This past January (or February? The months run together) I took the online Jeopardy! test. I was immediately aware that I had failed miserably.
Therefore, you can imagine my surprise at the end of this February when I received an email from Jeopardy! saying that I had made the cut for the next level of auditions, to be held in Portland on March 28-29.
A good friend from work was also accepted, which made the whole deal even more exciting.
True to form, I began studying for the big day...on March 23 or so. Memorizing the Presidents took two days or so; learning world capitals another evening; Shakespeare and the Bible got a quick glance and a grunt.
Today I walked to the hotel where the audition was being held and was immediately struck by the optimism, professionalism and relaxed attitude the Jeopardy! staff brought to their task. They either were truly having a good time or damn good actors.
The 2 1/2 hours consisted of an explanation of Jeopardy's ins and outs, another written 50-question test, a practice game vs. two other people, and a brief in-person interview.
Throughout the process, the Jeopardy! team was so smooth, friendly and casual that I even forgot to be nervous.
I may hear from them in six months, 12 months, 18 months...or never. It depends on how good a candidate I was judged to be, what they are looking for at the time, and other factors I'm probably not even aware of.
But this experience alone was enough to create a really nice memory.
Oh, and I won the door prize! I remembered the name of the person who played David to Ken Jennings' Goliath, which garnered me a Jeopardy! home edition.
Rock it!
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
In Which Kanga is Thankful
I work at a company that promotes itself as "family-friendly." That may be, but the executive leadership was certainly in for a shock last spring when not one, not two, but FIVE of its female employees, several in senior positions, traipsed into the COO's corner office to announce impending babies. Around the same time, a male employee stuck his head in to mention that his wife was pregnant, too.
April through June of last year must have been a challenging time for these bosses.
As the dust settled, I found myself with five new friends (a former employee returned to town and quickly -- efficiently! -- gave birth in order to join our motley crew).
I had known all of the women before in a professional capacity. All were -- are! -- capable, insightful, intelligent. Some intimidated me. I respected all of them highly.
But now...we are moms together, walking around with barf on our shoulders at the same time that we shape a client strategy, changing diapers at 4 am with the same deftness that we bring to a creative brief.
I feel extremely fortunate. So many new mothers are thrust into the fretful niveau of the "moms' group," with nothing in common with other women except hey, we all have babies....ummm...awkward silence descends.
But me? I got to meet these women first in a professional capacity, present ideas with them, drink and dance with them at the infamous holiday party, grab burgers with them.
We vetted each other first, when we were our "old selves." And now -- now we are so much more, those old selves enhanced and dimensionalized, but never erased.
April through June of last year must have been a challenging time for these bosses.
As the dust settled, I found myself with five new friends (a former employee returned to town and quickly -- efficiently! -- gave birth in order to join our motley crew).
I had known all of the women before in a professional capacity. All were -- are! -- capable, insightful, intelligent. Some intimidated me. I respected all of them highly.
But now...we are moms together, walking around with barf on our shoulders at the same time that we shape a client strategy, changing diapers at 4 am with the same deftness that we bring to a creative brief.
I feel extremely fortunate. So many new mothers are thrust into the fretful niveau of the "moms' group," with nothing in common with other women except hey, we all have babies....ummm...awkward silence descends.
But me? I got to meet these women first in a professional capacity, present ideas with them, drink and dance with them at the infamous holiday party, grab burgers with them.
We vetted each other first, when we were our "old selves." And now -- now we are so much more, those old selves enhanced and dimensionalized, but never erased.
Friday, March 21, 2008
In Which Owl Finds Equilibrium
I have been back at work two months today. This was probably the first week where I felt "in balance" -- figuring out what work needed to be done, getting material out the door, sitting in on kickoffs for new projects, brainstorming with a colleague, even having lunch with a good friend who used to work here.
There have been days of desolation (few), days of joy (also few), but mostly days of logistical hamster-wheel-turning. I feel like the sensation of walking and talking through gauze during my work day, which I experienced for weeks, is gradually lifting, to be replaced with the more typical day-to-day challenges I faced before I left on maternity leave.
What will change this, and re-tip the balance? I imagine that J's first week at daycare will shoot everything to hell, at least temporarily. But after that, I cautiously look forward to the "controlled chaos" I knew before my husband and I created a little controlled chaos-causer ourselves.
There have been days of desolation (few), days of joy (also few), but mostly days of logistical hamster-wheel-turning. I feel like the sensation of walking and talking through gauze during my work day, which I experienced for weeks, is gradually lifting, to be replaced with the more typical day-to-day challenges I faced before I left on maternity leave.
