Several updates, and... New project?

October 20. Day 112.

The day of updates:

For a few months, I've been trying to cancel my second car insurance, since I stayed registered in Boston and California this summer due to the Boston RMV's incompetence. Finally, phone call after phone call, Boston cancelled my registration and I got a refund for the overlap in insurance. Minor victory, definitely what was my due, and lost so many hours dealing with it, but I do have $40 back in my pocket. Which I might have given up on, before this project.

I had asked Chase to fix a poor mark on my credit report because of some fraudulent activity on a dormant Visa, and today I received a letter that they are reversing the claim, erasing any "past due" notices in my account and thus restoring my credit! WOOHOO!!

I had asked JetBlue for a free or discounted ticket to Seattle, but I got rejected by the Customer Care Manager:

I wish we had some special vouchers or discount to offer you, but, unfortunately, we don't. My best suggestion is to continue to watch our website for sale prices. We're still in a generally slow time of the year for air travel (until the Thanksgiving holiday arrives) and you might be able to find better than 'normal' fares to many of our destinations (including San Diego).

I hope that you can find a way to visit your sister and help her out and hope that you'll continue to be a loyal JetBlue Customer!

I have no choice. They're still the cheapest. So I put the fare on my credit card and I'm taking off tomorrow. So be it.

I had asked someone on Craigslist to help me with a present. The idea was to frame two large paintings. I have since decided to do only one, since there's limited wall space. It was as a present for Mr. A, whose brother painted them, so I couldn't spill the beans on this blog. Today, I met a graphic designer who's looking for work, and we traded skills. I edited her cover letter and resume, and she helped me stretch the painting over wooden bars. It was instructive, fun, and cheap. Aaron Brothers was charging $190 for the service that cost me $40 in materials and an afternoon of bartered services. I also bought her lunch, since she drove south to meet me, and it felt right. So, a price difference of $130.

I had asked, in turn, Mr. A's friend for some software for my dad, who's also out of a job. Engineering and home design software, since he's an architect. The friend found them with lightning speed, and I'm about to go mail him the CD's.

My asking today was career-oriented. Not for a raise or perk, but about taking initiative. I proposed a new type of project to my boss, something totally different from anything I or the company has worked on. I hesitated -- it wasn't up their alley, they're in the middle of so many changes they don't want another one -- but I figured that if I don't ask, the answer will definitely be no. It would still be part time, between writing the dissertation and this blog, but it would be a lot of fun to work on, and I think it could help the company's bottom line. I'll let you know how it turns out.

May I butt in? (Part II)

October 19. Day 111.

Maybe I felt bolder after yesterday's invitation, or maybe it's hard to find bargains or ask for a raise on a lazy Sunday. So I decided I'd ask for something with a social twist.

After stopping for a mid-afternoon caffeine jolt with some friends, I headed over to D.G. Wills, one of the coolest independent bookstores in America. On par with Shakespeare & Co, Powell's and Raven Books in terms of stock and mood, but with a great string of readings -- Gore Vidal, Allen Ginsberg, Norman Mailer, Derek Walcott -- and in a few minutes, Billy Collins.

People had filled the store, the driveway, the entire sidewalk for half a block, and were starting to stand in the street by the time I arrived. Dennis, the store's owner, sets up speakers, so it's no problem. I found a comfortable spot leaning against a clean white van, with an unobstructed view of Collins through the window.

In front of me, a woman dressed in black was talking to a younger couple. They had arrived separately and started chatting before the reading, the way people do at these things.

"...genius. Really, a genius. There's not a subject he doesn't know about. You know, he's acerbic and terribly funny. He's British, but he came to America in his youth. His most polemical views are on torture, atheism --"

"Christopher Hitchens?" I asked.

They all turned to look at me and she gave a quick nod. Then, turned back to one another.

"And he writes these extraordinary pieces in which he uses himself as a guinea pig. Got all the hair waxed from his back. And then he tried waterboarding. It was for that magazine he writes for..." she paused there, searching for the name it seemed.

"Vanity Fair?" I offered. "Those were great articles." I subscribe to VF and had read those very pieces. How lovely to find someone at a poetry reading who reads the same wacky articles you do!

And then she turned back to the couple.

These people, about my age, were listening with polite smiles and nodding once in a while. Just not that into her.

Why?? Why did she want to talk at them, instead of with me?

Anyway, I was quickly delivered from my feeble attempt at inserting myself into that conversation by the reading, which was phenomenal.

