The best part of going to see Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World last night actually occurred before the movie.
We were sitting in the darkened theater watching the previews, and a trailer came on for some sort of horror-y-suspense-ish-thriller-type flick. There were some people who got stuck in an elevator, and for some reason they couldn't get out and rescuers couldn't get in, and strange stuff was starting to happen to them and they didn't know who was behind it ...
And suddenly, I realized what movie trailer we were watching. And I knew exactly what was about to happen - not in the trailer, but out here in the theater.
Not a moment too soon. A split second later, the screen flashed the words: "From the mind of M. Night Shyamalan." And - exactly the way it's been happening in movie theaters all across the country - the entire audience groaned in unison, realized everyone else in the theater was groaning, and started laughing. At the end of the trailer, a few people even applauded (I like to think they were saluting the audience's good taste).
It was awesome. We as an audience would go on to watch Scott Pilgrim and formulate opinions of it ranging from "rocks" to "sucks," from "perfectly envisioned love letter to the source material" to "ugh, why did they change the final battle so much?"
But for 45 seconds or so, we were all on the same side. We were all fighting the Devil.
8.14.2010
8.11.2010
BFF: a comedy in two acts
ACT I.
By the time Stacie, Chele and I pile into the car to hit Chipotle before True Blood comes on, I've made at least three cracks about Stacie and tried to put her in a headlock while she ran around the living room. ("Get off me!" she yelled. "It's like you're a weak midget trying to bring me down!")
As the car backs down the driveway, I say, "You know, I was thinking this week about how I try to be nice to everyone -"
"Whatever - you're not nice to me!" Stacie retorts.
"That's what I'm saying," I continue. "I try to be nice to everyone, but there are only a select few people I'm mean to. That's how you know I like you."
Amazingly, no one compares me to a 12-year-old boy.
----
ACT II.
True Blood has become a Sunday ritual at the McKissick home, and besides Chele, Stacie, and myself, three people show up this week for our regularly scheduled dose of camp and gore: Corrie, Alicia, and Cati. Cati brings with her a bag of produce she picked up for me at the farmer's market (including a cantaloupe that I've dubbed "the magic melon." It is seriously the listening-to-the-Shins-in-a-doctor's-office-waiting-room of fruit), and I exclaim over its delights before the show.
After the show and a few comments on how our old friends Anna Paquin's breasts are back after a short hiatus, we rise to leave. I ready my farmer's market bag for departure.
We're chatting just inside the door when Stacie looks at me and says, "Did you forget your farmer's market bag?"
I did! I race to the kitchen for it, and when I return, Corrie is exclaiming, "How did you know that, Stacie?"
"Corrie," she replies, "Kelly and I have been friends since junior high. I just know these things."
8.08.2010
Board breaking, addendum
After the board breaking was over, National Training wrapped and I reported back to the office to help with our big warehouse sale. My partner was a warehouse staffer named Dawn, and as we boxed up products and printed receipts, she told me about an idea she had.
It was brilliant! I ran back to Cubicle Alley to tell someone before the idea evaporated. 15 minutes later, I returned to tell Dawn I had checked with some people and everyone thought it was a great idea.
Dawn beamed. "No one's ever told me I had a good idea before!"
So much better than breaking a board.
It was brilliant! I ran back to Cubicle Alley to tell someone before the idea evaporated. 15 minutes later, I returned to tell Dawn I had checked with some people and everyone thought it was a great idea.
Dawn beamed. "No one's ever told me I had a good idea before!"
So much better than breaking a board.
8.07.2010
Sometimes, the board breaks you
(Alternate title: "How a Board Brought Me Down a Peg.")
-----
"I don't know what to write on my board!"
In half an hour, my first National Training would be over. Our annual three-day training event always closes out with "Breaking Through," a session where you actually break an inch-thick board as a metaphor for what's holding you back in life. On the side that's facing you, you write a fear, an obstacle, or something else negative that you want to get past. On the other side, you write your goal.
I knew it was coming, and all week the question "What should I write on my board?" had flitted through the back of my mind. Now it was time. I had listened to everything speaker Brian Biro* had said - but I still hadn't decided.
(*Small tangent: Can I just say how impressive a speaker Biro is? Every now and then, you'll see a speaker who starts out the session by having everyone stand up, stretch, and shake themselves out a little, "so you're not falling asleep when I give you the speech." Biro, on the other hand, has constructed an entire presentation around physical exercises to build the energy in the room - his thesis is basically that energy breeds success, in business and in life, and it's one I completely subscribe to. At one point, he asked people to think of someone they know who always seems filled with energy; I hoped a few of my friends at work were thinking of me.)
