In which there are further, wholly fictive, developments

The plot thickens! I just overheard Melvin announcing, "Those people who refused the new phone books are going to be sorry!" Sounds kinda ominous, don't you think?

I don't know what he's got up his sleeve, but I'm guessing he's going to organize a photo opp for all new-phone-book users, where we all wear yellow shirts and stand on the bleachers at city college in the form of a phone book, and then send the picture to the tsunami victims. Anyone who refused a new phone book will not be invited to participate, thus proving that they don't care about not just the phone books, but the tsunami in general. That'll show them.

I'll be there, though. I'm not stupid enough to turn down the new phone book.

In which the new phone book's here! The new phone book's here!

The headlines are full of tsunami news again--apparently, people in island nations to the east now "hate the sea"--but I can't concentrate on that, because at the moment my attention is consumed by a work-related crisis, namely: THE NEW PHONE BOOK DEBACLE. Have you heard about it? Oh, you will. It's causing so much turbulence here that it's only a matter of time before UPI picks up the story and runs with it.

It started out so simply: the new phone books were delivered to our office. I am not in charge of phone book distribution, so their arrival registered a mere blip on my radar. That I didn't pay more attention just proves how out to sea I really am, because that blip turned out to be a mighty wave that, like the recent, devastating tsunami, hit the shore like a bomb going off. (See, everything relates to the tsunami, once you put your mind to it.)

Anyway, the real trouble happened because Melvin, Keeper of the Phone Books, was on vacation when the books arrived, and in his absence, no one knew what to do. The books stayed down by the front reception desk, except for the few that people claimed, and within hours created an enormous problem. An emergency, really. I was alerted by a call from a secretary downstairs, a woman I'll call Erica. Erica's normal communication style is extremely tense, and every event a matter of critical importance. Her voice sounds so urgent that by comparison, Ted Koppel sounds like Jeff Spiccoli. Do I need to mention how very, very much I detest speaking to Erica? No, I do not.

So, Erica called, and in her clipped, urgent style, informed me of the phone book crisis. "Violet? Uh..." (She pauses frequently between words, and sighs in exasperation, as if pondering exactly how to word tragic news.) "Melvin's not back yet?" No, he was not, I told her. She sighed again. "Well... we've got a problem. [sigh] The public. Is taking. Phone books."

My first instinct was to scream and say, "The PUBLIC?! Who let THEM in here?!" and go on a rampage. Because I mean, really, that would not have been out of line. But I did not. Instead, I used my executive management skills to "pass the buck" to someone I felt would be more able to lug phone books around, and sighed to myself, as I hung up the phone, "Case closed."

How wrong I was. The phone calls continued, this time from the book-lugger I'd appointed, and then from his boss. "Who needs phone books?" "Who is supposed to get them?" On and on, and I am not kidding in the least. I thought it was finally over, until this morning, when Melvin came back from vacation and saw what a complete mess I'd made of the phone book distribution process. He was furious, if typically shady in his avoidance of direct blame to yours truly. He never accused me directly, but I overheard his startling serial tirades to a number of other people, charging incompetence and general confusion. It was so great, I had to run over to the cube next to his and laugh about it with Aerin while he was yelling!

Someone was explaining to him that there were extra phone books because when asked, many people had declined to receive the new one. Melvin exploded with indignation! I was so happy! "No!" he yelled, "That is not an option! You cannot ASK these people if they want a phone book, you just say, 'Here is your new phone book,' and take their old one." He was so angry about it, I wish I'd had it on tape. "You can't let these people walk all over you!" he ranted, irate and pacing in his cube. "It is not an OPTION to NOT get the new phone book--they just have to take it!" He muttered that if people didn't like their new phone books, "They know where the recycle bin is." (Which, I agree, is preferable to having the book wind up in the hands of The Public, who are just going to use it to look up our number and call with nit-picking complaints.)

I can't wait for the elaborate e-mail I know he's going to send out about this dire situation. He likes to use different colors and is fond of highlighting important concepts in the "Olde English" font.

Clearly, the storm has not passed. I'm going to get my umbrella and wait it out.

See me, feel me

Are you paralyzed with indecision over how you can help victims of the tsunami? Sure--we all are! But help is on the way. (Help for us, I mean--the indecisive ones.) Mull over these great ideas cropping up in my little community, and see if one of them tugs at something around your heart-al region:

1. Attend the Tsunami Victims Benefit Concert! It's this Sunday, so you still have time to fit it into your schedule. According to the press release, local musicians are getting together to play music that will somehow benefit the victims of the "devastating tsunami." Maybe the victims will be at the concert, or maybe the musicians will plan to send a tape of the concert (or, let's be modern: a CD) to Sri Lanka, for public broadcast. Otherwise, I do not really see how this concert will benefit them, as (again, according to the press release), admission to the concert is FREE. (I guess it's really just a benefit to us, the locals who can attend the concert, giving us an opportunity to think about how much we care about our seaside brothers and sisters across the miles.)

2. Be part of the "red human heart" experience! To show how much this community cares, call has gone out for 3,000 people to show up at the city college stadium wearing red shirts, to "form a huge human red heart with a white border." So, I guess some people should plan to wear white shirts that day. Anyway, doesn't a "human heart" have like, blue veins or arteries or something? Maybe some of you should wear navy. The giant human heart was dreamed up by a couple of locals while sitting on their parents' couch (according to the press release). There they were, sitting around, when suddenly "We decided that we need to do something personally to make a difference for the people suffering from the tsunami that destroyed millions of lives." So, you know, "giant human heart" probably followed naturally from there. Although there's no mention of it, I'm assuming that the heart will be photographed, and the photograph sent to... I don't know where. Where would you send a picture of a human heart? And the date and time for the gathering aren't set yet, but that's not important. What IS important is, and here I'll quote again from the release: "It's critical that others throughout the world witness that we care."

So, remember that, when you're wondering what to do for the tsunami victims. It's not important that you actually accomplish anything. The main thing is that someone sees you in the act of CARING about the tsunami victims. You can accomplish this in various ways:

a) Make a t-shirt that says, like, "GOD BLESS THE TSUNAMI VICTIMS" and sell it on Cafe-Press. Maybe put some clip-art of the sun shining next to a palm tree on there, to indicate better times to come. Use the money from the sales to develop a web site to sell more t-shirts.

b) Make a face indicating anguish, and walk around where others can see you. "This whole tsunami thing..." you can say, "It's got me down!" Plan for like, ten people to see you. That should be good.

c) Add some inspriational, tsunami-related words to the signature of your outgoing e-mail. Like, "God never sends a tsunami to devastate a door without also opening a window."

d) Call "Delilah" the syndicated radio lady and dedicate a song to victims of the tsunami. Make sure you say your real name and hometown! Good songs: "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton; "There's a Hole in the World" by the Eagles. Bad songs: "Sea of Love," by that guy who used to be in Zep; the Pixies' "Wave of Mutilation."

e) Form a Chain of Caring, or something, with your friends, and call the local tv stations. Tell the news anchor how you scuba-dived in Sri Lanka on your honeymoon, possibly providing pictures. If you have never been there, talk about how inspired you were by Duran Duran videos of the area "back in the '80s." Pause, and then say in a choked voice, "It's hard to believe that's all... gone... now." Refuse to continue the interview.

Whatever you do, don't organize a large group of people to gather in a stadium somewhere and perform "The Wave." See... that's the kind of thing that can be construed as just plain bad taste.



Star of the day. . .
posted @ 10:43 a.m. on 01.05.05 before | after

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She lay awake all night,

zzzzzzzzzzz......