Thiller Amnesia

Not that I recall.

- Michael Jackson's response in court when asked if he had a memory problem, as noted in this AP story.

Lawyers, 938; Personal Responsibility, 0

For example, an employee crossing the street might be typing so vigorously into a two-way pager that he would never notice an approaching bus. Would that employee be covered by workers' compensation?

Probably, unless a company policy forbade wandering around typing into pagers, said Lawrence Lorber, a partner at Proskauer Rose in Washington.

- from a New York Times article which suggests to me that soon employee handbooks will also warn against typing on a laptop while biking to work

Beware the Googlewock, my son!

So I was applying to work at Acme. Inc., a fitness-related company that specializes in stuff that is close to my heart (no pun intended). I checked out their Web site and while I didn't find a current job opening that was appropriate for me, I decided to send a cover letter to the HR address listed to suggest some specific online community work I could do for them (and why it'd help their bottom line). I figured that even if my specific offer didn't interest them, they could at least keep my info 'on file,' right?

"pcanthos@acme.com" was the e-mail address listed on their site, and being the enterprising soul I am, I decided to Google "pcanthos." Up came several hits for "Paul Canthos" in a context that clearly demonstrated this was the same guy... with many forum posts dealing with triathalons and nutrition issues! Woo hoo! With such a (likely) rare name unmasked, I could now smartly write, "Dear Mr. Canthos," instead of the more gender neutral, "To whom it may concern."

And I did.

I wrote a passionate and extremely targeted note to Mr. Canthos, detailing how I could increase Acme's profitability by extending their online community and creating valuable e-mail newsletters for them to send to their large and loyal customer base.

And I received a very curt two line reply.

Please check our website for currently open positions. When you find a position posted that you'd like to be considered for, please send your resume at that time.

And it was from a PAMELA Canthos.

Oops.

Did I mention that I hate job searching?

A new twist to the 'surprise party' idea

This one guy in the Lindy Hop scene that I know is a nationally renowned and universally respected DJ. He's also got a hell of a cool core set of friends, who helped make a 'surprise Web site' for his 30th birthday:

http://www.jesseis30.com/

While I'm sure many of you reading this blog don't know who Jesse is, I just thought might find the concept of a Web-site-as-gift to be as amusing and fascinating as I do.

So THAT'S why they're applauding so loudly!

You turn on the TV and the enthusiasm seems so natural, but, my God, it's a wonder they don't stick a hot pepper up your ass.

- the mom of a Salon.com commentator remarks on the excitement on the set of the Dr. Phil talk show

Eggroll, European style

When my wonderful friend that I was staying with in Venray (The Netherlands) suggested that we have eggrolls for dinner, I was a bit skeptical. Surely she knew my appetite was typically bigger than appetizer-size, especially after not eating since lunch!




But wow, those wacky Dutch! To the right you can see just what their idea of an eggroll is. When was the last time YOU saw an eggroll that fills up an entire good-sized plate?!?

Cellophane... Mr. Cellophane

[ As usual, personally identifying info is often obscured to protect the privacy of my friends ]

A dance acquaintance of mine just came back from a Lindy Hop exchange and publicly posted a gushing note with shout-outs to all the guys she fell in Lindy-Love with.

This is not uncommon. On swing boards all over the country, you can read, "Oh man, [so-and-so], I can't wait to dance with you again! And [another person], you can Blues[dance with] me any time, day or night..." and so on and so on ad nauseum.

It really wouldn't be 'nauseum' except for the sour grapes that my name is -- barring exceptional circumstances with odds approximating those of winning the lotto twice in a row -- never going to appear in this context.

It's made all the more frustrating because I have a friend who has at least half-a-dozen women falling in love with him wherever he dances. His list of women who have Lindy Crushes is bigger than my current to-do list. And that's large. Really large. "Oh, Bryant, I am framing that pic of us! You're so hot!" "Bryant, mmm... you're so amazing, four dances in a row with you isn't enough!" "Bryant, when are you coming back to Portland?" And Bryant -- bless his heart -- excitedly tells me about each and every new girl that he has unwittingly under his spell, as if I should be surprised. Maybe Bryant was once dorky and fat and awkward and still can't get over his current success(es). I know he's not rubbing all of this fame and love in out of spite... he's actually a nice fella. But it doesn't make it go down any easier.

In contrast, I'm simply the nice-guy dancer that doesn't pull your arm, doesn't grab your boobs, and, well, doesn't leave much of an impression at all.

I'm not bad. I'm not great. I'm, well, not very memorable on the dance floor.

I'm Mr. Cellophane*. And it's damn depressing.

I'm surrounded by Lindy Rock Stars and I've even had the good fortune to dance with many of them. At a recent dance competition Finals round with 20 of the best dancers in the Bay Area, I noticed with amusement that I had danced with at least half of the women featured.

But that doesn't mean they remember my name. Or ask me to dance. More often, they look right through me, walk right by me.

I admit, this whining entry is in direct contradiction to my earlier entry in which I noted that I had made blissful peace with my dancing mediocrity. So sue me. I'm sick, I'm cranky, and I'm in a DanceSlump as of late.

It happens to the best of us, I know. Plateaus and all. But is it really that common to feel as if you're getting WORSE? Blah.

Right now, I'd even settle for being a controversial figure in dance... you know, one of those guys that people hate to love and love to hate and so on. At least I'd be known for SOMETHING.

*A human bein's made of more than air
With all that bulk, you're bound to see him there
Unless that human bein' next to you
Is unimpressive, undistinguished
You know who...

Cellophane
Mister Cellophane
Shoulda been my name
Mister Cellophane
'Cause you can look right through me
Walk right by me
And never know I'm there!

- Lyrics from the musical Chicago

So until I either drop someone on her head or cuss someone out or win a competition or do a quadruple spin without falling on my ass, I'm going to just be known for... not being known. Lindy Hop's Mr. Cellophane.