Workaholism: Death Becomes Her

I have mentioned recently that I love my job. Sure, who doesn't? Wait. What?

So, here's the real deal: I do like what I do. I market and sell wines, from the reasonably priced to the "there-goes-my-kids'-college-fund" level, seven days a week. Yes, seven goddamned days a week.

Last weekend, from Friday afternoon to Sunday evening, I worked a grand total of 40 hours, most of it on my feet pouring wine for people too intoxicated to articulate what they even seek in their booze. (I did have the great good fortune of doing so side-by-side with some of my best friends, so that is definitely a plus!)

Last night, I was working at 10:30 p.m., and woke up to be back in front of my computer at 7:30 a.m. today. I'm taking the time right now when I should ostensibly be showering to whine on my pin-hole blog. Whatever. Showers are for losers.

It's Okay to Love Rosé

Rosé wine got a bad rap at some point. I'm not sure when it happened, culturally speaking, but when I first started drinking wine, my reaction to Rosé was "Ugh, Rosé. Gross." (Because a girl who mainly purchased magnums of Yellow Tail and Barefoot should be judging wine varieties. Obviously.)

Actually, come to think of it, I can pinpoint - historically - when things went pear shaped for Rosé:

1973

Mostly, we should blame Nixon, I think. I'm sure he was a White Zinfandel enthusiast. (No, not really.) Let's shift blame to Spiro Agnew, then? 

Learning to be a Glass Act

or Why Are There So Many Different Goddamned Wine Glasses?

Originally written sometime last weekend

What I'm Drinking: Chateau Lanessan (2002)

There is a very good reason that there are a zillion different shapes of wine glasses. Typically, I am of the school of thought that goes a little something like, "if it gets the job done, it is the right tool for the job right now," and certainly, that can apply to wine, wine glasses, this clever man, and so on. But I like the idea of lots of wine glasses that are appropriate for different wines because it's all backed up by science! Plus, wine glasses are pretty.

This is Almost Better Than Goats (or Time Management 101)

For the first time since milking goats in the freezing cold at 6 a.m. for free, I can honestly say that I love my job.

Is That Code for "Too Obviously Liberal"?

My reaction to being told, unceremoniously (because I deserve ALL THE POMPS AND CIRCUMSTANCES), that I was "not a cultural fit" was quite frankly, "no shit." The reactions others have had to the above comment, however, has been much more negative.

My mother, upon hearing their justification re: not extending my contract was appalled. Other friends mused, "sounds like a lawsuit." I had trouble wrapping my head around their very negative reactions.

"Simply put," Adam explained. "It sounds like they were saying 'we don't like your kind of people.'"

I realize I should probably and logically see that as an insult, but I jut don't. Why?

Frankly, the majority of the people who I have had the great fortune of encountering here are the sort that Phil Collins wrote "In the Air Tonight" about. (And don't you fucking knock Phil Collins because Genesis.)

More than that though, failing to fit in to a corporation's so-called culture is a very common and very current justification for the termination of - or in my case, the failure to extend the contract of - and employee. It seems almost fashionable, part of one of the newest trends in HR/business dominance theories that are constantly changing in the corporate world. You know, Six Sigma, or Strengths Finder, or Tony Robbins Philosophies, or whatever other hocum the business folk are worshipping and to which they are sacrificing their home lives on the altar of six-figure salaries these days.

But that isn't even the tip of the iceberg, really. Regardless of the fact that I look at almost all business practices with a skeptical and jaded eye, I can't help but wonder what sort of person I would have to be to have been considered a good "cultural fit."

As Groucho Marx once said, "I wouldn't want to be a part of any club that would have me as a member."

So I put my nose ring back in for the first time in months, previoulsy foolheartedly declaring I'd never wear it again. Bullshit. My stubbornness has once again lent itself to thumbing my nose, as it were, at the powers that be. I will show you how much I don't fucking fit in with you squares. 

That said, the paycheck is nice. It will be missed sincerely.