And so goes everyone to the world but I, and I am sunburnt.

Yesterday, I was struck with the sudden realization that I am an intensely private person. It came as something of a shock to me, although I imagine it doesn't particularly to anyone else; I've always imagined I am open and relatively easy to get to know, at least on a superficial level.

Not So.

Although I am sociable, I very rarely talk about myself or what is going on in my life and tend instead to turn the conversation to the other person. I prefer either to dress in a very low-profile way or to hide behind a persona, (hence the great love of costuming). Although I never hide from cameras, people feel voyeuristic when looking at photos of me -- even I do, and I'm the one in them. There's often the sense that the photographer has captured a personal moment, whether happy or sad, even if I'm posing, (which almost never happens). People have told me before that I'm something of an enigma -- people I've dated, people I've known for ten years -- but I've never believed them before.

You can understand how I might have thought I wasn't -- I'm a performer, I don't shy from new experiences, I tend to stand out in a crowd, I'm outspoken. . . I'll answer any question adressed to me, and honestly. I keep a public online journal for chrissakes.

I feel terribly fragile.

3/10 of a Mile in 18 Seconds

Common wisdom holds that everyone should own one really good suit, in case of emergency. This happens to be a social guideline with which I agree: just as one should have a fire extinguisher handy in case of uncontrolled inflamation, one should have a really good suit in case one is faced with the sudden need to participate in the hostile takeover of a large corporation.

My really good suit is a dark charcoal gray with a faint pinstripe. The slacks are cut for both standing and sitting, with crisp creases running up the legs. The (tailored) jacket is cut long, so that it falls to below my knees. With a white lace camisole, it is the suit of a West Texas oil mogul; with a gray sweater, it's what Death would wear as a businessman. In short, it can go from sexy to intimidating in just under 3.4 seconds.

Today I wore my suit to contest a speeding ticket in court. I paired it with a pink chenille sweater so as to be approachable, friendly, and sympathetic, (while still sincere and credible). The Defendant. I did not win the case, although the jury slashed the fine to less that half the original. That's not important. What is important is that I got to say snooty things like "voir dire" and form a pretty tight clique with the judge, prosecutor, clerk, and baliff.

They, at least, were dead impressed by my case. I was arguing that I wasn't speeding not because I wasn't travelling above the speed limit, but because my speed was "reasonable and prudent" given the road conditions. Eight years of cases, and nobody else had been clever enough to notice that clause. They wanted me to hang out with them and talk about Lord of the Rings, but I had to leave for class . . .

. . . which involved changing out of my suit.

Since I was already running an hour late, I just threw off my suit jacket and traded my slacks for jeans. You might be saying at this point "wait -- I thought Romie had no pants!"

Well, these jeans were given to me by Turtle while I was in Bath, out of sympathy for my plight. They're battered indigo, and they ride low on my hips. Straight leg with a cuff of three and a half inches. Effectively, they're "I stole my boyfriend's jeans" jeans.

Add to this the pink chenille sweater and high-heeled black loafers that carry over from my suit. Top it with the Blue Angels bomber jacket that I'm rarely without in this weather.

We have 1950s Marilyn MonRomie.

It's a weird vibe, to be sure; a decidedly weird vibe. Mostly, I wish I'd thought to bring false eyelashes and a frosted wig.

High Comedy

My, I'm feeling civic today. Aside from going to court, I bought a hula hoop and a copy of the newspaper.

This, I never do.

Before you start throwing stones, let me explain: I hate the Dallas Morning News. Its reporting is biased and inaccurate, and the Belo Corporation has a stated policy of not writing stories in which there is any controversy. Today's front page includes little mention of international affairs and none of military actions, state or federal congressional debates, the status of the nuclear test ban treaty, the docket of the supreme court, the current senate race, Dallas' transition to a new mayor, the scandal over the proposed highway project, or investigation of alleged voter fraud.

Instead, the headlines deal with co-workers battles for control of the coffee pot, and a high school choosing to go locker-free.

This level of investigative journalism is hardly surprising in a periodical whose chief pride is its sports section.

Thrilled by all my reading options, I plunged into the high school locker story.

Admittedly, it's an issue on which I have a lot of unresolved questions. Certainly, I never used my locker in high school, middle-, or elementary school, but maybe this was its inevitably inconvenient location. Maybe it had to do with the brisk 5-minute passing periods, in which I didn't even have time to stop by a water fountain. Who knows whether I would have utilzed them in a more favorable envionment and foregone the back strain that stemmed from the half-dozen books my teachers insisted I cart around at all times. (Thank God for block scheduling.)

I was ready for a spirited debate on the increased space, safety, and quiet of a lockerless school versus students increased loads and teachers' attempts to pare down or otherwise compartmentalize the curriculum.

This is what I took from the article:

"[School Principal Bartosh, who implemented the change,] took some inspiration from the old industrial psychology principle of the Hawthorne effect: "If you want to dramatically improve the production of your employees, you have to drastically change their environment."" The article goes on to breathlessly laud the students' suddenly high test scores.

::blink:: Excuse me? ::blinks again:: THAT's how they're intepreting THE HAWTHORNE EFFECT?!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ::great exclamation and alarm::







Okay, okay, I realize that most of you don't know what I'm talking about, but if you did, you'd be up in arms. To wit: the Hawthorne effect dictates that when evaluating the effect of any change in a the workplace you have to wait for up to 2 years until the novelty wears off. Otherwise, all your data will be positively skewed, often to a dramatic degree. The Hawthorne effect is not a organizational reccomendation, but a warning against the premature lauding of improvement, since production often drops back to normal levels just a few weeks later. If the principal really did intend to exploit the Hawthorne effect to temporarily boost test scores and nab better funding, I'm proud as all hell. It's a phenomenal con, a gypsy trick. But this is not how it was presented in the Dallas Morning News, which is very gooey and tra-la-la this can work for everyone.

NOW ARE YOU APPROPRIATELY OUTRAGED?!!!!!!!!!!

In toto, this may have motivated me both to start a competing news daily and to rearrange Hole in the Wall. After all, two months is all I need.