In a recent conversation with my sister, she mentioned her semi-annual “let’s look at the direction of your career” meeting with her boss, and the fact that she would need to make a decision between the “management” and “specialist” track. My sister works for a rather typical subsidiary of a multi-national conglomerate with its shares of mergers, shake-ups and spin offs—so her two main concerns were 1) job security 2) the ability to advance.
I told her to definitely go for the specialist track. When push comes to shove, the superfluous management layer is the easiest to trim. Not only is “managing people” highly over-rated (you become the person responsible for those boring-as-shit employee performance reviews); it is also highly un-differentiated. Everybody claims they can manage people; whereas, in my experience, the most effective managers were formerly People Who Could Get Shit Done. This past experience tends to make the former Person Who Could Get Shit Done good at detecting other people Who Can Get Shit Done and extracting useful work out of them. Lest you think I’m naïve, I won’t fail to mention the second and altogether nefarious breed of manager. THIS person’s meteoric rise in the corporate hierarchy owes to 1) the fact that they are surrounded by people even more incompetent than themselves 2) aware of their own limitations, they channel their energies into sucking up to their superiors and taking credit for their colleagues and subordinates’ work…until such time as it is expedient to betray those colleagues and subordinates. Such is the way of the world. Unless, you fall into the latter category of person, it is best to 1) learn to speedily recognize them 2) stay out of their reach.
Nothing is so conducive to keeping out of the clutches of The Nefarious Manager and preserving your job safety, amidst the inevitable corporate re-orgs, as acquiring some valuable skill…preferably a skill involving the company’s arcane software systems, or, failing that, a good relationship with the right geeks so that if, called upon, you actually know the people Who Can Get Shit Done. The farther people are From Getting Shit Done, the less likely they are to know whom to call on when a problem occurs. One day, for some interminable amount of reasons related to the company’s jury-rigged, legacy apps and forced upgrades from the Even More Nefarious Database and Everything Else on the Planet Vendor, X fails. Akil in department Y might know how to fix or patch X. Secure in his job, not so much because it’s an enviable job, but because the job involves the plumbing of the company’s jury-rigged arcane legacy apps that none of his superiors will come near, or possessing some more generalized knowledge that will easily enable him to get a similar job somewhere else, Akil has a decision to make 1) he can make-up some lame-ass excuse for why fixing X is impossible, an excuse that would be utterly transparent to a person with some modicum of technical knowledge, but flies above the head of The Nefarious Manager, because The Nefarious Manager has spent the greater part of his/her life studiously avoiding actual work…or 2) he can fix the problem. In this situation you either want to 1) be Akil 2) have built up a good store of credit with Akil.
Never in a million years did it occur to me that I would work in the software industry. I was nerdy person, but definitely a Humanities nerd. My school experience with Math and Science was gratitude in being able to get as far as I did, and even more gratitude for stopping where I did. The last computer class I ever took was a BASIC class in eighth grade. I had to work my tail off to get a B+ and, even then, I sensed that I reached my limits. I am not even a remotely logical person. In fact, I’m not sure I really believe in logic. My limited experience of looking at the world is that this is not a place where Logic and Reason prevail. The survival skilz I’ve developed (from being kicked in the ass by my own errors) don’t so much resemble a Philosophy as little collections of dictums along the lines of: “You are always better off working with an amoral mercenary who will double-cross you at the first opportunity to the extent that you can SEE those opportunities (concurrently or before the mercenary); you should always beware the well-meaning fanatic, to the extent that you CANNOT see into the working of such a person’s mind and, therefore, will fail to predict their behavior.
Why did I enjoy working in software? I’ve written on this theme in the past. Here’s another angle on my previous, accidental career. First, shallow but true, being a woman, in a field where women are under-represented, the male/female ratio definitely appealed to my vanity. If I’d worked in marketing or communications in some more traditional industry, I’d have never gotten a second’s notice. Second, as a writer, I can relate to engineers, to the extent that I think both professions tend to get frustrated with the Actual State of Things (the Illogical World filled with its Nefarious Scheming Individuals and jury-rigged, Crap Legacy Systems). Writers and engineers tend to like building their own worlds, where they can exert total creative control. While my husband and I became entrepreneurs by default--because nobody in their right mind with any money or gravitas in the software industry would have supported us—the latter reason is why I can no lo longer imagine working any other way. Third, in open source software, I enjoyed working in a collaborative field. The myth that other people are going to do Your Work for you, for free! (“You should be grateful I use this free POS, tell me right now, why will not JBoss scale with my app!”) is completely ridiculous. The truth is that people who tend to specialize in relatively narrow fields, where there are few people with whom they can communicate, are often very willing to share their knowledge (but not with idiots). If they enjoy what they are doing and are smart, these people have invested some time and effort acquiring this knowledge (or, if they are lucky, had a Eureka! moment), so sharing that knowledge validates their work and experience…
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Class Traitor?
Little hussy with no sense of family identity or loyalty to “her people”
This is probably one of the worst things you could imply about a person in the American South. A recent, inconsequential Facebook exchange, involving a reflection on my middle-class upbringing, provoked a most unexpected, vituperative and, thankfully, private--or else all my Facebook “friends” would be having a good laugh at me now--email. The offended family member wondered how I could consider an upbringing that included trips to Europe “before adulthood!” “exclusive” private schools and membership “from both sides of my family” in “the most exclusive country club in Atlanta” middle class?
