Adventures in Boredom - Part I

It’s a hazy Tuesday morning in Burbank (not that I would know that, considering my proximity to a window, but I digress). It’s a hazy Tuesday morning on the 24th floor of the ever-looming Burbank Tower, and it seems that I am about to enter Day two of boredom induced by a severe dearth of things to do. No documents to create? No meetings to attend? Not even a single binder to organize or email to send. You might think this a very fortunate event - a cause for celebration - but one can only check her email and evite responses so many times before realizing that these activities have eaten a mere 40 minutes and are already stale.

First attempt to stave off boredom: try to do something business related and think of important-sounding questions to ask the CIO of IT at tomorrow’s Townhall meeting. After doing the required research on the company website, reading his bio, his strategic plans, I realize that knowing next to nothing about IT makes it next to impossible to think of any questions other than generic ones that will likely be addressed in his presentation. This was a ridiculous idea. Waste of time (success!)

Attempt numero dos: Try to think of what a realistic cloud looks like and attempt to replicate this image on a blue post-it note reminding me to ask Mike about macros. Clouds are surprisingly unrealistic, and rather cartoon like. Convinced that I am in the wrong department. Should surely be in cloud animation (don’t most cartoons have clouds?). Must make note of this talent.

Attempt the third: Make lists. It doesn’t really matter what I make lists of. I began by addressing work related questions I might ask my supervisor, such as who would be a good person to speak with about my interest in publishing. Perhaps a children’s editor or one of their magazine editors…
Digression 3.1 – Decided a little looky-look around the publishing website might be a good idea. Will become an expert on current publishing activity and impress someone enough to give me a job! When I came upon a publishing directory, I thought: marvelous! The holy grail! I can answer my own questions. Alas, it was but an alphabetical list of names and extensions. I was hoping for titles such as: “semi-junior head hauncho of children’s editorial staff who likes meeting with directionless interns” or “knowledge glut for Disneyish Magazine with lots of connections.” More aimless wandering and I learned about the new Fairies line of books (based off of Tinkerbell) and wonder whether this book was developed by an actual author or a marketing team who saw the fairies as a new synergy to sell candy and fairy wings.
Perhaps asking my supervisor is still a better path. I made a second, very careful almost perfect bullet point, but could think of no other questions for him. Hmm. (Stared blankly for a minute at my Mickey pencil.) Nothing. In need of a break from all this work, I started making lists of songs I might put on a mix cd for a friend. She likes beautiful things… happy things, so perhaps I will start with a little Shuggie Otis – Happy House or Sparkle City, and then ease her into Kings of Convenience – Toxic Girl. And then, oh yes! Feist with Mushaboom, which is so summery and light. I don’t think this is what Disney had in mind for me when they thought of how an intern might spend her day.

And suddenly (and soundlessly, I might add) a fellow coworker stoped at the opening of my cube. My computer had long since gone idle and my stomach sank a little as she stood there with a smile on her face. “Whadya doing???” she asked knowing quite well what the answer was. I frantically searched around for some excuse for work, but there was nothing. Just a mess of post-its with doodles of clouds, playlists, and half-baked questions. And so after a bloated pause, instead of making something up, I raised my eyebrows and answered honestly: “Nothing. Absolutely Nothing.”

Bits and Pieces

The other day at work I went into a meeting. Since I am still getting my feet wet at this new job, I was trying to be really professional and not ogle my boss’ spectacular view. I had made neat little bullet points on my yellow legal pad and had restrained myself from doodling geometric floral architecture in the margins. I made pointed recommendations and gave succinct summaries of my projects, and all-in-all was feeling very businessy and “professional” (a virtue that I assure you is highly overrated). And then, as I am about to return to the cube my boss hands me and my fellow “team members” a booklet titled: Quality, Service, Teamwork: the foundations of excellence. She says nothing, just: Here you go! smiles, and gives us the look that says, “and now it’s time for you to leave…” As I flipped through the flimsy yellow and black pages I was bombarded with quotation after quotation. Little gems of wisdom such as: “Either we’re pulling together, or pulling apart, “ and, “The race for quality has no finish line.” And then, as I turned to the last page, I realized that I’d been had! A small synergistic triangle and the over arching word: Successories. Angie, Justin, and I had had a good laugh about this ridiculous line of inspirational books and accessories, ahem, I mean, successories… Who buys these things?!?! I asked in disbelief that such a company even existed. Well, apparently TWDC (aka “the mouse”). Seeing as I was given no instruction with this book, I am not quite certain what I am supposed to do with it. All suggestions will be taken into consideration.

*****
The I-5. In between Northern California and Southern California there is a vast abyss and a solemn bridge of road. A thin grey pencil-etched line alongside blonde, velvet rolling hills that are sometimes brandished by the silhouette of a black burned one. A picture with the contrast turned up too high. The stench of agriculture off to the other side. The I-5 and I… I am never sure if we are friends or enemies. I’d rather forget that all that space between home and … home never existed. I-5 and more than 5 hours of restless, unrelenting song to keep the paranoia of the car sounds away. Once I am back in the house I grew up in and floating atop the glassy black pool (how blinding is the sun), the distance doesn’t seem so great. It is mere hours between the two places… until I am back in my car mere hours later and forced to turn the music off because after 6 hours my ears are just too tired. I would just have to exchange Benny Goodman and Air and Bobby McFerrin for my car’s helter skelter humming. The humming that makes me think of the first time I drove this road all alone the maddening undistant distance. A space, a stretch that seems so long because of the thoughts that dwell in between.