What could I write on that board? Kari, who had broken a one last year and was taking us through the session, grabbed a small plank off a chair and wrote "FAILURE" on it in big letters. "This is what I wrote last year," she said.
I wasn't at all afraid of failure. In my core, I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. I ran a half marathon, dammit! Still, it was something to write, at least. I grabbed a promising-looking board and wrote "FAILURE" on one side.
The other side, where you write your goals, was easier. I wrote "LEADERSHIP" on that side, and when Biro asked us to make a dedication, I added "for Mr. W,"* because he's always encouraged me to recognize that I have what it takes in that arena.
(*Almost immediately, I decided that the phrasing of my board was awkward and that I should think of some other way of writing it, prompting Ellen to remark that maybe I should put "second-guessing myself" as an obstacle. That's not second-guessing - that's editing!)
So, I was all ready to break my board - but the presentation kept going. I started to get anxious. Earlier, I had told Bob I would work the room with him for video of the presentation - him with the camera, me with the microphone. How could I be standing here, ready to selfishly break a board for no reason other than I thought it would be cool, when I had made a promise to help someone else out?
... I picked up my board again, crossed out "FAILURE," and wrote, "DISAPPOINTING OTHERS." Now that's a fear I can relate to.
Finally, it was time to start breaking. I posed in the stance I had learned, with my dominant hand back in my armpit and my other hand in front of me in a "stop" position. Sweet! I was going to be a ninja! I had no fear of failure. I knew I was going to break that board!
Until I thrust my hand forward - and felt it meet solid, unyielding wood.
Shit. All of a sudden, I had plenty of fear of failure.
I dropped my arms and looked at Kari, who was holding my board. "It didn't break," I said. "It was supposed to break for me on the first try."
Kari said, "That's OK! Let's try again!"
No, you don't understand, I wanted to say. It was supposed to break for me. I succeed at everything I put my mind to. Everything. And that means breaking this board on the first try.
But I didn't. Instead, I reset my position and tried again.
And again I failed.
My hand was stinging. I knew that participants who failed five times were sent up to the stage to have Biro help them break their boards personally, and now I was 40 percent of the way there. "Don't make me go up on stage!" I begged Kari.
"You don't have to go on stage," she assured me. I readied myself for the third try. Nearby, Jessica and Ellen chanted, "Kel-ly! Kel-ly! Kel-ly!" I was grateful, but would have preferred a quiet room where I could have attacked the board on my own.
Possibly with a chainsaw. You know, if one happened to be available.
I failed a third time. "Maybe we need to take a break," Kari said. I was trembling. By now, I was supposed to be halfway across the room, interviewing women who had just broken through their fears and felt the exhilaration of sudden, extraordinary success. Instead, here I was, failing over and over in a way I didn't consider possible before this. (And it was taking way too long - I had a job to do, dammit!)
On the fourth try - finally, miraculously - the board gave way. Relief and gratitude flooded through me, and I grabbed Kari and hugged her for dear life. Then I cheered on Jessica and Ellen as they broke their boards (no, neither of them on the first try, either), picked up my microphone, and went - still shaking slightly - to do my job.
As far as I could tell, my fourth hit wasn't much different from my previous three. I have no idea why it should have caused the board to break that time and not the others. I can only assume that Kari picked up a tip last year - something about how to hold the board or maybe a way to push it towards me at the last second so that our combined force causes it to break - that made my attempt a teensy bit more effective. I don't know what she did, but I thanked her for being there for me about 12 times throughout the evening.
I don't think anyone else in the room reacted the way I did to the board breaking. For all the other women, the crucial moment was that of finally breaking the board, of suddenly knowing they could do it. I remembered only the three failures that came beforehand. I remembered the certainty trickling out of me and being replaced by cold dread. I even wondered if there was something wrong with my hardwiring - was I supposed to doubt myself at first and then triumph? (Thankfully, Mr. W told me he would have felt the same way. He theorized that it comes of being editors: "We expect perfection." If that's weird, at least he and I are weird together.)
But while board breaking was not at all the experience for me that it is for most people, it was still valuable. I learned that sometimes, I will not live up to my own expectations. When that happens, it's good to remember that I have friends who will be on my side - who might even help me out during uncertain times in ways I don't always notice. I want to be more constantly grateful for those people in my life.
Not exactly a breakthrough, but it's something.
-----
"I don't know what to write on my board!"
In half an hour, my first National Training would be over. Our annual three-day training event always closes out with "Breaking Through," a session where you actually break an inch-thick board as a metaphor for what's holding you back in life. On the side that's facing you, you write a fear, an obstacle, or something else negative that you want to get past. On the other side, you write your goal.
