I Miss You

In my solitude (officemate hasn’t materialized as yet), my mind drifts to the people who until recently surrounded me almost every day for 18 months. And I feel a little sad that you all, my lovely readers, didn’t get to play Fly-On-The-Wall and meet these people. Therefore, I would like to offer for your entertainment, a series of character sketches of the more colorful individuals with whom I used to work. Names have been changed to hide the guilty, to mask the innocent,… and to avoid any libel suits.

I begin with the Good: an overview of the people I left at Old Company only regretfully. In truth, my heart and gut still twist a little at having abandoned them. In spite of all the badness to be found there, Old Company was often a fun place to work, and it was largely because of the efforts of these people.

I’ll save the, um… The Rest… for another post.

CADDMAN AND THE CADDCREW

Note: I’ve seen CADD spelled with one D and with two. Acronymfinder.com agrees that both are acceptable. But I always go with two: first, because CADD with two Ds stands for Computer-Aided Drafting and Design, and drafting is important in the work we were doing; and second, to differentiate it from the term “cad,” which according to Dictionary.com is “an ill-bred man, esp. one who behaves in a dishonorable or irresponsible way toward women,” and all of CADD were incomparable gentlemen.

CADDMan and the CADDCrew were my fellow long-suffering Production staffers; they dealt with the drawings whereas I dealt with the documents. When I left, there were just four of them; the others had either run for the hills, or been subject to the callous layoffs that seemed to follow every submittal.

CADDMan gets the superhero name because he gave off a superhero vibe. Larger than life, he was a competitive weight lifter in his spare time, and he loved nothing better at the office than hassling the engineers. He’d insult them right to their faces, and they were never sure whether he was serious or joking, because he’d always follow it up with a big laugh. Most of them wrote it off as joking. Truth is, he was pretty much always serious.

The CADDCrew were my buddies, and we’d snipe about the engineers if we heard any of them make a particularly obnoxious comment or demand, or if they got abnormally out of line. They worked as many or more late nights than I did. What the engineers failed to internalize, while they often made themselves out to be holier-than-thou to us poor pathetic non-engineers, was that the CADDCrew could do most of what the engineers could do: one had earned a degree in mechanical engineering, another one in electrical engineering, and the third had drawn so many architectural drafts that he could probably design a building on his own. However, being the class acts that they were, the CADDCrew never saw fit to wave these facts in the faces of the engineers. Besides, it was more fun to watch CADDMan surreptitiously take the gauntlet to the ingrates.

AWESOME ADMINS 1, 2, and 3

I number these ladies only in the order in which I met them, but let me add that “Administrative Assistant” is a joke of a title compared to what all they did for us. While some of the engineers got some kind of sadistic pleasure in lording their titles, salaries, education, what have you, over them, the reality is that if the Admins all up and walked out, the place would instantly fall to pieces.

Awesome Admin 1 was present at my interview and became my first close friend in the office. We shared a cube wall, and she worked the specification documents while I worked the design reports. We kept each other sane, and she rescued me from more than one corner into which I had painted myself. We both realized that this was a sinking ship about the same time, but she got out first. We still talk most days over IM, but it was a much lonelier place without her there. Not to mention a lot (LOT!) more work! Granted this post is supposed to be about the people I left behind at Old Company, but I just can't talk about Old Company without including her.

Awesome Admin 2 played HR rep on my first day – lots of forms, introduced me around… she kind of became Mom At The Office for some of us, always ready with support and a smile no matter how rotten a day or how rotten the treatment. Her most shining moment, I think, was when she introduced our latest Structural engineer around the office, and she instructed him to be nice to me because it be bad for him if I got angry. And he did!

Awesome Admin 3: I was first attracted by the lure of the shiny candy bowl stationed outside her cube; in the longer run, she was a good friend with a good heart and entirely too generous a spirit. She didn’t really work in our group, but she may as well have, as much as we depended on her to bail us out of a bind. There was the evening in May when she and I spent hours installing spiral spines on deliverable materials because someone didn’t leave enough time to have them professionally done; there was every single submittal when she graciously stopped what she was working on to help me make CD covers and labels because lord knows I couldn’t figure out the printers myself; and there was the scary moment last August when she whisked me out of the office because I was thisclose to losing my temper with a certain Redneck.

