That F*cking B*stard, Ralph Nader

Enough said about that.

This past Friday, I saw my boss, which happens only once per year—she is usually several states and two time zones away—for my annual review. When we met, I told her I wanted her to know that I was extremely dressed up, in that I wasn’t wearing a t-shirt (but rather a navy corduroy shirt). The only thing I can do that’s fancier is not wear tennis shoes, but I’m saving that for in case I’m on TV.

She noted that I had taken to heart a piece of feedback she had given me mid-year—that my coworkers perceive that I always have to have the last word—and had improved noticeably in that regard. She said not everyone receives suggestions without getting tense, let alone seeks to make a change, so she was pleased. Her pointing that out made me feel good, too.

When we discussed the review itself, she focused entirely on the positive. You may recall I had gotten a peer review that had freaked me out, and we had discussed one part of it, but not the rest, so during our meeting, I asked if there was more we should cover.

She fished my peer review out of her stack of paper and commented on a couple of areas where I’d gotten my highest marks: My colleagues feel that I care about them, and they believe that they can come to me with questions and get helpful answers. That is, she demonstrated a weird propensity to dwell mainly on what I’m doing right. Odd.

Determined to receive some criticism of one sort or another, I asked about the two lowest ratings. One we had already discussed, and she had put my mind at ease there; the other was in the area of doing my share.

I assumed I got low marks there because whenever anyone says, “We have an exciting project to complete this weekend,” I say, “I can’t! I have a goiter! I’m hosting Al Gore at my place! My toe hurts! I’ll be out of town! Can’t someone else do it? This sounds like a nice project for our team members in the Central time zone,” etc. So I wasn’t one bit surprised by that rating, and it didn’t bother me to get it—it’s merely correct—but I assumed that she might not be so sanguine and might like to take me to task over it.

But my boss thinks that score was actually because my work style is such that I take on one task, finish it, and then start another, whereas others might take on several all at once. When she actually checked the statistics for the two types of tasks we do, she saw that, in fact, I had done my share. She said she might publish the statistics to the whole group so everyone knows what the numbers were.

She discussed at some length a couple of other areas where I do a good job, and then she and I and our team lead and a couple of other folks had a very congenial lunch at Buca di Beppo.

That evening, I saw The United States of Leland, starring Ryan Gosling.

Yesterday was a day of immense accomplishment, during which I called P. to say I had received his gold-plated AA token commemorating 33 years of sobriety (while I was at it, I got myself one for 28 years) and would bring it over next weekend, and I called Carol Joy to sing “Happy Birthday.” I always feel a little self-conscious singing to a real singer, but since she is my dear friend of more than 20 years, I did it.

I also talked to Lexie, my very oldest friend, down in L.A., who was trying to make a decision. We met when she was four and I was six. She was recalling yesterday that I taught her how to tell time and how to tie her shoes.

I also cut the excess length off my rain pants and hemmed them, did a sewing repair, mended the wool sweater I wear at home, and made a new baggy pants pattern. The new pattern is a little longer and slightly narrower, and the legs don’t taper as much.

I installed my annual water filter replacement, mashing several of my fingertips in the process. It was a minor injury, but it still really hurt, and I felt like I was going to vomit at first. Moaning and groaning, I called Tom to see what one does about mashed fingers—I figure that, as a teacher, he has all kinds of first aid tips up his sleeve in case his students need them—but he said moaning and groaning is the only thing you can do about pinched fingers.

I completed my grocery list, meditated and stretched, and in the evening, Tom came down and we watched Citizen Cohn, in which James Woods plays lawyer Roy Cohn, the henchman of Communist-hunting Sen. Joseph McCarthy in the 1950s. I had seen it before, but thought Tom would really like it, and he did.