A Sad State of Affairs

February 14, 2008

Let me start with this: John did not do the Paris Hilton shoot. Thank you for your showing of support
and concern in this matter, it was touching, really. I'm not gonna lie, even though I know it would have
been very bad for John's career to take the assignment, there is a small part of me (and by small
I mean big) that kind of wishes he did for comic value, and also because, well, the man makes my life
miserable on a daily basis.

It's a sad state of affairs when you're happy to come home from work at 10:00 to find that your car has been
broken into. But that is what it has come to my friends. Rather than being upset at the inconvenience
of the crime, I was pleased, because it meant that I would be able to go into work late, "forced" to spend
the morning in the waiting room of an auto repair shop getting my window replaced. It was fantastic. I
actually felt joy seeing my smashed window (side note: this is the 5th time that my '99 Toyota Corolla has
been broken into. Apparently dented Corollas are in demand. Out of the five instances, only once was
anything stolen, and that was a large silver disco ball. That's another story. Typically my thousands
of Mapquests get strewn about and the thief calls it a day).

The reason I would rather be in a cold auto repair shop than at work? Because I work in a sweatshop,
that's why. It is 100 degrees and I have to wear nothing but a tank top lest I collapse. Well, I also
wear pants, because, let's be real, there is no chance of me getting a facial in the studio (for those of you
who didn't read my last entry, ignore that last part). My job is, on all fronts, miserable. As for me being hot at
work, I can't be sure what that's about. You see, I appear to be existing on an entirely different
temperature plane than everyone around me, so it's hard to tell. On the subway I routinely find myself
in a t-shirt feeling hot as can be while people around me are wearing snowsuits and shivering. Ok, not
snowsuits, but sweatshirts, scarves, winter coats, you get the picture.

Speaking of subways. Above ground may be rough, but it's the subways of New York that offer unlimited
surprises. Like last week, a seemingly normal (they all look normal) man lunges with a bike in his hands
toward the subway doors to stop them from closing...he actually throws his bike in between the shutting
doors, risking damage to his bike and his extremities, all the while yelling in a panic, just to catch this
train. And what does he proceed to do once aboard the train? He proceeds to lay out across an entire row of
seats on his back and contort himself into a variety of yoga poses, that's what. Right there on the subway. No
mat or anything. It was quite a show. A few days ago I felt so lucky because I got a seat on a very packed subway
car between two women. And I couldn't believe my luck because everyone was pressed together so crowded and
looking so uncomfortable. And then I took my seat and realized why it had remained open. I found myself
wedged between two very ample women, one of whom was using nose drops liberally while the other smelled
strongly of patchouli. A person should be wary of a suspiciously open seat on an otherwise packed subway car.

But here is the best of it: nothing can compare to the businesswoman I once saw who did something that I
am sure, absolutely sure, I will never again see in my life. A rat was scurrying across the platform (not
the tracks, the platform) scaring away passengers who were not happy to be traveling with a rodent, when
this woman lets out a primal yelp and charges directly towards the rat and punts it with all her might off
the platform and onto the tracks. The rat flew through the air, and although I could not see his face
I am sure he was just as surprised at this as the rest of us. Nowadays the subway is plastered with signs
advertising that the area is treated with "Rodenticide", which, I must say, makes me feel good.

People are generally amusing both above and below ground in this city, to be fair. Yesterday a woman at
the deli was singing and dancing to Shakira, in a loud and very animated way, which I have to admit I liked.
As we all know, Shakira is nothing if not a wordsmith (favorite line from a Shakira song: "My breasts are
small and humble, so you don't confuse them with mountains"). Move over, Bob Dylan.

As implied earlier, life at the studio continues to be stressful, although it is peppered with happenings
that amuse me. Last week the entire building had to switch keys (something to do with a disgruntled
ex-superintendent). Joan, the office manager, tried to get replacement keys for the staff and, since she is
not John, was threatened by management and told that security was going to come deal with her if
she didn't abort mission. A little much, perhaps? The following morning, as we're all sitting outside
our locked studio, wondering how we'll get in (and hoping against hope that we won't be able to get in at
all), a random man walks by with an abundance of keys and asks us if we'd like some. Mind you, he has not
checked to see who we are or if this is our apartment (the studio is actually located in an apartment
complex), but he proceeds to just toss 4 sets of keys to us, no questions asked! Apparently the heavy
security measures of the previous day were forgotten. Later, as I was leaving for lunch, another man asks me
if I would like more keys still. He did have a few questions for me, focused on whether or not Joan and
Bill were my roommates, to which I of course replied yes. I mean, why wouldn't I be living with a teenage boy?

Moving on. John is exasperating on multiple levels. Just last week as I'm leaving after 12 hours of
unpaid labor, John chases me out the door and says: "I'd like to spend some time with you this weekend."
Uh, "spend some time with me this weekend?" Does he want to take me to dinner? Or is that his way of
telling me I have to work on Sunday. Clearly, the latter. But who asks like that? Tell it like it is, John!