COLONEL

Colonel was retired Army, and to be honest, I was never sure where I stood with him until the very end. His speech pattern and tone left a person unsure whether he was good-naturedly teasing them, or whether he was genuinely displeased. Colonel was a techie wizard and was always ready to dig up a program or whip up a macro to help with even the smallest details, and I didn’t always use them, so he’d come by and rib me for missing one typo rather than using the Find/Replace tool (I know I’m hypersensitive, but I honestly couldn’t tell whether he was teasing, or considered me incompetent). That may have sounded like I thought he was a jerk, but much to the contrary, Colonel was a man whose respect you wanted. When word of my notice got around, he came down to inform me that he didn’t recall giving me permission to leave – which was when I finally got it that he thought well of me. I still knew I had to go, but it was nice to know I’d be missed. Colonel was a good friend to me, and bears all my sympathy for having so much stuff dumped on him at the last second there.

COMMANDER

Last, but certainly never least, we have Commander. Commander was retired Navy, and whereas I wasn’t sure in the beginning whether Colonel thought I was incompetent, I knew Commander thought so. I could see it the first time we talked design reports. That’s okay. I like low expectations. It only made the victory that much more impressive when I knocked it out of the park, and it was that much more valuable when I earned his respect. (To be fair, Awesome Admin 1 informed me that my predecessor had set the bar pretty far down.) Commander oversaw the design report before I got there (okay, after I got there too, but he was glad to hand off the greater part of it) and, unlike the engineers, Commander could write – he’d done a fair amount of it for senior officers while in the Navy so he developed a very strong hand. Commander never yelled. He didn’t need to. But if his voice got tight and clipped, and his speech pattern slowed, you were wise to pay attention and watch yourself. A little grovelling probably wouldn't hurt at that point. He commanded respect like few I’ve ever seen in my career. Because of all of this, over the next year and a half, Commander ended up becoming something of a mentor to me. I cannot measure the amount I learned from him, including the ingraining of the difference between “shall” and “will” in government documents. In all honesty, if he’d been running the project from the start, I have a feeling I’d still be there, as might some other valuable individuals. Commander, in the immortal words of Dorothy to the Scarecrow, I think I’ll miss you most of all.

(Next post: The Bad, and The Ugly…)

Time for a Change

Well hello my little Rosie-fans! I bet you thought I’d abandoned you. What’s that? You know better than that now? Oh I had hoped so. By now you’re aware that my extended absences generally mean Submittal Time, and you’d partially be right. But there’s more – so much more.

I think everyone knew I was getting fed up with Company. Low appreciation and minimal respect from everyone but those least obligated to offer it. Late nights and long hours. Rotten attitudes, chauvinism, and elitism from engineers. A complete and utter disregard for deadlines except from the Production and QA staff. It was just getting to be too much, and as I looked down the road, I knew I couldn’t do this forever. Something had to change. And, as it was proven time and again, the thing to change was simply not going to be Management. So I decided to pick up and make camp elsewhere.

I originally had a bitter diatribe right here as to the events leading up to my grand exit, but I decided not to punish my good friends, and instead to let the past be the past already. Besides, most of you have heard it, and those who haven’t can guess (clue: a 22-hour day).

I write to you now from my new laptop in my new office (with a window!) at New Company. It’s only my second day, and I’m still a little overwhelmed and lonely and lost, but this is my fourth new job in three years, so I’m getting used to the feeling.

On the Jargon of Pregnancy

Pregnancy is everywhere these days. Every celeb is pregnant. The latest trend in non-maternity wear is maternity wear (seriously, walk through the Misses department at your local Kohl's, Macy's, or Penney's; or the Juniors department at Target). Teenage drug use is Out, Teenage Pregnancy is In (possibly the most disturbing news I've heard about high schoolers lately, and I used to watch Maury regularly!)

In all this coverage, however, a long-standing irritation of mine has come to the forefront. I must ask all of America (and the rest of the English-speaking world) to please, for the love of all that is sacred, STOP MAKING THE ACT OF GIVING BIRTH SOUND LIKE A CRUDE BODILY FUNCTION!

This is the miracle of life, people, regardless of who is producing it. Can we have a little respect please?

Thus, I would like to eliminate the following slang terms from common use (or any use relating to pregnancy):

• "Popping out": A baby is not a pimple.

• "Pushing out": A baby is not a bowel movement.

