Thanksgivingish, sort of

The best part about the holidays is talking to old friends. (Some call it Thanksgiving, some call it Harvest, some call it a travesty of a holiday and attend their spouses' gatherings only at gunpoint) I talked with a couple of old friends and it felt so good.

Watching Little Big Man, suggested by Angela. I can see certain things in it that would appeal to her on a direct level : a white boy, adopted by the Cheyenne, but never completely accepted. Each setting he enters (a religious family takes him in, a snake-oil man trains him up as partner, his estranged sister trains him as a gunfighter, he tries owning a general store and settling with a Swedish wife named Olga) ultimately he loses each life and returns to the Cheyenne. Still, he cannot be complete with them, as the white soldiers and the Pawnee massacre them indiscriminately.

The sense of isolation, of not belonging anywhere, is one that relates to Ang, or relates to what she's told me. "Somewhere there's someone with my face. I look at my sister, and I can see my mother. You look at yourself in the mirror and you can see bits of your father, and your grandmother, and pictures of great-grandparents. I look in the mirror and I don't see anyone."

I would ask my sister if she feels something like this, perhaps when Mom took a double frame and in one side put a picture of my dad when he was in the third grade. In the verso she put my third grade picture. They are nearly identical: the tilt of the head, the large front teeth, (the exceptionally toothy grin) the near-sighted squint.

Does she feel hurt that there is no one to compare to, no crinkled photos with crimped edges to smooth and study, no features to examine for similarity? I don't know. It is probably no consolation (if she feels so) that she is the spit and image of Grandma M's mannerisms.

Getting sort of lectured out by a non-entity

Sometimes, there are just people you cannot stand. They set your skin jumping. Everything they do, down to the drumming of fingers or eating a banana, seems like a personally-delivered kick to your head.

This is normal, right?

He's a colleague. He's an intelligent older male, in his thirties or forties, and he drives me nuts at every pass. Today he called and wanted to speak to my supervisor, M. When I told him she wasn't in, he then enlisted my help on a particular book he'd requested from her. Now, usually when requesting items, the logical idea is go through the Acquisitions office instead of Cataloging, as we do not have anything to do with ordering titles. But because M had the last contact with him, he wanted to know from her if the book was ordered and when it would arrive. I told him, somewhat confusedly, I'd look on her desk. He didn't like that, and told me to find out some other way. So I asked him to wait while I searched the catalog.

You know how people ask you to do something, and then constantly interrupt, or proffer advice, while you attempt to do what they want? He treated me to a mini-lecture about how he knew there was a better way to do it. I in turn refrained from telling him that he could easily have searched the catalog himself, and found the record.

In the end he had to go to Acquisitions to find out more exact information. He seemed disappointed that I didn't offer him a quicker or better way to do this? I wonder if M normally runs around doing his busy work ... as if she isn't busy enough.

The problem with all this is that I think he can tell, easily, that I find him distasteful. It's like I can't make myself smile, or simper; I can barely be polite. It feels like I'm encouraging something outside of simple office courtesies: to paraphrase Maeve Binchy, I think I'm being distant and then suddenly I'm being propositioned. Is there a term for men who give off this vibe of - neediness, or maybe it's a receptor, that picks up false signals? ("Desperate" doesn't count)

You can just eat expired yogurt for all I care

Expired dairy products: threat to stomach linings everywhere or one more example of product marketing's all-inclusive goal to control our thoughts, souls, and seldom-lauded ability to use our sense of smell?

I think we can all agree on the answer to this one.

Today was my final day of probation. I am now a full-time, permanent employee in a library that allows me to stay out of public view all day. Whether it's a dream job or penal servitude I probably already should've decided; right now I'm still too busy hovering above crocodiles in Fort Lauderdale wearing yellow spangles and a popsicle to notice the shackles. Health insurance gilds everything!