I knew it was coming, and all week the question "What should I write on my board?" had flitted through the back of my mind. Now it was time. I had listened to everything speaker Brian Biro* had said - but I still hadn't decided.
(*Small tangent: Can I just say how impressive a speaker Biro is? Every now and then, you'll see a speaker who starts out the session by having everyone stand up, stretch, and shake themselves out a little, "so you're not falling asleep when I give you the speech." Biro, on the other hand, has constructed an entire presentation around physical exercises to build the energy in the room - his thesis is basically that energy breeds success, in business and in life, and it's one I completely subscribe to. At one point, he asked people to think of someone they know who always seems filled with energy; I hoped a few of my friends at work were thinking of me.)
What could I write on that board? Kari, who had broken a one last year and was taking us through the session, grabbed a small plank off a chair and wrote "FAILURE" on it in big letters. "This is what I wrote last year," she said.
I wasn't at all afraid of failure. In my core, I knew I could do anything I set my mind to. I ran a half marathon, dammit! Still, it was something to write, at least. I grabbed a promising-looking board and wrote "FAILURE" on one side.
The other side, where you write your goals, was easier. I wrote "LEADERSHIP" on that side, and when Biro asked us to make a dedication, I added "for Mr. W,"* because he's always encouraged me to recognize that I have what it takes in that arena.
(*Almost immediately, I decided that the phrasing of my board was awkward and that I should think of some other way of writing it, prompting Ellen to remark that maybe I should put "second-guessing myself" as an obstacle. That's not second-guessing - that's editing!)
So, I was all ready to break my board - but the presentation kept going. I started to get anxious. Earlier, I had told Bob I would work the room with him for video of the presentation - him with the camera, me with the microphone. How could I be standing here, ready to selfishly break a board for no reason other than I thought it would be cool, when I had made a promise to help someone else out?
... I picked up my board again, crossed out "FAILURE," and wrote, "DISAPPOINTING OTHERS." Now that's a fear I can relate to.
Finally, it was time to start breaking. I posed in the stance I had learned, with my dominant hand back in my armpit and my other hand in front of me in a "stop" position. Sweet! I was going to be a ninja! I had no fear of failure. I knew I was going to break that board!
Until I thrust my hand forward - and felt it meet solid, unyielding wood.
Shit. All of a sudden, I had plenty of fear of failure.
I dropped my arms and looked at Kari, who was holding my board. "It didn't break," I said. "It was supposed to break for me on the first try."
Kari said, "That's OK! Let's try again!"
No, you don't understand, I wanted to say. It was supposed to break for me. I succeed at everything I put my mind to. Everything. And that means breaking this board on the first try.
But I didn't. Instead, I reset my position and tried again.
And again I failed.
My hand was stinging. I knew that participants who failed five times were sent up to the stage to have Biro help them break their boards personally, and now I was 40 percent of the way there. "Don't make me go up on stage!" I begged Kari.
"You don't have to go on stage," she assured me. I readied myself for the third try. Nearby, Jessica and Ellen chanted, "Kel-ly! Kel-ly! Kel-ly!" I was grateful, but would have preferred a quiet room where I could have attacked the board on my own.
Possibly with a chainsaw. You know, if one happened to be available.
I failed a third time. "Maybe we need to take a break," Kari said. I was trembling. By now, I was supposed to be halfway across the room, interviewing women who had just broken through their fears and felt the exhilaration of sudden, extraordinary success. Instead, here I was, failing over and over in a way I didn't consider possible before this. (And it was taking way too long - I had a job to do, dammit!)
On the fourth try - finally, miraculously - the board gave way. Relief and gratitude flooded through me, and I grabbed Kari and hugged her for dear life. Then I cheered on Jessica and Ellen as they broke their boards (no, neither of them on the first try, either), picked up my microphone, and went - still shaking slightly - to do my job.
As far as I could tell, my fourth hit wasn't much different from my previous three. I have no idea why it should have caused the board to break that time and not the others. I can only assume that Kari picked up a tip last year - something about how to hold the board or maybe a way to push it towards me at the last second so that our combined force causes it to break - that made my attempt a teensy bit more effective. I don't know what she did, but I thanked her for being there for me about 12 times throughout the evening.
I don't think anyone else in the room reacted the way I did to the board breaking. For all the other women, the crucial moment was that of finally breaking the board, of suddenly knowing they could do it. I remembered only the three failures that came beforehand. I remembered the certainty trickling out of me and being replaced by cold dread. I even wondered if there was something wrong with my hardwiring - was I supposed to doubt myself at first and then triumph? (Thankfully, Mr. W told me he would have felt the same way. He theorized that it comes of being editors: "We expect perfection." If that's weird, at least he and I are weird together.)