• "Belting out": The birthing process is not equivalent to the passing of gas. (Rosie's Aside: For shame, Dear Margo. I tend to hold you to a higher standard than that.)

Husband would like to interject that "Preggers" should be stricken from the vernacular as well, as it diminishes the seriousness with which we should take pregnancy, and it makes the speaker sound like s/he belongs in a trailer park.

Radio Free Stupid

I was treated to a live airing of Springer-quality family drama on my way in this morning. Elliot was talking about earpieces or something and had a good run mocking the Apple Bottom Jeans song and some other crap from Usher, etc., but then he went to commercial and whatever the product they were hawking was, it was a commercial I abhor (there are so many to choose from), so I surfed stations. And of all things, I got roped into this super-special segment on HOT! 99.5. I know, but bear with me. If you're familiar with my penchant for all things trailer-trashy, you'll understand what caught my interest.

So DJ Kane is chatting with a nice girl named Patty. Patty is participating in Kane's "War of the Roses" schtick, in which we sneakily confront alleged cheaters on air. Patty is telling Kane about all the things that make her think her husband Lance (his actual name) might be cheating on her, including how he gets texts and emails from other women (Lance claims they're for work) all the time, and how he'll come home late (Lance claims he forgot to mention he was meeting a friend after work to grab a beer), or how when they took a family trip to Amsterdam (who goes to Amsterdam for a family vacation?) Lance left Patty and their son out in the cold while he dashed into one of the... um... establishments in the Red Light district for a span of time unspecified by Patty, though one can imagine that standing confused on the streets of Amsterdam can warp a person's perception of time (Lance claims he was taking pictures of the inside for a friend back home so Friend could see what the Red Light houses were like).

Now, if you remain unconvinced - as apparently Patty was - that Lance is a deadbeat who's only trying to see what else Patty will put up with, I think this next scrap of evidence is the nail in the coffin: one night Lance needed to return a movie to Blockbuster, so he left to do that at 7:30... and didn't return until 3 a.m. Now, take note Husband - if you leave to return a movie at 7:30 pm and I don't see you again until 3, it had better be in the ICU or in county lockup (which will require outstanding explanations of how you could get in that much trouble in the time it took you to return a movie to Blockbuster.) Patty stayed up till 3 a.m. and asked him when he got home where he'd been. Lance claimed to Patty that he'd gotten a call from a friend who needed help or "to talk" (take note ladies: men don't invite each other over "to talk;" if you hear this excuse, he's seeing someone on the side!) Problem with this excuse: he had left his cell phone at the house so that Patty couldn't call him to check up on him. D'oh!

And yet, Patty tells Kane that she just doesn't know. Seriously? How is that not proof positive? I call a 7.5 hour movie-return "grounds for divorce." But Patty just isn't sure. I know. I'm shaking my head in disbelief too.

So Kane offers to call Lance and put him to the test. (Another note ladies, you never need to "test" him for any reason. If you even feel the need to test him, you need to be ready to lose, in which case, you've already lost.)

Kane calls Lance's cell phone and, under the guise of a startup Internet florist, tells Lance he got Lance's phone number from a magazine subscriber list his "company" bought, and offers Lance a dozen romantic roses free of charge to send to anyone Lance requests. Lance is unsure, Kane claims that the gig is that the "florist" sends the roses to the recipient and hopes that Lance and the recipient are so thrilled with the service that they use the florist again. Almost plausible, I'll give him that. Lance takes the bait, and requests that the card say,

(wait for it...)

"Dear Angela, Last week was amazing. Can't wait for this weekend. Love, Lance."

I'll wait while the laughter dies down.

Of course, Patty is on the other line, listening in, and now breaks in with a string of terms not appropriate to share with my adoring fans. Also because they were bleeped out and I can only speculate. Lance is pretty solidly caught red-handed, though we can all agree that Patty is twelve kinds of dense for not having had enough proof before.

Lance backtracks - oh no, it's only to cheer Angela up! (Sounds to me like last week provided a fair amount of cheer, but that's just my perspective...) Seriously dude, you're screwed.

Spectacularly screwed.

But wait. There's more.

Patty, you seem particularly dismayed that it's "Angela." Do you know this Angela person?

Why yes, yes she does.

Angela is Patty's stepsister.

Thank you! You've been a terrific audience! I'll be here all week! Don't forget to tip your waitstaff! Enjoy the veal!