My entire life I considered myself a member of the middle class. Was this a false delusion? Was I, in fact, a class-traitor--a phony and a hypocrite who wouldn’t recognize the American middle class if it were two feet from my nose?
Why middle class? To begin with, in the US, you can’t be upper class without money. Whatever financial resources my antecedents possessed, had mostly disappeared by the time my cousins and I came around. It’s not that the money was completely gone—it helped pay for my sister’s and my private schools, summer camps, or trips to Disneyworld or cruises with our grandparents. However, money had ceased to be a comforting presence you could count on, with an air of nonchalance--described by “The Preppy Handbook,” as “the golden retriever snoozing by the fireplace: nice to have around, but not exactly something you make a big deal about.”
Ironically, the family’s most recognizable “middle class” trait, reinforced by its increasing distance from the flush days, was the need to demonstrate that we occupied a better plane of existence than the ordinary mass of humanity (whom we greatly feared sinking back into). This tendency manifested itself in little observations such as: so and so is “as common as pig’s tracks,” “country people don’t eat lamb,” “fine bone china,” “leaded crystal,” “cradle-born Episcopalian,” “the Junior League,” “debutante,” “all the men in our family are SAEs”, “only tacky people (whose marriage we haven’t been invited to) get married during Lent,” etc.
On the contrary, my limited experience reading about, and interacting with the Personages of this World (or, more frequently, their children)—where my presence was as remarked upon, to borrow a phrase from Neal Stephenson, as “a mouse turd in the pepper”--is that the upper class does not need to point out to you that they occupy a better plane of existence. This fact is blindingly obvious.
"Wait ‘till I get my money right"
Love the refrain from "Can't tell me 'nuthin" by Kanye West. The origin of my improved circumstances, in the plumbing of the Internet, is obscure enough not to attract much attention outside the middleware ghetto. In fact, the one moment of maximum public awareness was when a Personage—I’ll call him Genghis Khan—did take sufficient notice of my husband and our company to upgrade us from “mouse turd in the pepper,” to “mouse,” and, consequently--attempt to squash us. Surviving that and fading back to obscurity has been a good thing.
Growing up among inconsequential provincial snobbery, cradled in a family mythology emphasizing our participation in Great World Events and our proximity to Great Personages of this World--sometimes based on fact and, barring that, convenient coincidence--has somewhat immunized me to my current, improved circumstances. Like the French comedian, Coluche, I don’t consider myself a “nouveau riche,” but rather an “ancien pauvre.” Whatever penny-penching or profligate habits I may have, they, like my identity, were developed long ago.
I hate the word “networking”: cultivating people because you feel they can be of use to you. Thankfully, no one tries to flatter me; I would respect them less if they did--to be so deprived of self-respect to flatter somebody as inconsequential as myself. As for the occasional person who tries to cultivate me to get to my husband (or rather my husband’s money), the irony is that I spent the greater part of my career trying to shield people from my husband. If they get to him, they get what they deserve—he has very specific opinions about fools.
There’s a French expression: “pour vivre heureux, vivons caches.” This translates to “To live happy, live hidden.” The family’s picaresque repertory contained many cautionary tales, where instances of extraordinary success were reduced by unfavorable World Catastrophes—the French Revolution, the Great Depression, World War II, the Cuban Revolution (less mention was given to latter generations’ propensity to coast off the prior generation’s success, and spend down the capital). Of all these stories, my favorite was the tale of René Madec. Madec began his career as a humble cabin boy in the French East India Company; fought for the French in their ill-fated attempt to establish a foothold in Pondicherry; sometimes French corsair, sometimes British corsair; taken prisoner by the British, he deserted from the Bengal army and became military instructor to various Indian princes, rose to rank of Nawab and, later, king of Deccan, in the service of Great Mogul Shah Alam II. He accumulated great wealth, married "a descendant of Genghis Khan," before returning in triumph to his native France. Alas, as he was transporting a portion of his treasure back to France, his boat encountered a storm and was sunk to the bottom of the sea.
Mostly I’m grateful to my family their role in my sense of identity, however twisted it might be, and for their story-telling ability. One day, I hope to perfect this art myself. In the meantime, I’m off to learn more about l’Emmerdeur, the incomparable Jack Shaftoe, and his lady love, Eliza, Duchess of Qwghlm and Arcachon in "The System of the World," book three of Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle.
Quotes: "The Story of your life is not the story of your life, it's your story." From my sister-in-law, Carmela, would be grateful to anybody who can help me source this one.
"Success is a complication in the disease of ambition"--attributed to her father by JS Van Buskirk in Facebook update, possibly source-able elsewhere, as well.
This is probably one of the worst things you could imply about a person in the American South. A recent, inconsequential Facebook exchange, involving a reflection on my middle-class upbringing, provoked a most unexpected, vituperative and, thankfully, private--or else all my Facebook “friends” would be having a good laugh at me now--email. The offended family member wondered how I could consider an upbringing that included trips to Europe “before adulthood!” “exclusive” private schools and membership “from both sides of my family” in “the most exclusive country club in Atlanta” middle class?
My entire life I considered myself a member of the middle class. Was this a false delusion? Was I, in fact, a class-traitor--a phony and a hypocrite who wouldn’t recognize the American middle class if it were two feet from my nose?
