So back in London for what seems to be the millionth time this year, and have spent the past week recuperating and watching really bad television between sleeping and parties, drinking and dancing. What IS this life?
Another crisis — Upward Management strikes again. Is everyone but me familiar with this term? I heard it just last night and it seemed to so succinctly package several sectionals of the modular furniture of my life. Still without management. Song not yet on iTunes. Video is on television for the past few weeks but finally on YouTube five seconds ago only.. oh, four or five months after we shot it. That’s normal? right? Hurry up & wait.
“As well as influencing direction, effectively managing upwards can help to alleviate pressure on both sides, by managing and aligning expectations, and reducing the incidence of management by interference,” says Graeme Leith, managing director of Morgan Leith Partnership.
Uh…. Isn’t this just a fancy, PC, business-appropriate way of saying
M A N I P U L A T I O N?
Not that I have a problem with manipulation per se, but it kind of kills me that a rose by any other name more often than not these days tends to smell sweeter, particularly when it’s drained of any connotation whatsoever, negative or positive, thereby negating any possible emotional reaction. Is this where we are culturally, that in order to survive in the humdrum, tepid, business-casual vastness of nonidentity that we can’t even manipulate without trying to spin it into a positive? What is to become of the scoundrel, the villain, the temptress? Our Iagos, Lady Macbeths and Richard III’s are no longer power hungry, twisted and corrupt, but simply nose-to-the-grinstoned workaholics determined to strive for success in the ever-oppressive rat race.
Why, also, is it, that upon noting this, there is this feeling in me (is it in you?) that wavers in discomfort at having attempted to point out what seems so blatantly obvious? As if upsetting the apple cart to denounce the rotten apples only brings the shame of the cart’s upheaval and then, if the apple-salesmen could be so audaciously bold, the rotten apples are then discounted, re-painted red with some superior-grade toxic paint. Rotten apples aren’t bitter, but cloyingly sweet, disturbingly attractive and bring a steady stream of wasps and infestation.
Having to play nice in a razorblade sandbox is consistently fucking with the will to be decent. I’m sure I sound like the jaded, poorly-illustrated social commentator lacking basic social skills, but I’m not so sure I want to partake in the clubs that will discount me membership for the privilege of befriending the byproduct of my maladjusted experience. Oh to be blissfully ignorant, or at least rich enough to disregard it.
I’m not bitter, I just draw myself this way.