Had to Share

Courtesy of Overheard in the Office, June 16 2008:

9AM Mexico: Hey, We Warned You!

CSR, on speakerphone: And where would you like this order shipped?

Secretary: 123 Main St.*, Los Alamos, New Mexico.

CSR : We don't ship out of the country.

Secretary: That's fine, but this address is in the country.

CSR : No, you said to ship it to New Mexico.

Secretary: Yes, New Mexico is a state in the US.

CSR : Sorry, but we can't ship out of the US.

Secretary: Do you have a supervisor I can talk to, please?

[Long pause.]

CSR supervisor: This is Tim. Can I help you?

Secretary: I hope so, Tim. Your employee doesn't seem to understand that New Mexico is a state in the United States, and so refuses to ship me your product.

Supervisor: Well, that's true. We can't ship out of the country. I'm sorry ma'am.

Secretary, raising her voice a little: Have you never even heard of the state of New Mexico? It's one of the big, square ones? It's right between Texas and Arizona? It's one of the 50 United States?

Supervisor: I'm sorry, it's just our policy not to ship out of the US.

Secretary: Tim, let me get this straight. Your company is going to lose a $14,000 order because the people in your customer service department are too moronic to know or comprehend that the state of New Mexico is a part of the United States?

Supervisor: Yes, ma'am. That's our policy.

Secretary, completely exasperated: Well, I guess there's nothing more to be said, is there?

Supervisor: No, ma'am. Have a nice day.

Los Alamos, New Mexico
Overheard by: New Mexican

via Overheard in the Office, Jun 16, 2008

A Smattering for Thursday

I'm feeling very scattered today and there are a fair number of things to piss me off in the world, but I'm not committed enough to choose just one and go with it. So I'll spread the love around.

• Katharine Heigl needs to take the advice she gave third-person-style to Isaiah Washington back when he was shooting his mouth off and "just not talk in public. Period." First she ragged on "Knocked Up" and said it was sexist and portrayed women as shrews and men as loveable goofs. I want to know what movie she watched, because that's not at all what I saw in that movie - I saw a bunch of imperfect but overall good people, and the exploitation of funny but believable situations that their imperfections got them into. Hopefully Judd Apatow and Co. have the sense not to work with her again. Then today I see that she removed herself from Emmy nomination because she felt that the Grey's Anatomy writers hadn't given her Emmy-quality material to put forth an Emmy-quality performance. I'll agree that this season overall sucked and her character reached new depths of annoyingness in the fall, but if you don't think your performance was Emmy-worthy, fine, just say that. Don't go blaming the writers! Shame on you!



• United is now charging to check a single bag. It's a good thing I'm not going anywhere that requires air travel this year.



• I watched The Other Boleyn Girl last night. Dis. A. Ppointed. It reminded me of Titanic in that it seemed the filmmakers were far more interested in setting than substance. The set designers and constumers deserve Academy Awards - the realism was astounding and expert. But do you remember how bad the script was for Titanic? It was only slightly better for The Other Boleyn Girl. Scarlett and Natalie did what they could, and Eric Bana turned in a surprisingly strong and dynamic performance. But it all fell flat to me. Furthermore, it was as though the scriptwriter neither read the book nor even consulted with Philippa Gregory. In the book, Mary was the middle child; in the movie she was the youngest. In the book, Mary's first child by Henry is a girl; in the movie, it's a boy. In the book, George's homosexuality was evident; in the movie, they skimmed it so lightly it was imperceptible. In the book, Anne was a viper from the start and living at the French court where she learned charm, manipulation, intrigue, and court life; in the beginning of the movie, she and Mary are BFF and living in England, and Anne is only sent to France for a few months as punishment. Sloppy, sloppy job. The book was fluff but historical fluff and handily written. I had such high hopes - it would have been a cakewalk to make this movie a real thing of beauty. And it was in terms of the scenery and costumes. But the script was a landfill in the middle of parkland.