Even more exasperating is what follows. (In fact, the following incident was so utterly ridiculous that I
doubt I will be able to convey the level of ridiculousness in an email). Here's the scene: I am
sitting in my 100 degree, pitch black enclave. John creeps up behind me (he does that A LOT) and asks me
to use a program I am unfamiliar with to show him a selection of photos. I am able to do this, but the
program is running rather slowly, and John has the patience of approximately a two- year old. So he is
getting ancy and making me tense, hovering over me and demanding to know why the photos aren't displayed.
Now, it is clear they are not yet displayed because the computer is processing my request, which takes a
few moments, but that's besides the point. John wants me to "star" photos that he selects (mind you,
this is a one person job - having two of us do it made it much harder, but I have never seen John physically
touch one of the computers, so everything is a two person job.) As soon as this process starts, John
dislikes the way I am scrolling through his photos. Ok. So, he tells me not to touch the mouse, and to
just hit the key that will "star" the photos as he decides which ones he likes. Again, clearly this is a
one person job. So now that I am relegated to hitting one key and one key only, John begins to make his selections by
pointing his finger at the screen. And I cannot make a selection, because the cursor is not
hovering over the photo he wants selected, and as you may recall I have been banned from touching the mouse.
So I sit there and wait for him to move the mouse. Nothing. After several awkward seconds John says
(clearly irritated) "are you going to select the photo?" At which point I tentatively move my hand
toward the mouse. "What are you doing!? I told you not to touch that!!" Indeed. So I withdraw my hand
and we sit there in silence again, awkwardly, with John still pointing to the screen and not
manipulating either the arrow keys or the mouse to actually make a selection. Moments pass...."Are you
going to pick the photo or not??!" he barks. So now I am getting really confused, because how am I supposed
to pick the photo when I can't use the keys or mouse? So timidly I move my hand again, only to be met with
the same barking rebuke. This happens, I kid you not, THREE TIMES before John asks why nothing is
happening. Uh, John, at least one of us needs to be touching the arrows or mouse if we want to accomplish
this task. I mean, is he kidding? Does he think touching the computer screen will do it? A computer
screen is not an ATM John! I felt like I was watching myself on a particularly cringy episode of
The Office, and it wasn't pretty. Finally John agreed that, yes, at least one of us needed to
actually touch the arrows or mouse. Thank God we figured that one out.

John seems out of it in other arenas as well. I have been trying to get him to answer a very simple
question for weeks now (is he, or is he not, willing to write a forward for some guy named Ethan's photo
book). I have brought this up to John in a variety of forms - written and verbal - for weeks, and each
and every time I mention it he looks at me with a complete and utter lack of recognition. "Who?"
ETHAN! We have talked about this! Why are you looking at me like we have never, ever discussed this
before? It's uncanny really.

Because John is so ridiculous I enjoy it when things go awry. Like, for example, when the University of
Missouri booked John as a speaker and then cancelled his speaking engagement
once he was already boarded onto his flight. He got the call, but couldn't get off the
plane, and was thus forced to fly to the Midwest and then straight back. Which pleased me immensely, until
I learned that John would be arriving at La Guardia at 5:00 and would, of course, make his way back into
the studio to torture us all night.

I also enjoyed it when Alec, our printer, told me in hushed tones that he only taught himself Photoshop
from a book he got at Borders a week before starting his job at the studio. Ha! And now he's the photo
editor/printer for one of the world's leading photography icons (who also happens to be the bane of
my existence).

Just to make our days even worse, James "the foreman" has just implemented a system in which we need to
input into a database every single image we work on, and exactly how long we work on it, so that we can all
be timed, tracked, and inefficiency can be weeded out. Fun! Did everybody forget that practically the whole
staff is unpaid?

Yesterday I was in a panic because I had stayed until 9:00 the previous night logging images, and when I came
in in the morning, my log had been erased off the database, somehow replaced by entries from Ted, who
now works nights. So I called Ted to try to figure this out, and proceeded to have a lengthy conversation
with a man who most definitely was a different Ted (turns out the Ted I had on the line was from Staten
Island, while our Ted is from New Zealand...for some reason this blatant accent discrepancy didn't tip me
off). Nonetheless, Staten Island Ted and I carried on at least a five minute conversation as to why my logs
were deleted, and, as would be expected, we were met with many conversational obstacles. He kept
indicating he was following me, and then saying things like "I can't seem to put two and two together.
Logs?" To which I would become exasperated. "Ted! It's me, Liz, I sit right next to you and work on the
log!!!" "Ahh, yes....(long pause) where do we sit near each other?" "At the studio!!" "Oh, sure...what
studio?" And so on. It really went on much longer than it should have, which, I suppose, is both our faults.

I hope all of you are well, and if not, misery loves
company, so feel free to write.

Liz

p.s.
This is extraneous, but I wanted to share with you excerpts (cut and pasted) from a resume of a man
hoping to collaborate with John on a project. Great stuff.....

Himendu Jusham Resume:

GOALS
Generate love & concern for land & people, nature, environment & all living beings?+ Sow seeds - into
young minds - of the spirit to fight for justice,
stand for truth and propagate joyous co-existence of all races and communities
CURRICULUM VITAE: The inner urge:
WORK EXPERIENCE?? have had the fortune of exposing around 15,000 people to the wonders of nature,
in a span of about 20 years, through camps, trails, lectures, audio-visuals, street-plays, live animal shows, etc.

I mean, really, does it get any better? (It might. Today's Yahoo! headline:
Jane Fonda uses vulgar slang on the "Today" show.)

It's all gold, really.