What will change this, and re-tip the balance? I imagine that J's first week at daycare will shoot everything to hell, at least temporarily. But after that, I cautiously look forward to the "controlled chaos" I knew before my husband and I created a little controlled chaos-causer ourselves.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Friday, March 7, 2008
In Which Owl, Kanga and Christopher Robin Discuss Driving
As the moments I can take for myself have dwindled since J's birth, I find that the meaning of certain moments, and the meaning of certain environments, has changed.
Driving is a good example of this. Before I was married, driving anywhere either meant I was visiting the three-hours-away boyfriend (that didn't last long, despite a night of falling stars and the glorious Southern Cross) or, later, headed over the west hills to my boyfriend-now-husband's apartment.
After we married, driving became a time of possibility for us. Just as we always seemed to hold our dreamiest and most optimistic conversations at the same tiny restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean year after year, we also held our most challenging and frightening conversations as we teetered on the edge of parenthood, driving through the Rogue River Valley in the spring.
When I began working as a librarian at the design consultancy, driving represented responsibility and opportunity. Swinging my Honda into the arts and restaurant district every day meant I was somehow allowed to be there; no one had uncovered me as the obvious uncool fraud I was, and I could enjoy one more day of being paid by a fascinating juggernaut of a firm.
When I was pregnant with J, morning and afternoon drives were time for togetherness with her. Literally cuddled up against me -- within me! -- she listened to classical music until I broke down and punched the button over to alternative and punk, singing along when I knew the words. I rubbed what I thought might be her head and told her about the family she would one day meet.
Since J's birth, driving without her means freedom. I hop in the car, crank the radio louder than it should be and merge into traffic. When I am alone, my destinations are only threefold: the gym, work or the grocery. But in those moments I get a little of myself back. The button for the classical station gathers dust.
And, lately, driving means pride. I go to work to earn our single paycheck (which is not to take away from my husband's amazingly speedy success with consulting...but I have the insurance) and feel at the end of each day that I am one step closer to understanding what it means to support a family. My job is meaningful, challenging and pleasurable to me -- but more than that, it is now something I do for the only other two people who matter.
All that, from a little four-door sedan and the open road.
Driving is a good example of this. Before I was married, driving anywhere either meant I was visiting the three-hours-away boyfriend (that didn't last long, despite a night of falling stars and the glorious Southern Cross) or, later, headed over the west hills to my boyfriend-now-husband's apartment.
After we married, driving became a time of possibility for us. Just as we always seemed to hold our dreamiest and most optimistic conversations at the same tiny restaurant overlooking the Pacific Ocean year after year, we also held our most challenging and frightening conversations as we teetered on the edge of parenthood, driving through the Rogue River Valley in the spring.
When I began working as a librarian at the design consultancy, driving represented responsibility and opportunity. Swinging my Honda into the arts and restaurant district every day meant I was somehow allowed to be there; no one had uncovered me as the obvious uncool fraud I was, and I could enjoy one more day of being paid by a fascinating juggernaut of a firm.
When I was pregnant with J, morning and afternoon drives were time for togetherness with her. Literally cuddled up against me -- within me! -- she listened to classical music until I broke down and punched the button over to alternative and punk, singing along when I knew the words. I rubbed what I thought might be her head and told her about the family she would one day meet.
Since J's birth, driving without her means freedom. I hop in the car, crank the radio louder than it should be and merge into traffic. When I am alone, my destinations are only threefold: the gym, work or the grocery. But in those moments I get a little of myself back. The button for the classical station gathers dust.
And, lately, driving means pride. I go to work to earn our single paycheck (which is not to take away from my husband's amazingly speedy success with consulting...but I have the insurance) and feel at the end of each day that I am one step closer to understanding what it means to support a family. My job is meaningful, challenging and pleasurable to me -- but more than that, it is now something I do for the only other two people who matter.
All that, from a little four-door sedan and the open road.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
In Which Rabbit Offers Readers' Advisory
I just finished Miranda July's No One Belongs Here More Than You, a wonderful gift from a kind friend. It was breathtaking. Each short story in the collection brings you into the characters' worlds of longing and fear. I agree with one critic's note that the emotional timbre of each story is similar...but, as is noted in the same review, July works in a broad emotional space to begin with.
Her writing reminds me of Flannery O'Connor, especially "Everything That Rises Must Converge," a truly heartbreaking short story whose last line has always stayed with me: "The tide of darkness seemed to sweep him back to her, postponing from moment to moment his entry into the world of guilt and sorrow."
Her writing reminds me of Flannery O'Connor, especially "Everything That Rises Must Converge," a truly heartbreaking short story whose last line has always stayed with me: "The tide of darkness seemed to sweep him back to her, postponing from moment to moment his entry into the world of guilt and sorrow."
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