Exile in Atlanta Archive: June 2001
Tuesday, June 26, 2001
When I was working as a lawyer, I spent some time supervising other lawyers. I actually kind of liked doing that. I liked training the new attorneys, and I like to think I was pretty good at managing the personnel issues that came up. But last week, I had to do something that I've never had to do before as a supervisor. I had to fire one of my employees. Now this wasn't my decision alone, but I did the actual firing.
We work in an open layout office, so we had to arrange things so that everyone else was gone by 5pm and then Mike and I went upstairs and I told [former employee] that we had to talk. The three of us sat down on the couch and I delivered the bad news. I suppose that it's hard to be nice in a situation like this, but I told him that things just weren't working out for us where he was concerned. I laid a lot of the blame on us and a little on him, and then we said so long.
Frankly, I was relieved that the whole thing was as low key as it was, although I was so nervous about it that I was practically shaking at first.
Sunday, June 17, 2001
Had a great motorcycle ride on Saturday, my first regional ride since we moved to Atlanta nearly four years ago now. In fact, it was my first long motorcycle ride since we left the Bay Area: 360 miles roundtrip, with the highlight being the perfecly designed Cherohala Skyway, rising to 5390 feet as it passes through the Nantahala and Cherokee National Forests of Southwastern North Carolina and Eastern Tennessee. The road contains no decreasing radius turns during the entire stretch of the Skyway, so that means that even journeyman riders like me feel like experts. All in all, a very pleasant day.
Tuesday, June 12, 2001
One of the things I miss about living in the Bay Area is walking by a row of newspaper boxes and noticing a new issue of Citybike. If you ride motorcycles, you can't help but like this newspaper, and it's free too. Anyway, just checked out the latest issue online (they only put a few articles up out of each issue) and realized once again why I like that paper so much. This is from this month's column by Maynard Hershon. It's hard to imagine something that speaks more of riding motorcycles and of living in the Bay Area.You sit at a light next to a dark-eyed woman in a print dress in an old Ford station wagon. The instant the light changes, she gasses it, turns right, cuts you off brutally. You yell something not quite coherent at her. She shakes her fist at you: It's YOUR fault! You're SCUM!You see her three days later, same light. She honks. You look into the old Ford wagon. She's made a little biker doll. It's wearing a tiny white Nolan helmet and, ohmigawd, a jacket just like yours! She pushes a hat-pin through the doll and smiles at you. The light goes green.You ride anyway.
Sunday, June 3, 2001
Lou and I were driving home on Friday night when we happened to hear Frankie Goes to Hollywood singing "Relax" on a local station's Friday Night 80's show. Anyway, what this song reminded me of more than anything else was the shirt my friend Mike used to have. If you are old enough to remember the time, there were Frankie-inspired shirts everywhere with "Frankie Say Relax" in bold sans serif black type on white t-shirts. Mike had one that imitated the style but said "Who Gives a Fuck What Frankie Say" instead. Amazingly, this shirt generated some pretty strong reactions from people who seemed personally offended by it. Hard to imagine on the streets of Berkeley in the early 80's, but true.