• Ask Amy is showing her bitchy colors. In today's article, she had three letters. The first was legitimate: shy college freshman made friends in the first week who have progressively gotten into drugs and drinking and the writer wants to abstain but doesn't enjoy hanging out with his new friends while they're high; what can he say to his friends to get them to lay off the dangerous substance (Amy's Answer: very little, make new friends). The second one was silly and characteristic of the charged topic that any celebration has become: writer's neighbor sent graduation party invitations for their daughter with whom writer has had very very little contact in the 13 years they lived there; neighbor is obviously grubbing for gifts and writer isn't going but if writer sends a card will that set precedent for writer to receive yet more invitations of the sort.... (Amy's Answer: get a grip, send a card with a regretful decline and best wishes and stop overthinking). Third letter pissed me off: a hateful tirade framed in the guise of a question as to why women have not stamped out the awful concept of fathers giving their daughters away at weddings like they're property to be disposed of and why aren't we all walking ourselves down the aisle (Amy's answer: Amen sister.) Screw you both. I dare you to find one woman outside of scary cults who honestly believes this practice has anything to do with property anymore. It's a sentimental thing, it's a traditional thing, it's an honor thing, it's a compromise thing (we want to walk ourselves but are afraid we'll hurt our Dad's feelings if he doesn't get to walk his little girl down the aisle). Some brides have their mothers give them away to honor their mother as the person who raised them. Some brides have siblings do it, or friends, or no one. And that's all fine. Weddings are all interpretive now anyway. So Amy, how about offering perspective, or a gentle wait-a-minute to your "advice seeker." And Feminazi, stuff your dogma and actually ask someone why they're doing what they're doing before you go assuming you know their motivations.



• Candy has calories. I think it's fair that that pisses me off.



• Some Marines got expelled and punished for what Drudge Report describes only as "puppy video." I have no idea what the video is or is about, and I refuse to open the link because my imagination can carry me far enough to assume that whatever it was they did to a puppy had to be bad or they wouldn't have gotten in trouble for it. And to that I say, there isn't a circle of Hell severe enough for those people, but I hope Satan gets on that real soon.

Confession: June 10 2008

I'm having a rotten morning where everything is going wrong. I'm inexplicably angry at everything and everyone, I probably bruised myself when I walked into the corner of a wall, my clothes looked like hell, it's hot as blue blazes, my new deodorant stinks, I got glittery eye shadow all over my face so I now look like a 13-year-old, and I caught my nice work bag in the door on my way into the office.

But all of that is okay now. Because I must confess something.

I am in love.

I have developed a terrible girl-crush on Anne Hathaway. My affection for her surpasses my adoration of Natalie Portman. I want to BE Anne Hathaway. Anne Hathaway is gorgeous. Anne Hathaway is radiant. Anne Hathaway is classy and graceful. Anne Hathaway is smart. Anne Hathaway kicks ass. Anne Hathaway is pale and has absolutely zero issues with it, and refuses to try to change it. Anne Hathaway can actually act (a rare trait in Hollywood starlets today). Anne Hathaway takes gutsy roles (see her play the wife of a barely-closeted gay cowboy in Brokeback Mountain) but isn't afraid of fluff work (*cough*Ella Enchanted*cough*, though I guess it was good for its target demo and even Colin Firth bows to the tweener audience sometimes) and will tolerate a boring and predictable ending in pursuit of an overall fun movie (The Devil Wears Prada). Anne Hathaway is naturally thin but still actually likes to eat (see story, albeit poorly written and a desperate topic to begin with, here). Anne Hathaway can be cut to the bone and only asks for Tylenol (see story here).

And best of all, Anne Hathaway is so cool that she uses this as a description of what it's like to kiss Steve Carrell on set of Get Smart:

"Making out with him is like the yummiest lollipop, dipped in sunshine and wrapped in a masculine wrapper! That's the only way I can think to describe it."

Anne Hathaway, I think I love you. Husband, try not to be jealous.

A Well-Deserved Long Weekend

Was that the longest month ever or what?! High point: celebrating my three year anniversary with Husband. Low point: just about everything else.

By now, my adoring public should know that a month of no- or minimal-bloggage means only one thing: Submittal. Correct assessment. True to form, the engineers managed to amaze even this jaded individual with exactly how far behind schedule they could fall, and how little respect or regard they could show for the time, patience, and personal lives of people without an engineering degree (and in some cases, of people with one!) My head is pounding, my wrist aches, and I'm developing Smoker's Lips from how I keep mine pursed in frustration all day.

But the submittal is gone, with only one more to go, and since I had lots and lots of hours to burn since they won't pay me overtime, I took Friday off and gave myself not only two 3-day weekends in a row, but a 3-day week as well. Allow me to title the sum-up in alliteration.

