Speech

My job consists of a lot of talking. I answer phones and speak to people face-to-face for 40 hours every week, and I've done so for many years. Whether I'm explaining the differences in the two wings of the property, telling people things to do in the area, directing people where to go to dinner, asking for information when making reservations, or making small talk during check-in, I spend a lot of my day speaking. Because I talk to people from all over the globe I've done my best over the years to speak as clearly and concisely as possible so that, even in the case of language barriers, guests understand what I'm talking about.

In the last few days I've had a couple people comment on how I talk. One lady checked in the other day and mentioned how nice and professional my phone voice was when I had made her reservation the week before. A few hours ago a guest from the Netherlands asked if I was from the US, and then thanked me, saying my accent was clear and easy to understand. It's really uplifting, especially considering I wasn't really great at talking for a long while.

I have vague memories of being four years old. They're the kind of murky scenes that almost seem like dreams, but I do remember seeing a speech therapist, though I didn't know what was going on at the time. When I was at an age where most kids would speak pretty normally, I had an expressive vocabulary of about ten to fifteen words. Apparently I communicated in a lot of whines and grunts for the most part, with a select few words here and there when absolutely needed. This understandably worried my parents, so they sent me in for a bunch of tests. Doctors didn't see anything abnormal with me developmentally, so they suggested a speech therapist. I remember hanging out at the preschool with a lady that had me play a lot of games and talked to me a lot, which apparently helped me expand my vocabulary and form words, so by the time I started school I was on the same level as the rest of the kids. As the story goes, I haven't shut up since.

As I grew up I participated in school plays, getting background roles as a little kid and some speaking roles with actual lines to memorize later on, so I learned how to speak clearly and project my voice. In high school, since they cut from freshman year until after I graduated, I got into writing. That evolved into speeches, so I took my memorization and projection skills from school plays, applied it to speech contests, and did okay with them. However, even though I could do speeches well enough, there was one thing I had a really, really hard time doing: talking to small groups and individual people. Public speaking terrifies a lot of people, but I found that talking at an audience is easier than talking to a single person. While I could orate to a room of people about some social issue, I couldn't order fast food without being a nervous wreck, or answer a phone call from a number I didn't know. The first time I asked a girl out I was 19 and I thought I was going to puke. I wanted to die during my first job interviews. Even though I was a decent public speaker I was still, at my core, really, really, painfully shy.

I want to write about how I came out of my shell and went from being an introverted kid to a social butterfly in some kind of spiritual awakening, but honestly it was just from the hotel job. Prior to the front desk I did maintenance work and kitchen work, which was fine by me because talking to people scared me and there isn't much human interaction while washing dishes or shoveling horse poop. I didn't know much about hotels when I first started, but since it was just a summer job I figured I'd roll with what was presented to me. I spent a lot of the time stumbling over words, nervously mumbling over the phone, and clamming up when presented with questions, but as the weeks went on I got a little more comfortable with talking to people. When the summer job got longer my people skills improved and my speaking ability gained more polish. Now, almost nine years later, not only is this the longest summer job I've ever had, but I can talk to pretty much anyone without much trouble.

Then again, it helps that I get paid for it. I'm still a nervous person and inherently introverted. Plus, half the time I think my voice really is annoying (the other half I think it sounds like my dad, which I guess is okay but it's still a little weird to me). Either way, I have to admit talking to people is a lot easier now than it was when I was a kid. I can strike up conversations with strangers without much trouble, make appointments without getting too nervous, answer phone calls just fine, and even order fast food (I still panic in the drive-thu though because people are waiting behind me and the clerk is waiting for my order and I always forget what I want whenever it's my time to order so I blurt out a random number and hope it's a combo I'll like).

Maybe it's stupid, but I'm kind of proud of myself for growing from a kid that didn't talk at all, to a kid that was too shy to talk, to having people impressed enough by my speaking abilities to tell me about it. Sure, it may have come from nearly a decade of having pretty much no choice but to get good with speech, but I'm still flattered when little old ladies come up to the front desk and say, "Are you the young man who made my reservation? You have such a lovely phone voice, you sound so nice! Thank you, Eric!"

