Harvard Business School is concerned about its future. I’m glad I”m not the only one. So, the institution has embarked on a huge fundraising campaign. The Dean gave an impassioned speech at a recent event to compel the crowd to give, give, give! (Personally, I went for the hors d’oeuvres.) The goal was a mere $1.0 billion to cultivate future global leaders. In a matter of months, they’ve raised $770.0m. I was going to plan a cupcake sale, but I guess that’s not necessary.
I’ve been gone for a while. That’s because I have been writing my upcoming novel, “My Slip Was Pink.” Thank goodness it was a cold winter. That justifies my agoraphobia. Generally, I find quaint, weird places outside of my apartment to write. Due to the frigid temperatures, I curled up in my bed with my Mac Air, dog, and bag of Doritos. Ugh! So, now I need a support group for fellow writers who are blinded by the light of day. And a weight loss clinic. How did you spend the winter? I would like to know.
It’s the Jewish new year, and I’m atoning for my sins in the hope of redemption. I’m up to sin number 2345. That’s a lot of people to to apologize to. It’s also alot of bread to through in the water. An ancient custom which symbolizes literallycasting away one’s sins. Or better, giving up the baggage that keeps us stuck.
So, this year I figured I would try it . I made a major pilgrimage downtown to the Hudson river. The vista was so spectacular that I felt spiritual. It this doesn’t do it nothing will, I thought. I said to myself, I’m really sorry for all of it, as I threw in a loaf of Wonder Bread. It treaded water and floated back to me.
So much for my expiation this year.
I went to a conference on Twitter and found that I’m truly a “twidiot!” The best part, however, was seeing Martha Stewart in person and hearing her speak about important digital marketing matters. Like shoes…What I learned is that she’s really into them. In fact, she’ll even take a picture of your shoes if she likes them. I was sorry that she didn’t take a picture of my shoes. I should have worn the ones with the bows, or the polka dots. Not black patent flats…I would love to go for dinner at her house. But I would keep her away from my feet!
There is so much snow and ice. I’m sitting at my computter looking at job boards, but I’m thinking about going to Israel. The truth is, I’m afraid to do anything different. I go down to the street, and I see a broken down sign on the corner in front of the garbage. I move closer. It reads “Be your dreams.” I look on the other side. Sprawling across the back of the disgarded sign in proud, thick, black, bold graffitti is, “Be Your Dreams!”
The counselor invites me to take a bunchof tests–including the Myers Briggs personality test. It is apparently based on a Jungian concept that there are roughly 30 something types of personalities. Actually, I think I’ve dated them all. It’s a battery of questions revealing your “authentic self”–whether ou like to pick up guys at parties or sulk alone in a corner…boss people at work or sit under your desk waiting for the cuts to be over hoping you won’t be noticed…It assesses whether you’re the kind of person who pays 30% interest on your credit cards like me and can’t keep a plant alive, but is dedicated to world peace. Or if you need a list to keep track of your lists.
I recall on question was “Do you enjoy planning in advance, or do what’s fun at the moment?” Well, that was a tough one, Every dayplanner I’ve owned has remained empty despite my franetic activity.
It was one of those freezing nights last weeks where I wanted to just isolate in my overheated apartment. I’ve been staying in alot lately and I’ve been blaming it on the weather. It’s cold…icy…slushy. But the fact is I really don’t want to be around people. I guess this is the opposite of “networking.” So, there’s an event at the synogogue accross the street from where I live at 7:00 and I figure maybe I should go. Perhaps there will be some good tips. I leave what’s become my cave and head for the meeting. I hope there are cookies. Not on the “Poodle Girl Diet.” I make it across the street into the temple which has an awful smell. The meeting room is packed. Two slim, blonde women are heading the discussion who are obviously not part of the congregation. They are perky and animated, pointing to a powerpoint. (Irish Catholic I guess.) They talk about resumes and two minute pitches. Linked-In and FaceBook. All familiar jargon if you’ve been a professional. So where’s the rugalah and the turkey sandwiches. Apparently we don’t get food as we’re the disenfranchised. I notice a pamphlet on Jewish Poverty at the head of the table and I have trouble breathing. I young woman raises her hand and starts talking about her depression. She talks on and on and won’t stop. Out of the edges of my eyes I see old friends and boyfriends in the crowd. We do out best not to acknowledge each other. The program ends. No rugalah. I sneak out in shame and eat a bag of double chocolate Milanos in secret.