Why middle class? To begin with, in the US, you can’t be upper class without money. Whatever financial resources my antecedents possessed, had mostly disappeared by the time my cousins and I came around. It’s not that the money was completely gone—it helped pay for my sister’s and my private schools, summer camps, or trips to Disneyworld or cruises with our grandparents. However, money had ceased to be a comforting presence you could count on, with an air of nonchalance--described by “The Preppy Handbook,” as “the golden retriever snoozing by the fireplace: nice to have around, but not exactly something you make a big deal about.”
Ironically, the family’s most recognizable “middle class” trait, reinforced by its increasing distance from the flush days, was the need to demonstrate that we occupied a better plane of existence than the ordinary mass of humanity (whom we greatly feared sinking back into). This tendency manifested itself in little observations such as: so and so is “as common as pig’s tracks,” “country people don’t eat lamb,” “fine bone china,” “leaded crystal,” “cradle-born Episcopalian,” “the Junior League,” “debutante,” “all the men in our family are SAEs”, “only tacky people (whose marriage we haven’t been invited to) get married during Lent,” etc.
On the contrary, my limited experience reading about, and interacting with the Personages of this World (or, more frequently, their children)—where my presence was as remarked upon, to borrow a phrase from Neal Stephenson, as “a mouse turd in the pepper”--is that the upper class does not need to point out to you that they occupy a better plane of existence. This fact is blindingly obvious.
"Wait ‘till I get my money right"
Love the refrain from "Can't tell me 'nuthin" by Kanye West. The origin of my improved circumstances, in the plumbing of the Internet, is obscure enough not to attract much attention outside the middleware ghetto. In fact, the one moment of maximum public awareness was when a Personage—I’ll call him Genghis Khan—did take sufficient notice of my husband and our company to upgrade us from “mouse turd in the pepper,” to “mouse,” and, consequently--attempt to squash us. Surviving that and fading back to obscurity has been a good thing.
Growing up among inconsequential provincial snobbery, cradled in a family mythology emphasizing our participation in Great World Events and our proximity to Great Personages of this World--sometimes based on fact and, barring that, convenient coincidence--has somewhat immunized me to my current, improved circumstances. Like the French comedian, Coluche, I don’t consider myself a “nouveau riche,” but rather an “ancien pauvre.” Whatever penny-penching or profligate habits I may have, they, like my identity, were developed long ago.
I hate the word “networking”: cultivating people because you feel they can be of use to you. Thankfully, no one tries to flatter me; I would respect them less if they did--to be so deprived of self-respect to flatter somebody as inconsequential as myself. As for the occasional person who tries to cultivate me to get to my husband (or rather my husband’s money), the irony is that I spent the greater part of my career trying to shield people from my husband. If they get to him, they get what they deserve—he has very specific opinions about fools.
There’s a French expression: “pour vivre heureux, vivons caches.” This translates to “To live happy, live hidden.” The family’s picaresque repertory contained many cautionary tales, where instances of extraordinary success were reduced by unfavorable World Catastrophes—the French Revolution, the Great Depression, World War II, the Cuban Revolution (less mention was given to latter generations’ propensity to coast off the prior generation’s success, and spend down the capital). Of all these stories, my favorite was the tale of René Madec. Madec began his career as a humble cabin boy in the French East India Company; fought for the French in their ill-fated attempt to establish a foothold in Pondicherry; sometimes French corsair, sometimes British corsair; taken prisoner by the British, he deserted from the Bengal army and became military instructor to various Indian princes, rose to rank of Nawab and, later, king of Deccan, in the service of Great Mogul Shah Alam II. He accumulated great wealth, married "a descendant of Genghis Khan," before returning in triumph to his native France. Alas, as he was transporting a portion of his treasure back to France, his boat encountered a storm and was sunk to the bottom of the sea.
Mostly I’m grateful to my family their role in my sense of identity, however twisted it might be, and for their story-telling ability. One day, I hope to perfect this art myself. In the meantime, I’m off to learn more about l’Emmerdeur, the incomparable Jack Shaftoe, and his lady love, Eliza, Duchess of Qwghlm and Arcachon in "The System of the World," book three of Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle.
Quotes: "The Story of your life is not the story of your life, it's your story." From my sister-in-law, Carmela, would be grateful to anybody who can help me source this one.
"Success is a complication in the disease of ambition"--attributed to her father by JS Van Buskirk in Facebook update, possibly source-able elsewhere, as well.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Little souvenir of a terrible year, writing and depression
It's that little souvenir of a terrible year
which makes my eyes feel sore...
from Here’s Where the Story Ends by the Sundays
Adapted from a letter to a good friend
… the work and adrenaline keep you from thinking too much. Sometimes, that’s a good thing. It’s the down time, you’ve got to watch out for, the slow-growing doubts and anxieties that creep in the void. After 5 years of building a company--eating, sleeping, living and breathing that entity, and caring a lot about a lot of the people we worked with, selling it felt like selling a child. If the purchasing entity’s culture is radically different from your own, and (you may feel in your less charitable moments) represents everything you built your company as a reaction against...that feeling is compounded. You can out-do the haters, writing your own epitaph. Not that this maudlin navel-gazing will generate much sympathy among your friends and acquaintances, either. You sound like the jilted ex-wife, complaining about the new wife coming in and redecorating the house and yanking the children out of their expensive private schools, etc. People's reaction is pretty much "Take your big-ass divorce settlement and move on." One person, in the industry, to whom I wrote, could relate. He wrote that selling his first company felt that way, but that "it gets easier each subsequent time..."