They never call me by my actual name. Nothing I can say will change that, but it's close enough and I'm too flattered to care.

Smoking

I’m pretty sure this is the longest I’ve been without a cigarette in years.

My smoking habit isn’t something I talk about much. It’s kind of embarrassing because, yes, I know how bad it is for me and, yes, I know it stinks. I know it causes several varients of cancer, tooth decay, heart disease, and stroke. I’ve had various resources over the years to help me quit. It’s only been recently that I’ve managed to stop with any success, and it’s only because I got sick enough to start coughing up blood, but I’m rolling with it and supplimenting it with the resources I've had before.

Even though both my parents smoked when I was growing up I didn’t think about how the act of smoking and the smell of cigarettes was almost omnipresent throughout my childhood. However, when I was 15 I tried a few puffs off a cigar some friends had pilfered. That evolved to bumming cigarettes at parties and finishing half-smoked butts from my dad’s ashtrays, sneaking out in the middle of the night to burn them by Main Street when my hometown was asleep. By the time I was old enough I started buying my own packs, so I started smoking more. By the time I graduated high school and started going to college I smoked with fair regularity.

I mostly stuck with Marlboro and Camel in my late teens and early 20s, chain smoking while I studied or using them as an excuse to step away from parties. Graveyard shifts were spent smoking to pass the time. Long drives in my Jeep were easier with the rush of wind from the open window and thin, gray ribbons of smoke escaping. Nothing was more luxurious than a glass of red wine and a smoke. Mornings I’d wake up early to watch the sunrise over a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Nights I’d smoke before bed. It was in everything I did.

After awhile it was just something like a nervous twitch. An American Spirit cigarette hanging out of my mouth was a much a part of my personal identity as the way I speak and hold myself, so I didn’t think too seriously about stopping. The price for a pack grew and the number of people who smoked in my social circles shrank, but deep down I felt that didn’t matter; it’s who I am. Even as I grew more health-conscious all I did was switch to lights and cut down somewhat. Friends and family insisted I quit, and though I wanted to withdrawal symptoms and even the prospect of them alone held me back.

Then I recently caught the flu. I’d had colds and the flu before, and I just switched over to menthols thinking the menthol would help my throat and the smoke would dry out the mucus in my nose and throat, despite none of that actually working or making much sense. This time, however, I didn’t feel like smoking. The body aches, chills, and incessent coughing made the prospect of standing outside in the cold and wind less appealing than staying in a warm bed. Withdrawal symptoms intermingled with general illness, and I couldn’t tell what felt more miserable. A few days and a bunch of Tamiflu later I was feeling a lot better. It dawned on me that it was long enough for all the nicotine in me to have cleared itself out of my body, and that I’d done something I’d been meaning to do for years totally on a fluke. 

The last few years I've stopped smoking at work so guests wouldn't have to be offended by the smell. I stopped smoking in my car so I can keep the interior nice. When I have a race to run I don't smoke the night before so I can breathe easier. I decided to only smoke after work during the week and after dark on the weekends. After setting personal restrictions, not smoking for a couple weeks, and getting over the withdrawal hump, it's occurred to me that there's no reason for me to smoke at all. It doesn't really do anything for me except take $12 out of my pocket whenever I need a pack and answer a call of a need I don't actually have. It's a way to waste several minutes and spend some time outside, sure, but I don't feel like doing I need it as an excuse anymore; I'm an adult, I can go outside if I want with or without an excuse.

As stupid as it sounds, the closer I get to 30 the more I think about improving myself. I was a regular smoker for nearly my entire 20s, and a heavy smoker for part of them. Nearly my entire life was spent around people who smoked, and half of it was spent smoking. I wasn't even going to acknowledge my quitting publicly, but I feel like euligizing about it can put that part of me to rest. I know if I keep it up I can spend at least the rest of this year in better shape than I've ever been. I'll continue to hold myself accountable, ignore the little urges, and with any luck my nicotine habit will be a thing of the past.

