Tuesday, March 09, 2004
Miscellaneous
Interesting "featured blog" at blogger.com, related to the connection I (and others) have made between the layoffs in the tech industry and outsourcing/offshoring to India: Blame India Watch.
My son came back from India with videos of street scenes as the Hertz driver drove him and his coworker from the U.S. around Chennai. He said that the first ride to work felt like Mr. Toad's wild ride. The next day when he brought the video camera, the driver seemed to take it easy and to take another route.
He said he could never drive there since people don't stay in lanes but drift around. Horn honking is the way to signal intentions to those in front of you and behind. All the honking reminded me of how bats navigate by bouncing a sound off the surroundings. All the miles of video have a sound track of beep, beep beep, beep.
He also videoed the women he was training and the views from the "smoking balcony" outside of the air-conditioned office. Because of warnings about street robberies, he never went out on his own, except once to buy cigarettes. They drove to a temple on Saturday while they were there. Liberty was not pleased by the persistence of the beggers, who wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd gotten the trots from something he ate no doubt right when they got to the temple, and the beggers and the diarrhea combined with the broiling heat made the whole experience less than pleasant.
The office cubicles and computers looked familiar. What was more unfamiliar was that the air conditioning ducting wasn't hidden. The women wear saris and look like flowers. The prettiness of the women in their saris made me decide to always wear beautiful fabrics. We dress so badly here in CA. There are no rules. I remember an admin at Sun who would wear the wildest variety of clothes. She would be dressed up one day in skirt and dress shoes and in biker leathers with fringes hanging from her chest on the next.
I submitted an article about a Sacred Space competition whose entries were on display at the Presidio last week. It'll be published in the April issue under a pseudonym. Frankly, I'm afraid of ostracism by the liberal Catholics because I'm writing for a conservative newspaper, which is why I am using a nom de plume.
Heard nothing from Linnea Wickstrum at Sun about the three tech writing openings she posted. Got to see if any new reqs have been added to the Sun jobs website.
Two weeks ago a techwriting manager job came to my attention but I didn't respond to the recruiter's call because I don't feel attracted right now to that kind of job. Project management, yes. People management, no.
Former manager once removed John Stearns sent me an email about a contracting job that his wife interviewed for that isn't a good match for her. Because it consists of writing for administrators, he told me to look into it. I wrote his wife this morning asking for more information.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
Adventuring at Monday Night Bingo and News from the County
A big permanent wraparound sign on the corner of the fence on the Holy Cross Church parking lot announces to all traffic on busy 13th and Taylor Streets: Bingo Monday Nights. Brother Charlie works the bingo with help from a number of parishioners. When brother graduated from San Jose's Institute for Leadership in Ministry on a Monday night last year, there were almost unheard of doings: They actually shut down the bingo, and people went to the Cathedral of Saint Joseph to cheer Bro. Charlie during his graduation ceremony.
For anyone who might be reading this, it is important to understand that Holy Cross Church is unique in many ways. It seems to straddle Church time, with one foot in the 1950s before Vatican II changed a lot of things, and one foot in the 2000s. One of the anamolies of this church is its bingo night, because nowadays bingo as a means of fund raising is the exception rather than the rule.
I was at loose ends last night. I couldn't concentrate on any of the things I had to do at home. I had expected a call to come in for a second interview for the county job by Sunday night, and it hadn't come. I was sure I'd be called for the second round of interviews they are holding this week.
Then Monday noon while I was at a business in Santa Clara trying to buy a digital recorder to use for interviewing subjects for freelance articles, I picked up last Thursday's paper, which was lying around on the counter, and I found that Santa Clara county will be laying off 1200 people. The commissioner in whose office the position is open was quoted in his role as the current chair of the Board of Supervisors. And he spoke about how they were going to have to spread the pain around to the various county agencies. Oh, I thought, that's bad news. Maybe that's why I didn't hear from Mike McInerney yet. They may not be able to fill that position now.
