None of us is as dumb as all of us

I don't mind working 12 hour days if it involves sitting at my desk and doing independent copywriting. Not that I don't play well with others. I'm just always like 5 seconds away from saying at meetings, "Enough brainstorming. I'll do it myself." I don't know where this arrogance comes from. I'm a copywriter surrounded by account executives who have been doing this for years. But 12 hours throwing ideas on a wall, sifting through clinical data with others, trotting out words like "tactical plan" and "messaging framework" and "positioning"...not my cup of tea. Fortunately, I swear to God I think I hit the jackpot with my boss. I went from working at a publishing company, where my situation there made "the Devil Wears Prada" look like working at a high school carnival. My boss at said publisher has the distinction of being in the driver's seat of my All-Star Car Wreck team. Speaking of the Devil...yeah, I know. They're fueling my fires in hell right now.

So I quit and now whenever me and all my coworkers go out for drinks, I'm without fail approached by at least 5 different people who strongly and adamantly affirm that my boss is the coolest guy in the world, and the smartest guy in the company, and they're so jealous I work for him. My mom says karma is coming back and helping me out after I suffered through 8 months working for the most miserable woman on the planet. To put things in context, when I went to Spring Training last year for vacation, and put up my Auto-Response on my email, I come back to work after a week to find that my boss had responded to my auto response with:

Scout-
I've tweaked the copy on your auto-response. Next time you go away, please use this message instead: "I will be away from the office from ((DAY OF THE WEEK! and date)), and will be returning ((DAY OF THE WEEK! and date)). Please contact Phyllis at ext: 8734 if you need immediate assistance."

You'd think my auto-reponse was something like WOOHOO!! I'm in Spring Training and you're not!! See ya in a week suckers! I think the only thing she changed was the dire need to assert the day of the week. The real straw that broke the camel's back was when she decided to "take over" an 80 page report I had been working on when it was 99% finished. "I think this project was a little too big for you. I'm going to take over from here."

I was fuming, and said as such. To which she responded, "have you ever though about doing something that involves less writing? You should think about PR. You're such a pretty girl, I bet you would do well doing things like that. And it would be fun! You could talk on the phone!" See, women know how to push other women's buttons.

So I left my job without any backup job, and luckily landed my current job within a week. And the icing on the cake was when she forwarded an email that went to my old work account:

Scout-
Please inform people of your new address.

Fwd msg:
May have something for you at the New Yorker if you're ready to leave medical publishing.
--PB

HA! Yeah the NYer job never worked out, obviously. But she doesn't know that.

So I leave work today and discover the Yankees won by 11 runs. The whole situation is just ludicrous. I'm still trying to get my head around it. 19 freaking runs. Madness. If I've said it once, I've said it 1000 times. Everything in sports trumps what came before it. It's like in the play A Winter's Tale:

What you do
Still betters what is done.
When you speak (sweet)
I'd have you do it ever: when you sing,
I'd have you buy,and sell so: give alms,
Pray so: and for the ordering your affairs,
To sing them too.
When you dance, I wish you
A wave of the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that: move still,still so:
And own no other function.
Each your doing,
(So singular, in each particular)
Crowns what you are doing, in the present deeds,
That all your acts, are Queens.

A new low perhaps? Comparing Shakespeare to sports? Shakespeare is rolling over in his grave, seeing someone use his immortal words to describe a baseball game. Well, either that, or he's rolling over laughing about this 19 run hysteria. I know I would be. You spend your whole life extrapolating humor from things like amensia and mistaken identities, and the most humorous thing you have to inspire you is the fact men have to make out with men on stage because women couldn't act back then. And now Shakespeare is looking down on the earth, "troubling deaf heaven with his bootless cries," muttering things like, "This is bullshit. I was born in the wrong century. This sports thing? Talk about a fucking comedy of errors..."