Thanks to coughing up blood for getting me healthier than ever.

Resolution Recap

Happy 2018! I mean, aside from pretty much everything in political news, mudslides in Montecito, and it being one of the worst flu seasons in decades-- it's only January, by the way-- at least we aren't in 2017 anymore, right?

Right?

2017 was an interesting year in a lot of ways, but personally it was different because I set actual goals intending to accomplish them. A bulleted list was typed, printed out, and taped to my front door so I could see what I set out to do for the whole year every day. Usually I'd rattle off a couple New Years resolutions at the bar while counting down to midnight, only to forget them a couple days later, but 2017 was going to be different; I wanted to do more and be better, so I set out to do just that.

But how did I do? Let's go down the list:


1) Quit Smoking

Uh... moving on...

2) Run more

I ran three different races last year; two 10ks and a half marathon. I ended up with a pretty bad ankle sprain after the Verdugo Mountain 10k in May so that laid me out for all of June and most of July. I was pissed about it, but I got back at it and continued the ten to fifteen miles-per-week goal and surpassed it after I signed myself up for the Santa Clarita half. Now that I have new shoes that might not aid in spraining my ankles or make me trip and give me gnarly road rash (that happened mid-September, my arms now have some ugly scars) I plan to get back at it.

3) Work out more

I petered out a little bit as the year ended (from Thanksgiving on it's been a mix of apathy and comfort food), but I managed to keep exercising even when my ankle was fucked up, so I plan to continue that too.

4) Build up Adventure Fund

My "Adventure Fund" consists of loose change, tips, bonuses, et cetera, saved up for a trip somewhere. So far, after having Adventure Fund as a concept for a couple years, I haven't used it for adventures for reasons better explained later. However, I'm working on that again this year, so we'll see if it gets used for its original intention instead of groceries.

5) Camp more

I didn't go as much as I'd have liked to, but I did squeeze in at least one trip in 2017. Hopefully this year is different because there are some spots I'd like to post up at.

6) Hike more

I did hike a fair bit, but much like camping I didn't go as often as I'd have liked. Then again, I did run quite a bit, which is kind of like hiking but faster, so it's a sort-of success? Either way, I have new maps of new areas I haven't explored before, and old maps with places I haven't been to yet, so I'm excited for that.

7) Kayak

I got a kayak from my brother in 2016, and I got a rack so I could haul it places on my Versa, but my nieces use it around my brothers house, I never got the rack on the Versa, I never seemed to find the time to even go, and I traded in the Versa anyway and sold the rack. Regardless, I still want to float the Owens River in the kayak eventually, so hopefully I can find a weekend to make that happen.

8) Continue job hunt

It's disheartening, but I'm still looking.

9) Build up savings account

Remember how I mentioned I traded in my Versa? That happened because the transmission basically died. Less than 6 months to pay it off and not even 100,000 miles on it and the car croaked! It's fucked up, right?! So I had to bite the bullet and drop pretty much everything I had saved up on a down payment for another car. Sure, I love my 2015 Civic, and I'm glad I didn't end up upside-down on the Versa, but I'm still building my savings up after that stress-filled fiasco.

10) Invest more in 401(k)

I just said I'm still building up my savings again, chill out.

11) Get rid of some stuff

My girlfriends family and I did have a yard sale, and I did let go of a lot of stuff. Having a small apartment means deciding what crap you really need, and I still had stuff in boxes from when I moved in, so I purged and managed to sell and donate a fair bit. I'm a fan of cleaning and getting rid of crap so it was a win in the bag.


I have a similar list of goals for this year, about half being continuations of last years list. I'm trying to pick up running mileage again, squirreling away money into savings and Adventure Fund, and even trying to re-learn Spanish. It should be a good year as far as accomplishments go, so hopefully that's the case.

If 2017's list of resolutions has taught me anything it's that things are really unexpected and often inconvenient; Some goals weren't attempted, some were attempted but failed (coughcoughsmokingcough), and some were hindered by things beyond my control. Beautiful summer morning runs were replaced by a swollen ankle. Paying off my car loan and building up my savings was replaced by spending weeks calling garages, talking with car dealers, and dropping thousands of dollars. Call-backs for jobs were few and far between, and the ones I did get didn't go anywhere.

