matagato

I have a lot of stories from my years in the Peace Corps. I have a least a dozen stories that involve all sorts of shenanigans, from the campaign to get Eddy Urbina front teeth to the time my mom hopped on a random stranger's horse and rode away, bareback.

But no other story holds a candle to the one involving two large men, a small cat, my living room, and a Spanish book of yoga poses from 1972. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I've gotten more and more into storytelling this past year. Having a blog will do that to you. And just as I'm getting into writing stories, the Northern California Returned Peace Corps Association (NorCal) starts up a storytelling series, the Story Jam. Over the past year, Story Jam has consisted of Returned Peace Corps Volunteers getting up on stage and telling their stories. I'd been meaning to attend a Story Jam for months. Because before I knew it, I was standing on stage telling my tale of lost love. Below is my story.

Or you can listen to the audio version of the story here: http://picosong.com/2ycF/
And the video version is available here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_bPu6U7_QVY&list=PLHcV3zsz2X9w7cZJTFHj34FpY97j64Csa

In my home in Gualaco, Olancho, Honduras I had mice. They would pitter-patter every night on the side of my bed, trying to crawl into it with me. So I got a cat. I didn't have mice anymore. 

Instead, I had a best friend. This was a very special cat. "Mi Primer Mascota." My first pet. I named her Bella, bathed her, put a flea collar on her, brushed her fur, let her sleep in the bed with me, potty trained her, and even bought her Gati, special cat food only found in the capital of my department, over two hours away.

The kids loved playing with Bella

Everyone in the village knew my cat; my special gringa cat (pink and white striped "gringa" flea collar and all). I loved this cat with all my heart and soul. When you are the only person living in a small village without your family, you have two choices: you can either miss your family inconsolably. Or you can make your own family. Bella was my family. I named her after my Aunt. I would take pictures of Bella and send them to my mom. I had never had a pet before and Bella was 100% mine.

Meanwhile, I was a new Peace Corps volunteer, always looking for something to fill my time. Around the same time I left for my two plus years in Honduras, my best friend decided to quit her job and move to a yoga retreat in Hawaii. Despite my reluctance to accept yoga into my life at the time, she had sent me off with a deck of yoga cards. I couldn't think of a better project to occupy my time than translating the yoga cards into Spanish. Frequently people would see me around town, at the school using the copier machine, or at the internet cafe, translating the instructions into Spanish. It took up a lot of time.

My yoga deck of poses

One of the very best things about living in my village was the Sierra de Agalta National Park that surrounded us. A group of Gualacans (my people) were "guides" who knew the park like the back of their hands. They would lead me to the Caves of Susmay any time I wanted. They helped me climb La Picucha, the tallest mountain in our department. These guys had day jobs, but being guides was the thing they were most proud of. I spent countless days with these guys; they became my closest friends.

So it wasn't too surprising when I got a knock on my door at 9pm one night. I was almost in bed. But Moncho (real name Ramon) and Eddy were at my door and they were super excited; they had just found a book, in Spanish, of yoga from 1972. And they couldn't wait share this information with me. What the hell, I thought, yoga hasn't changed in a few thousands years, what's another 20? Their poses should be the same as mine.

Moncho asked me if he could show me what he'd been working on. I didn't see why not. It was late, but they were already here and they were so excited. So Moncho quickly swept my living room floor clean and started one of the most difficult poses in all of yoga; he would attempt to do a tripod, leading into a head stand. 

Here's the thing about Moncho Belis: Moncho is a great guy, heart of gold, but also a former alcoholic always one step away from falling back off the wagon. His years of drinking had begun to catch up with him and he was what Hondurans refer to as "panzon." He had a literal beer gut. This guy weighed at least 200 pounds.

Moncho & Eddy

So to watch Moncho attempt the headstand was nothing short of miraculous.  But, along he went: elbows on the ground, legs on his arms, legs heading straight up in the air, and then legs coming down faster than you could imagine. But that's when I saw it. I gasped in horror as Moncho sat up. I was the first person to see the blood that completely covered his back. Then I saw my cat. Bella then started running around in little circles, blood shooting out the side of her head. Finally she dropped down dead and I just took off running, screaming and crying. I woke up the entire town. "What's the crazy gringa going on about now?" they started asking each other.