Relaxation. The recycling truck woke me up pitifully early (since when do they recycle at 6:45 in the morning??) but that only ensured that I was awake and the bed was stripped when the mattress delivery people called to ask if an earlier delivery time was okay. So we got a new mattress, ending the threat of mornings in which I wake up with my shoulder locked way the hell up next to my ear and I look like Quasimodo staggering into work. Which I've done in the recent past. I also watched Bridget Jones's Diary for some mindless fluff, and enjoyed my directionless day immensely.

Reunion. On Saturday, I had lunch with Friend Leah, whom I hadn't seen since her 27th birthday in 2006, and we spent the vastly better part of 4 hours talking and catching up and taking up space in Sunflower Vegetarian Kitchen, and that was very much fun! I also got tapped to be her Maid of Honor in November! Hooray! And *blush!* I'd like to thank the Academy... I'm still all squishy inside over it.

Robbed. I also watched Atonement, which, might I add, was ROBBED for Best Picture last year. I saw No Country for Old Men, and while the Coens are still up to their old tricks, making deep and intense movies, I think I missed something. I got the morality play, and the predator-vs-prey aspect, and the right-vs-wrong aspect, and the fatalistic overtones. The scenery was stark, and the acting was good. But Atonement wiped the floor with it, I thought. Keira Knightley actually has talent (kudos to her for reminding us) (and holy crap I want that green dress!) (or at least one that would look good on me, but no one works in emerald anymore and they should!) (yet I digress), and James McAvoy is my latest obsession, and everyone played their part fantastically and the ending was chilling, startling,... and perfect, especially from a writer's perspective. I'll stop before I become a spoiler in case you haven't seen it too. But I haven't sent the DVD back to The Mighty Netflix yet because I think it needs another viewing to catch the nuances. After which, I may write a review in which I let loose the spoiler fury.

Redemption. On Sunday, I subjected Husband to my playing catch-up with this season's final three episodes of Grey's Anatomy. Last season was a complete shambles and I was not impressed at all with what I saw during the fall. Then the writer's strike hit and I lost track of most of the story lines and actually ended up deleting the episodes from Tivo because I had lost interest. For whatever reason, I saved these last three episodes and decided to use them as a barometer for next season: if I liked them, I'd stay on for the 2008-2009 season; if I was bored or hated them, I'd delete my Tivo season pass. Four hours(ish) later, survey says I'll be watching next season. Meredith grew a pair, which made me happy because I want to like her. The writers bolstered Callie's character, which made me happy because she's a hella-fun character. George developed a spine, which made me happy because he always gets shit on. Christina got props from the Chief and regenerated some confidence, which made me happy because Christina eats her fellow characters for breakfast. Bailey's marriage isn't dead yet, which made me happy because Bailey kicks ass. Izzie and Karev are a sorta-kinda thing again, which made me downright ecstatic (been waiting three years for that! Now if they can just work on giving her back the personality she had in Season One...) because Izzie used to be an interesting character, and Karev is hot (!!) and and still is an interesting character. However, as Friend Merideth pointed out, they need to lose Lexie. She's a failing character. She worked as a plot device last season, and she could have worked as a real live character. But it's like the writers didn't know what to do with her once she had served her dramatic-twist purpose. She isn't developed, she doesn't bring anything, her dialogue is annoying, and they're about to send George down another "stupid relationship" avenue (as in, it's stupid of him to be in this relationship) with her and... isn't that storyline dead by now? Can't you leave poor Georgie alone for just a little while?

This weekend I felt good, and genuinely relaxed, which was such a foreign sensation to me that I didn't know what to do with it most of the time. I shouldn't get too chill though: we're going into our final submittal, and it's the biggie. But after that, I'm changing jobs again. I don't care whether it's a multinational corporation or the Dollar General. I've got to get the hell out of here. This is ridiculous.

Big Fat Deal

Here it is in all its glory:

I've heard this photo called slutty, embarrassing, racy, risque, sexualizing, mature. I've heard people claiming that sweet, wholesome little Miley Cyrus was manipulated into doing this by big, bad Annie Liebovitz. I've heard Cyrus's daddy and other entourage's avowals that it was a complete mistake and that they should never have done this and ohmygod isn't it awful what they've done to his little girl!?

And all I can think is, what's the big deal?

