Observations of The Line

“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

I think I must be asked this question at least once a month, which is quite often when you consider how rarely I meet somebody new AND spend enough time getting to know him or her in order to feel comfortable talking about this topic.

I have met my share of men in these twenty-five years - some charming, some not, most married or taken, a few not for painfully obvious reasons, and the select few who were great and not already taken (a rare find). Such Rare Finds either became my boyfriend, or most often, my friend.

Regardless of the outcomes of my few relationships, throughout my quarter century of life I began to take notice of a certain phenomenon. This phenomenon began to assert itself in my teen years, most often in observing my friends’ dating experiences versus my own (read: them = plentiful, me = scarce).

The observations continued in college and beyond, the intensity increasing with the advent of engagements and marriages amongst said friends and acquaintances. What is this phenomenon? The difference between my friends and I in the dating game?

I call it The Line.

You know about The Line.

It is the divide between the friend and the girlfriend (or boyfriend in the dude’s case). It is what determines whether you will be in the Girlfriend (boyfriend) category or Friend category.

My friends were usually in the Girlfriend category while I languished in the Friend.

Why this difference? I am sure there are innumerable answers to this riddle – several factors that make up the whole, yet the answer is probably simpler than we think. The answer, of course, is the same one that will satisfy the question above, yet is woefully elusive to this Quarter Century gal.

So until it becomes clear, I will continue to answer the above questions with this: Because I’m busy.

A First-Timer’s Foray into March Madness

This year marks my first exploration into the world of Hoops Hysteria, better known as NCAA March Madness. Herein lies the tale:

A nominal observer at best, I now found myself coerced to join a “tourney pool,” as the lingo goes. What’s a girl to do?

The Monday before brackets were due, I frantically read through every article from many a news source on the Internet, desperately trying to learn as much as I could about teams I had never heard of, playing a game I usually paid little attention to. After reading several commentators and sports writers, “experts” in my summation, argue which team would “upset,” which team had the best “percentage from the line,” and predicting which team would be the “Cinderella story,” I felt moderately comfortable in completing my bracket.

Look at me and my new jargon.

I chose my winners using a very scientific formula of personal loyalty (20%), number of friends who attend said university (30%), and fierceness of mascot (50%). As I filled in my brackets to the championship, I found my heart beating faster. My concentration level was off the charts – an anomaly brought to my attention by a senior staff member walking into my office and interrupting my “work.”

Was I, shudder to think it, excited?

As the tournament (or “tourney” as those intheknow will say) began the next weekend, I found my eyes unwillingly drawn to the television while out for drinks with friends. I kept a quarter of my attention on the conversation whilst the rest of me watched the crushing defeat of Gonzaga by Davidson. (dammit Gonzaga!)

At lunch the next day, our conversation centered on the tourney (see?) and I found myself checking the television, only to be disappointed with an NIT game. Apparently, to those who keep tabs, the NIT is like purgatory for any athlete (or athletic supporter, name that movie) whose team is not currently banished to its confines.

I ended the round with all of my upsets being upset, which, if two negatives make a positive, then I just stated that the higher seeds did, in fact, win their games when I said they would lose. I made two major mistakes in pinning three consecutive rounds on an upset by Gonzaga, whereas Davidson upset them. (dammit Gonzaga!) I also made the mistake in placing my trust in Duke, NCAA tournament veterans, but came to find that most everyone made that same mistake.

Needless to say, I found myself a bit disillusioned by the all of the red strikethroughs that CBS Sports placed on my bracket layout.

Side Note: Your Quarter Century gal must admit that, whilst watching one of the first round games, and seeing that she was losing in the bracket pool, this author sneakily ferreted bracket picking strategies from not one, not two, but three compatriots in the hopes of making better picks next year.

The next weekend, and round, came with less attention paid by yours truly. Sweet Sixteen? Elite Eight? I made the mistake of thinking these rounds would be played over the course of two weekends instead of one. Beginner’s mistake, bygones.

After tuning in to exactly one game of these two rounds, I am pleasantly surprised to find that three out of my four Final Four picks did, in fact, make it to the Final Four. This places me just below the halfway mark in my tournament pool standings.

