The Office has not closed its doors.
Even though the show aired its series finale recently, the fictitious world of Dunder Mifflin still exists selling paper in Scranton, Pennsylvania. When David Wallace purchased Dunder Mifflin from Sabre Printers, no other branches were mentioned as being in operation, so I assume that the Scranton branch is all that he bought. Given that David doesn't have an office in that branch, it is rather curious as to where he spends his days. The New York headquarters were liquidated in the sale, and Sabre headquarters was located in Florida.
Whatever.
Dunder Mifflin Scranton is still in operation with the following employees.
Dwight Shrute is the manager.
Angela Shrute is accounting.
Phyllis Vance and Clark Green are sales. Pete Miller is a customer service rep.
Erin Hannon is the receptionist.
Devon White was rehired and took Creed's position in quality assurance.
Gone are...
Accounting - Kevin Malone (fired for incompetence and now owns a bar in town).
Accounting - Oscar Martinez (running for State Senate).
Sales - Jim Halpert (moving to Austin, Texas to work in sports management).
Sales/Office Manager - Pam Halpert (moving to Austin with hubby Jim).
Darryl Philbin (moved to Austin).
Human Resources - Toby Flenderson (fired).
Quality Assurance - Creed Bratton (arrested).
Purchasing/Supplier Relations - Meredith Palmer (assumed to be pursuing a position in her Ph.D field).
Sales/Manager - Andy Bernard (left to work at Cornell University).
Special Projects Manager - Nellie Bertram (moved to Poland).
It would seem that much hiring will be needed to bring The Office back up to strength. Probably another salesperson or two, maybe one more accountant. Purchasing/supplier relations can probably be added to the receptionist's duties as all she does is answer the phone. It always seemed like The Office was overstaffed anyway, though their sales volume was rarely mentioned if at all.
The series finale of The Office has come and gone, and while it didn't prove as emotional as the M*A*S*H series finale, it had its moments of sentiment. It also concluded with some neat lines.
Pam: I think an ordinary paper company like Dunder-Mifflin was a great subject for a documentary. There's a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn't that kind of the point?
Jim: Everything I have I owe to this job...this stupid, wonderful, boring, amazing job.
Andy: I wish there was a way to know you're in the good old days before you've actually left them.
Toby: I have six roommates, which are better than friends because they have to give you one month's notice before they leave.
Dwight: I never thought I'd say this, but I think I ate too much bone marrow.
Michael: I feel like all my kids grew up, and then they married each other. It's every parent's dream.
And all these lines succinctly summed up each character we came to know quite well over the nine seasons the show ran.
Don't you get the sense that a new series could be created about Pam and Jim and their new life in Texas? For that matter, a short series down the road about how Dunder Mifflin has faired with all the changes? Of course, a Michael and Holly show may be interesting. I'm not saying that any of this should happen, but the series finale didn't really seem to end anything except for the circumstances with which we had grown familiar. If anything it felt like it was establishing all sorts of new beginnings instead.
So it wasn't with a sense of sweet sorrow that the finale ran, but with a necessary closure to some story lines that had existed for a long time and some that had developed in the last season. There was a good balance of emotion, humor and lightheartedness that made the show a pleasure to watch. The only nod to pathos was Toby's few comments, but he was never a real sympathetic character anyway.
Creed, formerly of the Grass Roots, wrote a song for the episode and performed it. The song wasn't played in its entirety, just enough to underscore the finale with its haunting beauty. I will end this post and my time in The Office with the lyrics.
All the Faces
by Creed Bratton
I saw a friend today, it had been a while
And we forgot each other's names
But it didn't matter 'cause deep inside
The feeling still remained the same
We talked of knowing one before you've met
And you you feel more than you see
And other worlds that lie in spaces in between
And angels you can see
And all the faces that I know
Have that same familiar glow
I think I must have known them somewhere once before
All the faces that I know
And all the faces we see each and every day
When I get home at night, you're the face I need
And when my mind's absorbed on my private little screen
And I'm walking blind through a sea of unknown men
I hear a voice reminding me there across the street
Walks an old forgotten friend
And we don't have to say a word
It's really better left unsaid
Just lights through eyes that recognize
All the faces that I know
All the faces that I know
And all the faces we see each and every day
When I get home at night, you're the face I need
When I get home at night, you're the only face I need
Now available for download here: All the Faces: Amazon.com
My friend, Janine, has died.
I don't know her exact age at the time of her death, but I'd say she was within the range of 47 to 51 years old.
I haven't seen Janine since around 1985-86, when we were stationed at Fort Stewart, Georgia. We both had the same MOS if I remember correctly, though I can't recall seeing her at Fort Devens for training. It may have been a timing issue - perhaps she was there after I had already left.