Where I went wasn't all that much of a mystery. I went to the home of my then Honduran boyfriend. I banged on the door, screaming for him. He was the only other person in the town who could even fathom how much I loved this cat. I woke him up. I also woke up his entire family. I screamed, "Moncho la mato, Moncho la mato!" - "Moncho killed her". And that's when things went from bad to worse. See, my boyfriend's brother's name is also Moncho. So his mom and dad thought either a. someone had killed their son Moncho or b. their son Moncho had killed a girl. Either way, it was looking bad. Everyone was upset.

And then my boyfriend had to explain a completely foreign concept to his parents; Karen was inconsolably upset because Moncho Belis had just killed her cat. Relieved their own son Moncho was okay, they started to stare confusingly right at me. At that point they knew I was crazy; how could I get so upset about an animal? Animals were meant to be kept outside, literally at arm's length all the time. It's not like a family member was gone.

Once I had mostly calmed down, I knew I had to go back home, to confront the scene of the crime. I headed home. Moncho was gone, but Eddy was there waiting for me. The floor was mostly cleaned up, but it still looked like the scene of a very bloody crime. And it was beginning to smell like one.

Eddy told me that Moncho had gone home. That's when I realized what my running away had done; it had told Moncho that I couldn't look at him ever again. But that wasn't true.  It was a freak yoga accident that killed my beloved cat. It was absolutely an accident.

I knew I had to talk to Moncho right away, so I went right over to his house. He was so sad, I just couldn't be mad at him. He very apologetically told me, "Karen, I am a lover of all animals. I could and would never hurt your cat. My children can attest to this fact. I have never harmed another living creature in my life!" 

Remember I mentioned these guys all had day jobs? Well, Moncho was a fumigator. The emotional side of me knew it was just an accident; the logical side of me knew we'd have to some day revisit just what it meant to be a fumigator by profession.

Back at home we put Bella in a box. I apologized to everyone around me for my crazy outburst that night, but my period of mourning had already begun. I put a sign on the door. "Hubo un accidente, no hay clases hoy." There was an accident, there are no classes today. I wasn't about to start telling everyone what Moncho had done. 

But I lived in a small town; everyone already knew. By noon the next day, Moncho already had the nickname "Matagato." Cat-killer. The cat was out of the bag. Everyone knew Moncho Belis had killed my cat.

We ended up burying Bella in my backyard. Eventually I accepted what had happened to her. And what about me and Moncho? I really did forgive him and we ended up becoming great friends. Even if he is a matagato.

Watch out for the cat-killer!

funemployment

My unemployment by the numbers

- 1 lay-off

- 7 months unemployed

- 1 month severance

- 3 trips to Mexico

- Hundreds of job applications submitted and cover letters written

- Rounds and rounds of interviews

- 1 visit to the unemployment development department

- 4 consulting gigs

- 2 phone calls from the EDD to explain my consulting income

- 3 family visits

- 2 seasons of Criminal Minds and House of Cards completed

- 1 matinee (Rosewater - see it!)

 

- 1 hair donation

- 5 references (and 1 thank you lunch)

- 1 scholarship awarded

- A handful of days spent in only my pajamas

- 1 major house cleaning completed by yours truly

- 1 bout of gastroenteritis (stomach flu)

- 1 garage sale

- 1 marathon training plan nearly completed

- 1 SIBO (small intestinal bacterial overgrowth) diagnosis

- 30 blog posts written

- Numerous books read - too many to name (and not nearly enough)

- 1 freelance writing gig completed (and 1 story published!)

- 1 dinner at State Bird Provisions


- 3 Bingo nights

- 1 social media campaign launched

- 1 laptop purchased and repaired

- 1 iBook written

- 2 races run

- 2 serious job offers

And, finally

- 1 job offer accepted

homework

"To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism; to steal from many is research.”

― Steven Wright

I recently began applying for jobs, and I've gotten pretty good at it. I have gone through all the motions, from meeting with a career counselor, to networking myself through everyone I know (and may know) thanks to LinkedIn. I have applied for too many jobs to count, but I'm getting responses. Over the past four weeks I have averaged four interviews every week. I'm talking about all kinds of interviews, from informational to in-person.

