a 20 mile bike ride following his swim. “That’s it!” I thought. So, I move off the beach and onto the path that goes back to where the parking area is. When I get to the car, his bike is still there and no son. My heart sank. I’m fighting off thoughts of planning his funeral as the crazy thoughts intensify.

I know now I have to call his mother, my wife. It takes me back to when I was watching the boys and my wife had gone out to shop or exercise and I had “daddy duty.” In one instance, the boys are rough housing and one falls into the fireplace mantle. Blood starts squirting and I did what any rational, sane father. I panicked and called my wife. I thought I was done having to put the proverbial tail between my legs when the kids got hurt and I was in charge. In this case the child is almost 25 years old. I can hear my wife now. I’m dead meat!

Well, I played with the cell phone for a minute or so and then looked at my watch. It had been 40 minutes since I last saw my son. I called. It was still early. There’s no answer when I call. The answering machine begins and when I hear the beep, I leave this message. “Cindy. It’s me. Can you pick up the phone? I really need you to pick up the phone.” I hang up, pause and dial again. This time she picks up immediately.

“Cindy, I can’t find Tommy.”

She responds, “What? What do you mean you can’t find Tommy? You’re supposed to be walking right along side him as he swims!”

“I didn’t know that. I sat on the lifeguard chair and watched him swim from there. I figured he’d keep track of me and turn around.”

She interrupts, “Buzz, last night Tommy explained what he needed. Why do you think he asked me if I’d like to take a walk along the beach?”

Now I’m thinking, I would interpret that walk along the beach thing very differently. My idea of a walk along the beach is to walk out onto the beach and sit. You sit on a blanket, you sit at a picnic table and in this instance you sit on the tall lifeguard chair.

Cindy continues, “You’ve got to call the Coast Guard right now! What beach are you on?”

I respond, “Beach, beach, I’m on the beach.”

Cindy fires back in that “momma bear” tone, “Are you telling me you don’t even know what beach you’re on?”

I realize the beaches are numbered and she is trying to get me to get the right information for the Coast Guard. I continue, “Ok…ok… I’ll run out to the parking area and get the beach number and call the Coast Guard. Then I’ll call back after I’ve talked with them.” I run as fast as I can to the sign and it says Beach 6. I dial 911 for the first time in my life.

And the female operator asks, “What’s your situation?”

I ask, “Can you patch me through to the Coast Guard?”

The operator asks me again, “What’s your situation?” implying she isn’t going to do anything unless she knows specifically what is going on.

I communicate, “My son is training for a triathlon and I haven’t seen him in 40 minutes. He’s swimming in the lake.”

Operator communicates, “I’ll call the Coast Guard.”

A male voice asks me the same thing as the 911 operator, “What’s the situation?”

I repeat the same thing, “My son is training for a triathlon and I haven’t seen him in 40 minutes. He’s swimming in the lake.”

The serviceman from the Coast Guard repeats in small phrases the same thing I am saying to him and it is obvious he is on the radio to whoever they are going to send in for a search and rescue.

The Coast Guard dispatcher asks me, “what does your son looks like?”

I calmly report, “He’s a big guy, about 6’3”. He’s wearing a black wet suit. You can’t miss him.” As soon as I made the last statement, I realize how stupid it sounds. I missed him. And I ask myself, How could I miss him, you big dummy?

The dispatcher asks me for my name and I tell him, “My name is Tom Matta.” He pauses and I can hear him talking in a muffled tone to the people that he will send out. “Do you have everything ready to roll there? On my signal you’ll proceed to Beach 6.”

Now this phone conversation is taking place all the while I am walking back to the beach from the Beach 6 sign on the far end of the parking lot. So, I am now facing the direction that I’m expecting the Coast Guard boats to come.

As I hear him continue to bark out orders, my attention shifts from my looking at my feet as I walk in the sand to a person I see way off in the distance. The person is walking toward me and I can see that the upper portion of a wet suit is hanging down in front. And at that moment, the person begins to use both arms to wave at me to get my attention. It’s my son! Tommy! I yell into the phone, “I found him. It’s him. He’s waving to me.”