Janine and I reconnected on Facebook about four years ago and chatted back and forth from time to time via the social networking site as well as email. She was married and living near Portland, Oregon, and I am married and living near Portland, Maine.
A very pretty girl, Janine was the object of much eyeballing by guys in our unit at Stewart. She hooked up pretty quickly with one fellow and ended up marrying him. I was dating another woman who I married as well. Had circumstances been different... who knows? But her recent husband was not the guy she originally married, and I have no idea, having never asked, what happened to the first.
More than attractive, Janine was sweet and friendly, and I found her to still be so twenty-seven years after I last saw her. She was a fan of my writing and purchased a couple books from me. She also posted a very nice review on one of my Amazon Kindle stories.
I once told her I loved her after she sent me a particularly nice message. It was a casual "love ya" like one would tell a friend or family member. I felt a little strange doing so, because she was the first woman who was not my wife to whom I said that. But I meant it in a friendly, affectionate way, and she responded in kind.
That was in January 2013 and the last time we had any communication. She died in April 2013.
When I found out, I was stunned. I denied it, considered the possibility that it was some sort of twisted joke. On April 10, her husband posted this message on her Facebook timeline:
Today my beautiful angel Janine left this world. My your soul rest in peace and I hope you have found the pain free times you have been looking for!
RIP my sweet
Love always and forever
Bob xoxoxo
Another Army friend and his wife were closer to Janine than I was. I messaged him to ask what was going on. He told me a few things, but never came right out and stated exactly what happened. He didn't need to.
I could read reams of information in what he didn't say.
And now, as other former Army buddies find out, the reaction seems to be one of general consensus - shock and denial.
Like any grieving period, sadness came after the disbelief. I wished she had at least emailed me to say goodbye. Or that I had more recent communication with her. I had tried to get her to consider surgery, but she wasn't keen on the idea. Had I been more persuasive, maybe she'd still be alive today.
But how to persuade someone from 3000 miles away is beyond me.
I miss her, and I haven't even seen her for over 25 years.
Is this strange?
Now a bombing has happened in Boston, a letter with the poison Ricin has been sent to a US Senator, and the world just keeps getting weirder.
Goodbye, Janine.
Love ya.
Cities.
I've been to a lot of them, either passing through or visiting. When I say passing through, I mean going directly through it, not on some beltway that skirts it.
Portland, Bangor, Portsmouth, Boston, Quincy, Worcester, Danbury, New York City, Newark, Scranton, Philadelphia, Wilmington, Baltimore, Washington DC, Richmond, Harrisonburg, Charlotte, Asheville, Spartanburg, Charleston, Atlanta, Macon, Jacksonville, Orlando, Miami, Canton, Denver.
Many more much smaller as well.
I may have been there attending a convention, catching a ballgame or concert, doing the tourist thing. Or maybe just spent the night on the way to somewhere else. I may have been there for years or just a few hours, but I remember them all with varying degrees of opinion as to the experience.
Whether it was seeing the Statue of Liberty or the Washington Monument or hitting Miami Beach or taking in a Braves game at Turner Field, most activities took place under the yellow face of a dayrider sun.
Except for Savannah.
Savannah was all about the night.
Oh, I've been to Savannah during the day, gone to the mall, played mini-golf, eaten at restaurants and so on.
But the night is what I remember most about Savannah.
There were many. They were streaming and rumbling. Promises were made, some kept to this very day, some never intended to be kept.
Music threaded the nights. Music and a strong beat, both external and internal.
There was heat. A lot of heat. The moon and stars glinted off the river as if to highlight the motion of the eventide.
Bearded shadows hung from trees which stood above the river, and connections could be found in the cobblestones of Upper and Lower Factors Walks. Trees along the river were tamer, more decorative, but the old oaks above told stories of long ago.
Oysters and candy, Bailey's and sandals, the nights were rich in flavor and feeling. They were a decalescent aphrodisiac, a roseate romance. It was easy to revel in the bright lights dotting the night or slip away through its deep umbra.
There was much nighttime in Boston as well, and those memories are as exuberant. But its ambiance was drastically different. Boston was urban with all its amenities. Savannah was history with all its nuances.
I can well understand why General Sherman couldn't bring himself to lay waste to Savannah like he did with Atlanta.
Because once you step inside her boundaries, she envelops you with sultry sweet arms and never lets go.
I was looking through some old Doonesbury anthologies recently. The particular one which inspired this was the first where the characters show up at college and decide to live communally. That would have been back in the late 60s. The latter portion of the book covered the Watergate scandal and Trudeau was very clever in his portrayal of the progression which led to the downfall of Nixon. He had a good touch with his writing and art back then, which grew rather heavy-handed around the presidencies of Reagan and Bush and beyond.