…my experience (with the meds) is that they don't "make you happy"--as I thought they would, until I tried them. What they do (when they work) is "take the edge off" and "help you cope." When I think about how I feel now versus back then, the biggest change is what (now) seem like relatively small things, used to really upset and overwhelm me. I couldn't let go or put things in perspective. I’d seize on some issue or thought pattern and gnaw away at it, like a pit bull with a bone. Things still upset me and I still get the blues, but the difference is that this is occasionally, not most of the time. Mostly, my baseline mood is a lot more calm, at peace…I don't necessarily like these people, but now I can accept them--along the lines of "They is what they is; and they ain't what they ain't…"
It's not just the lows that are more infrequent, but I can also recognize and appreciate more frequent moments of happiness…it hasn't been easy...I can recognize some of the bad old bad habits coming back. Maybe this will work now, maybe it will work later, I don't know. The good thing is that I know that, at least, there is something that will work.
What helped me a lot were two changes in my life: moving and starting a new creative project. Home was very connected in my mind with the productive start-up years, so living here felt very anti-climactic once we sold the company. Right now, I like the detached feeling of living in another country. Nobody knows you or gives a damn who you are. And, even if they did, nothing about who you were or where you came from in X is relevant in Y. This doesn’t just work with geography, but changing industries or careers, as well. Ironically, having strong roots and family ties makes it easier to let go of everything and feel at home in totally foreign places...because I can (and usually do) always go back. A cheesy reference, but the line from the movie Fight Club: "Don't let the things you own, own you" makes a lot of sense to me.
As for writing a play, I am somebody who is essentially happy when doing creative work. In my case, what I enjoy is writing. I think I read and write, in the words of C.S. Lewis: to know that I am not alone. I wrote the play with a new friend--who like so many people living parallel lives that I passed on a daily basis, I’d never gotten to know before. Working on a new creative/collaborative project has helped pull me out of my isolation, feel like I am moving forward with a positive, fun, totally different phase of my life…I am unhappy when I cannot control circumstances. What I like about writing is that I have complete control of this entity and can take all the things that have frustrated me in my life...work them out on my own terms, and have the last laugh.
it's that little souvenir of a colourful year
which makes me smile inside
so I cynically, cynically say, the world is that way
surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise, surprise
here's where the story ends
ooh here's where the story ends
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Madrid Blog--Barbarians at the Gate
I liken the decision to live in some place where you have no cultural, family or professional ties to "dropping off the grid." This sort of move is easier to do if you are the sort of person who felt "a few degrees off the grid" in the place where you grew up. Even if you did fit in wherever it is you grew up or live today, you need not travel far to find someplace you don't.
I remember, the kind of reception I got in the 80's when I traveled with the debate team from my private preppy (we send 20 kids a year to The Ivy League!) Atlanta high school (see The John Knox Institute) to compete against other schools in places like Americus and Warner-Robbins, Georgia. This was a sardonic: "Well, ain't we privileged to have you Atlanta private school kids with us here today."
The beneficial effect of walking outside one's village, for the person capable of acquiring perspective, is the rapid realization that "who" you think you were, back wherever it is you are from, has absolutely zero meaning to the locals "here."
Yesterday, was our court hearing in the affair of the neighbor's noise complaints against our children. As it turns out--in the exactly 12 units in the building, the only people who have had an issue with us are the (now departed) Germans (by way of Argentina) in the unit across from us and the bat-shit crazy people in the unit below us. Rather ironic, considering the former are one generation removed from The Reich and the latter's example of triumphant child-rearing is the single adult daughter who lives with her parents, works for her father, and doesn't look a day younger than forty (to be fair, this could be the perma-mask of bitterness etched on her face).
It was both less than I was expecting from a legal point of view--all that went on was that our lawyer told the judge that we deny the accusations they make against us (like our kids make noise at all hours of the day and night--not exactly possible since they're in school all day and in bed from 9pm to 7am). From an emotional point of view it was worse. Most of you have better things to do than waste time on Facebook, but this pretty much sums it up.
Me: "Nathalie Mason-Fleury experienced the disgust of having the 80-yr old president of our building association tell his lawyer and my lawyer (AS IF I WASN'T THERE 3 meters away) that it is "not normal" for a 2-yr old to wake up at 4 am in the morning and cry."
Cristina: "ask him to come to my house yesterday night... 2-yr and 9 months crying. At 3.32. And the three were hungry and 1 with fever. drinking bottles and eating biscuits."
Karen: My 17 month old made it to 5:30am before the molar coming out of his gums got the best of him yesterday. No, crying there...
Fiona: like he would have any idea. My two year old was hollering at 5:30 am today before I bounded to his room, gave him the pacifier, and he went back to sleep.
Abigail: What alternate reality is he living in? The one where the babies are silent and the old farts make all the whining? And even if it wasn't 'normal' wtf are you supposed to do about it? It's not like you can tell your doctor 'I'd like a peaceful sleeper' and then get pregnant, can you? can you? did I miss something here?
Heather: If his own mother were still alive, she'd straighten him out. "Oh yeah, you used to wake me up at 4 am all the time," etc.
In 8 months, the first time I saw my elderly neighbor was yesterday--I imagine him, mummified in his apartment, remembering a better world, when Franco was still alive and running things, children knew their place and foreigners weren't your neighbor.
