One of the four worst times of the year: self-evaluations are due at work. My company is mad zealous about setting goals and being evaluated every three months, not counting your “competency evaluations,” which set longer-term professional development goals. It would be easier not to care about the quarterly evaluations if they weren’t directly tied to my income.
Self-evaluations entail rating yourself on a 0 to 1.5 scale in a Lotus Notes database, with 1.0 being “Success, doing great, agressive performance, solid work,” then commenting on why you deserve that rating. It’s a difficult balance beam to tiptoe because you don’t want to undervalue your achievements, but you don’t want to sound like an arrogant freak, either. Having had direct reports who always gave themselves high marks but couldn’t back them up,
When I started at this company six and a half years ago, the whole quarterly evaluation system was actually a draw. It seemed more fair to monitor performance and give regular feedback than to do one whopping review each year. Back then, though, it wasn’t so rigidly enforced — more a nice discussion between you and your manager followed by a fat bonus check. (That’s about the only thing I miss the late ’90s.)
The past couple of days were characterized by flurries of activity punctuated by slothfulness. We got out to see the Pernice Brothers Saturday night — exquisite as always, with the added bonus of seeing Gary at the show. Sunday we ate a big brunch at home and watched Angels Revenge [sic], then took a long walk to Inman Square and beyond into East Cambridge before stopping to whistle-wet at The Druid. It was fairly empty, it being Easter Sunday and all, and the bartender was playing Radiohead for the scant few patrons there. The smell of fish and chips permeating the woodwork started to make us both hungry, so we ambled to the Thirsty Scholar for an early dinner, more ale, and the last few innings of the Red Sox game.
Once again, I feel like a rotten girlfriend for not having the energy to see D.’s band play tonight (at 11:00). I’ll probably end up bailing on Kevin’s band Wednesday night at ZuZu, too. This area is brutal when it comes to shows, particularly on weeknights. As it was, I could barely stay standing for the Pernice set Saturday, which started after midnight.
This may be the most boring entry I’ve ever written. Sorry. Maybe this will redeem it, though I doubt it.
After, say, 6 months of dating, I think it’s OK to scale back on the number of S.O. shows attended, especially if your fella is in more than one band. And never, ever fetch the S.O. a beer or water while onstage, that’s just uncool.
Word — if anything, he buys me an adult beverage after his set!