Tuesday, November 06, 2018

stuart: a life backwards

It's not often that a book can make me gasp out loud involuntarily. Stuart: a life backwards is moving, funny, sad, extraordinary. I'm quite sure I've never read anything like it before. The high-wire act Masters pulls off of telling the biography of a personal friend, with himself as an omnipresent but not intrusive character, is a real feat of storytelling. He makes himself a foil for Stuart without getting cute or cynical or maudlin. And Stuart. Stuart! What a person. And what a portrait. Baffling, hilarious, thoughtful, violent, wise, generous, self-destructive to an unbearable degree. The parallels with Jack are obvious, although so are the dissimilarities.

And the revelation in the epilogue is just, well, gasp-inducing. 

Friday, November 02, 2018

oops a daisy

Today I learned that the big boss has seen and registered my name. Not that big boss, think bigger. Yeah, that one. The one whose name is the other name on my business card. And, through absolutely no fault of my own, not in a good way. Sigh.

Seems that he was recently reading a mission report for a trip I went on. I write these as a matter of routine whenever a senior foreign dignitary goes to visit our programs. Ambassadors and the like. Because I went on this trip (not sure which one it was), my name and title are on it. Again, routine. But this time, seems he circled my name and title, wrote, "Who is this?" and was displeased when he found out that I'm a 31-year-old American. He has a thing about titles. I kind of knew that already but it had never applied to me personally so it was always just something to shake my head about. The leadership defended me, apparently, as they must because my position in the organization is their responsibility. This is not a big deal, really. But it means that they had to spend time and energy defending my existence to the man our organization is named after. And therefore, one of the feelings triggered by my name now among the top leadership is discomfort and irritation.

Not great, Bob.

This information came to me from my old boss, JT. She is in town, along with a big delegation of our global program people. We had a good long talk this morning about a couple of things, one of which was frank information from her about the narrative that has developed around me in the absence of active input on my part or, really, awareness that such a narrative existed. It's not super negative or anything, but she had some really good advice about people to cultivate who I have not been cultivating. And about how to more actively inform the story about me. Basically, we talked about the internal political game and how I could be playing it better.

Ultimately, it may not matter. I'm planning to leave next year, do my master's, and try my hand in some other company. But her input is a really good reality check about where I stand. And some of the advice is universally practical in a big bureaucracy: if the higher-ups think sunny thoughts when you come up, it doesn't matter very much how good a job you're actually doing. Don't complain overmuch about intractable problems. Acknowledge them, park them to one side, and describe what you're doing to address problems you can do something about. Actually, that's practical advice for life in general, in a bureaucracy or anywhere.

Much to absorb and reflect on this weekend.

dream - murder most foul

Recently I had a dream that I was with a couple of friends - not real people, just dream characters - and we were crashing at one guy's house. Then the main guy I was with poisoned someone to death and I was right there so he made me help him dismember the body and put it in bags. The other guy was asleep. I was terrified, but mostly of him, so I went along. He poured us gin and tonics at one point.

Later, I met up with M&D in the post office in downtown Takoma Park. I was freaking out but keeping my cool externally. We went to an outdoor concert in a wooded area. I had to poop, so I went off in search of a bathroom. There was none; the toilet was inside an old beat-up couch sitting out in the open but far enough from the stage area to be obscured by trees. Nothing to stop anyone just walking up to you, though. But the urge was bad, so I flipped back one of the cushions to reveal a toilet seat. Then I woke up.