It Isn't What It Isn't.

I is for Is It?

It is what it is.  I don't know when this phrase entered popular conversation but it seems to be pretty pervasive these days.  In 2004 it was voted the most popular cliche by USA Today and its popularity has only increased since then.  I'm sure you've heard it, maybe you've even said it.  People use it to end conversations because it sounds conclusive.  I think.  That's what I've inferred from overhearing it used.  The Urban Dictionary seems to think it's a polite substitution for 'fuck it' in the business world, and although I don't know what the contributors to the Urban Dictionary know about the business world, but I tend to agree with them.  It's a subtle way of detaching yourself from a situation and declaring that you aren't going to deal with it.  An announcer for WEEI SportsRadio has a blog aptly named It Is What It Is.  What is it?  It's sports blog.  Evidently it's popular in sports as well which makes sense.  It seems like coaches and players alike would appreciate an opportunity to separate themselves from the blame for a loss.  No one wants to bear the wrath of the fans or owners.  'It is what it is' even made its way into alternative music proving it's not that alternative after all.  Lifehouse has a song about it called, you guessed it, It is what it is, in which they get it all wrong.  They actually claim it is what it isn't saying, 'It's complicated/so complicated.'  It's not that complicated at all, Lifehouse.  That's actually the thing that 'It' least is.  Here's an example of how it goes in every conversation, outside the office, off the field, and off the radio:

Lady: So my daughter's shacking up with that Emerson boy.  They're livin' together now.  Sleeping together too, I suppose.  Before long she'll probably have his baby in her. 
Other lady:  Well that's just too bad.  That boy used to be a good kid, came from good stock.  Whatever happened to him?  Musta been the influence of that good for nothing brother of his. 
Lady: I sure don't know, but...  It is what it is. 

"It is what it is."  Okay, but that isn't saying much, or really anything at all if you think about it.  It is what it is but what the fuck is it?  Sure, it is what it is, obviously; that's one helluva apparent tautology to be passing off as insight.  Every thing is what it is, things are not what they are not.  They can't be; it's impossible.  It is what it is.  No shit.  It also isn't what it isn't, but what's the point of saying so?  There isn't a point.  You're not saying anything at all.  And you know what they say, 'If you can't say anything, don't say anything at all.'  You're not adding to the conversation by finishing with a throw-away phrase like 'It is what it is.'  If you can't think of a way to end your conversation then maybe you should have never started it in the first place.  It is what it is.  It sounds final, for good reason because it's basically a surrender to the fates or the elements, or at least that's how people intend it.  I think.  It's implied that It is what it is and it can't be changed.  There's no going back now.  Like This Is It, it's the end, he's dead, nothing can be added to it.  Here are some substitutions for the increasingly popular 'It is what it is':

What are you going to do?
Outta my hands.
That's how the cookie crumbles.
Not my problem.

But these don't sound as catchy or as metaphysically enlightened as 'It is what it is' does.  The problem with 'It is what it is' - aside from it being a waste of breath and words - is that people don't even use it correctly.  As in the above completely fabricated interaction between a lady and another lady, people use 'it is what it is' when they most certainly can do something about the situation and in most cases should, but they don't have to because it is what it is and that's all it is.  I'm not advocating that everyone going around interfering in the lives of others but take a little responsibility.  I don't mean interceding or even throwing in your input.  No one wants to hear that.  This is not a call to action.  I'm an American, and I'm proud to be an American because we are an inactive bunch and I'm lazy too.  I get it.  I'm not inspired to save the world either, but I'll be the first say so.  All I ask is that you admit what you're implying with 'It is what it is'.  Say you don't want to do anything about it.  Say 'fuck it.'  Say it's a waste of time and not worth the effort because that's what it really is, and that isn't all that bad.   

            

It's coming from Inside the office

I is for Ignore. 
 
