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.

High Comedy

H is for Ha ha ha?
- or-
what I should have done and said at a comedy show.
 
If it's called heckling when a comedian receives criticism from the audience then it should be called 'hell'ing when an audience member receives criticism from a comedian, because it is far worse.  It's hell.  It's great when it is happening to other members of the audience who are not you, but it's horrible when you're the audience participant.  Comedians expect to be heckled a bit when they're on stage, particularly if they are unprepared or just not funny.  It's part of the 'biz', right?  Audience members don't expect to be 'hell'ed when they're sitting in the crowd unless they call it upon themselves through excessive 'woo'-ing, loud shouts of "DO IT!" or express apathy after a comedians admission of recent brain surgery (all of which happened at this show).  Of course, the likelihood of being called out by a comedian for doing these things is increased in direct proportion to proximity to the stage, that's why you often hear these shouts from the darkness in the back of the room; they think they're safe. 

I should have sought shelter in the darkness at this particular show, I even planned on doing such.  But I didn't, and I don't; I never do, because the over-achieving student always takes over when looking for a place to sit.  Mostly because comedy shows, at least in Irvine, fill up like college classes, middle-section first (you want to be there, but you don't want to be called on), back-row second (you might not even want to be there but you definitely want to be able to text), first-row last (you want to know you were there).  So this night, just like in college, I wanted to earn my participation grade, but not by participating, by simply sitting close enough to be seen.  Even though we arrived late in attempt to not even have the option of sitting in the front, when my inner-student saw there were two empty chairs front and center, all plans for avoiding involvement disappeared.  While being escorted to our seats at the Irvine Improv, my brother and I engaged in the typical conversation with the male host. 
 
Host: Have you been here before?
Us: Yes.
Host: Well, welcome back.
Us: Thanks.  Do you know who Doug's guests are? 
Host: No, but they are special.  I have two seats down here in front.  Want to sit in front?
Us: (both knowing we had discussed not wanting to sit in front previously) Sure?
WRONG ANSWER.
What I should have said: NOOO. This is a highly participatory podcast and I have a fear of involvement due to a concern for the inevitable high-pressure situation brain malfunction that results from being called out in an uncomfortable situation you were not prepared for.  Or, you know, just, No, thanks.
 
So I suspected, even feared, involvement but I thought maybe I'd be safe, there were other people in the front row that half-encircles the stage.  I wasn't the only one (though I later realized I was the only female).  I'd sat in the front before and never been drawn into the act or even made eye-contact with.  But didn't fully realize until last night was that you can also turn yourself into a target for not doing anything at all at a comedy show, things like, say, not laughing.  If you're not laughing and you're in close proximity to the stage you might as well invite the comedian to involve you in their act. 
 
Dear Mr./Mrs. Funnyman/woman, 
Please utilize whatever you can from your initial impression of me in your act. 
Sincerely,
Mr./Mrs. Non-laugher in the Front Row. 
 
The Improv even indirectly warns you of such through an informative, yet poorly produced and somewhat inappropriate video that is played before the comedy starts.  In this video, Todd Glass lays out the audience's involvement, "Laugh, shut up, laugh, shut up, laugh."  What can be simpler than that, he asks?  Evidently a whole slew of things are simpler than that for me.  I got a little hung up on the shut up command and forgot to laugh.  Except, you can't forget to laugh, that's the thing about laughing, it's not something you remember to do, it just happens.  Sure, some people can fake it, but I am not one of those people, and I know this about myself.  I can't fake laugh, I can't fake smile, I can't do that fake cough to conceal an insult, I can't fake anything.  I'm going to blame the video for me not seeing the warning.  It really does make it seem too easy.  It was like watching an infomercial for a product I knew I absolutely could not use and did not need.  If the video was filmed more like an Exit Row warning on a plane flight* I would have identified with that possibly not English speaking man or woman struggling to lift the handle on the door.  Then I would not have answered, silently to myself, "Yes, I feel I am capable to complete these tasks of laughing and shutting up if the situation so calls for it." 
WRONG ANSWER.
I should have said: NOOOO.  I cannot complete the simple tasks of laughing and shutting up in alternating sequence for the duration of a comedy show because I know myself very well and I know that I am incapable of forcing a laugh with any believability.  Please arrange me to switch seats with a more capable audience member.   
 
