Hands-on driving

I’ve been driving a BMW for more than a dozen years. That’s not to brag; it’s the same car. I got in two jobs and a career change ago.

Still, I’ve put less than 85,000 miles on it, mostly because my commute has shrunk from across state lines to down the hall.

It’s the classic story of a gently used car owned by a little old lady who only drives it around town.

Now it’s time to part ways, as I take ownership of a 2011 VW GTI on Friday. The old Bimmer has a lot of life left in her, so I uploaded a page to the Web to tout her qualities. Now I'm responding to inquiries.

The only sticking point so far has been the stick. Yes, it’s a manual transmission. A stick shift. Four on the floor.  (Actually, it’s a five speed.)

And that’s an issue.

So not only am I selling a car, I’m coaching people about learning to drive stick. Imagine that. Where are all the hard-core driving enthusiasts? The feel-of-the-road guys? The performance drivers? How have so many been lulled into automatics?

Used or not, my car remains one of the “ultimate driving machines,” according to BMW branding. It's a stick; my previous car was a stick; and my new car is...a stick.

Hard to believe so many people are missing out on the fun of real hands-on driving.

Fun for fools

I'm not looking for a full-time job. I'm not even looking for a part-time job. AMY INK keeps me quite busy, I'm happy to say. Still, I never miss an issue of Ned's Job of the Week. I read the Monday morning email regularly -- and pass it on when I think one of my colleagues might have an interest.

With today being April Fools' Day, do yourself a favor by skimming through this fun read. The issue for March 32, 2011, is packed with clever turns on the usual job-search stuff.

And don't miss the "One Haiku Pitch." For example...

(From Milton Longfellow:)
I’m a hard worker;
And the restraining order
Expires in two weeks.

(From Nigel Turntable:)
Looking for a change.
Actually, I need change;
Must pay Comcast bill.

I know that being out of work, or looking for a better job, is certainly no joke. I hope Ned's April Fools' edition helps to lighten your day.

***To subscribe to Ned's weekly job listings, send a blank e-mail to: JOTW-subscribe@topica.com.

Annual rites of spring

Spring is known for many things, one of the more esoteric being corporate annual reports. I eagerly await their arrival in my mailbox and welcome the faint aroma of ink on the pages. (Yes, I like the printed book best, even though I often also view the online version.)

While each book, each year is different, they're all alike in one way: their reputation takes a beating. Financially savvy folk love to denigrate the publication. “I never read them,” they say. “I just ‘file’ annual reports in my recycling bin,” they smirk.

Too bad. That’s their loss. If they read only the cut-and-dried legal financial forms, they miss getting a more rounded view of the companies they follow.

Every element of every book is a clue that speaks to the personality behind the name on the cover. What theme was chosen as a headline for the year? Do the photographs of people and products help to better visualize the brand? How well does the writing convey not only what the company has done, but why it made those moves...and what's next?

When I want to know about a company, I check the annual report. Not just the financials, but how it chooses to present itself each year to a wide variety of audiences. Is this a company I would want to work for? Invest in? Purchase products and services from? Trust as a member of my community?

It’s hard to tell the real picture of a company from any one year, but year after year, a personality emerges. That's true even with accountants and lawyers and auditors scrubbing the book of bold, declarative statements to make sure it’s safe, defensible content.

I’ve been writing annual reports for more years than I care to count, first as a corporate staffer and now as a freelance writer. And every spring, along with daffodils and tulips, I wait for the annual reports to arrive.

Turning the world upside down

There are many ways in which your world can turn upside down. Most are unplanned, unforeseeable, and unlucky occurrences. But not all.

In yoga class, it's intentional, starting with your physical practice. Any inversion changes your perspective about what's up and what's down: handstands, headstands, arm balancing poses. Even the basic downward-facing dog pose makes the floor your visual ceiling.

This changed perspective used to seem like an optical illusion. My brain would puzzle over point of view and horizon lines. Then I gave up analyzing and accepted what my eyes spied. This made inversions a little less scary, if not always doable.

The hardest part of doing an inversion is everything but the actual pose. It's the fear of falling, the worry in wobbling. It's the anticipation and counting how long it's been since last attempting to defy gravity in such an obvious way.

A few years ago, while walking on the beach, I saw two young girls practicing handstands. They made it look effortless -- and like a lot of fun. Basically, they were just playing around and laughing at their inverted world. Yes, they fell, but the soft sand provided a well-padded landing.

My first adult handstand was on a much harder surface, but in the supportive environment of my yoga class. Many pairs of hands helped me to reach and hold my balance. Then I was the one laughing, with the surprise of standing on my hands.

This isn't a feat I can reproduce at will, as the fear of falling is ever present. And I need the support of a wall or willing spotters.

Still, on the rare occasions when the stars align and I'm feeling brave, holding an inversion -- even attempting one -- turns my world upside down. Literally, and for a long time after.