I remember, the kind of reception I got in the 80's when I traveled with the debate team from my private preppy (we send 20 kids a year to The Ivy League!) Atlanta high school (see The John Knox Institute) to compete against other schools in places like Americus and Warner-Robbins, Georgia. This was a sardonic: "Well, ain't we privileged to have you Atlanta private school kids with us here today."
The beneficial effect of walking outside one's village, for the person capable of acquiring perspective, is the rapid realization that "who" you think you were, back wherever it is you are from, has absolutely zero meaning to the locals "here."
Yesterday, was our court hearing in the affair of the neighbor's noise complaints against our children. As it turns out--in the exactly 12 units in the building, the only people who have had an issue with us are the (now departed) Germans (by way of Argentina) in the unit across from us and the bat-shit crazy people in the unit below us. Rather ironic, considering the former are one generation removed from The Reich and the latter's example of triumphant child-rearing is the single adult daughter who lives with her parents, works for her father, and doesn't look a day younger than forty (to be fair, this could be the perma-mask of bitterness etched on her face).
It was both less than I was expecting from a legal point of view--all that went on was that our lawyer told the judge that we deny the accusations they make against us (like our kids make noise at all hours of the day and night--not exactly possible since they're in school all day and in bed from 9pm to 7am). From an emotional point of view it was worse. Most of you have better things to do than waste time on Facebook, but this pretty much sums it up.
Me: "Nathalie Mason-Fleury experienced the disgust of having the 80-yr old president of our building association tell his lawyer and my lawyer (AS IF I WASN'T THERE 3 meters away) that it is "not normal" for a 2-yr old to wake up at 4 am in the morning and cry."
Cristina: "ask him to come to my house yesterday night... 2-yr and 9 months crying. At 3.32. And the three were hungry and 1 with fever. drinking bottles and eating biscuits."
Karen: My 17 month old made it to 5:30am before the molar coming out of his gums got the best of him yesterday. No, crying there...
Fiona: like he would have any idea. My two year old was hollering at 5:30 am today before I bounded to his room, gave him the pacifier, and he went back to sleep.
Abigail: What alternate reality is he living in? The one where the babies are silent and the old farts make all the whining? And even if it wasn't 'normal' wtf are you supposed to do about it? It's not like you can tell your doctor 'I'd like a peaceful sleeper' and then get pregnant, can you? can you? did I miss something here?
Heather: If his own mother were still alive, she'd straighten him out. "Oh yeah, you used to wake me up at 4 am all the time," etc.
In 8 months, the first time I saw my elderly neighbor was yesterday--I imagine him, mummified in his apartment, remembering a better world, when Franco was still alive and running things, children knew their place and foreigners weren't your neighbor.
Madrid Blog--The Calle Serrano Look
One of the first things I noticed is the way people dress here, in this up-market part of Madrid. Spanish men, especially, stand out compared to their American counterparts. The men here seem to take particular pride in their appearance. The other day I saw a man in what had to be the height of the Madrid "pijo" (preppy) look--cantaloupe-colored cotton slacks with a Kelly-green linen blazer. Now that summer's arrived, sherbet colors abound here--lemon, lime, orange, raspberry, pink has always been popular, for men. Shirts come with loud stripes and checks, and everything is always impeccably ironed. Los Pijos also seem to love labels as much as their American preppy counterparts. As my sister-in-law put it, when Izod and Burberry came back, it wasn't a problem, because, in Spain, they never went out of style.
My father who was an American child of the fifties grew up with (and continues to wear) a vibrant color-themed wardrobe. If you saw "Wedding Crashers" and the outfits that Owen Wilson and Vincent Vaughn borrowed from their hosts (I think some patchwork pants might have been involved)--you get the idea. However, for later generations of American men, it's primary and neutral colors only, scruffy dressing, absolutely no ironing except for the dry-cleaned work button-down. For a man to take any interest in his appearance and grooming immediately labels him as homosexual, although, lately, in the generation younger than mine, this has expanded to the more inclusive "metrosexual."
The children's clothing in Spain is very classic and beautiful. Think Liberty prints with color-coordinated cardigans and stockings, and Mary Janes for girls--cotton dress shirts, pull-overs or cardigans, shorts, knee socks and loafers for boys. People also take pride in dressing their children in coordinating or matching outfits. It's possible to find these sort of tasteful, coordinating clothes in very reasonably priced, mass-market stores. In the US, my complaint is homophobia-wear only for boys--see description of US menswear above--add massive truck or professional sports logo and, once your girl is older than six--and you don't want to dress her like a tart (hello JonBenet Ramsey) good luck. No I don't think little girl's party shoes need to have heels, nor do I think I should have to pay a premium to buy my children tasteful undergarments and sleepwear aka the type that does not come in heinous colors and is not emblazoned with the latest movie or cartoon themes.
For womens' clothing, I can't say much because I "don't got the look," (nor did I in the US). In contrast to the men, I would say that colors are darker or neutral and there are less patterns or large prints involved. Except for the long tops, pants and skirts are more tailored-fitting. They wear a lot more jewelry (costume and real) and accessories than their American counterparts and, if they go out, it's usually with make-up and their hair "done." Absolutely no sportswear anywhere outside the gym. They look at me with disapproval when I walk out the apartment in sweatpants, or jeans and schleppy t-shirt with barely brushed hair and no make-up. So now, I don't do that so much. I smooth my hair, wear dressier clothes, grudgingly put some powder and lipstick on my face--as some sort of armor against the disapproving stares of the neighbors.