So there I was, seated front and center, direct center, the mic stand and I were engaged in a stare-down.  The stair to aboard the stage nested against the back legs of my chair.  I was it.  There was a target on my seat and I should have moved it before I sat down.  My brother even offered to switch chairs with me.  But I said, 'no, no, it'll be fine.' 
WRONG ANSWER. 
I should have said, YES, please.  They may end up doing stand-up before recording the podcast and I am in a prime spot for being involved in those stand-up bits.

But at the time I didn't know.  I didn't know that each of the three guests were going to perform 10 minutes of stand-up before the show and before my eyes.  So I sat, and I listened.
The first comedian was painful but tolerable with his out-dated Olympics and Michael Phelps material but not once did he involve me or look my way so I applauded as he left the stage. 
The second comedian was a female - an instant red flag.  There aren't a lot of female comedians, and for good reason, most females aren't funny, with the exception of Chelsea Handler.  Some of them are, sure, but most of them are not, and very few are as funny as men, because men can make men and women laugh but women, they can barely make other women laugh so trying to make men laugh can seem like a waste of time.  Being the only female in the immediate front, I was the barometer for this female comic.  If I was laughing she was doing well; if I wasn't, things were going poorly.  So she looked at me, long and often, sometimes glaring sometimes staring.  And though I can't fake laugh, I can make eye contact like a staring contest champ and once that happened, it was over.  She waved her invitation I so adoringly sent her in the mail and I opened the door.  "Please, come in, use me."  Now, there are two types of female comedians: lesbians and whores, this one was of the latter variety, and luckily that's the variety, if I had to pick one, whose comedy I'd prefer.  Not because I'm a whore, I'm not, but because we have shared interests: alcohol - cheers!, abortion humor - kill it!, and, well, that's about it, but two isn't bad.  And I'm not saying she wasn't funny, she was funny, at times, but smile and nod funny, not laugh out loud funny, and so I wasn't laughing out loud, I was mostly just shutting up.  So she asked me, "Why aren't you laughing?"  And I said, "I'm laughing when you aren't looking."
WRONG ANSWER
I should/shouldn't have said: Because you aren't that funny, but that would have ended poorly and possibly in a challenge that I would have inevitably lost, so I went the safe route which was not really that safe at all because it still ended in a challenge. 
Now she was determined to make me laugh, but for some reason felt that we should get to know each other first, so she asked my name who I was with and other things that did not lead to punchlines as much as me wanting to punch her.  Eventually she did make me laugh, I don't remember what she said and I'm pretty sure I just threw up some laughs at the next pause so we could end our relationship.   

The hilarious part of the scenario, according to my brother, was unknown to me while all of this was occurring.  I didn't know who this person was, aside from short, but my brother did, so he also knew that I actually love/d something she was involved it.  The female comedian was non-other than Dawn host of Mtv's short-lived but much-loved (by me and like two of my friends) show The '70s House.  The show that inspired me to install a Hustle Alarm in my own home.  I said inspired, I haven't done it.  Yet.  Admittedly, she was probably my least favorite part of the show and I often remarked, 'Why does this show even need a host(ess)?'  She's also involved in some other things or vary levels of amusement, some of which I even enjoy, but none of that matters, because the most recent thing she has been involved in is making me feel uncomfortable, and that's what I will remember of her.  Sure, I don't know what it's like to be doing stand-up and stare down at the unsmiling face of a female sitting with arms crossed, maybe it's worse than being heckled, but I think I'd prefer it to being hell-ed, at least then you're in control, and hopefully getting paid.  
 
