Welcome to the Desert of the Real

Once again, The Matrix was on TNT. All three of 'em in a row. What else should I watch on a 20 degree day? And oh, BOY does this movie have resonance! Now more than ever. For those of you that need a refresher, scroll back to the "There is No Spoon" posting from last year. Here's a recap of this runaway crazy weekend...

Nationals ended, Johnny won and so did Sasha. They both pulled it off with flawed performances, and yes, they named Kwan to the Torino team, but I knew that would happen. Emily Hughes can take a few more years to perfect her lutz. She'll still look stunning in her blue Tonia Bass dresses. Like her famous sibling, Sarah, she has an incredible energy and lovely hyperextended knees on her spirals and laybacks. This girl's gonna go far, but this is not her Olympic year.

The continual thought in my head this weekend was from an incident that took place earlier in the week. I sent an informative email filled with answers to questions numerous people from my job have asked me. I promptly got slammed. Below is an excerpt from a 'letter' he sent me. Imagine Lurch standing at a podium making a speech .

"There is no place for personal reflections, commentary on departmental practice, nor expression of your individual likes and dislikes...You are not authorized to speak on behalf of the department...further unprofessional communications from you will result in discipline, up to and including termination of employment." Mind you, I've gotten strange, ice-cold vibes from the man who has all the charm of Hugo Weaving's Agent Smith. "It's inevitable, Mr. Anderson..."

This was for a simple email I sent informing coworkers outside the NY office what we now did, what hours we worked, what my full name is--which is why it never matches my email address--and that I used to have a different identity outside the office inside a system that is changing. I did not create it, I inherited it. Then I made the huge carnivorous bloody point to mention people that no longer work in my department. Three were fired by Baldo (Mr. Temple's sad and sorry successor), one left, and one had a baby (that would be Ghetto Cow. Whom I still don't miss.)

The "conversation"--which was one-sided from Agent Smith--included the lovely comments and simultaneous thoughts from me as I sat there..."We don't like your tone...That's not the way to send an email...it makes the department look bad...we don't care what you think or what you feel...further actions such as this will result in disciplinary action." And to this? I didn't even get to explain myself. That's what I get for sending a casual email in newswriting style. OOps, my bad. The daggers that stared out at me were so precious, though. Take a midwestern republican who wants to protect "the company" at any cost and put him up against a native New Yorker who votes independently and sees everyone as equal in a crumbling company and whaddya get? A nice little showdown.

I knew for months that this man didn't like me. I could feel it. So, I can honestly surmise that 1) he was looking for a reason to "put me in my place" and 2) this had more to do with him than the actual email. If everyone was up in arms, all four of the Agents, so to speak, would have been in the room with me. And my reactions? Let's do a play by play of my two favorite quotes.

"We don't care what you think or feel." Well, DUH! I could drop dead in the office. As long as I don't bleed on the rug or ruin anyone's Bruno Magli shoes, all is well. [Interestingly enough, there is a similar phrase I heard from someone at my last job. I believe his exact words--screamed two inches from my face as I recall--were (I kept the post-it I wrote it on from November 6, 2000), "I don't care if you're having personal problems. Either you're here or you get out. What do I look like, an idiot?!" Well, I buried that personal problem on June 4, 2001. And yes, the person that said this to me is still an idiot. Frustrated actors amuse me no end. Even if they finally get to run a school by default.]

...actions such as this will result in disciplinary action."What, they're gonna take away my vacation days? I don't get to go anywhere as it is. My pay is shit, and they think I'm overpaid? So what's next? Dock me for a week? Then I will go to the NY State labor board and start a war. Docked for a fucking email? Oh, that's choice.

And what ties this whole week together? A death of a child. Nixzmary Brown. 7 years old, starved and beaten to death in Bed-Stuy. Makes me think of Elisa Izquierdo in 1995. I attempted to go to that wake but couldn't get in, the line was around the block. Nixz's funeral is tomorrow, and I can't be there. I have to work at this shithole. Everyone says it's Children's Services that should have saved her. NO. I say it's the neighbors, the people across the street, the people at the school who suspected, mused, wondered and bet it was a bad situation, but they did nothing. The mother was emotionally fragile and probably abused as well, and the other children had the crap beat out of them, too. All you need is a manipulative, violent, scheming bastard to ruin everything. Let the demons run amok and what happens? You get a little girl whose photographs show the face of an elderly gaunt creature who gave up before the age of 10 and didn't even live to see that number.

What's my point, kiddies? How in hell do I link these two things? YOU CAN'T LET THESE SCUMWADS WIN. YOU'VE GOT TO TAKE A STAND. PERIOD.

It's about politics, control, mindwashing. They want you to know nothing, have even less, be obedient, blind, dumb, deaf, meek and stupid. The Bible says that the meek shall inherit the earth. I don't want the earth.

I want the ocean, the air, the songs, the sleep, and the knowing. I want my dignity, conscience, and the ability to see my face every day in the mirror. I want to earn each wrinkle and gray hair and know that the armor I wore every day couldn't protect me from the simplest of moments, the epiphanies, and the tears. The one with the most toys DOESN'T win, it's the one who didn't sell their integrity on an installment plan according to society's sticker price.

I will shatter before I bend. Mark my word. Sleep peacefully, Nixzie. You are with the angels now. Send one to watch over the others...