But while board breaking was not at all the experience for me that it is for most people, it was still valuable. I learned that sometimes, I will not live up to my own expectations. When that happens, it's good to remember that I have friends who will be on my side - who might even help me out during uncertain times in ways I don't always notice. I want to be more constantly grateful for those people in my life.
Not exactly a breakthrough, but it's something.
7.21.2010
Based on my previous post ...
But based on this post ...
And for this post ...
I write like
David Foster Wallace
David Foster Wallace
I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!
Got it.
7.08.2010
Black Wednesday: One year later
A year ago today, my co-workers and I were told to gather in our old offices on the 14th floor. We had been moved to the 19th floor to be with the rest of the newsroom, but no one else had moved into that space, so the floor was still littered with copies of old newspapers and office supplies deemed not important enough to come with us to our new digs. In the darkened office, we sat on the abandoned desks and learned that in an hour, we would be called to a boardroom where we would be officially laid off.
That was a weird day. Everyone had known that mass layoffs were coming, and it was likely that CiN Weekly would be a target. Between our content partnership with national events website Metromix and the Enquirer's new focus on moms and baby boomers, having a dedicated local staff to cover events of interest to young professionals just wasn't cost-effective for the Enquirer. In our weekly staff meeting, we had exchanged contact info, "just in case." I parked my car in the building garage instead of in my normal lot that day, "just in case." We had been told to start making copies of any important files, "just in case."
All "just in case" aside, I really had only the faintest thought of losing my job that day. Just two months before, I had won an award for outstanding service in the line of duty - the Enquirer copy desk's version of the Medal of Honor. I figured there would be a place for me.
(Mr. W told me later that companies don't work that way; that when there's a reduction in force, they have to eliminate positions, not people.)
Losing your job, especially losing your job in 2009, is a scary, scary thing. But there's a kind of exhilaration that comes with the news: Hey, four-day weekend!
So we cleaned out our desks (I still kick myself for not saving all my email; some of my first conversations with Mr. W were in there), and we made plans to meet at Arthur's once we'd dropped off our pencil cups and novelty mouse pads at home. And, since we were all young, hip, and social-media-savvy (which is why we'd all been hired in the first place), we started updating our Twitter and Facebook friends on what was happening, using the hashtag #BlackWednesday (shoutout to Jeff!). "Stop by and buy us a drink!" I tweeted.
And you know what? People came to Arthur's! Old co-workers came! Twitter friends came! Fox 19 even came and interviewed a few of us. (Now I'm kicking myself for not writing down what someone on the crew said when I told him the other big layoff news - Peter Bronson was gone. I recall it being pithy.)
And those who couldn't come sent drinks - via PayPal and over the phone. At one point, our old boss called the bar from Reno to see how we were getting along. I think we mostly shouted about how amazing everyone was being. Eventually, Arthur's manager even sent out a free round.
All night, those of us with smartphones read Facebook updates and #BlackWednesday tweets to the group, adoring the firestorm over our departure. I had 50 new Twitter followers when I got home that night. By the time layoffs concluded the following day, Gannett employees all over the country were using #BlackWednesday and #BlackThursday.
So that was pretty cool.
Now it's a year later, and I have a shiny new job at a company that's doing well, even in a still-struggling economy. My ex-co-workers and I met at Arthur's again, and they're all doing well too. But we had a fantastic time reliving a day that should have been terrible, but - thanks to social media - turned into something wonderful.
6.11.2010
6.05.2010
Economic stimulus, final: Local giving
When we last left this project, I had $86 left to spend locally. I had supported neighborhood shops, bought a lovely art print, and joined a CSA - and there kind of wasn't anything more I really wanted to do with this money. Plus I was starting to feel like maybe I should be doing more with this money than just buying stuff for myself.
So I rounded the remainder up to $100 and gave $50 each to two local nonprofits that employ people I know. I figure that way, I'm directly helping my friends stay in a job. The nonprofits are:
The United Way of Greater Cincinnati: Perhaps you've heard of them. And if you're a Cincinnati blogger or tweeter, I know you've heard of Kate the Great, who works for UWGC.
The Patty Brisben Foundation for Women's Sexual Health: This one is probably a lot less familiar to most people. A few years ago, my employer's founder started a foundation to fund research into things like how women's sexuality changes as they go through menopause, how cancer treatment affects intimacy, ways of treating vulvo-vaginal pain disorders, etc. It's an area of health research that doesn't get a ton of attention - to the point where even doctors frequently don't know much about how to talk to their patients about such things. I was happy to make this donation and help out my friend Jessica, who directs the foundation.
