4/30/2007

Mistlav Rostropovich

A pillar of the classical music scene, this talented and legendary cellist died last week. I was saddened to hear of his death, but also distinctly inspired by his fierce dedication to defending artistic freedom – a concept that I have often taken for granted. This is a man who was exiled from his country, where the expression of art and music was tightly controlled by the Soviet rule, because he dared to stand up for principles about which I’ve never had to worry.

I’ve been known to say a few disparaging remarks about the elitism and single-mindedness that exists in the classical music scene, but I also recognize that I chose to be a part of it and having that choice was a blessing. As a teenager, I found my voice and my dreams in the artistic community – one that encourages individualism and uninhibited expression. I learned the courage to form and trust my own ideas, I learned how to find joy in hard work and competition and I learned the heartache of rejection in an environment that felt familiar and right to me at the time.

And when I discovered that my personality and desires were no longer in synch with the opportunities available to me in that particular scene, I had the freedom to leave. True, one reason I left was because I felt stifled – but I felt stifled by the culture of the industry and the attitudes and expectations held by many (not all) of the people in that culture. Not because I didn’t have the freedom to pursue my aspirations where I wanted and how I wanted. Not because I couldn’t explore the works and subject matter I wanted without restriction. Not because I or any of my peers was creatively confined in anyway. I chose to leave for the exact same reasons that I chose to be in it: for my own edification and a desire to be true to myself.

In the words of Mistlav Rostropovich himself from a speech given on May 26, 1992:

But what is freedom? A lot of people have asked this and often with the intention of destroying it. I shall tell you what it is, it is something that the birds possess. A bird may land on whatever branch of whatever tree without permission or passport. No-one will tell it that that tree is not his and that he can only sing in another tree. Liberty consists of each person finding his own place among the people and doing good.

4/23/2007

Beautiful Gift

I am lucky. Last year, during my darkest moments (read about it here), a wonderful gift serendipitously fell into my lap.*

“Gift” is really the only word to accurately describe my experience working at Event Management Company X. **

I am grateful for the opportunity I had to explore event management, something I’d wanted to do for several years. I am grateful that I was able to work my much blogged about Bermuda event (here and here.) But most of all, I am grateful for the people. They took a chance on a girl with no previous experience, they hired me even though I planned to go to graduate school soon and they accepted me with open arms into their professional family. They were patient and generous with their knowledge. Even more notably, they were fun to work with and TOTALLY appreciative of my clothing choices.

I would like to thank them all. Them being:


The Glamorously Tall One – She who is not only the owner and founder of the company but is also on my Top 10 Women List because her courageous vision, optimistic energy and uncompromising principles have inspired me from the moment we met. Although she might never publicly admit it, I believe that it is the courage of her convictions that sustains the strength of the staff and drives the success of the company. She also has a special talent for making and keeping friends, is a champion hula-hooper and throws one hell of a fun holiday party. To work for someone like this, I maintain, is not an ordinary thing.
The Token Maleness – God bless his long- suffering. Somehow, he gets through each day amidst a handful of women who shamelessly primp, gossip and generally act like girly girls. And yet he has never thrown up nor has he ever made up for it by belching, spitting or engaging in other “gross man” behavior. And he can manipulate a database with his eyes closed, sort spreadsheet data 10 different ways in less time than it takes most of us to open the spreadsheet, and sweet talk the crankiest client/vendor into a thankful toady. During his off hours, he makes a mean cocktail, drives a kick ass car and defies the social structure of the small town he calls home. (He also proposes to anyone who brings him Starbucks in the morning.)
She of the Cool Hats - The one who has kept me laughing since the day she bestowed upon me the beloved sobriquet, “Stupid New Girl” - the master of imitations, voices, funny faces, hyperbolic stories, and “squirreling.” She knew the answer to every one of my rookie questions, refused to be intimidated and could lash the most remiss of vendors into action. But as equally as she is no-nonsense, she is also compassionate. She has a heart of gold and is an exceptional family member and friend – even to me despite my need for privacy regarding certain subjects. Truly, a GOLDEN star.
The Girl with the Platinum Locks (the one shade of blond which I covet, yet could never get away with) – She makes handling hundreds of tradeshows look like nothing – always unruffled despite multiple deadlines and looooong conference calls with her “favorite” people. The QUEEN of brilliant email discussions like this and always in on the latest celebrity gossip, she had an impeccable sense of when we needed a little levity whether it be an email, a snack break or a FLYING MONKEY.) She once drove 25 minutes in the opposite direction of her home just to take me home when I twisted my ankle at work and couldn't drive. And how can I not love someone who loves the shopping as much as I do?
Supergirl – Seriously. It isn’t without reason that everyone has learned to trust what she knows and what she says…from hooking up a scanner to picking out classy gifts to finding (on-line) the name of the cute doctor at the hospital. She threw me countless lifelines from day one including an orientation of the office building (like how to find the third elevator in the small, hidden dark corner of the lobby that you must find in order to get to the mailboxes and deli), the explanation of industry buzzwords, standing next to me to help me fax 50 pages through the fax machine that hates me (I’m not kidding – the machine knows me and actually despises me), and most unforgettably, pushing me in a rolling desk chair down the hall and to the restroom when I twisted my ankle. She’s exceptional at her work and exceptional at her life outside of work. And that girl can DANCE. To quote a client, she is “clearly a legend.”
She Who Left Big Shoes to Fill – Fortunately, she stayed for a while to hold my hand before she moved on. She was there when I had my first-event breakdown and when I answered my first official phone call. She listened to me talk all day and shed consistently intelligent and extraordinary insight. Best of all, she gave me much needed daily shots of confidence during the grad school application stress. The short time we worked together made a significant impression on me and I still miss her humor, her genuine kindness and, of course, her love of all desserts!