The women my age are not so much judgmental as curious. My Spanish women friends ask me, Nathalie, how is it that in the US, with so many stores selling nice (and cheap!) clothing you Americans dress so poorly? I tell them that depends where they go in America, but they probably are right, in general. I say I don't know, I think it's because we have a car-based culture, where people drive everywhere and generally aren't walking in the streets (at least in "real" America :) Yes, we're an overweight nation but we do try to work out. So, if I am driving my car to drop off my kids at school, go through the drive-through at Starbucks, and then go to the grocery store, and trying to get a run in before the day gets too hot, it doesn't matter how I'm dressed, because nobody sees me, or if they do, it's just other mothers like me...
My father who was an American child of the fifties grew up with (and continues to wear) a vibrant color-themed wardrobe. If you saw "Wedding Crashers" and the outfits that Owen Wilson and Vincent Vaughn borrowed from their hosts (I think some patchwork pants might have been involved)--you get the idea. However, for later generations of American men, it's primary and neutral colors only, scruffy dressing, absolutely no ironing except for the dry-cleaned work button-down. For a man to take any interest in his appearance and grooming immediately labels him as homosexual, although, lately, in the generation younger than mine, this has expanded to the more inclusive "metrosexual."
The children's clothing in Spain is very classic and beautiful. Think Liberty prints with color-coordinated cardigans and stockings, and Mary Janes for girls--cotton dress shirts, pull-overs or cardigans, shorts, knee socks and loafers for boys. People also take pride in dressing their children in coordinating or matching outfits. It's possible to find these sort of tasteful, coordinating clothes in very reasonably priced, mass-market stores. In the US, my complaint is homophobia-wear only for boys--see description of US menswear above--add massive truck or professional sports logo and, once your girl is older than six--and you don't want to dress her like a tart (hello JonBenet Ramsey) good luck. No I don't think little girl's party shoes need to have heels, nor do I think I should have to pay a premium to buy my children tasteful undergarments and sleepwear aka the type that does not come in heinous colors and is not emblazoned with the latest movie or cartoon themes.
For womens' clothing, I can't say much because I "don't got the look," (nor did I in the US). In contrast to the men, I would say that colors are darker or neutral and there are less patterns or large prints involved. Except for the long tops, pants and skirts are more tailored-fitting. They wear a lot more jewelry (costume and real) and accessories than their American counterparts and, if they go out, it's usually with make-up and their hair "done." Absolutely no sportswear anywhere outside the gym. They look at me with disapproval when I walk out the apartment in sweatpants, or jeans and schleppy t-shirt with barely brushed hair and no make-up. So now, I don't do that so much. I smooth my hair, wear dressier clothes, grudgingly put some powder and lipstick on my face--as some sort of armor against the disapproving stares of the neighbors.
The women my age are not so much judgmental as curious. My Spanish women friends ask me, Nathalie, how is it that in the US, with so many stores selling nice (and cheap!) clothing you Americans dress so poorly? I tell them that depends where they go in America, but they probably are right, in general. I say I don't know, I think it's because we have a car-based culture, where people drive everywhere and generally aren't walking in the streets (at least in "real" America :) Yes, we're an overweight nation but we do try to work out. So, if I am driving my car to drop off my kids at school, go through the drive-through at Starbucks, and then go to the grocery store, and trying to get a run in before the day gets too hot, it doesn't matter how I'm dressed, because nobody sees me, or if they do, it's just other mothers like me...
Friday, May 22, 2009
Live from the Trenches of Motherhood
Ce n'est pas aujourd'hui que le ciel me tombera sur la tête...
Today, the bus monitor called me because I forgot to pick up my daughter.
It was one of those Friday half-days, which are darned hard to keep up with, what with all the Spanish holidays commemorating obscure Saints and glorious Apparitions, Assumptions, Ascensions and Immaculate Conceptions of our Our Blessed Virgin...not to mention the vagaries of the French Education Nationale labor calendar, with its various strikes and half-days (to plan how they will do less work in the next calendar year). Not that I'm going to spit on Education Nationale because my husband is a product of that and my daughter has a bona-fide, CERN-trained Ph.D. particle physicist as her fourth grade teacher, who's young, cool and lets the kids call him by his first name. Plus, did I mention that French public education abroad is a real bargain compared to anything you would pay in the US. Oh, and the school year lasts through the end of June, joy!
You may be a better parent than we are
I suppose this is an improvement over last year. That was the year my daughter's school teachers called a conference with us to discuss her "organizational issues"-- how she was turning in her homework crumpled up and forgetting to bring the appropriate red, blue and black color-coded ink pens.
My husband and I both, independently, forgot this meeting and showed up 1/2 an hour late. By this time the "educational specialist" they have sit in on these meetings had another appointment. All we could do was grin sheepishly and suggest that "Perhaps the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." "Organizational skills?" The child gets good grades, is sociable with her peers and respectful toward her teachers...give me a break, private school.
Today, my "independent-minded," au naturel (our latest idea for "shock and awe" potty training by the September 3-yr. old preschool deadline) 2 year-old shited all over our white leather living room couch. Soon after that, the latest issue of the "Potty Training Concepts" newsletter appeared in my in-box. Coincidence? I think not.