And that's all she wrote, kids! Here's hoping next year's tax return is even bigger, so I can do it all again!
So I rounded the remainder up to $100 and gave $50 each to two local nonprofits that employ people I know. I figure that way, I'm directly helping my friends stay in a job. The nonprofits are:
The United Way of Greater Cincinnati: Perhaps you've heard of them. And if you're a Cincinnati blogger or tweeter, I know you've heard of Kate the Great, who works for UWGC.
The Patty Brisben Foundation for Women's Sexual Health: This one is probably a lot less familiar to most people. A few years ago, my employer's founder started a foundation to fund research into things like how women's sexuality changes as they go through menopause, how cancer treatment affects intimacy, ways of treating vulvo-vaginal pain disorders, etc. It's an area of health research that doesn't get a ton of attention - to the point where even doctors frequently don't know much about how to talk to their patients about such things. I was happy to make this donation and help out my friend Jessica, who directs the foundation.
And that's all she wrote, kids! Here's hoping next year's tax return is even bigger, so I can do it all again!
5.23.2010
Intermission
Let's take a quick break from the "Stuff I Bought with my Tax Refund" series and go see a movie!
Alex and Allison are watching all of the AFI's top 100 films over the course of a year, and tomorrow (May 24) is No. 60, Raiders of the Lost Ark. They've arranged to screen this film in the lovely 20th Century Theatre(er)* - and you're all invited! Yes, you. Even you in the back.
(*Dear 20th Century ... auditorium: Your URL is "theatre," but your website header is "Theater." Please make up your mind.)
Details are here, but the basics are: 7 p.m. Free screening. Food and drink (including cash bar) available for purchase.
Can't you hear that theme song already? Dah dah-DAH-dah, Indiana Jones!
5.01.2010
Economic stimulus, week three: Local food
This series is fast becoming a cataloging not just of $500 spent close to home, but of purchases I've wanted to make - have fully intended to make but haven't had the funds to justify making - for some time. I've wanted to visit Oakley Wines since it opened. I've wanted a Charley Harper print since the first time I saw one.
So it shouldn't surprise you to read that for the last three years, I've thought about trying a CSA. I love the idea of having a variety of fresh, in-season veggies all selected for me each week, of being delivered new produce and having to figure out what to do with it.
But I wanted to dip my toe in. I needed a half share, I needed a nearby pickup point, and I needed it to be not terribly expensive. So I was pretty happy to find (via LocalHarvest) Bergefurd's Farm Market in Wilmington. They deliver their CSA shares all over Southwest Ohio, including to the nearby Hyde Park Farmer's Market. They offer half shares. And they allow you to subscribe for just 10 weeks instead of 20. (From the photos on Bergefurd's Facebook fan page, which include a 20-week half-share subscriber's haul last year, it looks like the bag doesn't start to really fill up until the second half of the season - but at this point, I'm not sure how well I'll be able to use up just the 10-week share.)
That's what the share looks like by week 10.
A 10-week half share at Bergefurd is $150; after making sure there were still shares available, I sent in my check and added $12.50 for a half-dozen egg share. (Why do I have a feeling that I'm going to be SO SICK of frittatas by August?)
Summary:
Bergefurd Farms: $162.50
Total for weeks 1-3: $413.37. Just $86 to go!
So it shouldn't surprise you to read that for the last three years, I've thought about trying a CSA. I love the idea of having a variety of fresh, in-season veggies all selected for me each week, of being delivered new produce and having to figure out what to do with it.
But I wanted to dip my toe in. I needed a half share, I needed a nearby pickup point, and I needed it to be not terribly expensive. So I was pretty happy to find (via LocalHarvest) Bergefurd's Farm Market in Wilmington. They deliver their CSA shares all over Southwest Ohio, including to the nearby Hyde Park Farmer's Market. They offer half shares. And they allow you to subscribe for just 10 weeks instead of 20. (From the photos on Bergefurd's Facebook fan page, which include a 20-week half-share subscriber's haul last year, it looks like the bag doesn't start to really fill up until the second half of the season - but at this point, I'm not sure how well I'll be able to use up just the 10-week share.)
That's what the share looks like by week 10.A 10-week half share at Bergefurd is $150; after making sure there were still shares available, I sent in my check and added $12.50 for a half-dozen egg share. (Why do I have a feeling that I'm going to be SO SICK of frittatas by August?)
Summary:
Bergefurd Farms: $162.50
Total for weeks 1-3: $413.37. Just $86 to go!
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