Today I learned something new about myself - I have an amazing capacity for ignoring.  I always knew I could ignore people.  I do that on a regular basis - via phone calls, solicitors standing outside of markets, and my neighbors (Why should I bring my trashcans in when I am just going to have to take them back out again next week?).  But I didn't know I could also ignore sounds, mainly because I thought I had tested this and proven that I can't.  Crying babies in any public place immediately demand my attention and a corresponding scowl.  I am unable to work on Wednesday mornings because the sound of the gardener's lawn mower, even in the distance and slightly muffled by the walls and windows of my office causes me to want to kill someone, which results in work that too closely resembles a death threat or suicide note, neither of which sells pots and pans very well, knives, a bit better but still not great.  But this morning I discovered  that there are some sounds I can ignore. 

When I arrived at work this morning I heard a faint combination beeping/static buzzing sound coming from somewhere in the back office when my desk is located.  With two bathrooms and two offices as possible sources of the sound, I quickly eliminated the bathrooms as options deciding that no object in either could make such a sound, as we do not make it a point at my place of employment to store electronics in the bathrooms.  I concluded that it must be coming from one of the offices.  You see, even though my 'office' is located in this section of the building, I technically don't have an office.  I have a desk, situated near two windows and next to a large metal shelf.  If only I had a door, then I could say I had a corner office, but the only door I have is a glass one which would lead outside if it wasn't permanently locked which frustrates misguided delivery men who wrongly-assume it is the front door and knock and glare incessantly until I try to explain to them through frantic and poorly-crafted sign-language that there is another door - the actual front door.  You'd think the 'Please Use Other Door Sign' would be enough, but it's not.  Since the sound wasn't coming from my 'desk area', I let it be.  I did not investigate any further.  The sound wasn't that irritating after all.  So instead I got to work, or my version of work that takes place during the morning hours. 

About 2 1/2 hours into my work day the usual occupant of one of the two back offices arrives, the real offices.  Denise works with money so she gets an office with a door.  I think it may even have a lock on it.  Her desk is the same size as mine, but her drawers have locks.  You can tell how important you are in a company by how many keys you have.  I have none.  Denise must have at least three.  She opens the door to her possibly locked office and the buzz-beeping sound increases in volume just slightly.  She's found the source.  The conversation below is almost identical to the one we then engaged in.

Denise: Do you hear that?
Me: Yes.  Is it coming from your office?
Denise: Yes.
Me: What is it?
Denise: I don't know. 
Me: Oh.
Denise: I think it's coming from the UPS.  I'm not going to touch it.  I'm getting Rick.
Me: Okay.
 
I'm not entirely certain the combination of letters she stated but they sounded like UPS but that could just be because my mind is used to grouping those letters together.  I didn't know what a UPS was; I know what the UPS is.  Judging from the sound I suspected it might be some sort of direct line fax our company has with UPS to receive notices on deliveries or even a transporter for more immediate arrival of rushed items.  We're an Internet company.  We engage in a lot of shipping.  It's not implausible that we would have such a contraption.  I don't know what's stored in Denise's office.  There's no telling what she has access to in there.  It's all locked up.  I'll never know.  I only recently discovered that she is not as tidy as I once believed.  Interruption: During the first six months or so that I was working here I heard a suspicious sound coming from Denise's office on a regular basis, about once an hour.  It sounded almost exactly like a vacuum cleaner and since, as may already be obvious, I don't have a very inquisitive or curious mind I was content to believe that every hour Denise vacuumed a portion of her office for approximately 3-5 seconds.  Eventually I discovered, through pure happenstance, that the sound was coming from a paper shredder when I walked by one time.  I heard the sound, I turned toward her office as I passed and saw her feeding papers to a shredder.  In hindsight, this seems like a much more practical appliance for an accountant to have in her office, though I did lose respect for her cleanliness. 
 
Denise returned to our back portion of the building with Rick, the boss, moments later.  He quickly came around the corner and approached my desk since my invisible door is always open and we engaged in my second office conversation of the day.  This was big for me, usually I don't talk to anyone during the course of an 8 hour work day. 
 
