A little post holiday recap-
Holiday parties at a friend's house and my own on the same night- an old-fashioned, beer-drinking good time. Apparently, my beer pong skills are something to be admired. (yes, I actually drink beer despite what the nae-sayers might suggest.... you know who you are).
Some last minute Christmas shopping with C-Po (my sister) at a crazed outlet mall. Though slightly battered in spirit, we managed to escape physically unscathed.
Minor, ok major emotional break down on Christmas Eve/Morning somewhere around 4 AM. Subsequent comforting by sister. More details later. Maybe.
Christmas day festivities including some really great gift exchanges, my first guitar!, hanging out with the Fam at my aunt and uncle's house, and watching a home video circa 1987 where Trina (the toddler line-backer) her new born younger sister, 5 year old older sister and two cousins get looked after by some mildly intoxicated parents while at the family camp in Massachusetts. The older kids on several occasions break into song at the request of the adults. The chosen numbers? Bar songs about Senoritas "shaking it".
And then it was back to work.
On the "Trina- future rockstar" front: I can currently play the following chords, G, D, D7, C, A, E, and E7. Not too bad for having just started. Anyone want to teach me how to strum now?
A written record of the scuffles, rants and revelations of a 20-something searcher.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
When you follow death home
Today, I followed death home. Though I do not profess to be an avid follower of current events, I do my best to stay informed of the happenings outside my tiny sphere of life. As I drove to work this morning, NRP slowly drawing my mind from the groggy realms of sleep I had shortly before enjoyed, I heard it, "Pakistan's former Prime Minister, has been injured in a suicide attack. She is currently undergoing emergency surgery. Doctors have labeled her in serious condition." This woman, from my limited understanding of the political and social crisis in Pakistan, stood for democracy in a bullet-riddled, poverty-stricken country. But just days before their upcoming January 8th elections, she is gunned down and is then the victim of a suicide bomber, armed to the teeth with lead shrapnel and explosives. Unfortunately, I had to go in to work, so I couldn't hear the remainder of the story, but as I got in my car to head home tonight, having just cleared two inches of snow that had caked onto my windshield and wipers, the news hit me square in the chest, taking the breath from my lungs and bringing tears to my eyes. In tandem with the roar of my car engine, the newscaster stated, ".....after the assassination of Benazir Bhutto in today's suicide attack....." So it had happened. She had died. The woman who campaigned among the people despite the obvious danger, who stood up for what she believed in at the risk of losing her life, the woman whose own father was hung for his beliefs, had died on an operating table somewhere in Pakistan with a bullet through her neck and shrapnel piercing her body.
The image of her broken body seared into my thoughts as I drove slowly through the clean white snow gliding past my windshield. I thought of what this meant for Pakistan. Would their elections go on? Would the retaliatory violence that had swept the country in the hours after her death subside or would the current President Pervez Musharraf declare a state of emergency, again returning the country to military rule? So much hangs in the balance, and there is no clear answer. Not even a second in command exists in Benazir Bhutto's party, she was it.
All down I-87, I listened as political consultants discussed the future, the upheaval that could be just around the corner, and the United States' response to the assassination. After all, we were one of the main reasons Bhutto returned to the country in the first place after her 8 years of exile. I listened with my mind on the larger picture, the picture of countries as borders on a map, of governments as collective wholes, as citizens grouped in the thousands and tens of thousands. And then it passed me. On the right, a larger black SUV with the label "Official Military Funeral Vehicle". That car fit one. One life ended, one family with a son or daughter lost to war- humanity's most enduring failure, one soul whose time on this planet was cut short. One. Not a government, not a nation, not a regime. One. One person. It could have been Benazir. Her family had just been given the same news. I am sorry, your wife is dead. She served her country heroically.
I don't know how to stop this suffering. I don't know how to live my life in the best and happiest way I can without forgetting that in another life, in another breath, a soul is expiring because of the hate and greed and ignorance that plagues this world. I don't know how to fix any of it. All I know is that my soul aches for the anguish of war, and it aches for my inability to see a solution. Could the answer be so simple as love? Could a phrase so cliche as, "All You Need is Love" really stop the venom of war from traveling deeper into our hearts? When I ask my my own heart this question, when I pray to my God for sight, it seems so simple. Love as much and as wholly as you possibly can. Combat pain with comfort, and fear with light. Fight sadness with all the joy you can muster. I cannot stop a war by myself. I can however, create a reason to end it.
The image of her broken body seared into my thoughts as I drove slowly through the clean white snow gliding past my windshield. I thought of what this meant for Pakistan. Would their elections go on? Would the retaliatory violence that had swept the country in the hours after her death subside or would the current President Pervez Musharraf declare a state of emergency, again returning the country to military rule? So much hangs in the balance, and there is no clear answer. Not even a second in command exists in Benazir Bhutto's party, she was it.
All down I-87, I listened as political consultants discussed the future, the upheaval that could be just around the corner, and the United States' response to the assassination. After all, we were one of the main reasons Bhutto returned to the country in the first place after her 8 years of exile. I listened with my mind on the larger picture, the picture of countries as borders on a map, of governments as collective wholes, as citizens grouped in the thousands and tens of thousands. And then it passed me. On the right, a larger black SUV with the label "Official Military Funeral Vehicle". That car fit one. One life ended, one family with a son or daughter lost to war- humanity's most enduring failure, one soul whose time on this planet was cut short. One. Not a government, not a nation, not a regime. One. One person. It could have been Benazir. Her family had just been given the same news. I am sorry, your wife is dead. She served her country heroically.
I don't know how to stop this suffering. I don't know how to live my life in the best and happiest way I can without forgetting that in another life, in another breath, a soul is expiring because of the hate and greed and ignorance that plagues this world. I don't know how to fix any of it. All I know is that my soul aches for the anguish of war, and it aches for my inability to see a solution. Could the answer be so simple as love? Could a phrase so cliche as, "All You Need is Love" really stop the venom of war from traveling deeper into our hearts? When I ask my my own heart this question, when I pray to my God for sight, it seems so simple. Love as much and as wholly as you possibly can. Combat pain with comfort, and fear with light. Fight sadness with all the joy you can muster. I cannot stop a war by myself. I can however, create a reason to end it.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
To NYC and back again
in 18 hours. Yup 18 Hours. 7 of those hours were spent sleeping and 7 more driving. To say the trip was a whirlwind is something of an understatement. But it was eye opening in more ways than one. So, to set the scene of this adventure, a little background information;
First off, this trip began as me simply picking up my sister from college in NYC. Nothing too crazy. But then I got to thinking, "Wouldn't it be great for Jesyka to see the city in all its Christmas glory?" (Jeskya is my little from BB/BS) So the trip became, pick up Corrie from school, bring Jesyka with me to expose her to something entirely new and totally cool. And then, to add an element of insanity to the mix, the day I am supposed to pick up Jesyka for a sleep over at my apartment so we can leave at the crack of dawn the following morning, Corrie calls me and says she just got tickets to see the New York Pops at Carnegie Hall for the show that night at 8pm. Long story short, a phone call is made to Jesyka's mother to ok the new plan, Jes is picked up, and we haul ass down to NYC to make the show.
Apart from the sudden change in plans, everything went smoothly for the first 5 hours or so. We didn't hit traffic (thank god), no car trouble, Jes behaved on the trip, we found a parking garage (a fricken expensive parking garage, but a safe place for my car none-the-less) and we were out in front of the theater with half an hour to spare. Corrie met us at the door, tickets in hand at 7:45.
Now at this point, it seemed as though Jesyka was thrilled with how things were going. She oooed and ahhhed over the skyscrapers and the buildings lit up for Christmas. The sparkling trees reflected in her eyes the excitement only a little girl in a big city for the first time can feel. People, bundled for snow and dressed for a million Christmas parties rushed past us as we awaited Corrie's arrival in front of Carnegie Hall. And of course, in just moments she would walk through the golden doors of the theater and experience the thrills of a concert she had put on her Christmas best to attend. I had no reason to consider the fact that this might be rather overwhelming for a ten year old who has never been more than 30 miles from her house or her mother. I was even patting myself on the back a little bit for my adaptability and for not getting pulled over on the way down despite speeding almost the entire way. I was doing something great for Jesyka, exposing her to culture she has never known before, broadening her horizons, showing her all the wonderful places she can go. Man, I was a role model!
Well, I was about to get a rude awakening. We took our seats in the red velvet chairs of Carnegie Hall, the brass fixtures gleaming around us. The stage sat ready, awaiting the tuxedo-clad musicians that would soon file out and take their places. The lights dimmed, the hall went silent and the conductor burst onto the stage, his brocade jacket and sparkling velvet pants sending dancing twinkles of light onto the walls of the hall. The musicians tuned and made ready their bows and horns, and then it began. Christmas music filled the air, each note perfectly in tune, each syncopated rhythm perfectly on cue with the conductor's hands. For four songs they continued and after each song, the room erupted into thunderous applause. I looked over from time to time, and Jeskya wasn't clapping. I attributed it to her not knowing the proper response in this sort of situation. So I said she should clap. I got a half-hearted inaudible effort. Oh well.... nothing to stress over.
Another song goes by, and I begin to hear sniffling next to me. Jesyka had a cold, that must be it, her nose was just running..... a little more sniffling, a little louder. I look over to find her with big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, trying hard to cry quietly, and losing the battle. Sudden panic hits me.... she's CRYING! I feel awful at this point. What on earth could be the matter? So I asked the obvious question, "What's wrong Jes?"
"I want (sniffle) my mom (sniffle, heart-breaking lip curling into a distraught, totally out of her element, sad face.)"
Completely new to this child-crying-in-a-public-venue thing I ask, "Are you ok, do you feel sick?"
"No, I want to go home, I miss my mom"
"Sweetie we can't go home right now, we have to bring Corrie home remember. You know what we can do though, as soon as we get out, we'll call your mom and you can talk to her ok?
"Ok."
This seemed to quiet her for the moment, but another song later and the water works were up and running again, this time with a little more potency. But thank god, after the next song ended, INTERMISSION. We got up and headed for the restroom. Of course, the line was already twenty women deep. But we used this time to compose ourselves and regroup... we made a plan to call it a night at the theater and head back to Corrie's apartment, watch a little TV and go to bed. Once back in the lobby, we called Corrie to come and meet us and then put Jes on the phone with her mom. And wouldn't you know it, she said about two words to her. No tears, no, I miss you I want to come home. By now the doors to the theater were closed again, so it wasn't an option to go back in, but Jesyka was now acting fully herself, like nothing had happened. What the Heck?
So instead of being serenaded by the NY Pops, we ended up walking around the city and seeing Manhattan- the Christmas wonderland version and stopping at a bakery for a shared sticky bun. This seemed to cheer Jesyka considerably so I won't count the night as a total loss, just a reminder that despite being a fun person to hang out with on Sunday afternoons, I am not her mother. And no matter what things I try to expose her to, there will be a certain level of comfort found in the familiar. I just hope when she looks back on the trip someday, her first to NYC, she remembers Time Square at Christmas, the size of the Virgin Records store, how people raised a hand and a Taxi Cab pulled right up, the sparkling trees-bright enough to light a room, and the wonder of the big city, not how I traumatized her at Carnegie Hall. I suppose you can't win em' all.
First off, this trip began as me simply picking up my sister from college in NYC. Nothing too crazy. But then I got to thinking, "Wouldn't it be great for Jesyka to see the city in all its Christmas glory?" (Jeskya is my little from BB/BS) So the trip became, pick up Corrie from school, bring Jesyka with me to expose her to something entirely new and totally cool. And then, to add an element of insanity to the mix, the day I am supposed to pick up Jesyka for a sleep over at my apartment so we can leave at the crack of dawn the following morning, Corrie calls me and says she just got tickets to see the New York Pops at Carnegie Hall for the show that night at 8pm. Long story short, a phone call is made to Jesyka's mother to ok the new plan, Jes is picked up, and we haul ass down to NYC to make the show.
Apart from the sudden change in plans, everything went smoothly for the first 5 hours or so. We didn't hit traffic (thank god), no car trouble, Jes behaved on the trip, we found a parking garage (a fricken expensive parking garage, but a safe place for my car none-the-less) and we were out in front of the theater with half an hour to spare. Corrie met us at the door, tickets in hand at 7:45.