This inspired my "creative" 6 1/2 year old twin boys to use Mac Photobooth to start producing "poop films" (don't ask). I expect great things from these two.
Is in imminent danger of becoming a Twitterwhore/future Facebook updates
"Try for (fuller-figured) Lisa Cuddy look"
"What would Jack Bauer do?" Vis-a-vis the fact, Marc has "lost" 3 iPods in 7 months and need to look up iPhone app with bad-ass tracing software.
"Said no to the gym and yes to carbs!"
"Is so hep and desirable that hep and desirable people--more so than you, my dear 'friends!'--fight over the privilege taking me to hep and desirable places."
"Top 5 things my 'friends' resent about me"
1) My classic good looks?
2) My stunning figure?
3) My plastic, fantastic life?
4) My H.I.P. (Higher Ivy Potential) children!
"Luv ya'all too. Air kisses. Mwah, mwah."
Madrid Blog--La Señora que Sabe
Adventures in the Workplace and with El Servicio
This one is going to make me wildly unpopular... I will preface the entry by saying that I have limited experience in management. This experience has been "when it's great, it's great," but, in those cases where you may be managing the "lesser motivated" worker, management is highly over-rated.
In my brief professional career, I worked with an outside PR agency team that was very competent. In general, they knew more about what they were doing, than I did. They made me look good. In my house, in the US, I employed a nanny for my children (live-out, hourly wages). In the seven years she worked for me, I don't think she was sick once and I can count on less than ten fingers the number of times she was late to work.
Recently, though, in Spain, I have not had such good luck in the house-hold help category. I wonder if this is not due to different cultural/personal expectations about the workplace. This is exemplified by a conversation I had one day with my "interna" about the fact that the children were consistently late for the school bus. I approached this from a very American HR workplace bias:
"We have a problem. How can we work together (as a team!) to solve our problem?"
I was shocked by the interna's response, which (paraphrased) was:
"Well, Señora, you can do my job for me."
The American weakness: Need to be liked/loved.
Wonder if this comes from the joy that is the American high school experience, where popularity is generally valued above and beyond any sort of academic achievement?
In the JBoss years, it truly was inconceivable to some people that my French-raised husband lacked any concern for what people thought of him. "Not giving a damn" is a good quality to have if you are an entrepreneur. Why? Because if you are doing something truly novel and different (with no money and connections in your chosen industry) expect to be called crazy. "Crazy" is a good thing. Nobody fucks with crazy. When you are in tight situations, acting like a completely unpredictable motherfucker who would rather self-implode than let the other guy win, increases your chances of survival and coming out ahead. If you succeed, you can always console yourself with the Southern (US) dictum: "When you're poor, you're crazy; when you're rich, you're eccentric."
If you are on to something, you will spend the second half of your start-up's life fending off people trying to kill you. This includes insignificant pissants as well as the powerful Personnages/Corporations of this world. Why do they abuse their position? Because they can. Concentrate on out-witting them and extracting revenge, or acting more morally if you ever get near their industry position.
I see "needing to be liked" in the work world as a particular American weakness. Nothing is more ridiculous than the company that thinks they can under-compensate their employees because they they are such a "cool" place to work. Note: employers who think this way are probably so far from cool the light from cool would take a million years to reach them. This is on par with the housewife who thinks she can pay "Edwina" less because Edwina "loves" her children. If Edwina won the lottery, would she be working for you? It's a job, people are there because they need the money or expect a liquidity event.
As for what other people think of us, not just employees, but friends and family, we probably are better off not knowing :) In a work relationship, I see fair compensation and establishing a relationship of mutual respect as more important.
American optimism: You are responsible for the ultimate outcome of your career
OK, I just read Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" like everybody else, and he makes some good points de-bunking the individual's responsibility for her own ultimate success. However, if you don't start from this basic assumption, you will not be able to benefit from whatever Gladwellian experiential, cultural, chance advantages that come your way.
Religious bias and Social Values
I am the product of a Protestant/Catholic marriage, and was raised in, and, am comfortable with, both traditions. This is not a discussion of religion or theology, but a thought about Protestantism and the American cultural bias regarding individual self-determination. My experience with Catholicism was very laced with the "look at the birds of the air and the flowers of the field--the good Lord will provide" outlook. The Protestant outlook, on the other hand (which is nowhere to be found in the Bible): tended toward "God helps those who help themselves." The Calvinist predestination doctrine--where it is assumed that God rewards the "predestined" with material success and that material success reflects moral character--is even more pernicious...The two traditions also have different outlooks on the individual's ability/responsibility for interpreting his faith. My experience with Catholicism emphasized dependence on the clerical hierarchy to achieve an understanding of theological tenets; whereas the Protestant tradition (of course both traditions have their dogmatic sects) generally emphasized Biblical textual scholarship and the individual's responsibility to work out his own faith--an approach that has understandably led to endless dissent and schisms...
Them that has 'gits
All this is speculative divergence from what I see as two fundamentally different outlooks in the workplace. One approach is that "the world has always been divided into "jefes" and "empleados". As it was in the beginning, is now and will be forever, world without end, Amen. Fuck them, I am going to do the minimum I can get away with in my job. My misery/poverty is virtue in and of itself. I'll get my reward in Heaven.