Not bad for a beginner, eh?

A Generational Observation

The other night at book club we were in the midst of a discussion about our latest title, The Overachievers by Alexandra Robbins. Naturally, as all book club discussions go, we veered off topic, then on, then off again; the tangents becoming longer and full of more twists and turns as the night wore on and we drank more beer.

The tangent du jour was about the workplace, and how the Baby Boomer generation differs from the Gen X-ers and Millenials (of which we were all in the middle ground – neither comfortably in one group nor the other). Discussing our current work situations, we found a common thread of being thrown into the midst of things on our first day with little to no training in organizational history or procedure.

This “baptism by fire” approach let us hit the ground running, yes, but made the first six months of the job less productive and effective, not to mention stressful.

Why is job training a dying practice? Why do companies seem to not want to take a few days of training in order to invest in our success?

We discussed the current structure of management, and how so many organizations lose top-level executives only to scramble in finding adequate replacements. Why, we argued, could an organization not simply plan for the future by grooming an internal senior staff member for those executive positions?

Was it a generational thing? Did baby boomers never plan for; much less think about, the day they will leave an organization for retirement? And when will that mass exodus of baby boomers finally happen and open up the abundant supply of jobs we have been promised since freshman year of our undergraduate studies?

A mystery, to be sure.

I was thinking about this topic on the way to work this morning. As I circumvented rush hour traffic by taking the back streets, I had time to reflect. I realized that what made this discussion so interesting was that I had never before thought of it as a generational issue.

I guess I just always thought that the companies I worked for were really busy and disorganized. That is why, I reasoned, I was never properly trained for my position. That is why I am still, after two years in this job, learning about organizational procedures that I have not been following, but which have been in existence long before I arrived. I simply was never told they existed, you see.

This issue is probably the reason I am so organized to the point of obsessive compulsion. The first thing I do when I arrive on the job is to set up my office form templates and filing systems. The last thing I do when I am planning to leave a job is to write comprehensive handbooks and “how to” lists for the next person, outlining all of my major duties and organizational procedures. My way of making sure that the next person doesn’t have as hard a transition as I did.

In sharing these rather odd, I think learned, behaviors during the book club discussion, my friends all agreed with me. The moment I started talking I saw heads nodding and heard murmurs of agreement. My peers had been through the exact same thing. They, too, work in much the same manner when first entering and then leaving a new job.

I guess that is a glaring generational difference as well. Fifty years ago a person could expect to stay in one company for their entire career, working up the ladder and then earning a nice pension. My peers and I do not even know what the word pension means, and we, as a generation, are often criticized for our career-hopping ways.

Interesting observation, that.

Let me be the first to congratulate you

Let us begin with a Sidenote: It is this author’s opinion that the moniker “Cream City,” though well intentioned, still manages to invoke a feeling of crassness. Perhaps this author merely has a dirty mind. Bygones.

First, let me congratulate you on finding your way to this blog. Filled in the posts of this “web-enabled Internet log page” are the musings and random thoughts attributed to my life as experienced by me in this fine, underrated city.

Second, I must admit that I never particularly wanted to live in Milwaukee. In fact, I fought the move until the end, remained a bit disgruntled after the fact, and only began to warm up in the several months following my full-fledged unpacking.

With that confession out of the way, I can now say that I love my life in this dear city. Surprising everyone who knows me, I have come to enjoy living in Milwaukee and have become its most avid supporter.

Need a sales pitch to help prevent the brain drain?

I’m your girl.

Want to convince outsiders of Milwaukee’s charm?

Why, I can help you with that too.

In short, I enjoy my life here so much that I have taken to the profligate pages of the Internets to espouse all of the wonderful attributes of the Cream City as experienced and opined by me, your Quarter Century gal.

Enjoy.

Ifs...

If I were a man, I bet that I'd like baseball much more than I currently do.

As such, I'm sure that, if I had grown up as a boy my dream would've been to be a professional ball player (any sport probably would've done just as well, but for the purposes of this post let's go with baseball).

If my goal was to be a pro baseball player I probably would've worked hard, practiced harder, and maybe been signed to a team like the Brewer's after a somewhat successful college career playing ball.

If I were signed to the Brewers, then I would be able to choose a song that played every time I walked up to bat.

If this were the case I would choose this one (especially beginning at 48 seconds into it):

The Trendy American Dream

Or more like American Dream Trends?

In the early 1900’s the American Dream was to have a “good job,” and by that, we meant a steady income that would pay your bills. The kind of job you would start when you were 18 and stick with until retirement.

Eighty years ago the American Dream was to have food on the table and a place to live. The Great Depression was a nightmare – the exact opposite of that earlier dream – yet those I know who lived through it were stronger for having done so.

In the mid-1900’s the American Dream was to be able to afford a single-family home (for your single family of mom, dad, and 2.5 kids), with a “his and hers” car set in the garage. Ah, the return of materialism.

In the 80’s the American Dream was the high-powered career. Think Melanie Griffith in “Working Girl,” minus the shoulder pads. Double incomes were the toast of the town, and except for that bit of recession at the beginning, the decade led rather nicely to the lucrative 90’s.

Today the American Dream is to have a job you enjoy, a career you love, a dream gig, as so described by yesterday's headline on MSN news. (I’d find the link for you, but it was replaced by the more news-worthy “REPORT: N.Y. Gov. Involved in Prostitution Ring.” Bygones.)

The dream of Americans today is not only to have all of the above, but to also enjoy that aforementioned “good job” as well. Not an incomprehensible desire when we are spending 60+ hours at work each week.

No more “nose to the grindstone,” or “back to the salt mines,” no. We Americans want a single-family home with the single family. We want the “his and hers” car set, with maybe a recreational vehicle thrown in for good measure. We want a steady job we can depend on – with health insurance, dental, vision, and retirement planning – but we also want to wake up in the morning and be excited at the prospect of commuting 90 minutes (damn suburbia) so that we can do our soul-satisfying work.

We want to do something we love; something we’re passionate about.

In other words: we want our cake, and we want to eat it too. To hell with that extra hour of cardio we’ll have to do at the gym.

Let’s face it. America is spoiled. We are the spoiled teenager that is a 230-year-old nation.

But who am I to complain? I have a job I love.

Note to anyone who knows me: I may not be loving it right now, as you know, but in general I really do enjoy my job.

Scholarship of Engagement

You may be wondering what the scholarship of engagement is, and I am here to tell you. Under duress.

No, it is not the study of marriage traditions across cultures.

It is, however, the practice of taking learning out of the classroom and into the community, and in the process creating a reciprocal and mutually beneficial relationship.

Perhaps it should be termed “Engaged Scholarship,” that’s all I’m saying.

Do you know that some people devote their entire lives to studying this practice?

Even more, upwards of 50 people devoted 5 hours to this subject just yesterday in a converted manse off Lake Drive just a stone’s throw from Whitefish (folks) Bay.

“Why,” you may ask? (Go ahead, I’ll wait)

Well, I do not rightly know. As far as this author is concerned, the Scholarship of Engagement (better known as: Engaged Scholarship) is already taking place in schools across the country – and very much so in the Greater M area.

Service learning, faculty research studies, real time case studies – all are versions of this type of learning, and yet 50 unfortunate academics spent five hours of their busy lives dissecting and discussing how they can create scholarship of engagement at a university that already widely uses this practice.

This author was not amused to have to take part.

Tale of the Crazy Lady – Moral of the Story

The Crazy Lady debacle of ’07 was a harrowing experience to be sure, but it also taught me a lot. I learned how to take matters into my own hands, the channels one must take in being proactive with landlord issues, and, in general, how to be aggressive, b-e aggressive. I now pass that knowledge onto you, dear reader, should you find yourself in similar circumstances.

At the first sign of trouble:
Contact your apartment manager and explain the situation. Use the, “I just want you to know what’s going on,” approach.You want him or her on your side and the last thing you need is to be seen as a Drama Queen or The Complainer

If your manager seems sympathetic, tread calmly but continue by asking for possible solutions to your problem and how you can be proactive in getting results. Apartment managers are busy people, and by asking how you can take action shows that your claim is serious and that you are ready to take the next step.