But I got to thinking about Watergate and all that happened back then. I was a young teenager when Nixon resigned, and so all of my Watergate knowledge came well after that. Fourteen year olds don't notice political events all that much. Or at least they didn't when I was growing up.
Maybe it was just me.
I remember helping a friend with his paper route one day, and when we went to pick up the papers there was a huge headline across the top that simply said, "NIXON RESIGNS!" I held up the paper so passing cars could see it. Can't recall if anyone responded - they all probably knew by then anyway. Then we delivered the papers and went back to doing whatever kids do.
Like all of history, we have passed beyond this event to where we can look around and see no real effects from it any more. It all becomes rather academic to the point where one would almost want to say, "So what?"
It's not that it wasn't a turbulent time, or that the things that took place during Nixon's presidency weren't despicable, but as of 2013 it all seems like just a blip now. I observe our culture and don't get any sense of anyone having "survived" Watergate. Certainly not like seeing veterans who have survived past or current wars. Of course, war is much more traumatic. To hear people speak of Watergate back then and several years after, though, you'd think that the world, or at least the United States, was coming to an end.
Most of the major players in the scandal are gone. Here's a short list which includes the Watergate Seven.
Richard Nixon - died 1994
H. R. Haldeman - died 1993
John Mitchell - died 1988
Chuck Colson - died 2012
John Ehrlichman - died 1999
Robert Mardian - died 2006
Kenneth Parkinson - died 2006
E. Howard Hunt - died 2007
John Dean - still alive
Gordon Strachan - still alive
G. Gordon Liddy - still alive
Watergate is gone, too, assigned to the dusty annals of history books and stale memories of those old enough to remember it.
And it turned out to be what I described earlier. Just a blip.
I've spent a fair amount of time thinking about the arts - what catches on with society and what doesn't.
It's not so much analysis as it is just pondering. I'm not really sure why some songs, books or movies become hits and others don't. But I find the subject fascinating and do some reading on it when I can.
In the course of my woolgathering, I have reached a conclusion:
Popular bands who reach the zenith of success usually have one song that can be considered iconic.
They may have many hits, several songs that are good or even great. But only one of their hits can be called iconic.
By iconic, I mean a song that strongly identifies the band. A song that a large majority of people have heard and can name the band who did it even if they aren't fans of that band or its genre. It may not be considered their best song by many critics, but all of its elements come together - the lyrics, the melody, the production, the personality of the song - in such a way as to elevate it to be the zeitgeist of the band.
I use the term zeitgeist a little loosely, because even though the iconic song can reflect an era and recall memories of where we were when we first heard it, the song, in actuality, has a timelessness to it. Thirty years may pass from its inception, yet it doesn't sound dated when played today.
To give an example of what I'm yammering about, I've compiled a list of what I think are iconic songs. Some may disagree with this list; that's fine. It is, after all, based on my opinion. It's not a complete list by any means, but it hopefully gets my point across.
Styx had many hits including Lady, Renegade, Mr. Roboto, Lorelei. But I would say their iconic song is Come Sail Away.
Fleetwood Mac has had a long run with popular songs such as Don't Stop, Rhiannon, Dreams, and Landslide to name a few. But their far and above iconic piece is Go Your Own Way, and it's made even more so if you know the story behind it.
I don't think anybody would argue that Stairway to Heaven is Led Zeppelin's icon.
Eric Clapton has had a string of well known hits both with a group and solo. Layla, recorded when he was with Derek and the Dominoes, has to stand out as the icon of all his work.
Groups like the Beetles and Rolling Stones may be a little more difficult to nail down with iconicity, and this may be a situation where they produced more than one standout.
For the Beetles one could argue Let It Be and A Day in the Life as icons. Probably other songs as well. The Rolling Stones selections may be Satisfaction or Jumping Jack Flash, however, I'd have to say that their premier iconic song is really You Can't Always Get What You Want.
The Who may be a toss up between Won't Get Fooled Again and Baba O'Riley with the former probably holding an edge over the latter.
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band have a lot of songs rich with imagery and musicality. But their iconic anthem will forever be Born to Run.
Would anyone argue that the Eagles hit iconic levels with Hotel California?
Some others....
U2 - Where the Streets Have No Name
Kansas - Carry On Wayward Son
The Band - The Weight
Simon & Garfunkel - Sounds of Silence (many would probably say Bridge Over Troubled Water)
Jimi Hendrix - Probably Purple Haze (though I think Little Wing is better)
Lynyrd Skynyrd - Free Bird (though I think Tuesday's Gone is better)
These are just a few examples, there are much more that could be listed. Calling the specific songs listed above iconic does not mean they are my favorite songs from those artists. For instance, I like Jungleland and Backstreets by Springsteen much more than I like Born to Run. And I can think of several Rolling Stones songs I would prefer to hear than You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Feel free to add your own comments or suggestions as to what you think are iconic songs.