Now at this point, it seemed as though Jesyka was thrilled with how things were going. She oooed and ahhhed over the skyscrapers and the buildings lit up for Christmas. The sparkling trees reflected in her eyes the excitement only a little girl in a big city for the first time can feel. People, bundled for snow and dressed for a million Christmas parties rushed past us as we awaited Corrie's arrival in front of Carnegie Hall. And of course, in just moments she would walk through the golden doors of the theater and experience the thrills of a concert she had put on her Christmas best to attend. I had no reason to consider the fact that this might be rather overwhelming for a ten year old who has never been more than 30 miles from her house or her mother. I was even patting myself on the back a little bit for my adaptability and for not getting pulled over on the way down despite speeding almost the entire way. I was doing something great for Jesyka, exposing her to culture she has never known before, broadening her horizons, showing her all the wonderful places she can go. Man, I was a role model!
Well, I was about to get a rude awakening. We took our seats in the red velvet chairs of Carnegie Hall, the brass fixtures gleaming around us. The stage sat ready, awaiting the tuxedo-clad musicians that would soon file out and take their places. The lights dimmed, the hall went silent and the conductor burst onto the stage, his brocade jacket and sparkling velvet pants sending dancing twinkles of light onto the walls of the hall. The musicians tuned and made ready their bows and horns, and then it began. Christmas music filled the air, each note perfectly in tune, each syncopated rhythm perfectly on cue with the conductor's hands. For four songs they continued and after each song, the room erupted into thunderous applause. I looked over from time to time, and Jeskya wasn't clapping. I attributed it to her not knowing the proper response in this sort of situation. So I said she should clap. I got a half-hearted inaudible effort. Oh well.... nothing to stress over.
Another song goes by, and I begin to hear sniffling next to me. Jesyka had a cold, that must be it, her nose was just running..... a little more sniffling, a little louder. I look over to find her with big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, trying hard to cry quietly, and losing the battle. Sudden panic hits me.... she's CRYING! I feel awful at this point. What on earth could be the matter? So I asked the obvious question, "What's wrong Jes?"
"I want (sniffle) my mom (sniffle, heart-breaking lip curling into a distraught, totally out of her element, sad face.)"
Completely new to this child-crying-in-a-public-venue thing I ask, "Are you ok, do you feel sick?"
"No, I want to go home, I miss my mom"
"Sweetie we can't go home right now, we have to bring Corrie home remember. You know what we can do though, as soon as we get out, we'll call your mom and you can talk to her ok?
"Ok."
This seemed to quiet her for the moment, but another song later and the water works were up and running again, this time with a little more potency. But thank god, after the next song ended, INTERMISSION. We got up and headed for the restroom. Of course, the line was already twenty women deep. But we used this time to compose ourselves and regroup... we made a plan to call it a night at the theater and head back to Corrie's apartment, watch a little TV and go to bed. Once back in the lobby, we called Corrie to come and meet us and then put Jes on the phone with her mom. And wouldn't you know it, she said about two words to her. No tears, no, I miss you I want to come home. By now the doors to the theater were closed again, so it wasn't an option to go back in, but Jesyka was now acting fully herself, like nothing had happened. What the Heck?
So instead of being serenaded by the NY Pops, we ended up walking around the city and seeing Manhattan- the Christmas wonderland version and stopping at a bakery for a shared sticky bun. This seemed to cheer Jesyka considerably so I won't count the night as a total loss, just a reminder that despite being a fun person to hang out with on Sunday afternoons, I am not her mother. And no matter what things I try to expose her to, there will be a certain level of comfort found in the familiar. I just hope when she looks back on the trip someday, her first to NYC, she remembers Time Square at Christmas, the size of the Virgin Records store, how people raised a hand and a Taxi Cab pulled right up, the sparkling trees-bright enough to light a room, and the wonder of the big city, not how I traumatized her at Carnegie Hall. I suppose you can't win em' all.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
You wanna play hardball?
I am an easy going person. I rarely make waves, and I am never blatantly rude to anyone, especially those I don't know. And even to those I do know and don't like, I am not rude, to their face or behind their back. It's just how I am. So when confronted by people who have no qualms about being rude to anyone and everyone, I have a hard time understanding their motives. Maybe they are having a bad day? Nope. Having a bad day every day is really hard to do. They are just rotten, unhappy people content to spread their ill will among the masses. But every once in a while, there comes a grand opportunity to give them a taste of their own sour medicine. A "for instance" if you will, a pain in the ass, rude to me from the very first phone conversation, print rep I have been dealing with at work forced to eat her own words.
A little background; I have been working on a media buy for a client that required approval on placement, costs, and final sign off on creative. At the end of last month, I spoke with a rep (the rotten one I mentioned) about having an ad in not one, but four of their publications. Not only did she treat me like I had never spoken with a publication about ad placement before (which I have, on numerous occasions, it is my job after all) but she was a B-I-T-C-H to me every single time I spoke with her. Now I could be wrong but shouldn't people who make their living off commission-driven sales be going out of their way to sign up new advertising clients, especially ones planning multi-month runs of decently sized color ads- ie. the expensive kind? It just seems like common sense right? Apparently not. After about three rude phone calls, I finally got prices, and about a week later, sign off from the client to go with the ad and stated terms. So, I sent the ad, thinking I wouldn't have to deal with that woman again. Wishful thinking.
This morning, I received a call from my favorite rep saying the cost she gave me was inaccurate and the ads will actually be more expensive. WAIT! HOLD THE BOAT! SHE made an error? SHE gave ME the wrong cost, after trying with all her might to make me feel like an idiot? This is too good for words.
Now it was my turn to stand my ground. "Well, we already presented the costs to our client, and having to now return to them with, 'Oops' will make us look like idiots"
To which she replied, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"
You have got to be kidding me. So I tried compromise,
"Well, could we receive a discount on future runs as compensation for the error?"
Again, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"
So I tried, cool problem solving, well I suppose we will run color in your publication with the highest circulation, and I will send you a new black and white ad for the other three publications."
This seemed to appease her. But only minutes later, she was calling again, "That is going to be even more expensive." And she was calling me incompetent?
Now, it goes without saying, that she was entirely unapologetic for HER error throughout our entire exchange. And you know what, I got fed up. You wanna see Trina in Bitch mode, watch out, you'll quake in your boots. When you push me beyond the line of my sometimes mind-boggling patience and tolerance, there is hell to pay.
Me: "This is not how you start a new advertising contract, (at which point I took a long pause for her to realize we would not be advertising with her again). This was your mistake, and this has not been a problem for any of the other publications running this ad. Since there is nothing you can do, I suppose we will just run a black and white ad and that will be it." Many of you have never heard my voice. It is cheery and friendly 99% of the time. This time, however I used the cold-as-ice tones I learned well from my mother at times when she was standing her ground or protecting her children. And it is far more effective than any raised voice shouting match. She didn't even get a complete goodbye from me.
And wouldn't you know it, five minutes later, I got a call from our friend the ad rep. Apparently there was something she could do. We got the ad we started out with, no price increases, no black and white crap. Of course she remained very unfriendly as she came back with her tail between her legs, but you know what, I don't even care. I got what I wanted, and she got a lesson in ad sales, "Don't be a bitch."
A little background; I have been working on a media buy for a client that required approval on placement, costs, and final sign off on creative. At the end of last month, I spoke with a rep (the rotten one I mentioned) about having an ad in not one, but four of their publications. Not only did she treat me like I had never spoken with a publication about ad placement before (which I have, on numerous occasions, it is my job after all) but she was a B-I-T-C-H to me every single time I spoke with her. Now I could be wrong but shouldn't people who make their living off commission-driven sales be going out of their way to sign up new advertising clients, especially ones planning multi-month runs of decently sized color ads- ie. the expensive kind? It just seems like common sense right? Apparently not. After about three rude phone calls, I finally got prices, and about a week later, sign off from the client to go with the ad and stated terms. So, I sent the ad, thinking I wouldn't have to deal with that woman again. Wishful thinking.
This morning, I received a call from my favorite rep saying the cost she gave me was inaccurate and the ads will actually be more expensive. WAIT! HOLD THE BOAT! SHE made an error? SHE gave ME the wrong cost, after trying with all her might to make me feel like an idiot? This is too good for words.
Now it was my turn to stand my ground. "Well, we already presented the costs to our client, and having to now return to them with, 'Oops' will make us look like idiots"
To which she replied, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"
You have got to be kidding me. So I tried compromise,
"Well, could we receive a discount on future runs as compensation for the error?"
Again, shockingly, "There is nothing I can do"
So I tried, cool problem solving, well I suppose we will run color in your publication with the highest circulation, and I will send you a new black and white ad for the other three publications."