This is a very time consuming process, mostly because each interaction requires scheduling, research, and time. I take each interview pretty seriously. Until I don't. Because, inevitably, something in the process will rub me the wrong way. No longer being interested in the position, not being able to come to a consensus on salary, or not wanting to work with the staff are all very solid reasons not to take a job. I have used all these reasons to withdraw my candidacy from consideration. But I have also come across one more reason to run away from any given job opportunity. And that is when I'm given too much homework.

I know it has been a few years since I've set out to seek full time employment, but since when has it been okay for employers to take advantage of candidates? I am actually shocked at the amount of work I have been asked to complete throughout various stages of interviewing.

https://jobmob.co.il/blog/funny-ikea-job-interview-cartoon/

Two recent instances have stuck in my craw. The first was an interview granted with a wonderful educational organization. Before I even spoke to anyone about this position, I was sent a letter (in the mail) with two items. One was a parking pass for my scheduled interview date and time. And the second was a request to give a one-hour presentation to a board of representatives at the organization. The presentation topic? A complete proposal for a multi-year $250,000 grant, based on the type of programming the organization runs. But I didn't know what type of programs the organization runs. It's not apparent on their non-existent website. I hadn't even spoken with anyone at the organization about the position, let alone what would be beneficial to it. I was extremely frustrated.

But that's not what upset me the most. The most ridiculous part of this assignment was for me to do the work for the organization. If I were to write an incredible multi-year grant proposal under any other circumstances, I would be appropriately compensated. Actually, I have been compensated for this type of work for over ten years now. I am not going to give away my secret grant-writing formula for free, no matter how much I want the job. In the end, I called the organization, left a voice-mail, and bowed out of the interview process. Mostly because I don't want to write grants full time, so it's clearly not the right position nor the best fit organization for me. But also because I was not going to do the work they inappropriately asked of me.

 http://www.snotm.com/2011/05/69-never-work-for-free.html

The second homework assignment I received recently was to plan an event for an organization I had been currently interviewing with. I understand the idea of raising the expectations for a candidate in a second round of interviews. But asking me to present my complete event proposal for an event that will be happening early next year is just an absolute abuse of power. Again, asking for all my ideas and taking them to plan an event is not an ethical way to work. It's not how I work. And I wouldn't work for an organization that treated others this way.

http://www.statusant.com/

What is acceptable is the following: arrive at said interview with a few concrete ideas to discuss, Then, the organization hires me, and I complete said ideas. Sounds like a pretty awesome plan. On the other hand, for me to present to the organization's entire staff for over an hour, lay out how I'd secure each vendor and contact each vendor for an upcoming event is the very definition of work. Again, I'd expect to be compensated. This is true event planning/consulting work. And it is usually accompanied by a large amount of monetary compensation. 

In the end, I wanted the position at this second organization, so I did the work. I presented my event plan, complete with budget templates and event checklists. But the truth is that my heart wasn't in the proposal. No longer did I hope for a job offer at this organization. The idea of free labor is what I expected to provide over twelve years ago when I was an intern. A decade later, I've got two degrees and a world of experience. 

http://filmmakeriq.com/2012/04/do-not-work-for-free-for-exposure-the-wrap/

Let me make sure I am clear about one thing: I am not saying every time I use my skill set, I should be compensated. I'm not saying that at all. Anyone who knows me knows that I use my knowledge, experience, and passion for good. I am currently writing grants, raising money, designing websites, planning events, and even training a student on the grant-writing process, all for free. I am a volunteer. I am happy to help. But there is a very distinct line for me between being a volunteer and being taken advantage of. When I'm working, there is the expectation of monetary compensation. When I am volunteering, I receive a reward of the non-monetary kind. And that works for me. But I'm not talking about the volunteer part of my life. I'm talking about my livelihood, the money I use to pay my rent, and eat, and pay the internet bill so I can afford to post this blog online.