Gained: One more opportunity to be a social parasite, with nothing truly gained and nothing truly lost.

Crash your party?

October 18. Day 110.

Standing in the checkout line at Henry's, to buy: a bottle of wine, some mushrooms and a bag of peanuts.

In front of me, the woman unloads a similar mix of goods: a bottle of liquor (didn't catch the label), ten limes, a fistful of mint, a bag of veggies.

"Are you making mohitos?" the cashier asks her.

"Cucumber martinis."

"Sounds good."

"It is."

Time to butt in. "Can I come to your party?" I say.

"Sure! I'll tell my friends I'm making my friends now at the corner store."

"Perfect! 'Cause I really might show up!"

"5555 Mississippi."

Gained: an invitation to drink cucumber martinis in the most shameless self-invitation maneuver I've ever pulled. Sure, there were sleepovers in junior high and random dinner outings in college when I tagged along or blatantly but silently channeled "invite meeeee!" But nothing like this.

Perhaps it comes with age. The assumed right to rudely butt in and speak your mind, that is.

Either you stop caring what people think, or you start meekly, giving an opinion here, a verdict there, and realize that people don't care what you think. Or maybe it's nothing as ennobling, as liberating, and you do just it because people allow (or expect?) you to.

Right now I'm far from shy, but there's still a filter between my brain and mouth. I so look forward to the day when I'm old and wrinkled enough that I can speak the god awful truth. People may hate me for it, but they'll never turn me away or stop inviting me over for Christmas, because that would be heartless!

Or, I could start speaking my mind from now, so that I'm never bitter and repressed enough I need to take it out on the young'uns.

Any votes?

(In case you're wondering, I ended up going to a different party. The same group of friends from last night, the Italian contingent, was eating caramelized onion pizza and watching Sarah Palin on SNL. Couldn't miss that.)

Wine without an ID?

October 17. Day 109.

Three words that entered my consciousness, INPO:

I. Career day, 1988. Third grade. Lunch tables, over by the fence. Between the fire-fighters and nurses, one of my friends is carrying a clipboard and wearing a blue suit. I'm stumped.

"What are you, a secretary?" I ask.

"I'm a lawyer!" she exclaims.

Lawyer? What's that?

II. Karate class, 1991. One of my favorite moments is storytime. And sparring. Yarrrr!

Sensei tells us a parable about a special bird flying next to each of us: "You all have an eagle. For some, and you know who you are, this eagle is very big. It's way up here, bigger than you are, and that can cause some problems. Others have small eagles. You keep them in check. You help others. You say thank you. That's what I want to see: tiny eagles, everywhere."

For years, I envision a bird hovering over my shoulder. Then I realize he was talking about my ego.

III. Second grade. A girl reads a poem about a pair of bunnies in a forest.

"The gay little bunnies hopped and hopped," she says. And two boys start snickering. "They're gay!" one says, and more boys laugh.

Sr. Mary Lou tells them to be quiet, so I conclude that interrupting a poem with my own reaction is not acceptable.

All this to say: My asking today is paltry, so I've decided to regale you with miscellaneous facts about myself. I'm sure you care.

I ended up at TGIF for dinner with a group of friends, where I noticed a wine I actually like on the menu. Ménage à Trois, fruity and round, in a style I find immensely drinkable.

My turn came to place a drink order, and the waitress asked for my ID before I could open my mouth.

I didn't have my driver's license on me, so I made this pitch: "I'm almost 30. I forgot my ID. Can I have a glass of wine?"

Honey, so much sympathetic, empathetic, you're-pathetic honey, oozed out of every pore, every hair follicle, from the very core of her soul.

"I'm sooooooo sorry. Not without an ID."

I know, it's not her, it's her boss. It's not her boss, it's the owner. It's not the owner, it's the liquor license. It's not the license, it's the lawmakers. It's not the lawmakers, it's the lobbyists. It's not the lobbyists, it's the drunk drivers.

Cry me a river.

Maybe my tender ego should be flattered she carded me, maybe I should become a lawyer to argue the drinking age away, but I just think that's so...

Gained: A glass of water, which I had to ask twice for. Yuck.

Can you do the same job for less?

October 16. Day 108.

I don't have a very happy asking today, I'm afraid.

I turned to Craigslist, as I occasionally do on days I'm desperate and not sure what to ask for, and inquired if someone could help me obtain something that would normally cost a few hundred dollars. It's for a present, so I can't disclose it (yet), and when I checked in stores, I got quotes that were far above my current budget.

