On Not Getting It

It's time for a round of the popular game, "What They Say/What They Mean."

Today's case study covers a common scenario that many of you will be able to relate to you. Especially those of you who a) work for a medium or large company or b) went to College or c) have an email address. I'll provide a conversation, in case an email thread, and then offer a translation of what each person really meant.


From: ManagerA
To: PersonW, PersonX, PersonY, Paul
Subject: ArbitraryTask
Hello Team,
ManagerB is waiting on us for projectN. Please send me a status report. We should meet soon.

What ManagerA means:
I am micromanaging because you are all incompetent.

From: Paul
To: ManagerA
Subject: Re: ArbitraryTask
Hi ManagerA, I think you actually meant to send this to PersonZ. Thanks.

What Paul Means:
I'm not sure how someone so incompetent became a manager in the first place, but PLEASE try to improve your outlook skills to the point where you can send mail solely to the intended recipients. Yes it's trivial for me to delete this mail, but hopefully by sending this note I can avoid receiving unnecessary emails from you in the future

From: ManagerA
To: Paul
Subject: ArbitraryTask
Hi Paul,
Thanks, you are right, I meant to send the original mail to PersonZ. Sorry about the mixup!

What he means:
In addition to being incompetent, I have no capacity for the understanding the subtext of emails such as the one you just sent me. I will take no corrective action, and I will continue to send you mails which in the future which will clutter your inbox and further prove my profound stupidity.

Wash.
Rinse.
Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

The Post You've All Been Waiting For

Despite still not having received my electronically direct deposited tax refund, I've picked a winner for the Tax Refund Contest.
Despite a tempting suggestion from Adele that I spend the money on booze and/or candy, as well as a number of other competitive entries, I've selected the following entry, from my Dad, as the winner:

I highly recommend you opt to touch many lives in the Boston
area by donating your surplus $100.00 to the St Anthony 2006
Franciscan Campaign at Arch Street Shrine. It is far too simple for
all of us to look the other way at those in dire straits. Everyday
comforts become so ingrained that we often neglect to understand
the plight of the poor. Many groups are overlooked by government
programs especially if they are not important voting blocks. The
Franciscans of Arch Street endeavor to help all those in need. The
programs they provide consist of a Wellnes Center, Senoirs programs,
Kids programs, and providing honorable burials for the "Unwanted Dead"
The Friars serve the community and ask nothing of the Boston Archdiocese.
A donation here I believe would help far more than a dinner or a little extra
spending money for those of us who really do not need it as much as
others.

As soon as the IRS sees fit to give me back what I owe, I too will be giving something back. If this strikes a chord with your Bostonian roots as well, I urge you to do the same.

Paul complains, criticizes critically acclaimed blogs

Being myself neither an authority on the English language, nor a perfect speaker/writer thereof, I try to limit my linguistic complaints. However if you didn't mean to say that, I'm fairly certain you did it "by accident," not "on accident." Professor Paul Brians agrees. (I would have preferred a more authoratative figure, say a Harvard Prof, but I'm sure they have better things to do that create online references to help satisfy my need to be right all the time).
Secondly, French, Spanish, Italian, Romanian and Portugese are Romance Languages, not Romantic Languages. Despite "American Women Studying in Europe" finding Italian to be intoxicating, taxonomically speaking, it is a Romance language, not a Romantic one.

I have been continually reminded recently that I have not yet posted the results of The Contest. While perusing Forbes' list of - what else - the best food blogs, I was again reminded of said failure to post by the title of the most recent post in Cooking With Amy. [note: Her blog doesn't seem to offer links directly to individual entries - I refer to the March 16th entry entitled "Contest Winners."] But the urge to be myself - and by myself I mean hyper-critical and negative - has for the moment uprooted my devotion to my fan base and their thirst for contest results. Amy poses the following question:

What's the signature pizza in Boston?
A. Pepperoni
B. Clam and Garlic
C. Mozzarella and Basil
D. Lobster Marinara

First of all, what exactly defines "signature" in this context. Having grown up in Boston, I wasn't aware Boston had any "signature" pizza. A signature chowder, yes. Signature beans, sure. But pizza? I mean, the Regina in the North End makes a mean pie, the defunct European did as well, and the sicilian style slices at Pinocchio's are pretty unbeatable, especially when used to soak up all that alcohol at 1:59 on a, well, whatever night you've decided to define as "the new Saturday." But seriously people, when you read that question were any of you thinking B? Because that's what Amy says is the answer. It reminded me of one of those Trivial Pursuit questions where you hear the first half of the question (e.g. How many feet deep is the Amazon river at the point where it is joined by the Rio Negro) and you think "Dear God I hope there are some multiple choice options. And of course there are because who except some Brazilian tribesman with a really long measuring stick would possibly know that. But then you hear the choices (200 feet, 300 feet or 400 feet?) and you've narrowed your choices from infinitely many to three but in reality you're still just guessing (it's 300 by the way). I've never even seen Clam and Garlic pizza on a menu. Where do they come up with this stuff?

For my final trick, I'll be criticizing someone else who is used to turning them, Jessica Cutler, a.k.a The Washingtonienne. Breaking journalistic ground (or not, actually) by offering her opinion on something she knows nothing about, Ms. Culter recently criticized Neil Strauss' recent book, The Game. Using the old "judge a book by its cover" trick, Ms. Cutler slams Strauss' work as an unnecessary and misguided pick-up guide. While The Game does mention a number of the "techniques" used by Strauss' mentors (and later, his protoges), it actually has a lot more to offer. It's interesting for all the reasons you wanted to take Psych 101. It details the cut throat competition between a number of key players (no pun intended) in the niche "teaching guys how to pick up women" market. Scarily the book reveals the powerful effects that some of the [perhaps ethically questionable] hypnosis-style techniques developed by the likes of Ross Jeffries can have on the human mind. Shockingly, Strauss reveals that after honing his skills, he and his comrades discovered it was easier to "pick up" a woman who had been married for several years than one who was single, and that a woman with a boyfriend was more likely to sleep with them the night they met than to give up her phone number. Ms. Cutler's advice to men to buy a woman drinks "until drunken sex in the men's room ensues." This isn't really surprisingly advice coming from someone who openly admits to being, not just easy, but a glorified prostitute. But maybe she's right. Maybe it's not that difficult. Or least, it wouldn't be if everyone were more like her.
And when you think about, isn't that what we all want? Who hasn't thought to themselves that the world would be a better place, if everyone were more like them? I know I have. And I know you have too.

Progress

I'd like to thank everyone that has expressed any interest and concern in my recovery from my recent surgery. This morning I had a ridiculously short follow-up appointment with Dr. Horton, who, despite having not hear a "Who!" comfirmed that I a)am skinny, b) have no subcutaneous fat, c)am recovering well from my surgery, d) no longer have a a hernia and e) can't lift anything over 30 lbs for the next 3 weeks but f)am free to return to moderate exercise provided it is comfortable.

Eddie Murphy on Marrriage/Divorce

If you had $5.00, and you had to give someone $2.50, you'd be upset...

on the table and screaming

Immobility is, to me, one of life's most frustrating hurdles. Rarely has it reared it's head in my fortunate existence, the most recent - and devestating - having been a severely herniated disk in my back acquired on or around July 4th, 2004. Was Larry's boat really at fault? Perhaps. I see nowhere else to throw the blame. Months of agony from simple acts of walking around or leaning over to wash my face were to follow. Visits to an orthpedic surgeon and an insanely loud MRI machine lead to the revelation of the source of my pain. And the unfortunate analysis that basically nothing but time itself would help heal the injury. Overly dramatic diagnoses that I would "never run again" were fortunately misguided.

In recent months I started to develop more obvious symptoms of an injury I had had for quite some time. A sharp pain the lower abdomen after a big meal. A strained groin/abdominal muscle during an uphill running session. A seemingly unending dull pain in my right testiscle, as if someone were dangling a silver dollar from it. I had noted mild discomfort in this area months, of not years, earlier, but it had always subsided rather quickly. This time, it didn't seem to be going away.

Thanks to the scarily large quanitity of medical information available on the internet, I was able to rapidly diagnos my own condition as an inguinal hernia, a slight tear in the muscles of the abdominal wall. A small muscle tear - calf, hamgstring, shoulder, etc., had never worried me much in the past. But this was different. Hernias, I read, never healed on their own, and only got worse over time. A saw my general practitioner to get his take on the matter, then consulted a specialist at Swedish Hospital in Seattle. Both confirmed everything I already thought I knew. Not wanting to take any chances, I scheduled a surgery for March 3rd, since I had been previously advised by Colleen that I wasn't allowed to have any procedures performed on my before February 26th (In order, I later learned, to avoid ruining the Las Vegas Birthday Experience).

Surgery turns out to be quite the assembly line. I interacted with no less than ten people who worked at the hospital in my brief 2 hours of conciousness there. Most were quite pleasant, and I was thankful that the couple in the curtained off area directly next to mine in the pre-surgery waiting room spoke only Korean. While there is a morbid curiousity about what all these other people are 'in for,' I've learned that some things are best left unsaid.

The experience felt like a death march of sorts, being lead in full hospital regalia (including slippers!) by various middle aged women with various handicaps that prevented them from walking normally. The anaesthesiologist looked at me slightly disappointedly after taking my health history, realizing I was fine, and informing that, unfortunately, "It sounds like we're going to have to operate on you." Dr. Horton reassured me about the simplicity of the procedure before I was marched down to the refrigerator they refer to as OR4. I don't even really remember dozing off, just acknowledging that I was in fact starting to feel a little dizzy and felt the room spinning very slowly.

Upon waking up, I was offered a muffin, some apple juice, and shortly thereafter, my own clothes to change back into. I had less trouble walking and standing than I thought I would, but that was partially because I was still heavily medicated. Colleen picked me up and delivered me home, where I've alternated taking pain medicine, drinking chocolate milk, and attempting to walk around a little bit for the last 60 hours. She's taken better care of me than I normally take of myself, and I'm hoping to just sleep through the day tomorrow while she's away at work. All in all recovery seem to be going okay. I haven't taken any pain meds for the last 10 hours and it's pretty bearable. Lying down seems to be the most comfortable, standing still the least. I'm hoping walking gets easier in a day or two. I'll keep you posted.