Plus, it's not an all or nothing job interview homework mentality I'm holding. For instance, I am not against skill set exercises. One company asked me to complete a data merge and collate said data, drawing conclusions based on the data. This exercise took 20 minutes and I was happy to do it. Apparently my Excel skills passed the test, because I was asked to come in for a second interview. Score!

But what surprised me about this data collation activity was the simplicity of the exercise. Granted, I needed to use equations across multiple spreadsheets, but in the event that I wasn't sure how to do this, I could have always used Google. It is common practice for most people I know; if you don't know something, or need to fix something, or have a general question about how anything works, you get on your computer (or phone, or tablet) and Google it. Then you have your answer. I suppose a better test of my skills as a potential employee would have been to ask me, "if we asked you to create pivot tables in an Excel document and you don't know how, what would you do?" I could quickly answer, "I'd Google the question and teach myself the answer." There you go. Clearly I can learn anything I don't know how to do. I am industrious. I will make an awesome employee.

I have used this tactic before. Haven't we all? During a phone interview I actually said I knew how to create pivot tables. The night before I went in to the in-person interview, knowing I'd have to speak specifically on the pivot table topic, possibly even tested on it, I taught myself pivot tables. I know how to use the internet, a skill which will, no doubt, help me secure my next full time gig. In the meantime, just don't ask me to solve your company's issues for free. You'll have to hire me first.

Here is Forbes Magazine's approach to job interview homework: http://www.forbes.com/sites/dailymuse/2014/05/29/what-every-job-seeker-should-know-about-work-assignments-during-the-interview-process/

emotional

emoji
a small digital image or icon used to express an idea, emotion, etc., in electronic communication.
"emoji liven up your text messages with tiny smiley faces"      

The word emoji means “picture letter” in Japanese. But when were these pictures developed? Wasn't it just yesterday I didn't even have a cell phone or computer? According to my lengthy web-based research, "although emoji weren't officially part of the Unicode Standard until 2010, the colorful cartoon symbols have been a major part of Japanese smartphone culture since 1998, when they debuted as a cute software feature on local phones".1 These guys date all the way back to the late 1990s.

What are these annoying little faces, hearts, and animal pictures found in all the text messages, emails, and Facebook posts I see? Why they're emojis, of course. But where did they come from? How did we get from no cellular devices to text messages filled with emojis?

The other day I received a text message from my mother, appropriately (right?) using an emoji.

Am I proud of her? For using an emoji? Not really. Because she is a writer. And because I am a writer. I rely upon the written word to convey message, tone, intention. I have written 20 blog posts in this space and have yet to reply upon the emoji. My mom doesn't need this picture crutch either. I believe she is witty enough to send her love without pictorially kissing me. That's okay, because I do use xx (an emoticon, see explanation below) to send her kisses. 

But it's when someone is trying to convey humor with a jk or lol or even a  that I think "really, that's all you've got?" I wish my texter would come up with some clever wording to express himself. If he did, I'd understand his text was not to be taken seriously. 

So is using an emoji a crutch? Is texting not supposed to be quick, easy, no thoughtfulness in expression techniques needed? I don't know. I suppose the answer is yes. But that only makes me dislike texting, along with the emojis, even more.

I only like emojis for their artistic value. I know this is strange. I don't value the emoji for its ability to wink at me with a cartoon character representation. I enjoy the facial expression that marks the wink.

Oh yes, I almost forgot: what is the difference between an emoticon and an emoji, you ask? Simply put, an emoticon is a symbol made with keypad characters. The ;-) wink I am a fan of (occasionally). 

An emoji, on the other hand, is a cartoon drawing of a face winking, the now present in many of my text messages. And, just in case you are new to the world of emoji, do not worry. There is an Emojipedia, to look up all meanings emoji. You can practice using them thanks to the addition of the emoji language keyboard on smartphones.

http://emojipedia.org/ has emojis for just about everything.

Now that you know what an emoji is, you can feel free to never use one again. No, not seriously. Promoters of emojis (cell phone companies) are pushing the benefits of emojis. "In a time of text messages with 140 or 60 character limits, and emoji being a single character, it could go a long way."2 This makes me sad.

References:

1. http://www.fastcodesign.com/3032434/where-do-emoji-come-from
2. http://www.iemoji.com/articles/where-did-emoji-come-from