So, I asked if anyone could beat that price or accept a barter for dinner and/or resume editing and/or language lessons.

Sadly, I got many answers. So many people out of work, looking for cash and an updated resume.

Lesson: If you want a great deal on any projects or services -- crafting a custom suit? marketing materials? financial advice? upgrading your deck? -- this is definitely the moment to turn to the legions of the unemployed. Win-win.

Gained: Not sure yet which offer to accept, but don't worry, I won't take anyone for granted. Still, I estimate it will probably be around $200 in savings. Results TBA.

Let me ride in your top-secret batmobile van?

October 15. Day 107.

From the outside, it looks like any other van. White, a little bigger than average, but otherwise totally nondescript. The only giveway that it might be tfc (totally fucking cool) are the deeply tinted windows.

Inside: millions dollars of technology that's so new it's still just a possibility. There's nothing else like this van on the planet. And I was about to go for a joyride.

As it happens, Mr. A has a friend who knows a friend who drives such a van. So one asking led to another, and yesterday morning at 9:25, I found myself on an empty driveway behind an industrial complex, where the van was waiting. I took a seat in the soft leather seat behind the driver and glanced out the darkened window, feeling invisible.

A few minutes later, the specialist stepped in -- one of a handful of people on the planet who know how to operate the van's controls. He fired up a panel of computers and sensors and gadgets, and we were off.

We circled around the neighborhood and hit the highway, collecting data and testing its features. He explained what was going on using some acronyms I didn't know, and eventually I started vaguely processing the streaming data on the various screens.

The industry? I can't say if it's part of a nonprofit research institute, commercial enterprise or government agency.

The project? I am sworn to secrecy, but it's something that will help people one day.

Gained: Access, baby!

A shout-out to the boys

October 14. Day 106.

I just came across this newsflash on CNN:

About one in seven men has a combination of genes -- one new and one first discovered in 2001 -- that increases his risk of male pattern baldness sevenfold, compared to men without the combination.

It's a scientific finding that won't grow hair on your head. But it could lead to better testing for a susceptibility to male pattern baldness, a problem that affects 40 million men in the United States. (Continue reading.)

There we go again. The syndrom-ization of a normal physical attribute. Turn it into a "risky" ailment that "affects" people and suddenly, it's marketable! Diagnosable!

Profitable.

Don't get me wrong: I have nothing against people, male or female, who decide to curtail or counteract hairloss. And the research itself is worthwhile. But the reporter's wording is so... well, let me put it this way. Would this headline fly? "Researchers identify gene responsible for [fat ankles/big butts/thin lips/a-cups], a problem that affects 40 million women"

Incidentally, here's a hello to all the men out there.

One friend, a researcher living in Paris, recently dashed off this note when I mentioned the Salon story: "very interesting--has lots of applications for men as well, no?"

I know what I think, but what do you think, oh reader?

This project may be by a woman who asks, but there's no reason it can't be about, and for, men too. No? Sure, we're socialized differently. Sure, men are statistically more likely to ask. But perhaps some men feel they are implicitly or explicitly pressured to ask, even if they'd rather not. So maybe that's a downer. And for every woman who asks, there's probably a man who doesn't. And for every man who asks, there's might be a woman sitting next to him at work, or sleeping next to him in bed, or snoring in the crib down the hall, who might not. So of course I'm glad if they're interested in these questions -- both the daily askings and larger issues.

I'd love to hear from readers of either gender (or both...): What's your take on men and negotiation? Do they experience a different set of pressures that come with the freedom (read: expectation) to negotiate? Is there a version of the pushover/bitch dichotomy in the male sphere -- that is, any double standards for what we allow women to ask about while deriding men for the same questions? And, besides directions (whatever -- every man I know asks for directions, even those with GPS's), what questions would men dare not ask? Just a few thoughts I've had recently. Or, share your own!

Speaking of asking, today I wrote a much more compelling and focused email to JetBlue's upper echelons. After no answer the first round, by now I suspect this will also fall on deaf ears, but it's a much better shot. Must. Persevere.

I owe it all to Slick, who is La Sorella's boyfriend and a master negotiator. He told me what I need to say, how to say it, who to say it to. Even suggested a few tricks for getting a hold of the CEO, as a last ditch effort. (I may have to get over my fear of cold calling, if I'm serious about becoming a better asker...)

When I'm in Seattle, I hope to interview Slick about his secrets for: getting the best available hotel room upgrade every time, snagging free stuff at restaurants, and negotiating one's way to better pay and perks. Stay tuned.