You say slutty, risque, sexualizing. I say innocent, vulnerable, tasteful, beautiful. I say she looks like a modern day Cosette. I say I see girls wearing less at the pool. I say I see girls wearing less at the mall. Miss Cyrus's green bra didn't get NEARLY this much publicity, nor nearly this vocal an outrage even from Miley and Co. I've seen those pics (and you can too!), and they're complaining about this??

The Cyrus Clan says they were manipulated. I say BULL! Daddy was on hand for this shoot; it's not like they handcuffed and blindfolded him in a soundproof booth outside the studio. Miley wasn't drugged or blackmailed into doing this. And before you point out that she's a minor, you can't deny that Miley's legal pitbulls wouldn't have allowed those photos to see the light of day if Billy Ray hadn't signed off that everyone thought they were fine. Miley said in the article (that's a 15-year old being interviewed by Vanity Fair, might I add) that she thought the photo was artistic (actual term used: "artsy," but that rhymes with "fartsy" and I don't like to use it), proving that she had seen the results and was - at the time - okay with it.

And everyone's coming down on Annie. This is Annie Freaking Liebovitz, people! She is a legend in portrait photography. May she ever deign to do a (free!) portrait of me. Cyrus et al can't say they weren't familiar with her work before they agreed to do this. Annie even sat down with the Cyruses and reviewed her (Annie's) style, portfolio, and plans for the session. And if they weren't put off by her treatment of Angelina Jolie a couple of years ago, then I don't want to hear a word from them about how "embarrassed" they are now.

Furthermore, do note that Miley was in fact clothed beneath that sheet. It was not a nude picture. Even if she wasn't clothed beneath the sheet, it's not a nude picture because she is draped in that cloth. But the fact is, she was wearing clothes when she sat down, and they draped the sheet on and around her to hide the clothes. But Rosie, that makes her LOOK naked! So what? As I mentioned before, you're not seeing anything indecent, and what you are seeing is graceful and beautiful. If I wear a strapless dress, and all you see of me in a photo is from my shoulders up, is that also a nude photo?

The only shame here should be on Miley - and her Crew - for complaining at all. You're only doing that because the Disney execs told you to. You were fine with it before, during, and after. Until the Christian Coalition of America (the same people who have nothing better to do than going frame-by-frame through childrens' movies looking for shapes that in any way resemble a phallus) piped up, everyone was cool. The CCA's representative, Michele Combs said, "Disney should reprimand her. Miley should say it was a mistake and that kids have to be very careful at such a young age. Kids look up to her. Something needs to be done...[Rosie's Aside to Miley: Good job reading that script they gave you!]...She was the one person out there who everyone seemed to trust. She should have been more thoughtful. If she's gonna go out there and represent wholesome values, she needs to be more accountable for her actions." To listen to all that, you'd think Miley personally went up to Michele, slapped the woman in the face, called her baby ugly, and kicked her dog. Ms. Combs goes on to say that Annie Liebovitz has "a reputation for doing racy things." Oooh! Racy! Them's fightin' words! (Credit to Mr. Perez Hilton for supplying the quote.)

Note: I have nothing against Miley Cyrus. She is cute, she is wholesome, she is good to her fans, and she can sing. I might even go so far as to say that if a person happened to trip over her song on the radio, they might possibly not be sickened and might possibly not change the station and just maybe might even admit in the deep recesses of my - I MEAN THEIR - soul that, despite its bubblegum nature, it was kind of a little bit catchy. The worst thing I can say about the girl is that she hasn't taken a razor to that stupid patch of fuzz under her daddy's lip.

So Cyrus Clan, kindly get over yourselves, do a better job of burying those green bra pictures (Miley, dear, be careful of whom you trust with a digital camera from now on), and quit railing against and apologizing for something most of us would be honored to experience.

Are You Stupid or Something?

I have something to say to the role models for and of my generation and those following me: FAIL! When you taught us to "not care what other people think," you forgot to emphasize that there are limits to that statement.

I'm reading an article today in the Washington Post, titled "When Young Teachers Go Wild on the Web." The topic is (quite obviously) teachers who have racy MySpace and Facebook pages for all the world to see.

Ms. Webster, a Prince William Co. long-term substitute teacher (i.e., for when a teacher goes on maternity leave, has surgery, etc.) for students with emotional and learning disabilities, granted an interview with the journalist. Parents, brace yourselves - this person may have unfettered access to your children's tiny minds. If stupid is as stupid does, this chicky fits the description (and she wasn't even the worst of those quoted in the story; that title goes to one Ms. Espinosa).