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you and Thank you for this precious gift. The gift that won’t ever get lost, collect dust on the bottom shelf, expire or cause unwanted weight gain. I can't ask for much more.


*Ok, so it didn’t just fall into my lap…it did take diligent networking, but networking involves timing and luck. And luck feels like a gift.
**Not the real name, the real name being much more clever.

4/16/2007

SAHMs, SILs and SUVs

Not working for the past 2 weeks has thrown me into the exotic and unfamiliar territory of the SAHMs: more commonly known to most as Stay At Home Moms and to yet others as Shit Ass Ho Motherfuckers (if you are not one of these others, you are missing out on the fabulousness of dooce). It’s true that I grew up under the care of a champion SAHM, but when I look around me at these SAHMs who are MY age, I find myself overcome with curiosity. Who are these women with their SUVs and mini-vans, double strollers and mommy bags? Who are these women who have free reign of the stores, gyms and Kwik Kars while the masses are at their office cubicles?

I may have found some answers during a 5-day stay in the Bay Area last week where I spent many hours with my sister-in-law (SIL), a competent SAHM with 3 kids under the age of 5. In short, by 12:00 pm on the day I spent alone with my SIL and 3 kids, I’d taken care of myself. SIL had taken care of herself, 3 kids, one husband, one houseguest and the carpet shampooing. She'd also walked 4 miles (she pushed a double stroller while I walked along side, empty-handed), answered a million "But Mommy..." questions, broken up several fights and gone to the school and the store.

Possibly, I’m cool enough to be a Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker. But without a doubt, as I learned last week, I am definitely not cool enough to be a Stay At Home Mom. I'm not saying that I want to be one. Nor am I saying in any way that the daily grind of my life is any easier than their's. But I will say that I absolutely believe that these women have fully earned their few hours a day to freely reign the stores, gyms and Kwik Kars.

4/14/2007

Another Reason to Love my Sister-in-Law

SIL: Apparently, before I married your brother, he would get his way with girls by using the big puppy dog eyes expression.


bebe Me: I know EXACTLY what expression you're talking about. The big, sad, brown eyes.

SIL nods.
Slight pause in conversation.



bebe Me: I can't STAND that expression. Gets on my LAST nerve.


SIL: (snickering) Doesn't do a THING for me. It just makes me do exactly the opposite of what he wants.

More snickering and eye rolling.

4/05/2007

Four Words and One Contraction

“You’ve got your spunk back!”

Sweet music to my ears.

I saw my former boss this week. The last time he spent significant time with me was almost a year ago when I slogged through each soul-sucking day behind a big ol’ fake smile – a far cry from the plucky, genuinely enthusiastic being that he once knew.

His simple observation makes me think that just maybe I’m headed in the right direction again.

4/01/2007

A Night to Vaguely Remember

I recently finished yet another work of teen fiction (my favorite genre). The plot of this particular story revolved around, of course, the PROM. And I had to wonder: are there really people who actually remember every detail of their prom night?

This is what I remember about my prom night: I had a really good time.

Don’t get me wrong. Of course I remember what I wore and who my date was. I know I went with about 20 people (I saved a few photos), but I can’t remember at whose house we took those photos. I’m pretty sure I remember the downtown venue at which the actual dance occurred. But I don’t remember anything about how we got there, the moment we got there, who we saw there or really much at all about what happened there. I know I went to an after party of some sort, but I don’t know where it was or what I did. Clearly, it was not a monumentally significant event for me... then or now.

But I know I had a really good time.