Just before I left the house in the evening before I went to the church hall, I saw an email from a Sun manager that I know, who thanked me for sending her my resume and promised to look it over. That was a bit of encouragement.
The parking lot was full of cars. To help out a little at the Bingo and keep my mind off the sinking feeling I had, I sold Wild Tic Tacs for $1 each, hawking them up and down the crowded aisles between the rows of tables. Later I sold Popeyes for $1 each. Tic Tacs and Popeyes are pull tabs. If you get the required symbols to line up, in the case of the Popeyes, two Popyeyes or two Olive Oyls, you win whatever amount of money is stamped on the hidden area that is revealed along with the symbols when you pull the tabs away.
The tables were packed with people many of whom frankly don't look like they have two dimes to rub together. They are armed with stampers of different colors and cups and plates full of snacks. Some have special stands for their bingo pages.
The snack bar does a good business in hot dogs, nachos, cookies, soda, and cake. A big seller was what looked like pieces from a leftover birthday cake, the kind with thick frosting roses and piping on top. As one might expect from the sedentary nature of this form of recreation, and the high calorie snacks, most of the players are overweight.
Two of the women working the snack bar are from the Italian-speakers' Mass. I could tell by the better cut of their clothes, their hair styles, the clarity of their skin, their prettiness, and slenderness. Italians born in this country don't have the same style sense and seem thicker from a lifetime of American conveniences and overabundance of food. I introduced myself to one of the Italian women, whose name is Rosa. I asked if she is Italiano. Rosa corrected me nicely, saying, "Italiana." "Oh Si Si!" I pounded my forehead with the flat of my hand. I told Mabel, a second generation Italian who doesn't speak Italian, who came into the snack bar with us, "I just asked Rosa if she was an Italian guy!" Mabel smiled and told me I should stick to English to stay out of trouble.
Helpers arrive at 5:30 every Monday, and the bingo doesn't close down until around 10, so it's a long evening.
In between hawking pull tabs, I picked up a newspaper called the Bingo Bugle [March 2004, Vol 24, No. 3, North America's Casino and Gaming Newspaper, South Bay edition]. The Bingo Bugle advertises locations for Bingo around the area, from American Legion posts to Cache Creek Indian Bingo to First Samoan Congregational Church. First Samoan? Interesting. The Italian Men's Club Bingo promises "The Best Gourmet Food in Bingoland."
The paper contains many photos of gamers. A woman smiles back over her shoulder at the camera, and the caption tells us that her name is Denise and she plays machines in Salinas 9 times a week.
I told Dolores, a woman in her late 30s, younger than most of the volunteers, "There's a woman in this paper who plays 9 times a week." She said, "Some of them here do that. Then they don't have enough to pay their rent."
A full page ad touts the 16th Annual Bingo Bugle World Championship Cruise, starting at only $1823. A column titled "Bugle Cruise News" tells the story of one Betty Stultz of Seabrook, New Hampshire, who for years dreamed of taking the cruise but "felt that with a house to keep up and property to maintain, it was an expense she simply could not manage." But Betty was sure that one day her chance would come. And it did. She'll be going on this year's cruise. "How did she do it? 'Simple; I sold the house!'"
Another column called "Bingo by Bev" has a logo with a woman's head, shoulders, and cleavage showing above her black and white shirt. Bingo numbers are floating around the cartoon woman's thick, wavy, black head of hair. Bev is a philosopher of sorts. "I see God has spoken again to a prominent minister of the Church. It nows seems certain that Bush will be our next president or so says the chosen one. This news could really come in handy when it comes to saving money. If it's all settled there is no need to contribute to the campaign fund of anyone. No need for any of the candidates to get out on the road. . . .. Now if God said it, it must be true. . . . I recall a few years ago when another minister said he needed money and God told him he would die if he didn't get it, no ifs, ands or buts about it. . . ."
She continued, "I ask God for money a lot, like when the utility bills come due, or when I am playing Bingo or the slots, or when I vote for someone I really want to be elected. [Why she needs money while voting is anybody's guess.] . . . Sometimes God tells me to help others when I can hardly take care of my own needs. [Note to Bev, Maybe you would be able to take better care of yourself and others if you didn't gamble the money away?] and I try to obey Him. I have heard that you get back ten fold and so far God owes me millions in tenfolds."