Although I'm pretty sure I bombed at my latest gig as an audience member, at least now I have a rival, and Hate is good if you want to blow a minor event way out of proportion in an attempt to convince yourself that things happen in your life even though you don't do anything about them at the time but only write about it later one.  Hell, that's what blogs are for, right?
 
Do the HUSTLE.
 
 
* trademark Doug Benson, April 28, 2010.

H-Weeks (Weeks 15-16)

H is for Happening.

It's happening, slowly and barely, but it is. H-weeks are here. It's Thursday, the only day of the week with an H in it so it's the best day to finally get started.
For H-weeks I'll be saying Hello, Hey, Hi, Howdy, and Hailing everyone I see, hm, on second thought, maybe only half of them.
Here's what I have for H-things so far:
Hopscotch
Heaven/Hell
Hair
Halitosis
Hype
...which is probably all this is because I have a feeling I'll only get around to one of these, hm, maybe half that. Can you play half a hopscotch course?

Here we go H-weeks.

Oh, and in case you don't know or aren't familiar. Here's what an H looks like:
Capital: H
Lowercase: h.

Grow, Goddamnit.

G is for garden.

Since it was the first think I could think of that started with G (after goats, and I wasn't going to raise one of those), I decided to start, no, start isn't the right word, attempt gardening. I had some suitable planters in my backyard but unfortunately they were overgrown with unidentifiable plants which had roots that looked like veins. I'm not a planter or an ecologist or even an 'outdoor' person (my thumbs are the furthest color from green) but judging from the root structure of the plants, I'd say they had been there about one to two thousand years, but I could be wrong.
Although I'm not expecting great results, mostly because I've been told I will not yield great results, 'gardening', or my version of it, has proven to be fertile ground for thinking, so here are some of my thoughts on gardening. Call them plants for thought... Why does it work with food? Maybe my brain will grow but I doubt it.


Garden Thoughts
- Probably should have worn gloves to avoid the similarity between my arms and teenage cutters' arms.

- Maybe I should have told these critters (snails, spiders, bugs, etc.) that they were getting evicted. I'm sure they would have appreciated the notice. I know I would have. I hope they don't come destroy my home as payback.

- Snails, okay. Spiders, sure. Lizards?!? What the Fuck?

- Don't get into a tug-o-war with a well-rooted plant. You will lose and you will snack your hand into a nearby cement brink wall.

- Spiders don't have much familial loyalty. Many babies were abandoned because they couldn't keep up with their fleeing parents.

- Planting seeds and then abandoning them to die (which I will inevitably do because I am a quitter) feels kind of like an abortion. The least I could do is give them an enjoyable death. Tomorrow I will 'water' my plants with beer. Seed-al Alcohol Syndrome.

- Rollie-pollies aren't as talented as you think. They can't really roll up and turn themselves over. I watched one struggle to grasp at a thin swing to help itself flip over. I guess the ground underneath him was too uneven. I wonder how that happened. Huh...

- Do the inventors of the hoe know the corners are much more useful than the flat edge?

- This would be a lot easier if I was shorter or lower to the ground. No wonder garden gnomes are so good at this. I gotta get me one of those.

Hm, I don't think there's water in that can...

G-Weeks (Weeks 13-14)

G is for Give Up?

F-weeks were a f***ing failure which, while appropriate, was not a lot of fun. Now G-weeks are almost a goner (half over) and not going that great, but I am not Going to Give up, at least not until Qs, though I may listen to Give Up.

During Fs I started working on a Garden in preparation for Gs which left Fs to fall to the wayside. Nothing is growing yet though I did plant a lot of Greens, but I still use it to generate some Gs or at least a post. Also I've been Googling a lot and reading up on Geekologie while wearing Goldschmied G-eans (jeans), so I'm not too worried about Gs. Plus with the return of Glee tomorrow night I can be nothing but Glad, even if it's not going to be that good.

I'm not going to give it up like a 15 year old girl with low self-esteem just yet. I've got diGnity. Gah. I need some Gin.