The Coast Guard dispatcher, asks “ is he still in the water or is he waving from the beach?”

I answer back, “He’s on the beach. He’s on the beach! Thank you. Thank you. Thank you so-o much!”

“That’s all right, Tom. That’s what we’re here for.”

I hang up the phone and make a beeline to my son. I call my wife in the meantime to share the good news. I start to tear up and then catch myself. We meet and stop looking at each other quizzically.

I begin, “You almost got picked up by the Coast Guard.”

We both recognized some serious miscommunication took place and each of us took responsibility for the part we each played in this fiasco. When we got back to the house, I found myself asking both sons, “are you hungry for some breakfast? How about some good coffee? Another cup? I just wanted to wait on them and serve them.

I honestly cannot remember the last time I was that frightened. I also felt “dumb as a box of rocks.” I think of myself as a good parent, but watch out for the lapses!

Hats off to the 911 operator and the Coast Guard dispatcher! Thanks again.

Here's where it gets murky.

Anyone who's on the 'net regularly, has experienced the scenario of misreading, misinterpreting, misconstruing and a whole bunch of other "misses" from e-mail and on forums, bulletin boards and blogs. It can be hard to read tone of voice, and sometimes the wrong tone of voice is conveyed. In most cases, people can clear up any misses with a simple question rather than with a rapid-fire counter attack.

And then, there are people who just like to stir the pot.

Pot-stirrers appear to be perfect, and steadfast in their ways and opinions. (At least, that's been my experience with pot-stirrers.) Recently at colleague's blog, there was much pot-stirring. (In an effort to not add fuel to the fire, I'm not creating a link, but anyone who knows where I frequent and who has been there as well this weekend, knows what I'm talking about.) Curious about who Ms. Perfect Pot-Stirrer was, I clicked on her name, which of course, took me to her Web site. Ironically, for all the talk about quality and compensation for writers/bloggers, I was kind of baffled by Ms. Perfect Pot-Stirrer's credibility. Let's just say, that I found many grammatical and spelling errors on the site, and leave it at that. I hope that in the work she presents to editors and prospective employers in need of writers, that her submissions and queries are more polished. If not, just who is hiring her? (Which is my question, as an editor. As an editor too, after all of the negativity that she spewed forth, it might make me wonder whether this is a person that I'd really want to work with were the opportunity to arise.)

There's nothing wrong with sharing one's opinion, but we must all (especially writers) be very careful about how we present ourselves when floating around the blogosphere. You never know if that agent or publisher you're "dying to land" or the editor of "your dream publication" is also out there, participating, listening, watching and "reading deeply into" (as one editor at Bitch magazine recently put it) your posts and comments.

I am by no means paranoid, just in case anyone was wondering. But the more I blog, the more I find that for writers, blogging can have the "MySpace Effect." I know that I wouldn't want a prospective employer to see random picts on MySpace (No. None exist.) By the same token, I wouldn't want my writing (that is neither submission nor query) to have the same potential ill-effect. (And if you don't believe me about the "MySpace Effect," as I've called it, listen to my May 28 interview with Michael Fertik on the Cyber Savvy Show at PIVTR, where he spells it out pretty clearly.)

'Tis food for thought, no?

Copyright © 2008, Erika-Marie S. Geiss

It seems communication problems happen all over the place. This video is a prime example of one kind of communication problem...

This next video, is an example of an altogether different kind of communication problem.

Now this video is about a communication problem complicated by another kind of problem...

And this video shows that sometimes, you can communicate something without ever saying a word...

 
Here's the way it is Kevin.

I know you told Sylvie not to tell, but I'm pretty sure that you miscommunicated.

To make sure there's no miscommunication about how many of us do feel, let me just take this moment to make it perfectly clear in a language I'm pretty sure you'll understand!

(And please Sylvie, I still want you to vote for me next week, so just blame it on Paul. That should work!)

Sincerely,

Fracas

If you are still reading this, I sincerely salute you. Let me buy you a drink sometime. For you must be a very patient wo/man to linger on even after I have stopped writing since a few years back. Forgive my temerity for mentioning my absence so many times not unlike a filler episode. It must have bored you. I know I was. Truly, I had no reasonable excuse except that my attention was caught up elsewhere, the trifles of which I shall fill you in with later on.