Remember the cardinal rule of potential battles - document, document, document:

After your meeting with the apartment manager, send a letter thanking him or her for his/her time and recapping what was decided during the meeting. It is important to have everything in writing, so keep a copy for your records

Most complexes have procedures for complaints and tenant issues. Find out what that procedure is (i.e. Incident Reports), and follow it to the letter. Document EVERYTHING in writing – incidents, contact, phone calls, meetings, etc. I cannot stress that enough.

Take it to the next level:
If you are not seeing any progress in your situation, be patient. Building up a case takes time, and things may get worse before they get better.

If, after being patient, you still see no results, take your complaints to the next level of management within the company – property managers, regional managers, etc. In all of your contact across management levels, remember to keep documentation of all contact and conversations.

Know how to play hardball:
At this point you have done your part, but your landlord and company have not done anything. Now is the time to play hardball. Do a little research to find the president and/or shareholders in the company and inundate them with your complaints – all of your past documentation will come in real handy

What if you live in a place with only a landlord and no upper management or Property Management Company? If things ever get too bad, call the police. Multiple police visits due to your neighbor’s disruptions will help prove your case. Use only if necessary though, our public servants are busy people and it is a shame to waste taxpayer’s money. If only Congress felt the same.

The Better Business Bureau may be a long shot, but chances are you are not the only person with complaints at this apartment building. In many cases, bad landlords have a track record, so feel free to contact that BBB or your local Department of Housing to state your complaint.

The world of apartments used to be a renter’s world in that leases and laws gave more rights to the individual who was renting – not the landlord. Nowadays the opposite is true. Leases are binding agreements that are very difficult to get out of once you are contractually obligated. If it comes to that point, a lawyer will be your best bet in navigating the legalese in these contracts, and finding clauses that help you, the renter, end your lease before it’s time. A lawyer will also know more about your state’s laws and your rights as a renter.

There are also a lot of resources on the Internet to help guide you through your landlord-tenant issues. The above tips pertain to this author’s situation in that they assume your Landlord and Co. will not be receptive to your grievance. Hopefully you will find a more sympathetic and believing audience, and you will not need most of this advice.

Redirecting the Loathe

I have decided to stop naming Milwaukee's snowstorms. Not only has it become difficult to keep up (an increasingly depressing frequency), but it seems that assigning them a moniker just encourages them.

In an effort to redirect my Loathe to another inanimate noun - excluding "person," including "place, thing, and idea" - I bring you this:


This reminds me of a recent SNL sketch where all of the young husbands were making it big and leaving their wives for old African American women.


This is probably more true than we'd all like to believe.


My sentiments exactly - at least some of the time.

Yes, I Loathe V-Day (or, VD, as my friends and I like to say). Capital "L" intentional. Even if I had a Sig-Oth, I think I would still loathe the pressure to perform (conform?) to the impossibly high romantic standards. Even the thought of receiving the redundant and uninspired gift of flowers and chocolate from my honey makes me want to roll my eyes rather than swoon in unadulterated ecstasy.

To me V-Day is just too contrived. I respect the idea of buying your Sig-Oth a gift of appreciation, or carving a night out of your hectic schedules to spend some quality time with each other, but can you not just plan that on your own? Must you have the Hallmark, Russell Stover, and DeBeers trifecta order you to appreciate your sweetheart on this particular day?

The individualistic and independent side of me quails at the thought. I think it's that always must question authority quirk in me that causes me to immediately dismiss that command from society which urges me to celebrate this day, and instead rage, rage against the machine.

Oh wait, I think that's "rage, rage against the dying of the light." Gotta love Dylan Thomas.

PS - I would not do well in a Communist society.

Yin and Yang

I've had a little to much Yin in my life lately, but I should recognize that there has also been a lot of Yang. Let's commence.



Things I Love:
1. Sprecher Root Beer
2. Nice neighborhoods (particularly living in one)
3. Men
4. Twin Cities Food & Wine Experience
5. Summer

Things I Don't Love:
1. Crazy People who want to harm me
2. Locks that don't work
3. Men
4. Winter weather after Christmas
5. Political Polls

Yin:







Yang: