"You think you've flown before, but baby, you ain't left the ground..."
I'll tell ya what: San Francisco is a fantastic town. It's everything you'd expect and more, from the social diversity to the breathtaking views everywhere you look to what just might be the greatest non-changing weather on the planet. After about a year or so, it occurred to me that the way to "get in" for someone who came for reasons such as I did is to volunteer. It makes perfect sense in many ways. You get to meet people while providing a service and even if there are no jobs available there, networking opportunities will surely arise. Plus, I just happened to overhear someone say something about networking recently.
So, I started digging around on Idealist.org and eventually settled on a small, struggling environmental-type group here in town. I thought, okay, this a way I can't lose and get to do some good work and meet some good people, etc., etc. Part of this whole isolation thing I've been subject to is that it's very difficult to socialize when you don't have a job, which is yet another reason volunteering makes sense. You get to be social in a setting where the social aspect isn't as demanding. It's perfect.
The position they advertised was "Communications Intern." I'm a little old for that title, but whatever--it's not that big of a deal, all things considered. Things started out okay, but I sensed that all of these absurd things that have been so meticulously manufactured about me had indeed followed me there. Sure enough, one day out of the blue, Marcy, the head of the department, a clearly sex-starved, approaching-the-top-of-the-hill feminist who has no idea how incapable she is of effectively hiding her struggle under the cumulative weight of years of loneliness accompanying her life of "empowerment," (extremism is a disease) insinuated that I am a rube by telling the story from which the term originates. Of course, I shot it down by explaining to her how most baseball stories are hybrid myths and topped it off with the itty-bitty whittle piece or wet-o-whic I've been using thwoo-out: "Don't believe everything you hear." It's always effective, even at the muffler shop--one of the earliest uses.
She made another comment referring to my situation that I laughed off, but later, she made another one out of the blue. Something to the effect of, "If someone's gotta keep an eye on ya, I guess I'll do it." This one was a bit of a double-shot. Not only was it another in a string--or should I say "thread?"--of patronizing insults like the Rube comment, but it also illustrates the Orwellian (I hate to use that word so much, but it's very accurate.) surveillance-state I've been subject to in which nearly everyone I meet acts as an extension of that surveillance.
Despite all of this, I stuck around for a couple of months and did some decent work. They let me do some writing. Some was good, some was bad. I also copy-edited a thing they were passing around in congress that was a nightmare of a mess when they handed it to me. Fixing it up was fun and was a great example of a way I could contribute right away, because if they're passing something like that around, it's no wonder they're not not making an impact in DC. The thing was a mess--something about the U.S. Export-Import Bank approving loans for fossil fuel-burning plants in Africa. It was very complex and it was obvious that the guy who wrote it clearly had a firm grip on the situation, but was nothing more than a tiny nozzle holding back a reservoir of information and just didn't have time to neaten the thing up. I guess their having to lay off 2 people didn't make it clear to ol' Marcy how much they should have appreciated free help from a guy with my kind of experience and skills. Oh, but, lest we forget--I'm a rube.
But wait...there's more...
In addition to writing, they had me help out with promoting some events they were working on. One was a screening of an Oscar-nominated documentary about an environmental movement by a small village in China. (What is the big hoo-haw about Macs? I know--they're great for graphic design-type stuff, but not being able to right-click positively sucks. Yes, I know--use the control button. I figured that one out. It sucks. Having the option to right-click is a good thing. Deal with it.) Again, despite Marcy's comments, I got on the phone and, using their directory of local calendar listings and digging up a new source or two, applied a little NY hustle. Though I'm sure no one there would ever admit it, the place was packed due in large part to my efforts. A reporter from a China newspaper even showed up. The venue was the perfect size (I did that research, too.). All in all, it was a smashing success. Some actress playing Chiang Kai-shek's wife in an upcoming independent film even showed up hoping to make a connection with the organization. Quite ambitious, she was, all done up in her stage make-up and everything. She also insisted on showing me several of her beauty pagent pictures on her nifty little iPhone before using it to snap a few shots of me. At some point in there she asked the probing, uncomfortable question that might make one think real, real hard, "What's your dream?" Maybe she thinks I have acting potential. (I don't.) It was all very strange. Anyhoo...
I even did some grunt work for them, taking a couple days to file some crap and sort through a few monstrous stacks of mail returned from prospective donors. No complaints; all free of charge. Many days they asked me to stay beyond the 4 hours a day they mandated early on. Some days, I stayed without being asked--volunteering on top of volunteering, if you will. It was quite clear that they needed the help. Oh, and I shouldn't forget to mention that they were also in the process of building a new website and had tons of copy-writing to do.
What's most confusing is, as I mentioned before, there are folks involved who are clearly aware of the gross injustice I've been subject to, sometimes indicating it, seemingly with sympathy. Still, though, no one ever addresses it openly. You know why? Because the whole thing is illegal, what, denying someone due process and all. Anyway... One of the other department heads there was one of these. I got good vibe from her early on, though, ironically, she came off as the most likely radical feminist of the bunch. But, no--there was a definite sensibility in this person, so it should come as no surprise, then, that she was more on her game than anyone else there. She was always nice to me. At some point after I'd been there for about a month and half, I guess, she summoned the to 2 women in my department for an impromptu chat. When the ladies returned, they both gave me a kind of ominous, and maybe concerned look, but didn't say anything. Our relationships where tainted after that, of course. The bummer is, I could tell that their little pow-wow was to discuss that she indeed was aware of how I'm a "target" for some unscrupulous folks. Nevertheless, none of them addressed me about it, which just perpetuates the anxiety of the whole thing, which is absolutely unhealthy for me and and something I will continue to avoid. Because of that last incident and the preceding patronizing insults from Marcy, I was compelled to stop going there. It was a bummer, because I was starting to develop a good working relationship with one of the women in the department. After I didn't show up for a couple of days, she sent me an e-mail with the obviously sincere subject-line, "Are you okay?" She and I'd even come to an agreement about how disrespected the Communications Dept is there--a very strange dynamic considering that that is pretty much all they do and one of the main perpetrators was a department head who indicated to me herself that she is not proficient at writing English!! I mean--I was only there for a couple months and it was obvious. They don't make door-stops or any other kind of widget. They aren't running a restaurant. They aren't providing any kind of entertainment. They beg for money and use--wait for it--communication to make a political impact. It's really baffling.
While there, I also came up with a couple promotional ideas and offered to share them with Marcy and the director. The director said she didn't have time and to discuss it with Marcy, which I know, of course, put me at a disadvantage because Marcy would be able to steal it or bury it. I know that game, too. So, Marcy and I had a little scheduled meeting. One of the ideas was pretty obvious, super cheap, and an excellent promotional tool. I believe her excuse for not having already done it was something about "not having enough bandwidth." Hmmm... The other idea was way outside the box and, admittedly, likely a little too high profile for a non-profit. It was sexy. But who says a non-profit can't be sexy? Why not be a mold-breaker, a trend-setter? Nevertheless, Marcy's face once again betrayed her as I told her about it. Though she went straight to the too-high-profile excuse, it was clear that she was hot for the idea as she stammered at the point where it hit her like an arrow to the heart that such an idea never drifted anywhere near her mind during all those years in marketing. (Do you like insulting me?) I thought she was going to cry.
And, of course, after the film-screening I offered to walk her and the other ladies, including the director at the time, to their cars. The others pealed off and when Marcy and I got to her car in a parking garage, she offered me a ride up to the street, likely with the intention of saving me some shoe leather. Uh...yeah...anyway... Though I knew it was a bad idea--since I didn't intend to ask her out for a drink, as she was clearly hoping I would--I accepted and said "Ta, ta." before hopping out when we reached the sidewalk. Once again, I thought she might cry. I must have been feeling a little rube-ish.
Finally, Another point worthy of note that came out of Marcy's and I's private promotions meeting is her assertion that the organization has been short of funds in recent years because those funds have been diverted to natural disaster response organizations that would, not surprisingly, be on the same benefactors' radar. It's possible that Marcy was spewing a little piece of rhetoric there, but as I said, they had just laid off 2 people and were clearly struggling. If true, that situation is like writing on the wall, peops, not to mention further evidence of how bad of an idea it is to insult the volunteer. (I want to make it clear, here, that accept for one or two other girls who gave me some dirty looks, everyone else there was mostly pretty cool to me.)
Shall we review? I volunteered at a struggling non-profit working on environmental issues. I contributed in a number of different ways in which is was clear they were desperate for help. I'm not saying my work was spectacular, but despite the early patronizing insults, I continued on for a while, and getting the kind of help I was contributing for 12 hours a week for free is a rare commodity, my friends. I will not--I will not subject myself to patronizing insults--particularly from some marketing wash-out who can't manage to keep her nose clean--while providing help for free, regardless of the potential benefit for me. The anxiety created by being surrounded by people dropping hints meant to do nothing else but fuck with my head is positively unhealthy. It causes me undue anxiety. I won't do it.
(I know--I should have done the "Lisa Takes Up Photography" post a long time ago, but as each vague memory comes, it takes a while to confirm it, the whole story is so incredibly outrageous. As I said, I didn't actually confirm that one until I wrote it.)
So, if I can't provide free help to a struggling non-profit without getting harassed, I'm not sure what else you want, you big bad ol' world of perfect people, you. You wonder why I keep trying to re-establish connections with old NY colleagues? After my experience with Marcy, why wouldn't I?
About being a rube...
The story is about a major league baseball player from way, way back who was originally from a small town. Either while playing for a team in a big city or playing against one at their field, the story goes that while running to home plate from third base, he was distracted by an attractive woman in the stands holding a puppy, the insinuation being that he's a "country bumpkin," maybe, who's easily distracted. This is a great opportunity to share a perfect example of what's been happening to me for 20 years and put this stupid-ass rube shit to rest.
As I mentioned in a recent post, I am the subject of black-listing and covert persecution by racists because of an interracial relationship from 20 years ago. I didn't figure out how far back it goes until this past February. All of what they do is meant to be invisible and a major part of it is a covert psychological abuse that is akin to subliminal messages in advertising. I noticed these things as odd and mean along the way, but just kind of blew them off and plowed ahead. They keep it spread out over time so it's difficult to recognize the pattern.
That mixed relationship happened when I was 19 or 20 while in Louisiana. It's possible it actually started with someone there, but I know that my family found out about it very early on by finding a photograph in my bedroom during the following summer I spent in my hometown. There's also a reason I know they actively took part way back then which I'll cover in a later post. I later transferred twice, finally to Ohio State. I was working as a bartender at BW-3 on south campus there. (I'll cover another incident at BW-3 in a later post, as well. (That's right--it was part of the scam. (I see all.))) Again, this is the earliest occurrence I recall. This would have been in 1993 or 1994. One afternoon while I was working, early in the shift, a girl came in by herself and sat at the bar. She aggressively struck up a conversation with me and quickly indicated she was interested in me. The content of the convo was normal and part of it was talking about our majors, mine being Communications. I could tell there was something odd about the encounter and I didn't find her attractive so I didn't reciprocate her interest. She left and later in the shift came back with a friend. (They were both white, btw.) There were very few people there. They sat at the bar and had an obnoxiously loud conversation featuring a discussion of what a worthless major communications is. I had also mentioned in the earlier conversation that I was considering moving to NY. One of them made a comment, clearly by its tone intended as an insult, about moving there being for people who are lost or don't know what they want to do. I just blew it off. At the time, I figured they were just mad because I didn't return her romantic interest, but of course, now I know different. That's exactly the kind of shit they do.
They point is, that was only the first in a loose string of such incidents occurring both in Columbus and NY that I plowed my way through, undistracted and undeterred, while completing my degree and achieving a moderate level of success in NY before running smack-dab into a Neo-Nazi who harassed me into losing my last television job. (Not Atlas. I did 2 stints at another place and leave the last one off my resume because they actually had me feeling guilty.) The problem is, despite my accomplishments, that string of hidden self-esteem attacks accumulated and I didn't see the toll it was taking. It worms its way into your mind. It's all quite insidious. It's meant to make you afraid to be social, marginalize you, and slowly nudge you into isolation. It's self-perpetuating. The other really bad part of it is that they immerse you in it so that when you have a healthy relationship, you think something must be wrong. They make this kind of abuse an ongoing reality. Yep, that's right--I see all. I should mention here that I appreciate the fact that people are gaining an understanding of the reality of this insidious Machiavellian schem I've been subject to. From a psychological standpoint, though, I must point out that simply seeing the whole thing is 75% of the recovery. It really is. Being busy and having normal human relations makes up the bulk of the remainder, which is what bumms me out most about what happen during my attempt at volunteering.
As I look back, even in NY, I recall being out at bars and restaurants and wondering why groups standing near me were having these loud conversations that often, and coincidentally, I assumed, where insulting to things about my life. Often they'd say things like, "Television is too difficult of a business to crack. I wouldn't even try." I tried and cracked it wide open all...by...myself, bitches, and the only reason it ended is because I ran in to some Nazi who had me isolated and intentionally baited me with harassment. The boss either fell for it or was in on it. (More on that later. I have already conveyed that story, in explicit detail, to my closest former NY colleagues, plus a few other interested parties, btw. I'm sure it's spreading nicely.) I was getting the same shit at home from my family. My brother loved to devalue my degree. It was one of his favorites.
So...I am quite good at functioning and progressing despite a mostly invisible, intentional, group barrage of potentially very damaging distractions. In fact, I'd have to say I'm better than most at focusing despite distractions. It's important to note that subjects of what I've experienced are meant to never figure it out, let alone achieve some of the things I did despite it. As I said, my brother made many cryptic, taunting hints over the years. He was dead-on correct when he whispered in my ear: "Something's wrong and you just don't know what it is." And in regard to the ongoing reality of it, I'll remind you again that my when I arrived home for a family gathering not a depressed basket case, my brother looked at me with an angry, shocked look and then turned to my Nazi cop brother-in-law with an inquisitive look which prompted him to shake his head and say, "I don't know, Joe--he's immune to it." God damn right, he is.