That, and also the reason why I stopped writing was because I found it increasingly difficult to write. Continually, I question myself. What is Guerrilla Moon's raison d'être? Is it a vocalization of my innermost thoughts? Or is it an avenue for me to practise my rusting penmanship? How about an avenue to express, not my innermost thoughts, but my views about the world around me. Instead of a inward focus, why not outwards? Questions like these continually plague me. Who am I writing for? Definitely not myself for my act of writing presupposes a reader. Subsequently, who is my implied (and therefore, perfect) reader? Who is the actual reader?

Who are you, dear reader? I do not know.

Perhaps now you know the reason why I stopped writing. Even as I mentioned earlier that I would resume writing, the very act of inscription stutters and splutters as I scribe.

It is not the inkwell that runs dry but rather, my thoughts run to a close. Unemployed, the cerebral organ residing behind my eyes shuts down.

Even as the words leave my pen, I cannot help but shiver. Who are you, reader? You who read what I am writing, are you sure you understand what I am saying? That's one of the reasons for verbosity, you know? Verbosity somewhat presupposes miscommunication. Of course, this does not apply to your everyday neighbour who repeats the same stories to you over and over again. And again. And again.

In Boston Legal, the main character Alan Shore (James Spader) is known for his long, passionate closing arguments. It is not because he is long-winded or narcissistic that his closings are long. It is because it is absolutely clear that no one in court understands him. As a left-wing liberal, his actions to bring suits against the country has left him labelled as unpatriotic or traitorous. He has few friends. To him, it is more important than ever to get his point across to those right-wing hawks, people who don't understand him. Short closings just do not cut it.

Unfortunately for Alan, language is all miscommunication. And miscommunication may most probably be the reason for my unemployment. No doubt it is not that I lack the required skills, that I am unprepared for the interview, that the interview occurred before an important, life-changing event (such as my final paper) that failed to get me the job but it is language as miscommunication that tripped me. Language, my best friend. I have worked with you for so many years and yet you do that to me!

Towards the end, my interviewer asked me, "Do you blog?" It was inevitable given that I was applying for a writer's position. Nevertheless, one cannot help but cringe at the word, "blog."

"Blogging" is such a discriminatory word. When you say blog, tH|s |s tH3 fiRst th|ng tH@t comes to my mind. I apologise for my poor example. The second thing would be people who actually write down every single event that happened on that day. I am not against that per se but really, do I want to read about that? Prose that proposes individuality amidst generality is an 18th century artform. Daniel Defoe did it in Robinson Crusoe and Samuel Richardson did it in Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded.

On hindsight, perhaps I should have replied, "No sir. Technically speaking, I do not blog. I write. I write in an attempt to explore different avenues of style and content, in an attempt to impress my existence upon the cosmos while not falling under the category of the epistolary form, in an attempt to criticise society which I see as a mode of patriotism. Critique does not necessarily equate to unpatriotic or a "leaver" in local parlance. And as such, if you attempt to label what I do as "blogging," I consider it defamation and will sue the ass out of you." Or something like that.

Unfortunately, in that split second I devolved into the maraschino cherry that you get with cocktails (those pretty little things). You could almost imagine a maraschino cherry replying, "Yes sir" and thereafter proceeds to give him its weblog address.

Woe be me! Now my potential employer knows the deepest darkest depths and thereafter, I shall never be hired as a writer by that company or any other for that matter! Despair! It is certain that certain thoughts ran in his mind when he entered this tomes.

"What an angsty person! Definitely not someone who should be a writer for a trade publication! And look at that verbosity! How many pages would we have to give him to accomodate just one of his articles? Even a full page spread wouldn't be enough! Even so, we probably have to take out all the images just to make more room." Or something like that.

Words, words, words. They can be so dreadful. They look like one thing but they may mean another. Does A really look the same to you? That "A" which was in the beginning of this sentence and the few "A" which appeared after it? Mee siam mai ham. It's all miscommunication, I assure you.

Author's Note: To be continued...this is simply too long for consumption. 964 words!