Among the priceless gems on her public page is a graphic of a bumper sticker that says, "You're a retard, but I love you." Her defense, ladies and gentlemen: "My best friend, she always calls me that because I say ditzy things... [but] I would never go around calling people that. All of my [students] have emotional disorders or learning disabilities. . . . I love them." So, Ms. Webster, I take that to mean that both of you are devoid of basic manners, empathy, and consideration. Saying that it's okay because it was just your friend teasing you is like the Seinfeld episode (much as I hate to credit that show) about the dentist who coverts to Judaism just to be able to make the jokes. An ordinary person calling another a retard is appalling! But because you teach people with disabilities, it's okay for you to use it.

In the photos section of her page, she includes a shot of a couple of guys flipping the bird and one of herself apparently passed out drunk and holding a bottle of Cuervo. Great message to send to your impressionable students. She says she didn't realize that people could see her page regardless of whether she approved them as "friends." STUPID STUPID STUPID! It's a basic user functionality to make private or password-protected certain parts of your page, or the whole thing. Clue: can you see pages of people who didn't add YOU as a friend? Then they can probably see yours, dingus! And if you, an educator, are not bright enough to think of that, someone really needs to consider whether you should be at the blackboard at all.

In defense of her page as a whole (quoting directly from the article): "I know that employers will look at that page, and I need to be more careful," said Webster, adding that other Prince William teachers have warned her about her page. "At the same time, my work and social lives are completely separate. I just feel they shouldn't take it seriously. I am young. I just turned 22." Brilliant. So when you're looking to get hired as a sub, and the principal checks your page (nota bene, folks: employers are googling you and are looking at your webpages, blogs, and MySpace crap, if you have it), s/he'll see a drunk with poor social skills... but then they'll see your age and say, "Oh but she's only 22! We'll give her a pass!" Right. Besides employers, what parent who sees that page is going to overlook it just because it's a page regarding your social life, which you say is separate from your professional life. You may think they're separate, honey, but you lost the right to claim so once you posted that you were employed as a teacher at thusandsuch school. As soon as you did that, you became a representative of your school, and anyone looking at the page was free to make an association between your deportment and the standards at your place of employment.

See, that's the tricky word, isn't it? "Professional." To be sure, this lack of basic decorum and self-awareness reaches far beyond the boundaries of education. Here's the nuance to not caring what others think, and it's one of the first things I was taught when I got my first job at age 16 in a food service joint: Anytime you are identifiable as a representative of a professional organization, you must be aware that your appearance and behavior is equally representative of that organization. While my aphorism is particularly targeted toward employment, it pertains to anyone in a position of evaluation as a professional or as an individual: teachers, managers, leaders, job-seekers, college applicants, romantic interests, etc.

Quick and easy check: Google yourself periodically to see what turns up. Log out of your social networking site and check out your page as a stranger would see it. If there's anything you wouldn't want your boss, colleagues, boy/girlfriend, AND parents to see, take down the picture or make it private. Would you vote for a candidate who you saw on MySpace posing in nothing but lingerie against a fire truck? Would you be comfortable if your son's Boy Scout leader posted a picture of himself in mid-moon? Could you take seriously the teacher who posted shots of herself making out with her boyfriend? How about hiring that engineer who posted a video of himself stumbling drunk out of a bar and letting loose with a string of curse words? Would you let your teenage son date the girl photographed dragging on a joint? Do you want to waste time seeing the guy who posted a shot of himself proudly grabbing some girl's butt at Spring Break? (All but the first are completely hypothetical situations, so far as I know.)

This is especially important if you take a position that is clearly in the public eye and seen as a social influence, but it applies across the board. If you go to a company function and your boss is there, you mind your Ps and Qs of course. But if you're wearing a shirt (or carrying a tote, etc.) with the company logo to Happy Hour, you make sure you limit it to a drink or two. All it takes to lose out on a contract is for a potential client to see your company logo dancing on the bar.

It's neither my place nor my intent to regulate what you do in your private life. I'm not suggesting that we should all become Puritans because we never know who might see us. I'm just advocating a little common sense and propriety, and putting out fair warning that you're making an ass of yourself.