Self-determination
The second approach is that "I can impact my ultimate outcome in life" and, by my hard work, I could become a "jefe". This involves taking responsibility for and pride in one's work. It especially comes into play in dealing with how people handle mistakes.
Everybody makes mistakes. This does not distinguish the former or latter category of employees, but how they handle them does. Employee A will 1) acknowledge no responsibility for his role in the mistake 2) expend endless amounts of energy telling me why it's not his fault and how he could not have done anything differently. Employee B, on the other hand, will 1) acknowledge her role in the mistake 2) spend her energy telling me what she is going to do in the future so that this never happens again.
This one is going to make me wildly unpopular... I will preface the entry by saying that I have limited experience in management. This experience has been "when it's great, it's great," but, in those cases where you may be managing the "lesser motivated" worker, management is highly over-rated.
In my brief professional career, I worked with an outside PR agency team that was very competent. In general, they knew more about what they were doing, than I did. They made me look good. In my house, in the US, I employed a nanny for my children (live-out, hourly wages). In the seven years she worked for me, I don't think she was sick once and I can count on less than ten fingers the number of times she was late to work.
Recently, though, in Spain, I have not had such good luck in the house-hold help category. I wonder if this is not due to different cultural/personal expectations about the workplace. This is exemplified by a conversation I had one day with my "interna" about the fact that the children were consistently late for the school bus. I approached this from a very American HR workplace bias:
"We have a problem. How can we work together (as a team!) to solve our problem?"
I was shocked by the interna's response, which (paraphrased) was:
"Well, Señora, you can do my job for me."
The American weakness: Need to be liked/loved.
Wonder if this comes from the joy that is the American high school experience, where popularity is generally valued above and beyond any sort of academic achievement?
In the JBoss years, it truly was inconceivable to some people that my French-raised husband lacked any concern for what people thought of him. "Not giving a damn" is a good quality to have if you are an entrepreneur. Why? Because if you are doing something truly novel and different (with no money and connections in your chosen industry) expect to be called crazy. "Crazy" is a good thing. Nobody fucks with crazy. When you are in tight situations, acting like a completely unpredictable motherfucker who would rather self-implode than let the other guy win, increases your chances of survival and coming out ahead. If you succeed, you can always console yourself with the Southern (US) dictum: "When you're poor, you're crazy; when you're rich, you're eccentric."
If you are on to something, you will spend the second half of your start-up's life fending off people trying to kill you. This includes insignificant pissants as well as the powerful Personnages/Corporations of this world. Why do they abuse their position? Because they can. Concentrate on out-witting them and extracting revenge, or acting more morally if you ever get near their industry position.
I see "needing to be liked" in the work world as a particular American weakness. Nothing is more ridiculous than the company that thinks they can under-compensate their employees because they they are such a "cool" place to work. Note: employers who think this way are probably so far from cool the light from cool would take a million years to reach them. This is on par with the housewife who thinks she can pay "Edwina" less because Edwina "loves" her children. If Edwina won the lottery, would she be working for you? It's a job, people are there because they need the money or expect a liquidity event.
As for what other people think of us, not just employees, but friends and family, we probably are better off not knowing :) In a work relationship, I see fair compensation and establishing a relationship of mutual respect as more important.
American optimism: You are responsible for the ultimate outcome of your career
OK, I just read Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" like everybody else, and he makes some good points de-bunking the individual's responsibility for her own ultimate success. However, if you don't start from this basic assumption, you will not be able to benefit from whatever Gladwellian experiential, cultural, chance advantages that come your way.
Religious bias and Social Values
I am the product of a Protestant/Catholic marriage, and was raised in, and, am comfortable with, both traditions. This is not a discussion of religion or theology, but a thought about Protestantism and the American cultural bias regarding individual self-determination. My experience with Catholicism was very laced with the "look at the birds of the air and the flowers of the field--the good Lord will provide" outlook. The Protestant outlook, on the other hand (which is nowhere to be found in the Bible): tended toward "God helps those who help themselves." The Calvinist predestination doctrine--where it is assumed that God rewards the "predestined" with material success and that material success reflects moral character--is even more pernicious...The two traditions also have different outlooks on the individual's ability/responsibility for interpreting his faith. My experience with Catholicism emphasized dependence on the clerical hierarchy to achieve an understanding of theological tenets; whereas the Protestant tradition (of course both traditions have their dogmatic sects) generally emphasized Biblical textual scholarship and the individual's responsibility to work out his own faith--an approach that has understandably led to endless dissent and schisms...
Them that has 'gits
All this is speculative divergence from what I see as two fundamentally different outlooks in the workplace. One approach is that "the world has always been divided into "jefes" and "empleados". As it was in the beginning, is now and will be forever, world without end, Amen. Fuck them, I am going to do the minimum I can get away with in my job. My misery/poverty is virtue in and of itself. I'll get my reward in Heaven.
Self-determination
The second approach is that "I can impact my ultimate outcome in life" and, by my hard work, I could become a "jefe". This involves taking responsibility for and pride in one's work. It especially comes into play in dealing with how people handle mistakes.
Everybody makes mistakes. This does not distinguish the former or latter category of employees, but how they handle them does. Employee A will 1) acknowledge no responsibility for his role in the mistake 2) expend endless amounts of energy telling me why it's not his fault and how he could not have done anything differently. Employee B, on the other hand, will 1) acknowledge her role in the mistake 2) spend her energy telling me what she is going to do in the future so that this never happens again.
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