Rick: Have you been hearing this sound all morning?
Me: I thought it was coming from outside. 
Rick: It's not. 
Me: Oh.
 
Notice I didn't bother to answer the question.  I skipped to the end.  I saved us a couple dozen wasted words.  If I had said yes, he would have asked why I didn't do anything about it and I would have to find a way to politely, or at least sanely, explain that I didn't want to deal with it even though it would have offered me a chance to avoid my actual work for up to 10 or 15 minutes if I had orchestrated it correctly.  I didn't want to deal with it because I didn't want to talk to anyone, something that I ended up having to do anyway so it could be argued that I failed but I never had to leave my desk, so I'll call it a draw.  Despite the lure of avoiding work, I knew if I investigated the sound it would have inevitably resulted in me having conversations with other members of the office.  People who I pride myself on never interacting with.  People whose names I cannot remember because I don't make the effort to store them in my brain.  And I would have had to talk to all of them, because I don't know what any of them do so I would have had to inquire in order to discover whose job title the problem of 'mysterious incessant tones' fell under.  I'd guess IT but I just do not know.  These interactions, particularly if they were to take place when I originally heard the sound - in the morning, barely after 8am, well before I had finished my 22 ounces of coffee, would have been absolutely unbearable for me.  And since the noise didn't sound that much like a fire alarm anyway, I wasn't worried. 

What I can't properly convey through four brief lines of dialogue is the look I received from my boss after I evaded his direct question and when straight for my line of defense.  The look was a combination of many statements.  Statements I'm sure he often thinks when conversing with me but never utters.  The most frequent runners being: "How much of an idiot are you, really?"  "Why do I let you still work here?" and "Bullshit."  Not only can I ignore high-pitched sounds of unknown origins, I can also ignore critical looks which are intended to make me aware of my own idiocy, so I smiled and turned back to my computer. 

Rick and Denise quickly discovered the problem and sought to silence the sound.  It was coming from the UPS box which is nothing like I imagine it would be.  It's a large block shaped power-strip of sorts that keeps the computers from shorting or exploding.  Rick explained all this to me, even identifying my own UPS box which is just feet away from my own feet as if, perhaps, enlightening me on the subject would encourage me to investigate matters further next time, if such a buzzing were to sound again.  It didn't.
 
Inquiring minds may want to know, but I am not the owner of an inquiring mind.  I prefer not to know.  I prefer to remain ignorant and thus not responsible, and so I ignore whatever it is I can ignore.  If it's ignorable, I'll try to ignore it.  Having a mother with tinnitus, I saw this act of intentional ignorance as preparation for my future.  If I were to ever become inflicted with tinnitus as my mother has been, I will know, with great confidence, that I can ignore a faint buzz-eeping sound for up to 2 1/2 hours.  I consider that an accomplishment inquiry could never award me. 

I weeks (Weeks 17-18)

I is for Information.

Introducing I Weeks with special guest appearances from Ice Cream, INXS, Italian food, and, of course, the Internet.

I is the 9th letter of the alphabet and third vowel. After this we won't see another vowel (O) for ten weeks so we better show this one a good time, or at least an Interesting time. I don't dare shoot for the Ideal time.
I is the most basic of all the letters in the alphabet, scriptally speaking, not scripturally speaking as in pertaining to the Bible but as in pertaining to script or writing. An I can be as basic as a straight vertical line or as elaborate as a straight vertical line with a hand and shoes when written or typed in a serif'ed style or font. Even with those embellishments the I remains very basic. In it's lowercase form, the I is quite simple as well, merely a shorter vertical line with a dot hovering above.
Here's a visual aid to help you remember what Is look like

Capital: I
Lowercase: i

Much like another vowel we all know and use, I is a word, in addition to being a letter, and I, for one, use it a lot. I think everyone does. As in every instance of the use of I as a word, it is capitalized, unless you are a lazy textor (one who text messages) or e-mailer, a person who has absolutely no respect for him/herself, others or the English language, or are typing in almost any 'Comments' section on the Internet.