She winds up to close the column by saying that she doesn't believe the minister is right or that the next election is "a done deal."
"Sometimes I think, [sic] it is possible to mistake feelings for inspiration. I've done it. Like the time I was playing bunco and I thought God wanted me to roll the dice one more time."
Wisdom from Bingoland.
When I came back from selling my last 4 pack of Popeyes, I saw another volunteer, Mae Ferraro, an 83 year old dynamo who only missed one week of bingo after her husband of 60 years died three weeks ago. I told Mae that I felt like a dope pusher, and she gave me a large smile. I don't know what that smile meant, but I don't think I can make myself go help out again there.
Editorial opinion: Another of the volunteers, Dave, who showed me how to sell the Tic Tacs and count the money, told me when I asked him that the bingo brings in $3,000 a week. This way of making money to run the church plant and to pay the salaries is convenient for the pastor, who says in the pulpit, "I dohn like to ask for money." But I believe it is a wrong way to fund the church.
Having a big enterprise like this weekly bingo probably started innocently enough. That's how it generally goes. We start with small rationalizations and once the slightly wrong thing gets established in our thinking and gets structured in our lives, then the slightly wrong thing inexorably starts to grow, the original goal is lost sight of, and the enormity of the current large evil is not visible because it has become a part of what we are used to, like the proverbial elephant in the living room.
What would Jesus do? People are asking these days. [The question is an old one, by the way. Author Stephen Prothero in American Jesus noted that in 1897, the year my old Victorian house was built, a writer called Charles Monroe Sheldon wrote a book called In His Steps: "What Would Jesus do?" Chicago: Advance Publishing.]
I can state with certainty that Jesus wouldn't be pushing pull tabs and bingo cruises to addicted people who don't have much income to raise money. That doesn't mean He wouldn't be expecting them to give out of their substance. He praised the widow giving her entire living to the Temple, because in her heart she was giving it to God. And like Bev said, whatever you give is returned to you abundantly. I don't know why Bev hasn't experienced the promised return from God for helping others. I believe I owe my prosperity during the past 20 years to the Spirit-motivated generosity I practiced when I was alone and scrabbling with my two kids and hardly any money. I hold this truth to be self evident: "In the same measure that you give you will get, pressed down, shaken together, running over, it will pour into your lap." Some might call it karma.
Protestant preachers aren't ashamed of asking for money. They quote St. Paul, "The worker is worthy of his hire," along with another verse from the Old Testatment that says oxen should not be muzzled while they push the treadmill to grind the grain. The general run of the mill Catholic does not do any religious observance unless it is binding under pain of sin. Since of tithing is voluntary now, that means it is not practiced by most Catholics. And most Catholics seem to have forgotten that the Church's precepts still apply, including this one, that Catholics must contribute to the support of the church. End of editorial opinion.
Today, Tuesday morning, I opened yesterday's mail. All my speculations about the reason I hadn't heard from the county about the job would have been laid to rest if I'd looked at the mail when it first came on Monday. A letter from Mike McInerney told me that they had identified a number of other candidates that were a better match for the position than I am.
I was on the way out to daily Mass when I opened the letter, and I had to come back in the house. The comfortable mental picture I painted about myself in that job flooded over me, and I had a hard time stopping my tears. For the next 9 months, I had dreamed, I would have a cozy life, an interesting job, a respectable role in the community that I call home, a two mile commute, a chance to learn about the county and meet people and get grounded, while learning to live on half my salary from before. I looked forward to working in an office that was well-managed with a clear chain of command, doing what I was told. I am very sad I didn't get that job. I wish I hadn't gotten my heart set on it.
I had to continue to cry and pray through that loss in front of the Blessed Sacrament after Mass today. With all the uncertainty about my future, all I can do is say, Jesus I put my trust in you