People don't know how to criticize.
They think that all they have to do is say they don't like something, or call it crap or worse, and that is sufficient. They didn't like it - end of story.
I see this in Amazon reviews a lot, especially among the feedback of indie authors' works. I can't say how many times I've read someone post that the story they downloaded to their Kindle wasn't worth the 99¢ they paid for it. Yet they won't say WHY it wasn't worth it.
The fact that THEY didn't like it is sufficient to their little kingdoms of their self-perceived worlds.
I see this at work from time to time as well. I wrote some ad copy recently and received this email in response to the proof I sent out to one of the owners of the company.
The text portion is nor so good. Can someone re-write it.
I am willing to give it another run, however, the response gave me no clue as to what this owner didn't like. Of course, another recipient of the proof had to jump on the owner's coattails and say "Agreed!"
I responded to his email with
I wrote it. You’ll have to be more specific.
What’s wrong with it?
I've yet to hear back from him.
I've received similar reviews on Amazon and usually respond to the reviewer by essentially telling them that their comments aren't really a review.
You see, a review has to be reasoned. It should present its argument and back it up with good analysis. It doesn't have to be long and complicated. But in order for it to be a real review, there has to be some meat to it beyond, "I didn't like it."
I read a poem once on a poetry workshop website. The content of the poem had a philosophical/political angle that I just don't agree with. However, the poem itself was quite well written, and I wrote that to the fellow who wrote it. I didn't agree with his position, but I admired his writing style and word command.
Other people on that site either cheered him for his content or reviled him for it.
Those weren't reviews. They were reactions.
When criticisms rely on denigration and simple statements of dislike, it makes for a coarser society. After all, they offer nothing more than a glimpse at someone's personal tastes.
Unfortunately, it seems to be the norm these days.
I love Maine in the summer.
It doesn't usually get too hot, though some of its residents may complain when the thermometer goes over 80. And it's usually not too humid, at least not for long stretches of time.
When it's warm, humidity is low and there's a lovely breeze trickling through the bright sunshine, there's such a beauty to the day as I have never witnessed elsewhere at any time.
Maine falls are lovely, too, and it used to be my favorite season. There's still much to commend it, however, the transition time towards winter now makes me rather anxious.
Springtime - I won't even talk about that because there's no more spring like I remember as a kid. A transitional season as well, it seems like winter has encroached upon it now much more so than it used to. We haven't had a really nice spring in a long time.
Now it's only a couple weeks in May.
If that.
Winter.
Forty years ago, I loved winter. It was a time for different activities.
Sledding, ice skating, hockey, building snow forts and tunnels. We used to have to bundle up like little Ralphie in A Christmas Story in order to spend time out in the wonderland of cold snow and frosty air. Winter was also a great way to make a few dollars by shoveling out neighbors' walks and driveways after a storm.
When I was older, I took up downhill skiing and had a grand time at that.
Now, in my fifties, my perspective on winter has changed. Winter weather can start as early as late October and not end until sometime in April. The daylight is so short that I leave for work in the dark and return home in the dark. We've had way too many heavy, wet snows that I've had to shovel late at night, so my wife could get up the driveway when she got home from work.
Winter has become more of a burden than a delight.
I will admit that a snow cover is prettier to look at than the dull browns and grays of the landscape in a place that usually has no snow. There's a beauty in winter, but it's like Ginger Grant - cold and untouchable. It even turns dirty along roads and in cities after a short while.
I have become convinced over the last few years that light plays an important role in my particular moods. Of course, there is a plethora of information on Seasonal Affective Disorder which pertains to lower light levels in the winter.
But I don't think it's just about winter and the shorter days.
I believe that the light in the southern part of the United States is different than it is in the northern zone. I have seen lighting effects when traveling through the south that I just don't see here in Maine as often if at all. It seems to me that the light down south is brighter and of a different color temperature.
It appears to be more prevalent the further south one goes. For instance, I've seen it in North Carolina from time to time, and I look for it when I go there. But in Florida, one is likely to see it more frequently.
I don't have instruements with which to measure any of this, and it's really all my perception from what I can tell. There are articles on the internet that talk about how sunlight is brighter these days, and maybe that's part of all this. After all, the south is closer to the equator than the north, so the light refraction and dispersal should be different, I would think.
Here look at these picture comparisons:
The top one is from Boston and the bottom from Florida. It seems that the light in the north has a more golden hint to it and southern light is whiter. I know it's reflecting off what is around it, and that may influence how it looks. Like I said, it may just be my own perception.
It may also very well be the reason why I look forward to moving south one day.
That, and that winter thing, too.