Despite the missteps-- both literal and figurative-- and setbacks, not everything unexpected was inconvenient. I didn't think I'd reconnect with a good friend whom I hadn't spoken to in ages. Marching in protest was out of left field too. There was a lot of bad last year but it wasn't without respite.

Either way, here's hoping this year isn't the worst, even though it probably will be, and if it is here's hoping we make it out in one piece.

The War

"The War On Christmas" is some stupid shit, alright?

Why do people get up in arms about acknowledging other holidays? For years now people have been flipping out over Starbucks cups not having "Merry Christmas" emblazoned on them, or store clerks wishing people "Happy Holidays!" when they neither know nor care about what you might celebrate or not. Despite Christian denominations making up about 70% of the United States general population some people, especially in certain news media, completely believe that Christmas is under attack. It's not. For real. Despite what whats-his-face might say, there's no War On Christmas. Plus, not as many people give a shit about how they're greeted this time of year anyway, so it's really not a big deal.

Imagine, though, that the War On Christmas was actually a thing. What would the most effective means of dealing with a situation like that be?

Let's look at the one such example: The Grinch.

"You're a sassy one, Mr. Grinch."

He's an asshole. He hated everything, especially the noise, noise, noise that came from the Whos down in Whoville during Christmas. That hatred spurred on a plan to take away every last object relating to Christmas in an effort to eradicate the holiday. The Grinch dressed the part of Santa, sleigh and all, to go about taking every holiday-related foodstuff, gift, and decoration in Whoville. After his raid, while his smug ass sat on the mountainside over the town waiting to hear the lamentations of the Whos (which is counterproductive when it comes to stopping the noise, noise, noise, but whatever) he instead was greeted by the Whos gathered in the town square, singing, all happy to be together. The Grinch figured out that being with the ones you love during the holidays is more important that anything else.

That's basically the story. You know it already. I don't need to explain it to you.

However, it's an example of someone quite literally waging war on Christmas. The Grinch is literally breaking and entering with the sole purpose of getting rid of anything Christmas related. He lies to a child, destroys property, abuses his dog, all in the name of destroying the holiday. That dude is a dick, but despite it all the Whos didn't pay his actions much mind. They still gathered in the spirit of the season and had their little song and dance in the snow, which was enough to get The Grinch to turn around with his feelings about the holidays. Plus, they let him sit at the head of the table for the feast! They know he stole everything but he's carving the roast beast like nothing ever happened!

The people in the "War On Christmas" camp, however, are basically the Anti-Whos; the slightest indication that something isn't Christmas send them into a rage. The implication that there's something equally festive for someone else is met with hostility. They aren't here for togetherness so much as they're here for the pageantry of the decorations, the presents, and the title of Christmas over all else.

If the "War On Christmas" people took the Whoville approach and actually didn't give a shit if Christmas decorations were constantly in your face by the end of November, and instead embraced being together with friends, family, and loved ones, maybe they'd be a lot happier. If the media outlets that go on about the made-up war actually honored the values they claim to be protecting, maybe they'd, I don't know, love their neighbors regardless, like Jesus said to do. It's kind of a dick move to do the exact opposite thing as someone asks of you when he's someone you claim to have a close relationship with and it's his fucking birthday.

Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more. And maybe, perhaps, possibly, someday, the losers who think Christmas is under attack can get their heads out of their asses and grow their hearts a few sizes too.

Happy Hanukkah, Happy Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Yule, and happy holidays in general, y'all.

Christmas Music

The holiday season is here.

Black Friday has come and gone. Small Business Saturday has passed. Cyber Monday is done. Thus, the spiral toward the gift giving holidays is underway. There are two types of people this time of year; some are excited for the holidays, exuding a seasonal cheer bordering on mania, wearing Christmas sweaters and Santa hats as soon as Thanksgiving dinner is finished, visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads at all hours of the day. Others are humbug curmudgeons, people that make The Grinch seem level-headed, who hear holiday music and react like Regan in The Exorcist. 

While I've improved in leaps and bounds in my humbuggery I'm still less than exuberant when it comes to the holiday season. I like the togetherness with family, the food, eggnog, and giving gifts, but one thing that I can't overcome-- the thing that keeps me on the Scrooge end of the spectrum-- is the music. I loved it when I was a kid, then grew to hate it, then came to accept it, but so much of it is so annoying that it makes me hope for New Years that much more.

Don't get me wrong, not all holiday music is terrible. Have you heard the "A Charlie Brown Christmas" soundtrack? It's fantastic! It's the kind of background music perfect for drinking hot toddies around the fire. Some traditional carols hold a soft spot in my heart too, like "Carol of the Bells" and "Silent Night" so don't think that I'm a total heartless Grinch bastard.

There are a lot more songs, however, that I hate with my entire being.

Take, for example, Peggy Lee's "I Like A Sleighride (Jingle Bells)". It's just "Jingle Bells"-- which is bad enough-- but played too slowly with the occasional annoying, "I like a sleigh ride!" interjected every now and then. To me, listening to it brings out the same emotions as being stuck behind someone with an annoying kid walking too slowly at the grocery store without being able to walk around them. It's irritating and drags on, but it seems to be on every holiday music playlist, probably to spite me.

There's also "We Need A Little Christmas" from the musical Mame. I haven't seen the musical, nor do I know the plot or any other songs from it, but the version I'm familiar with is sung by Angela Lansbury and is tortuous. She sings, "We need a little Christmas/ Right this very minute," to which I reply, "No, no we do not." The over-exuberance and show tune flair suck the life out of me, and even though the song talks about using Christmas as a means of overcoming growing leaner, colder, sadder, and older, it makes me that much more cynical.

Then, of course, there's "Baby It's Cold Outside". A seemingly cutesy exchange between a woman saying she should go home and a man insisting she stay because, well, it's cold outside, in modern context it sounds pushy and like the setup for assault. Because it's an old-timey song with certain nods to romantic norms of the time there's been debate on whether it's problematic or not. Vox did a way better job at dissecting it than I ever could, and they go much deeper into the issues than I intend to, but the song is pretty uncomfortable to listen to from a current perspective.

I could easily go on. There are enough shitty Christmas songs and shitty covers of shitty Christmas songs to play in every shopping mall on the planet every December until the sun explodes. Too many saccharine tunes with empty lyrics get played on repeat in an attempt to make it seem like The Season Of Giving isn't just a final cash grab for businesses before the end of the fiscal year. I'll leave the aforementioned examples to explain why I don't become Buddy from "Elf" every December, though. In the meantime, because I'm trying to grow my heart a few sizes, I'll relent to ugly sweaters, eggnog, candy canes, and Mariah Carey.

But I swear if I hear Peggy Lee I'm going to flip my shit.

Concrete

The off season at the hotel I work at is pretty quiet, so we generally do maintenance things we couldn't do during summertime once the number of guests drops. This season is no exception, so we have been sprucing things up around the property. One thing we're finishing up right now is an upgrade to the carport by the front desk, gussying it up with pressed and stained concrete. It looks like terracotta tile which fits the motif, so in that respect it's pretty neat.

Projects like this, however, bring out some interesting behavior in people. Notably, their lack of situational awareness shines through like a big beacon of stupid.

The old carport was first removed, and then new concrete was poured in sections over a couple days, so there was a big, gaping hole by one of the doors to the front desk for awhile. The area was surrounded by orange cones and caution tape to prevent people from walking through the wet concrete or into the big ditch full of rebar. While it did block off one of the entrances to the front desk, there were a couple others that were just as obvious that guests could use to enter the building. Most people avoided the taped off areas, but there were, of course, exceptions.

One night five different guests ignored the big, obvious hole surrounded by bright, obvious cones and caution tape, then read the bold, obvious sign on the door reading "PLEASE USE OTHER ENTRANCE" and used it anyway. They had to duck under the tape and drag their luggage through the dirt to get to the door, apparently oblivious to how not-quite-normal doing that was. When I asked if they could use the other entrances they gave confused looks, as if navigating through construction debris was a normal feature hotels have, then give an illuminated, "Oh!" when they figured out that, no, that's not a normal feature hotels have.

This week, staining the concrete began with a similar setup as before; orange cones, caution tape, and a sign on the door advising people to use an alternative entrance. However, with how many people ignored those things last time, I decided to take it a step further and added multiple signs reading 'PLEASE USE ENTRANCE AT THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING" with arrows leading the way. One guests laughed and commented on how excessive it all seemed, but I told him I wanted to be thorough. It may not be wet concrete or an open pit, but it's a rust colored stain that could ruin a pair of shoes or luggage at least, and it still needs to dry, so I'd rather people stay off it.

I saw one guest earlier, however, duck under the caution tape and around the orange cones, traipse lazily along the wet orange liquid covering the concrete, look at the sign on the door, yell to her travel companion, "IT SAYS TO USE THE FRONT ENTRANCE! YOU GOTTA GO AROUND TO THE FRONT!" before ducking under the caution tape again and going to the front entrance. After checking her in she asked if she could exit through the door blocked by a table with the sign reading "PLEASE USE OTHER DOOR" set on it. I told her no and apologized. What I apologized for I do not know.

It isn't to say that I'm the most observant person; there have been plenty of times in my life where I've missed freeway exits, tried going into stores with their "CLOSED" signs up, and walked around with my fly down. However, there are certain things I encounter on a regular basis at work, from people not knowing how to open doors to people assuming there's a road that goes over Mt. Whitney and through Sequoia National Park all the way to Fresno despite it not being on any map in existence, that make me wonder how they survive into adulthood and into old age.

I guess what I'm getting at is this: Pay attention so you don't hurt yourself or break something. Too many people have hurt my brain and broken my spirit these last couple weeks thanks to ignoring the obvious. Don't ignore road cones. Don't walk on wet concrete. Don't be like that.

A Letter to 18-Year-Old Me

Earlier today I was dredging out old documents I had squirreled away over the years, partly to free up some space but mostly because there's no reason for me to hold on to tax information from 2013, insurance information for a car I no longer own, or a photocopy of a job application from high school. Among the old pay stubs, copies of old resumes, and other crap, there was a folder. There were a lot of folders of course, but this one stuck out because of five sheets of paper, all dated between May and September 2007, and all full of poems.

I have the great (mis)fortune of having been online and blogging for a while now on various sites, so the Young Adult Angst that I had growing up and entering adulthood is pretty visible if you know where to look. However, the poems I had tucked away in that folder, printed out from a laptop that has been dead for nearly a decade, were even more personal than the stuff I put up online. In flowery, cringe-inducing language, they described being homesick after going away to school, being afraid of what was ahead of me in life, and other things I've worked through as I've gotten older. It's not to say I'm without my own issues nowadays, but I figured I'd take a moment to write a letter to 18-year-old me:

Hey dude,  

Congratulations on getting out of high school and into the real world! Well, kind of "real world" since you can't afford much more than the Antelope Valley. You'll learn to like it. You'll actually end up liking it a lot more than a lot of people, but that's neither here nor there. Point is, you're going to grow and learn a lot, mostly the hard way, so that's pretty "real" I guess. 

You'll figure out how to get out of your shell and start dating, making appointments, shopping for groceries that are actually worthwhile, speaking up for yourself and others, and essentially become a functioning adult on some level. You're going to pick up some habits, some good ones but mostly bad ones. A lot of tough times are going to fall into your lap, both of your own creation and beyond your control, but you'll find a way to get through them whether you like it or not. I'm proud of you for that.

The neuroses you've had for so long are going to follow you, but you'll learn how to work around them. The lows are going to be low, but you'll eventually get to a point where things are okay. 

Drink more water, take up exercise, and lighten the fuck up. You'll feel better if you do.

Love you,

Me