This seemed to appease her. But only minutes later, she was calling again, "That is going to be even more expensive." And she was calling me incompetent?
Now, it goes without saying, that she was entirely unapologetic for HER error throughout our entire exchange. And you know what, I got fed up. You wanna see Trina in Bitch mode, watch out, you'll quake in your boots. When you push me beyond the line of my sometimes mind-boggling patience and tolerance, there is hell to pay.
Me: "This is not how you start a new advertising contract, (at which point I took a long pause for her to realize we would not be advertising with her again). This was your mistake, and this has not been a problem for any of the other publications running this ad. Since there is nothing you can do, I suppose we will just run a black and white ad and that will be it." Many of you have never heard my voice. It is cheery and friendly 99% of the time. This time, however I used the cold-as-ice tones I learned well from my mother at times when she was standing her ground or protecting her children. And it is far more effective than any raised voice shouting match. She didn't even get a complete goodbye from me.
And wouldn't you know it, five minutes later, I got a call from our friend the ad rep. Apparently there was something she could do. We got the ad we started out with, no price increases, no black and white crap. Of course she remained very unfriendly as she came back with her tail between her legs, but you know what, I don't even care. I got what I wanted, and she got a lesson in ad sales, "Don't be a bitch."
Sunday, December 9, 2007
Cleaning up. Moving on.
Well, last night's stand up was not exactly what I was hoping for, but it did result in the accomplishment of an incredible feat; my bedroom is clean. And not just clean as in I put all my laundry in the hamper, but dusted, vacuumed, swept, and straightened. The frenetic pace of my life in the past month or so has witnessed the gradual decline of my borderline OCD need to keep my dwelling clean and comfortable (there are only so many hours in a day) and as a result, the dust bunnies had actually begun to breed, and you know what they say about breeding rabbits. It ain't pretty.
Finding order in the chaos has always a therapeutic thing for me. Last night I was both annoyed and hurt. I know I know, I never even met the guy, he was just a picture and a profile. Well, let's just call it the straw that broke the camel's back. But one spotless room and a stubborn "Screw you, and your seriously lame 'I'm not going to be able to make it' exit strategy. I am going out to have coffee anyway!" later, I am feeling a little more my happy-go-lucky self this morning.
So now it is on to the next thing, bringing a bit of Christmas and the outdoors into my grand apartment, and making Christmas ornaments with my Little to hang on our newly purchased indoor Evergreen.
Though I myself may be ever green, and ever thinking I can expect all people to treat me as I would them, it is a sentiment I refuse to give up, despite having felt the singe of that naive expectation on multiple occasions. I will not allow a few wankers, as Amanda so aptly christened them, to spoil my outlook on life. Instead, I'll clean. And make Christmas ornaments the likes of which you've never seen!
Finding order in the chaos has always a therapeutic thing for me. Last night I was both annoyed and hurt. I know I know, I never even met the guy, he was just a picture and a profile. Well, let's just call it the straw that broke the camel's back. But one spotless room and a stubborn "Screw you, and your seriously lame 'I'm not going to be able to make it' exit strategy. I am going out to have coffee anyway!" later, I am feeling a little more my happy-go-lucky self this morning.
So now it is on to the next thing, bringing a bit of Christmas and the outdoors into my grand apartment, and making Christmas ornaments with my Little to hang on our newly purchased indoor Evergreen.
Though I myself may be ever green, and ever thinking I can expect all people to treat me as I would them, it is a sentiment I refuse to give up, despite having felt the singe of that naive expectation on multiple occasions. I will not allow a few wankers, as Amanda so aptly christened them, to spoil my outlook on life. Instead, I'll clean. And make Christmas ornaments the likes of which you've never seen!
Saturday, December 8, 2007
One sure fire way to piss me off....
cancel a date only moments before I am supposed to get in my car and drive down the highway to meet you. At this point I will have changed my plans, had a friend help me out with laundry because there was no way I could have gotten it done in time to have clean clothes, and carefully chosen an outfit, done my makeup, my hair, my jewelry, and my nails, all in preparation to meet you. So sending me an IM saying you're not going to be able to make it, without even offering a reason why, not the best way to make a good impression. It doesn't help that this is not the first time this has happened, but seriously, doesn't anyone out there respect other people's time enough to give them a little more notice than 10 minutes?
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