I'm reminded of another NY story when a college friend and a new friend of his visited me in Manhatten. The new guy was, shall we say, an ambitious small-time thrill-seeker. I mentioned something to him about it being good to be aggressive in NY. Maybe I shouldn't have...or maybe I should have. Anyway...
We were walking down the sidewalk three abreast, me on the buildings side, old buddy in middle, aspiring gangsta, curbside. As we a approached a sidewalk peddler seated behind a table full of trinkets with his back to the street, in the blink of an eye he jumped out from behind the table, switchblade drawn in the direction of wannabe gangsta kid. I may not be nearly as quick (obviously, the scale of my experience is a little different), but his words apply here:
I see your game, motherfucker.
Furthermore, then...
I do not need to be babied or coddled. Nor do I need to be constantly supervised. I've taken on more daunting challenges than most, again, all by myself. My high school basketball coach, who I played for for 4 years was a big-time Woody Hayes disciple which probably had a lot to do with me progressing despite the old blacklist psychological harassment. (Ironically, I'm sure he's not a proponent of mixed relationships.) He was a football coach before he switched to basketball. He was a lower-division college football standout at linebacker and it is my understanding that in an NFL tryout for Philadelphia he lasted until the final round of cuts.
Our high school football team had these handheld blocking dummies, kind of like these, but as I recall, they were longer. Apparently, we weren't beating on each other enough under the basket for Jazz (that was his nickname. No one called him "coach." It didn't matter.), so we did drills in which a guard would pass us the ball in the low post. We'd make a drop-step and as we went up for the bunny, he'd beat us over the head and arms with the dummy and then shove us with it on our way back down. You don't see the value of those things at the time. I also recall practices that included a suicide for every point we lost by in the previous night's game. Of course, that was only when it was a large margin. The time we lost by 17 stands out. That is not an exaggeration. I also recall his little speech at the end of a New Year's Eve practice: "Gonna go out and drink tonight, are ya? Alright--go ahead and drink all you want. In the morning we'll sweat it out of ya." I believe the practice was at 7am that New Year's Day and we all expected a heavy dose of running. But Jazz was more creative than that. My teammates and I drove through the dark wee, wee hours of the year to find the gym in sauna-like conditions. He must have had the thermostat set at 80. "If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we'd all have a Merry Christmas, baby."
I do not need to be constantly supervised and every patronizing conversation meant for me to overhear is just another insult. I'm a normal, sane human being. Both times I returned home after my time in NY were in large part to help care for my dying parents, respectively--another little tid-bit I had to pry thanks out of my siblings for. During my first 2 years in New York I surpassed several--several situations that would have sent many folks running home to mommie, so let's drop that one too, shall we?
Competition doesn't scare me a bit, but this group effort against me is a little over the top and I'll continue to fight it until it all stops. Since it seems to be effective, I will continue to air my story here--among other places.
(I ran into an old lady from New Jersey, once. We chatted a while, and when Frank Sinatra came up, she snapped, in nasally Jersey-ese, "He's a punk!")
Stay tuned...
Joseph
C. Zoccali, Clearwater, Florida; Rick Wilson,
Niles, Ohio; Christine
Faranda, Cleveland, Ohio; Len Spector; Marc Greece, A&E
Networks; Reverend David Plank, Palatine Bridge, NY; Carrie (Plank) Bruno,
Queens, NY; Cynthia Green,
Tech Recruiter; Sioux
Logan, Red Stream Technologies; Mike Tricario, MTV; Sean Newman, Columbus, Ohio; Jim
Reed, Columbus, Ohio; Zynga; Marty Eggert, Cleveland, Ohio; Kathy Haxton,
Cleveland, Ohio, St. Joe’s Medical Center, Warren, Ohio; Coleman Professional Services,
Warren, Ohio; Laura
McCormick
An
Pham, anpham1111@gmail.com; Anna Stepnova, stepnova@aol.com; Barbara Anne Wolf, wolf.barbara.anne@gmail.com, (415) 812-4926; Brian Montague, jetbpm@aol.com; Charles
Crites, critesfam@sbcglobal.net; EHSOH, lovycera@gmail.com; Elizabeth
Nicolosi, elizabethnicolosi@hotmail.com; Kristy
Guertin, guertk@spu.edu; Meagan Franz, meaganfranz@hotmail.com; Miyako
Abe, mtea2006@yahoo.com; Nora Salah, nsalah01@yahoo.com; Teresa Keller, teresa@rtwwithus.org; Natasha
Warder;
.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment