Seven thirty a.m. and I'm watching the episode of Spiderman and His Amazing Friends where Spiderman teams up with the X-men to defeat Cyberiad who's taken over the Danger Room.
It's very exciting.
I never would have been able to do this back when I was working.
-t
Friday, April 28, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
New Job: Day 1: Post 2
So, have I told you all about my new job? Do you know when I'm starting? Have I mentioned it in the blog and you're just a horrible audience who don't read or remember? Or have I just not mentioned it?
What I do:
old job: money market mutual fund accounting
new job: hedge mutual fund accounting
Where I do it:
old job: the crummy first floor office with uneven floor, and no windows
new job: the nice fifteenth floor office with WINDOWS
Why I do it:
old job: they were the first people to hire me out of school
new job: they are paying me like 15% more than I was making
When I do it:
old job: ten a.m. to six p.m. (but actually six fifteen or six thirty)
new job: nine a.m. to five p.m. (but actually five fifteen or five thirty)
When I start:
old job: September '04
new job: May 15th
That means I've got ust over two weeks of down time.
Sweet.
-t
What I do:
old job: money market mutual fund accounting
new job: hedge mutual fund accounting
Where I do it:
old job: the crummy first floor office with uneven floor, and no windows
new job: the nice fifteenth floor office with WINDOWS
Why I do it:
old job: they were the first people to hire me out of school
new job: they are paying me like 15% more than I was making
When I do it:
old job: ten a.m. to six p.m. (but actually six fifteen or six thirty)
new job: nine a.m. to five p.m. (but actually five fifteen or five thirty)
When I start:
old job: September '04
new job: May 15th
That means I've got ust over two weeks of down time.
Sweet.
-t
No job: Day 1
It's two o'clock. I just woke up. I'm watching NYPD Blue reruns on TNT.
This no job thing is working out pretty good so far.
-t
This no job thing is working out pretty good so far.
-t
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Comfort Zone
I walked away, I left the building for the last time, and it was surprisingly harder than I thought it would be.
It's about leaving the comfort zone.
They didn't want me to go. It's really a shame they didn't start expressing that before I gave my notice.
It feels a little like missing the last stair. I've got a future here, management loves me, I've got "easy and rewarding career path" written all over my employee profile, and I'm leaving.
It's weird. I hated it there. But right now, because I know I won't have to ever deal with those things I hated again, I can't remember what they were - which leaves me with the good people who want me to stay.
Like missing a step.
-tgme
It's about leaving the comfort zone.
They didn't want me to go. It's really a shame they didn't start expressing that before I gave my notice.
It feels a little like missing the last stair. I've got a future here, management loves me, I've got "easy and rewarding career path" written all over my employee profile, and I'm leaving.
It's weird. I hated it there. But right now, because I know I won't have to ever deal with those things I hated again, I can't remember what they were - which leaves me with the good people who want me to stay.
Like missing a step.
-tgme
Fin
They've asked me to do as little as possible today so they can get used to my abscence.
Ironically, I've tried to do as little as possible every day I've been here.
I do not claim my prescence in the group is indispensible, only that my sudden departure will cause a giant drop in the competency level around here. When the last senior left we spent about a week picking up the pieces.
Though, I was the one doing most of the picking up.
The responsibilities fall to hypermanager and the quiet girl to manage an understaffed, under-smart group. A piece of me hopes they can handle the transition smoothly.
A little piece. Tiny. This big: [.]
The rest of me doesn't care. The rest of me revels in my apathy.
Come, see me revel.
-t
Ironically, I've tried to do as little as possible every day I've been here.
I do not claim my prescence in the group is indispensible, only that my sudden departure will cause a giant drop in the competency level around here. When the last senior left we spent about a week picking up the pieces.
Though, I was the one doing most of the picking up.
The responsibilities fall to hypermanager and the quiet girl to manage an understaffed, under-smart group. A piece of me hopes they can handle the transition smoothly.
A little piece. Tiny. This big: [.]
The rest of me doesn't care. The rest of me revels in my apathy.
Come, see me revel.
-t
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Brand new giant couch,
it reclines?!
Originally uploaded by a20261.
and oh yeah, it reclines!
I got it last week at the La Z Boy liquidation and it was delivered today.
It's seven feet long, so there's plenty of room to stretch out, it's high off the ground for us tall people, it's PLAID, and it's wicked comfortable.
Who doesn't love it? I'm totally keeping it forever: It's giant, covered in plaid, comfortable, and reclining. That practically describes me on my days off, and who doesn't love me?
Nobody doesn't love me. That's right.
-tgme
Intervening
I just reread the two previous posts that mention last Friday night. They share a few details in common.
1. I was never without a Guiness in my hand
2. I remember little past the Red Sox fourth inning
3. The Red Sox game went to thirteen innings
These are the details drunks cling to. They point and say "See! There! I wasn't blacked out! I can remember things!"
Those two posts read like police statements made by two people who got their lies straight before being questioned.
"And then what happened?"
"Oh..um, then I had a Guiness"
"What time was this?"
"The fourth inning. I remember very clearly it was the fourth inning."
"What time did you leave the bar?"
"I don't remember what time it was. It was at the end of the game. The thirteenth inning."
Rereading those posts convinces me I remember even less than I thought I did.
-tgme
1. I was never without a Guiness in my hand
2. I remember little past the Red Sox fourth inning
3. The Red Sox game went to thirteen innings
These are the details drunks cling to. They point and say "See! There! I wasn't blacked out! I can remember things!"
Those two posts read like police statements made by two people who got their lies straight before being questioned.
"And then what happened?"
"Oh..um, then I had a Guiness"
"What time was this?"
"The fourth inning. I remember very clearly it was the fourth inning."
"What time did you leave the bar?"
"I don't remember what time it was. It was at the end of the game. The thirteenth inning."
Rereading those posts convinces me I remember even less than I thought I did.
-tgme
It'll be a long time
Friday night: Drinking festivities.
Notable appearances: the stupid kid, not so pretty girl, lurch, the kid that I hate
Notable non-appearances: hypermanager, pony boy, cancerface, johnny bombay, adina, crazy blog stalker people.
We got there at about seven. The Red Sox were on. I remember very little past the fourth inning (and I'm told the game went to thirteen innings).
Stupid kid said not one word to me. Showed up, ate some buffalo wings, and left. Not a "hello" not a "goodbye." Nothing. I was surprised, but really, I don't care.
I do know that I had at least one shot (some very good kind of tequila), that I turned down at least one shot, and that there was no point in the evening I did not have a glass of Guiness in (at least one of) my hand(s).
----we interrupt this hazy recollection (if you can call it that) of a drunken night at a pub to bring you late breaking details----
Upon further reflection I have realized that the shot I turned down was bought by the kid that I hate.
This is bad for a number of reasons. First: I hate him. This is the kid I saw walking around the office my very first day and thought "I hate him." The kid who was later transferred into my group, at which point I thought "I'll give him another chance," and did, and turns out, yes, I was right. I hate him.
Second: The kid that I hate always buys shots. He spends at least half his monthly earnings getting wasted at bars on weekday nights. He buys shots. It's all he does. No, that's wrong. He buys shots, takes them, and then gets wildly inappropriate, beligerant, and obnoxious.
Third: I mentioned I was at no point without a Guiness, right? Because that's important.
The kid I hate bought shots of something stupid. Possibly (probably) something with Jagermeister. He insisted everyone do a shot. I refused.
I said "No. I don't want it." I said "No. I have a beer." I said "No."
You remember those Nancy Reagan commercials from the eighties that ran in between episodes of Gem and the Gummi Bears? You remember.
Dear Nancy Reagan, I have a message for you:
"Just Say No." DOESNT WORK.
The kid that I hate did not take "no" for an answer. He kept handing me the shot, I kept sliding it down the table away from me. He would pick it up and give it back to me. This happened (not kidding) twelve times.
I'm just sitting there, right? Enjoying my last beer with a coworker (who I DON'T hate), and trying (hazily) to enjoy the Red Sox game. Stop handing me that shot. Stop talking to me. While you're at it, why not just go home so I never have to see you again?
Did the kid I hate leave me alone? No.
I thought I had won. I slid that shot away from me the last time and I honestly thought he would take no for an answer. He picked it up, and turned away from me, toward the bar, then turned back and...
DUMPED THE SHOT INTO MY BEER
WTF?!
Do NOT pour shots into my beer! Do NOT mess with my Guiness! YOU JUST RUINED A DRINK I HAD BEEN ENJOYING YOU ASSHOLE.
Can you believe it? I absolutely hate that kid. Punch-him-in-the-face-if-I-hadn't-been-that-drunk hate. Kick-his-ass-on-the-spot-if-I-weren't-so-disoriented hate. I couldn't believe it.
Um, but, well. Just to illustrate how drunk I was... I, finished the beer.
What is wrong with me?
Was it the two other people at the table who looked at me, shrugged as if to say "Yes, he ruined your beer, but you're here to get wasted, aren't you? We're here to get wasted, and at the very least hoped to see you get tanked too, otherwise why are you sucking down the free Guinesses we keep spotting you?" and actually said "You do have to finish it." As if their opinion somehow mad the beer less-ruined.
Was it that I was already so drunk that I forgot that three seconds ago someone had poured a shot of who-knows-what into my drink?
Did I just not care?
(It was option B. I'd forgotten what had happened three seconds prior after being distracted by the Sox game, or someone tapping me on the shoulder, or blinking.)
So, when I say I turned down at least one shot, that's true. But I still ended up drinking it.
Gross.
Most of the night is a blur. I'm sure I called some people on the phone, I am not sure that I spoke to anyone, or that I spoke coherently. I think I left right after the game, without saying goodbye to anyone. I slept until one the next day.
I came into work Monday and not so pretty girl asked if I had a good time. I said "I honestly can't remember anything after the fourth inning."
She said, "You had a good time."
-t
Notable appearances: the stupid kid, not so pretty girl, lurch, the kid that I hate
Notable non-appearances: hypermanager, pony boy, cancerface, johnny bombay, adina, crazy blog stalker people.
We got there at about seven. The Red Sox were on. I remember very little past the fourth inning (and I'm told the game went to thirteen innings).
Stupid kid said not one word to me. Showed up, ate some buffalo wings, and left. Not a "hello" not a "goodbye." Nothing. I was surprised, but really, I don't care.
I do know that I had at least one shot (some very good kind of tequila), that I turned down at least one shot, and that there was no point in the evening I did not have a glass of Guiness in (at least one of) my hand(s).
----we interrupt this hazy recollection (if you can call it that) of a drunken night at a pub to bring you late breaking details----
Upon further reflection I have realized that the shot I turned down was bought by the kid that I hate.
This is bad for a number of reasons. First: I hate him. This is the kid I saw walking around the office my very first day and thought "I hate him." The kid who was later transferred into my group, at which point I thought "I'll give him another chance," and did, and turns out, yes, I was right. I hate him.
Second: The kid that I hate always buys shots. He spends at least half his monthly earnings getting wasted at bars on weekday nights. He buys shots. It's all he does. No, that's wrong. He buys shots, takes them, and then gets wildly inappropriate, beligerant, and obnoxious.
Third: I mentioned I was at no point without a Guiness, right? Because that's important.
The kid I hate bought shots of something stupid. Possibly (probably) something with Jagermeister. He insisted everyone do a shot. I refused.
I said "No. I don't want it." I said "No. I have a beer." I said "No."
You remember those Nancy Reagan commercials from the eighties that ran in between episodes of Gem and the Gummi Bears? You remember.
Dear Nancy Reagan, I have a message for you:
"Just Say No." DOESNT WORK.
The kid that I hate did not take "no" for an answer. He kept handing me the shot, I kept sliding it down the table away from me. He would pick it up and give it back to me. This happened (not kidding) twelve times.
I'm just sitting there, right? Enjoying my last beer with a coworker (who I DON'T hate), and trying (hazily) to enjoy the Red Sox game. Stop handing me that shot. Stop talking to me. While you're at it, why not just go home so I never have to see you again?
Did the kid I hate leave me alone? No.
I thought I had won. I slid that shot away from me the last time and I honestly thought he would take no for an answer. He picked it up, and turned away from me, toward the bar, then turned back and...
DUMPED THE SHOT INTO MY BEER
WTF?!
Do NOT pour shots into my beer! Do NOT mess with my Guiness! YOU JUST RUINED A DRINK I HAD BEEN ENJOYING YOU ASSHOLE.
Can you believe it? I absolutely hate that kid. Punch-him-in-the-face-if-I-hadn't-been-that-drunk hate. Kick-his-ass-on-the-spot-if-I-weren't-so-disoriented hate. I couldn't believe it.
Um, but, well. Just to illustrate how drunk I was... I, finished the beer.
What is wrong with me?
Was it the two other people at the table who looked at me, shrugged as if to say "Yes, he ruined your beer, but you're here to get wasted, aren't you? We're here to get wasted, and at the very least hoped to see you get tanked too, otherwise why are you sucking down the free Guinesses we keep spotting you?" and actually said "You do have to finish it." As if their opinion somehow mad the beer less-ruined.
Was it that I was already so drunk that I forgot that three seconds ago someone had poured a shot of who-knows-what into my drink?
Did I just not care?
(It was option B. I'd forgotten what had happened three seconds prior after being distracted by the Sox game, or someone tapping me on the shoulder, or blinking.)
So, when I say I turned down at least one shot, that's true. But I still ended up drinking it.
Gross.
Most of the night is a blur. I'm sure I called some people on the phone, I am not sure that I spoke to anyone, or that I spoke coherently. I think I left right after the game, without saying goodbye to anyone. I slept until one the next day.
I came into work Monday and not so pretty girl asked if I had a good time. I said "I honestly can't remember anything after the fourth inning."
She said, "You had a good time."
-t
Monday, April 24, 2006
No more mondays either.
Friday was like "be nice to the new guy day." I was invited out to lunch by a guy in the other group, then invited out for a cigarette by not-so-pretty-girl, and the-guy-who-loves-cars-just-a-little-too-much.
I accepted both invitations because none of those people are in my group, and I generally don't hate people who aren't in my group.
I'm convinced the invitations were sparked by equal parts (a) they don't think I'm a bad guy, and (b) I'm leaving, so they want to know if I've got any dirt on my coworkers.
So we had fun bashing the stupid kids in my group. It was like, the most fun I've had at work since... Probably ever.
The stupid kid stories were enough to convince car-guy not to apply for the senior position I'm vacating. He was all "I'm thinking about a change, but after those stories...maybe I should look someplace else." It was a validating moment. Sort of. It also highlights how awful it really must be, and how stupid I am to have stayed this long.
Friday night we went out to a bar, only a handful of people came, and I got pre-tty drunk. I remember very little past the fourth inning of the Red Sox game except that (1) there were shots (2) I drank at least one shot (3) I turned down at least one shot (4) I was never without a guiness in my hand and (5) the sox game went to something like the thirteenth inning.
Notable personalities at the send-off were:
The stupid kid - who showed up, didn't say one word to me, ate buffalo wings, and left
Lurch - who showed up, said two words to me, had a beer, and left
The kid that I hate - who ordered shots for everyone, three times, ordered bud lights for everyone twice, and almost got kicked out of the bar once for being drunk, disorderly, and inappropriate
Notable abscences were:
hypermanager, Cancerface, Johnny Bombay, Adina, all of my crazy blog stalkers, and maybe some other people I wasn't sober enough to remember.
Anyway. Few people, lots of beer, next to zero recollection. So I guess it was a good night.
-t
I accepted both invitations because none of those people are in my group, and I generally don't hate people who aren't in my group.
I'm convinced the invitations were sparked by equal parts (a) they don't think I'm a bad guy, and (b) I'm leaving, so they want to know if I've got any dirt on my coworkers.
So we had fun bashing the stupid kids in my group. It was like, the most fun I've had at work since... Probably ever.
The stupid kid stories were enough to convince car-guy not to apply for the senior position I'm vacating. He was all "I'm thinking about a change, but after those stories...maybe I should look someplace else." It was a validating moment. Sort of. It also highlights how awful it really must be, and how stupid I am to have stayed this long.
Friday night we went out to a bar, only a handful of people came, and I got pre-tty drunk. I remember very little past the fourth inning of the Red Sox game except that (1) there were shots (2) I drank at least one shot (3) I turned down at least one shot (4) I was never without a guiness in my hand and (5) the sox game went to something like the thirteenth inning.
Notable personalities at the send-off were:
The stupid kid - who showed up, didn't say one word to me, ate buffalo wings, and left
Lurch - who showed up, said two words to me, had a beer, and left
The kid that I hate - who ordered shots for everyone, three times, ordered bud lights for everyone twice, and almost got kicked out of the bar once for being drunk, disorderly, and inappropriate
Notable abscences were:
hypermanager, Cancerface, Johnny Bombay, Adina, all of my crazy blog stalkers, and maybe some other people I wasn't sober enough to remember.
Anyway. Few people, lots of beer, next to zero recollection. So I guess it was a good night.
-t
Friday, April 21, 2006
t.g.i.(m.l.)f.
Thank goodness it's my last friday.
Tonight is the celebration. At the Tap. Near Bell in Hand. Near Faneuil Hall. Seven/seven-thirty-ish. Tequila shots (blech) have been promised.
At this point there is a fifty-fifty chance that I will (a) show up, tell everyone to screw, and leave; or (b) get utterly and hopelessly drunk (at which point I may tell everyone to screw anyway).
So if you want to see me tell off my coworkers you've got a better-than-even shot if you come out tonight.
In any case (Adina) it will make for a good blog post.
-t
Tonight is the celebration. At the Tap. Near Bell in Hand. Near Faneuil Hall. Seven/seven-thirty-ish. Tequila shots (blech) have been promised.
At this point there is a fifty-fifty chance that I will (a) show up, tell everyone to screw, and leave; or (b) get utterly and hopelessly drunk (at which point I may tell everyone to screw anyway).
So if you want to see me tell off my coworkers you've got a better-than-even shot if you come out tonight.
In any case (Adina) it will make for a good blog post.
-t
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Here's a meme I can get behind.
Ok, the list is "Best 50 book to film adaptations" I didn't pick it, I'm just using it.
Mark which movies [M] you've seen, and which books [B] you've read. For books adapted multiple times, I counted any adaptation I've seen. This guy started it, this is where I got it, and here's my list:
Interesting.
-t
*I've never seen a major motion picture adaptation of Pride and Predjudice. The [M] refers to the Wishbone adaptation.
Mark which movies [M] you've seen, and which books [B] you've read. For books adapted multiple times, I counted any adaptation I've seen. This guy started it, this is where I got it, and here's my list:
- 1984
- [M][B] Alice in Wonderland
- [M] American Psycho
- Breakfast at Tiffany's
- Brighton Rock
- Catch 22
- [M][B] Charlie & the Chocolate Factory
- [B] A Clockwork Orange
- Close Range (inc Brokeback Mountain)
- The Day of the Triffids
- [B] Devil in a Blue Dress
- [M] Different Seasons (inc The Shawshank Redemption)
- Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? (aka Bladerunner)
- Doctor Zhivago
- Empire of the Sun
- The English Patient
- [M] Fight Club
- The French Lieutenant's Woman
- [M][B] Get Shorty
- [M][B] The Godfather
- [M][B] Goldfinger
- [M] Goodfellas
- [M] Heart of Darkness (aka Apocalypse Now)
- [B]T he Hound of the Baskervilles
- [M] Jaws
- [M][B] The Jungle Book
- A Kestrel for a Knave (aka Kes)
- LA Confidential
- Les Liaisons Dangereuses
- Lolita
- [M][B] Lord of the Flies
- [B] The Maltese Falcon
- [M] Oliver Twist
- [B] One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
- Orlando
- [B] The Outsiders
- [M*] Pride and Prejudice
- The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie
- The Railway Children
- Rebecca
- The Remains of the Day
- [M] Schindler's Ark (aka Schindler's List)
- [M][B] Sin City
- The Spy Who Came in From the Cold
- [M] The Talented Mr Ripley
- Tess of the D'Urbervilles
- Through a Glass Darkly
- [B] To Kill a Mockingbird
- [M] Trainspotting
- The Vanishing
- [B] Watership Down
Interesting.
-t
*I've never seen a major motion picture adaptation of Pride and Predjudice. The [M] refers to the Wishbone adaptation.
Back to the drawing board
So I guess you guys didn't go for the whole "go out to a bar and get drunk, and also possibly meet Tom, my favorite blogger in the whole world" idea, and you know what?
That's fine. Really.
Really. It's fine.
You'll all be wishing you'd met me once my screenplay gets picked up by Miramax.
-t
That's fine. Really.
Really. It's fine.
You'll all be wishing you'd met me once my screenplay gets picked up by Miramax.
-t
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Shameless self-promotion is as good a reason as any to drink
My last day here is one week from today.
The office, in the spirit of "any reason at all to go out and get wasted - and possibly to hook up with a random coworker of the opposite sex" once again has decided to go out to celebrate my time here. Or my last day. Or that I'm finally leaving. I don't really care.
Anyway. Since drinking on a Tuesday or Wednesday night is stupid (unless you've just quit your job and being hungover on a weekday morning is therefore no big deal at all in any way) everybody's going out for my last day on my last Friday.
This Friday. At the Tap. In Faneuil Hall.
I mention it just in case there are any (non)crazy blog fans who want to meet me!
What? That's for real. People might want to meet me. You'd want to meet Mighty Girl, right?
Anyway. If you might want to meet me but aren't really sure if I'd make fun of you for being a creepy blog stalker don't worry, I won't (I will). Unless you turn out to be cool (Mighty Girl I'm talking to you. Yes I know you're in San Fran), then I'll only make fun of you a little.
I'll be the tall guy looking like he's trying to pretend he doesn't hate all the work people that are wishing him good luck in all his future endevours and not succeeding.
Also if you do come out to stalk me, your absolute favorite blog writer guy, but then wimp out you can still drink. Because it's a bar.
and if you get plastered there's the added fun of being hit on by, and then going home with, one of my drunk soon-to-be-ex-coworkers. (Adina).
-t
The office, in the spirit of "any reason at all to go out and get wasted - and possibly to hook up with a random coworker of the opposite sex" once again has decided to go out to celebrate my time here. Or my last day. Or that I'm finally leaving. I don't really care.
Anyway. Since drinking on a Tuesday or Wednesday night is stupid (unless you've just quit your job and being hungover on a weekday morning is therefore no big deal at all in any way) everybody's going out for my last day on my last Friday.
This Friday. At the Tap. In Faneuil Hall.
I mention it just in case there are any (non)crazy blog fans who want to meet me!
What? That's for real. People might want to meet me. You'd want to meet Mighty Girl, right?
Anyway. If you might want to meet me but aren't really sure if I'd make fun of you for being a creepy blog stalker don't worry, I won't (I will). Unless you turn out to be cool (Mighty Girl I'm talking to you. Yes I know you're in San Fran), then I'll only make fun of you a little.
I'll be the tall guy looking like he's trying to pretend he doesn't hate all the work people that are wishing him good luck in all his future endevours and not succeeding.
Also if you do come out to stalk me, your absolute favorite blog writer guy, but then wimp out you can still drink. Because it's a bar.
and if you get plastered there's the added fun of being hit on by, and then going home with, one of my drunk soon-to-be-ex-coworkers. (Adina).
-t
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
Everybody should be more like me.
Before I open my mouth to speak at work I ask myself a question:
"Is what I'm about to say going to make me sound like an asshole?"
Then I briefly consider the answer. I imagine myself as a third party observer in the conversation, and I say to myself "Would I think the guy talking was an asshole if he said that?"
And, if the answer is "yes" then I keep my mouth shut.
No one else here does that.
-t
"Is what I'm about to say going to make me sound like an asshole?"
Then I briefly consider the answer. I imagine myself as a third party observer in the conversation, and I say to myself "Would I think the guy talking was an asshole if he said that?"
And, if the answer is "yes" then I keep my mouth shut.
No one else here does that.
-t
Monday, April 17, 2006
Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain or to the previous post
In my previous post I asked for some kick-ass book suggestions.
I got suggestions for "fun reads."
My fault. I did not convey clearly what I am looking for.
Please disregard the previous post (except for the title, which is a good line, and my comment about Donny's recommendations which is true)
I am not looking for a fun read. I have a bookshelf full of those at home. I really enjoy them.
I don't want a book that I'll "enjoy." I want a book so well written that I shake when I read it. A book so good that you have to put it down because you can't take how good it is all in one sitting. A book you throw across the room because you can't bear to turn the page and find out what happens next but you know you're going to because you can't not turn the page.
I'm looking for kick-ass books. What was the last (or first) book you read that changed your life? What books make you cry when you get to the end? Or the middle? What books have you read that have had a significant impact on the way you think?
Please limit the suggestions to works of fiction, because fake-life is way cooler than real life.
Humor, dramatic works, plays, screenplays, etc are welcome. Depressing books aren't the only ones that can change lives.
I want a challenge. I want a book that is well-written and that will challenge what I believe. I want a book that is so good it will rock the foundation of beliefs I have constructed over these past fourteen years and eight months.
I want to shake things up.
So what have you got?
-t
I got suggestions for "fun reads."
My fault. I did not convey clearly what I am looking for.
Please disregard the previous post (except for the title, which is a good line, and my comment about Donny's recommendations which is true)
I am not looking for a fun read. I have a bookshelf full of those at home. I really enjoy them.
I don't want a book that I'll "enjoy." I want a book so well written that I shake when I read it. A book so good that you have to put it down because you can't take how good it is all in one sitting. A book you throw across the room because you can't bear to turn the page and find out what happens next but you know you're going to because you can't not turn the page.
I'm looking for kick-ass books. What was the last (or first) book you read that changed your life? What books make you cry when you get to the end? Or the middle? What books have you read that have had a significant impact on the way you think?
Please limit the suggestions to works of fiction, because fake-life is way cooler than real life.
Humor, dramatic works, plays, screenplays, etc are welcome. Depressing books aren't the only ones that can change lives.
I want a challenge. I want a book that is well-written and that will challenge what I believe. I want a book that is so good it will rock the foundation of beliefs I have constructed over these past fourteen years and eight months.
I want to shake things up.
So what have you got?
-t
The universe does not have laws, it has habits...and habits can be broken.
Jitterbug Perfume, by Tom Robbins is a kick-ass book.
I have recently rededicated myself to reading (yay reading!). I've got about a shelf full of books I plan to read, but I'm always looking for other good ones.
Mostly I'm looking for books that are kick-ass. Quotable. Fun.
Know any?
-t
I have recently rededicated myself to reading (yay reading!). I've got about a shelf full of books I plan to read, but I'm always looking for other good ones.
Mostly I'm looking for books that are kick-ass. Quotable. Fun.
Know any?
-t
Get up, get out
I keep a list of days that should be national holidays. The list is called "Days nobody should have to work"
Most of the current national holidays are on there: Christmas, Fourth of July, etc.
Over time I have slowly added to the list as new days come up.
You may all be familiar with my quest to bring Dan Goldin Day to the people of the United States.
This past weekend I learned of another: Yuri's Night. It's a celebration to commemorate the anniversary of the first manned earth orbit.
Today is one too. You might know it as Easter Monday, or Patriot's Day, or Marathon Monday.
As far as today being Easter Monday: All I'm saying is if the stock market closes for Good Friday what's the deal with them being open on Easter Monday? Ireland's closed today, you know why? Because it's Easter Monday.
Patriot's Day: We can't take a day off of work to celebrate those brave colonialists who threw off the yoke of oppression way back when three-cornered hats were all the rage? Callous. We've got Independence day to celebrate our wacky independence, but no day to cheer for the heroes that made it possible.
But MOST IMPORTANTLY it's Marathon Monday. The day the Boston Marathon is run. The only day the Red Sox play a morning game (designed to finish just as the first wave of runners pass through Kenmore Square. Imagine a see of thirty-six thousand crazy Red Sox fans rolling out of Fenway just as the leaders pass through Kenmore. The crowds that were six people deep are all-of-a-sudden twenty deep. The cheers are deafening. These are fans and they know encouragement. MOST IMPORTANTLY this is the day you get your twelve pack and carry it out onto Beacon street and scream your head off for the runners, and the wheelchairers while getting drunk in the middle of Beacon street.
YOU CANT DO THAT IF YOU'RE STUCK IN A CUBICLE.
It should totally be a national holiday. People in California should be taking six packs into the middle of their streets and drinking and cheering for people running three thousand miles away. Or they can cheer because they love those brave patriots who fought for their brand new country two hundred thirty years ago. Or because it's Easter Monday.
Or just cheer because they don't have to go in to work.
That's reason enough for me to cheer.
-t
Most of the current national holidays are on there: Christmas, Fourth of July, etc.
Over time I have slowly added to the list as new days come up.
You may all be familiar with my quest to bring Dan Goldin Day to the people of the United States.
This past weekend I learned of another: Yuri's Night. It's a celebration to commemorate the anniversary of the first manned earth orbit.
Today is one too. You might know it as Easter Monday, or Patriot's Day, or Marathon Monday.
As far as today being Easter Monday: All I'm saying is if the stock market closes for Good Friday what's the deal with them being open on Easter Monday? Ireland's closed today, you know why? Because it's Easter Monday.
Patriot's Day: We can't take a day off of work to celebrate those brave colonialists who threw off the yoke of oppression way back when three-cornered hats were all the rage? Callous. We've got Independence day to celebrate our wacky independence, but no day to cheer for the heroes that made it possible.
But MOST IMPORTANTLY it's Marathon Monday. The day the Boston Marathon is run. The only day the Red Sox play a morning game (designed to finish just as the first wave of runners pass through Kenmore Square. Imagine a see of thirty-six thousand crazy Red Sox fans rolling out of Fenway just as the leaders pass through Kenmore. The crowds that were six people deep are all-of-a-sudden twenty deep. The cheers are deafening. These are fans and they know encouragement. MOST IMPORTANTLY this is the day you get your twelve pack and carry it out onto Beacon street and scream your head off for the runners, and the wheelchairers while getting drunk in the middle of Beacon street.
YOU CANT DO THAT IF YOU'RE STUCK IN A CUBICLE.
It should totally be a national holiday. People in California should be taking six packs into the middle of their streets and drinking and cheering for people running three thousand miles away. Or they can cheer because they love those brave patriots who fought for their brand new country two hundred thirty years ago. Or because it's Easter Monday.
Or just cheer because they don't have to go in to work.
That's reason enough for me to cheer.
-t
Thursday, April 13, 2006
The Cone of Silence
(Did you guys watch Get Smart on Nick at Nite?)
They haven't told anyone. I told hypermanager, CancerFace, and the one kid who sits next to me that I like and who is also looking for a new job.
The rest of the group doesn't know. The rest of the floor doesn't know. They haven't told anyone.
I'm not volunteering the information now, because I want to see how long it takes before they acknowledge I'm leaving.
We just had a meeting. Hypermanager asked everyone into the conference room. "This will be quick" he said.
I thought he would announce it then. "We're sorry to see you go, good luck" or whatever.
Nope.
Instead he just gave a quick recap of the changes that need to be made for the long weekend accruals. No mention of the soon-to-be-gone senior.
It's like they're ignoring the problem so it will go away.
Jokes on them. I'm going away whether they ignore it or not.
bam!
-t
They haven't told anyone. I told hypermanager, CancerFace, and the one kid who sits next to me that I like and who is also looking for a new job.
The rest of the group doesn't know. The rest of the floor doesn't know. They haven't told anyone.
I'm not volunteering the information now, because I want to see how long it takes before they acknowledge I'm leaving.
We just had a meeting. Hypermanager asked everyone into the conference room. "This will be quick" he said.
I thought he would announce it then. "We're sorry to see you go, good luck" or whatever.
Nope.
Instead he just gave a quick recap of the changes that need to be made for the long weekend accruals. No mention of the soon-to-be-gone senior.
It's like they're ignoring the problem so it will go away.
Jokes on them. I'm going away whether they ignore it or not.
bam!
-t
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Not quite an offer I couldn't refuse
per JS's lead: commentary in red
This morning I walked over to hypermanager's desk. "Can I talk to you - in the conference room?" I asked.
I shut the door behind us to ensure privacy Because that's how things are done around here. Heaven forbid someone else hears a conversation that will affect the group and said "I just got a job offer, and I'm going to take it - so I'm giving my two weeks notice."
Damn. That was awesome. I should quit my job every six months.
"So does that mean you'll be leaving on a Wednesday? Or will you be staying the extra two days and leave on a Friday?" What are you, kidding me?
"No, I'm leaving on the Wednesday." I'd be leaving right now if the two weeks weren't required.
And that was that. He didn't say a word. In two days he'd lost two seniors. Three weeks ago he lost an invaluable senior manager and hadn't even been offered an interview for the slot. Almost no reaction from hypermanager. Maybe he was in shock.
Half an hour later CancerFace the AVP cruises by my desk without stopping and calls "Can I see you in my office."
Note the period at the end of that sentence.
CancerFace and hypermanager are there waiting for me. CancerFace launches into his "So, tell me why you're leaving" speech.
I sit quietly. Because I'm not this guy's biggest fan. Also I'm trying to exercise some telekinetic influence over that lip of tobacco he's packing, because if he drooled all over his shirt right now that would make my whole week.
"You're a valuable member of this team, I don't like to see talent leave, especially to the competition."
Right, so it's a good thing you keep everybody around here happy enough that they never think of jumping ship.
"So, tell me, are you leaving for the money?"
"Yes, mostly the money. Also this is an opportunity for me to learn a new aspect of the mutual fund business." It's the money. Also, I hate it here. And, there are no windows.
"Well. Ok. We - Hypermanager and I- feel that you're not quite ready to step up to a management role here, that you need more experience - but I'm prepared to put you into that position now. I mean NOW."
You're offering to put me in a position with more responsiblity that I am even less qualified for? And you think that's going to make me stay? I'll be doing the exact same work I'm doing now for the next six months with a new title, then put in charge of a group that I don't have the ability to train? That's a solution?
I didn't say anything.
CancerFace then proceeded to bash the competition for a few minutes wrapping up with
"But I don't mean to bash the competition." How gracious of you.
CancerFace says:
"So if I go to HR now, and ask about matching this salary, whatever it is - and I'm going to have to check what you're making now, and what we can offer you - but, before I go to HR and ask them to match this offer I need a commitment to you, that if we match this you're going to stay."
Try not to laugh. Try not to laugh. Try not to laugh.
I say:
"I can't make that commitment."
He pauses. The bullying and competition bashing usually works for him, I'm sure. He doesn't like it when people tell him "no."
"Well, think about what it would take to get you to stay here. What it would take? Eighty-thousand a year. The stupid kid gone. Lurch gone. Pony Boy transferred out of the building. A competent manager to assist hypermanager. Better hiring practices, like making entrants pass an algebra quiz. And windows. You understand I don't mean "transfer to a floor with windows" I mean windows here, on the first floor." Unless you'd be willing to pay me to work at another company. And let hypermanager know."
Write my own counteroffer? Ha. I've got news for you buddy.
You can't compel me to stay. Not by loyalty, guilt, obligation, monetary compensation, or magic.
I'm out.
-t
This morning I walked over to hypermanager's desk. "Can I talk to you - in the conference room?" I asked.
I shut the door behind us to ensure privacy Because that's how things are done around here. Heaven forbid someone else hears a conversation that will affect the group and said "I just got a job offer, and I'm going to take it - so I'm giving my two weeks notice."
Damn. That was awesome. I should quit my job every six months.
"So does that mean you'll be leaving on a Wednesday? Or will you be staying the extra two days and leave on a Friday?" What are you, kidding me?
"No, I'm leaving on the Wednesday." I'd be leaving right now if the two weeks weren't required.
And that was that. He didn't say a word. In two days he'd lost two seniors. Three weeks ago he lost an invaluable senior manager and hadn't even been offered an interview for the slot. Almost no reaction from hypermanager. Maybe he was in shock.
Half an hour later CancerFace the AVP cruises by my desk without stopping and calls "Can I see you in my office."
Note the period at the end of that sentence.
CancerFace and hypermanager are there waiting for me. CancerFace launches into his "So, tell me why you're leaving" speech.
I sit quietly. Because I'm not this guy's biggest fan. Also I'm trying to exercise some telekinetic influence over that lip of tobacco he's packing, because if he drooled all over his shirt right now that would make my whole week.
"You're a valuable member of this team, I don't like to see talent leave, especially to the competition."
Right, so it's a good thing you keep everybody around here happy enough that they never think of jumping ship.
"So, tell me, are you leaving for the money?"
"Yes, mostly the money. Also this is an opportunity for me to learn a new aspect of the mutual fund business." It's the money. Also, I hate it here. And, there are no windows.
"Well. Ok. We - Hypermanager and I- feel that you're not quite ready to step up to a management role here, that you need more experience - but I'm prepared to put you into that position now. I mean NOW."
You're offering to put me in a position with more responsiblity that I am even less qualified for? And you think that's going to make me stay? I'll be doing the exact same work I'm doing now for the next six months with a new title, then put in charge of a group that I don't have the ability to train? That's a solution?
I didn't say anything.
CancerFace then proceeded to bash the competition for a few minutes wrapping up with
"But I don't mean to bash the competition." How gracious of you.
CancerFace says:
"So if I go to HR now, and ask about matching this salary, whatever it is - and I'm going to have to check what you're making now, and what we can offer you - but, before I go to HR and ask them to match this offer I need a commitment to you, that if we match this you're going to stay."
Try not to laugh. Try not to laugh. Try not to laugh.
I say:
"I can't make that commitment."
He pauses. The bullying and competition bashing usually works for him, I'm sure. He doesn't like it when people tell him "no."
"Well, think about what it would take to get you to stay here. What it would take? Eighty-thousand a year. The stupid kid gone. Lurch gone. Pony Boy transferred out of the building. A competent manager to assist hypermanager. Better hiring practices, like making entrants pass an algebra quiz. And windows. You understand I don't mean "transfer to a floor with windows" I mean windows here, on the first floor." Unless you'd be willing to pay me to work at another company. And let hypermanager know."
Write my own counteroffer? Ha. I've got news for you buddy.
You can't compel me to stay. Not by loyalty, guilt, obligation, monetary compensation, or magic.
I'm out.
-t
You can't triple-stamp a double-stamp! You can't triple-stamp a double-stamp!
Alternate titles: "Calling it quits," "Putting You on Notice," or "Quitsies"
My very first job ever was over at Cambridge Street Photo. I started my junior year of high school. It was the best job I've ever had.
I lost that job when management was "restructured." (and that's a story for another post, if you're really interested.)
I worked at Boston University as a student-employee for a while. Lots of temp work, seasonal work, nothing important. I stopped being a student-employee when I stopped being a student.
Then I got the job here, in The Office With No Windows. My first "real" job.
This is also the first job I've ever had to quit. I gave my two weeks notice today.
(Hooray!)
-t
Oh yeah, who was in that pool about me getting fired for being on AIM all day? Because y'all owe me some money.
My very first job ever was over at Cambridge Street Photo. I started my junior year of high school. It was the best job I've ever had.
I lost that job when management was "restructured." (and that's a story for another post, if you're really interested.)
I worked at Boston University as a student-employee for a while. Lots of temp work, seasonal work, nothing important. I stopped being a student-employee when I stopped being a student.
Then I got the job here, in The Office With No Windows. My first "real" job.
This is also the first job I've ever had to quit. I gave my two weeks notice today.
(Hooray!)
-t
Oh yeah, who was in that pool about me getting fired for being on AIM all day? Because y'all owe me some money.
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Mum's the word
Big news? Maybe. You won't know until I know though.
(I should know by tomorrow afternoon.)
-t
(I should know by tomorrow afternoon.)
-t
Hyperspace
Hypermanager is in a bad mood today. One of our three seniors, Belinda, is leaving. Today is her last day. We are going to be short-handed for a while (due to HR's exceptional delay processing new-hire req's).
He is obsessing over our short-handedness.
Everyday he asks if I'm interviewing. I avoid the question. Belinda told me that yesterday was even worse. I was out, she is in a lame duck position, hypermanager was obsessing over the situation and snapping at everyone who spoke to him.
Today's Red Sox home opener has done nothing to cheer him up.
Belinda says I should tell her when I get a new job. She says she wants to come back to see me tell hypermanager. One of our regular accountants was offered the position Belinda is vacating. He turned it down. He is also looking for a new job outside the company. She is trying to contain her laughter. It will be bad. It will be very bad.
I am unconcerned. I would have been gone two months ago if someone had made an offer. Or last month if Ireland had come through. I don't want to stay, even if they do offer a raise, or a promotion. I'd leave for less money (though, hopefully, I won't have to).
Which brings me to a small recap of the weekend. (Those of you who are unaware (not Adina, judging from her comment on the previous post) FYI: Sam came up to visit this weekend. I was out of work on Friday and Monday.)
Anyway, most of the weekend was given to touring the city of Boston (on foot, not a decommissioned amphibious military vehicle like those tourists). Friday we were at the Museum of Science, where they had a Star Wars exhibit.
We got to sit IN the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon. IN the cockpit while the projection screen showed us travelling through hyperspace. You get a pin. It has the Millenium Falcon on it. It says "I made the jump!"
It was awesome. Really. Awesome.
Some of this weekend's other New England highlights included: The Little Blue Penguins at The New England Aquarium, lunch at Legal Seafood, Fanueil Hall/Quincy Market, beaches along Plymouth Bay, Mrs. Mallard and her ducklings at The Public Gardens, Boston Common, the State House (old and new), and (of course?) me.
One other highlight was watching a video I'd made in high school for history class about the Unibomber. That video was so funny I almost blogged about it last week.
That's it for now.
Waiting patiently for a job offer,
-tgme
He is obsessing over our short-handedness.
Everyday he asks if I'm interviewing. I avoid the question. Belinda told me that yesterday was even worse. I was out, she is in a lame duck position, hypermanager was obsessing over the situation and snapping at everyone who spoke to him.
Today's Red Sox home opener has done nothing to cheer him up.
Belinda says I should tell her when I get a new job. She says she wants to come back to see me tell hypermanager. One of our regular accountants was offered the position Belinda is vacating. He turned it down. He is also looking for a new job outside the company. She is trying to contain her laughter. It will be bad. It will be very bad.
I am unconcerned. I would have been gone two months ago if someone had made an offer. Or last month if Ireland had come through. I don't want to stay, even if they do offer a raise, or a promotion. I'd leave for less money (though, hopefully, I won't have to).
Which brings me to a small recap of the weekend. (Those of you who are unaware (not Adina, judging from her comment on the previous post) FYI: Sam came up to visit this weekend. I was out of work on Friday and Monday.)
Anyway, most of the weekend was given to touring the city of Boston (on foot, not a decommissioned amphibious military vehicle like those tourists). Friday we were at the Museum of Science, where they had a Star Wars exhibit.
We got to sit IN the cockpit of the Millenium Falcon. IN the cockpit while the projection screen showed us travelling through hyperspace. You get a pin. It has the Millenium Falcon on it. It says "I made the jump!"
It was awesome. Really. Awesome.
Some of this weekend's other New England highlights included: The Little Blue Penguins at The New England Aquarium, lunch at Legal Seafood, Fanueil Hall/Quincy Market, beaches along Plymouth Bay, Mrs. Mallard and her ducklings at The Public Gardens, Boston Common, the State House (old and new), and (of course?) me.
One other highlight was watching a video I'd made in high school for history class about the Unibomber. That video was so funny I almost blogged about it last week.
That's it for now.
Waiting patiently for a job offer,
-tgme
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Practically glued to my desk
I took Friday off. And Monday. It's a vacation, baby. I'm going to rediscover the city of Boston. The Museum of Science, The New Englad Aquarium, etcetera.
They just announced that the construction crews working outside the building may have hit a gas line. We are advised to ignore the smell of gas and continue to work, and, too bad this office doesn't have windows because we could open them for ventilation.
This is a great time to be three hours away from a five-day weekend.
-t
They just announced that the construction crews working outside the building may have hit a gas line. We are advised to ignore the smell of gas and continue to work, and, too bad this office doesn't have windows because we could open them for ventilation.
This is a great time to be three hours away from a five-day weekend.
-t
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Exit Strategy
I've got a job interview Monday. It's an opportunity in the exciting world of hedge funds.
Hedge funds invest in higher risk securities than traditional mutual funds. They get their name, "hedge," because they hedge their bets by doing a lot of side trading, short selling, and other "exciting" stuff to reduce the risk of loss.
It's the fastest growing type of mutual fund in the business, everyone is looking to staff quickly expanding groups.
And the starting salary is a five percent increase over my current salary, plus bonus.
Hoo-ah.
-t
Hedge funds invest in higher risk securities than traditional mutual funds. They get their name, "hedge," because they hedge their bets by doing a lot of side trading, short selling, and other "exciting" stuff to reduce the risk of loss.
It's the fastest growing type of mutual fund in the business, everyone is looking to staff quickly expanding groups.
And the starting salary is a five percent increase over my current salary, plus bonus.
Hoo-ah.
-t
Adventure and Intrigue
It's thirty-five degrees and raining in Boston.
It's raining here too.
Last night I boarded a plane with three other "fund accountants" and flew south out of Hanscomb Air Force Base.
We flew for four hours and disembarked at a private airfield. We were met by another "fund accountant" who had written instructions and coffee for each of us. Refueled, we got back on the plane.
We flew for another seven hours. Keira slept. Jo stared out the window. Dimitri kept his iPod on the whole time, blasting metal. I watched them. The same team that came with me to Alabama. The same team I had in Chicago. Now the jungle.
I read. Simple instructions: A place, a photograph, an abort code. Get in, get the package, get out.
At the pilot's signal we got ready for the jump. Dimitri took the guns, Keira took the explosives, Jo took the bulk of the rations. I had the communications gear.
We jumped pre-dawn, silent, and unseen. Our parachutes were dark above, and light underneath to fool airborne and ground-based observers.
The target area was a small clearing, about a hundred yards across. Three of us landed together. We all landed safely.
What happened next happened in quick succession. An explosion - bright, loud, miles above us. The plane. Then, a shout from the jungle, and gunfire.
We were on the ground as soon as the light from the plane's fireball hit us, scrambling for what cover there was as the first shots were fired. Leaves were rattling under the hail of bullets, they were shooting from the north end of the clearing.
I was in the middle of the clearing, prone behind a rock, Jo was in a shallow depression ten yards to my left. Dimitri was ten yards to my right. He was dead.
Keira had landed closest to the north end of the clearing, she was already into the jungle. Bullets were thumping into the ground around us. I heard three machine guns, a few small arms. Then I heard only two. The pause was too long to be a reload. It must have been Keira.
When the next gunner went down I called to Jo for cover and sprinted, crouched over, to Dimitri's body. My knife out, I cut through the straps holding the pack to his body and ripped the bandolier of grenades from his chest. I dove back to my rock, unhit.
"Idiot," Jo called. "What good are the weapons going to do us with Keira in there with them? We can't just start shooting at them!"
"He still had the photo." I said. That shut her up.
The gunshots stopped. Dawn had broken. Keira emerged from the tattered leaves, pushing a man in front of her. We walked over to her.
"The rest are dead. This one lost a few teeth, and I think I broke a couple ribs." she said when we reached her side of the clearing.
Jo moved to pat him down for weapons.
"He's clean," Keira said, "I checked."
"Better safe than sorry." Jo stepped back, and the jungle around us erupted with men. They were dressed in black and green camoflauge, camoflauge exactly like ours. There were six of them at least. No guns. Totally silent. The first took Keira by the neck from behind, another leapt past me and took Jo in a flying tackle. Two of them moved toward me.
I was already swinging Dimitri's pack up. One caught it on the chin as I struck out with my free hand at the other. I blocked a slashing stroke from his knife with my forearm and I completed the arc with Dimitri's pack by crashing it down on his head. How many left? Two?
As I looked back the man with the broken teeth charged me. He was holding a six-inch blade. I dodged the thrust and, spinning, drove my hand into the back of his neck.
Jo and Keira had taken the fight into the jungle. I started to follow them when more gunshots rang out. Behind me, the other side of the clearing. Twenty men, at least, all in the same camoflauge. I ran.
Once under the canopy the sunlight all but dissapeared. I kept running, slowly putting more distance between me and my pursuers.
Where did Toothless get the knife? Had Keira and Jo both missed it when they searched him? Had Jo slipped it to him in the pat down? Did he have time to pick it up from on of the camoflauged guys I was fighting?
Where did they come from? Why were they wearing the same camoflauge? Was this a set up? But who is setting us up? And why? What do we know?
I have a message set to send out, sitting here. Do I contact the team back home? What if I'm the target? Do I go after Jo and Keira? Are they in on it? Either of them? Both?
I'm cold. I'm hungry. I'm writing from a hill in the South American jungle. I have a patchy satellite link, six grenades, and no rations. Is this adventure?
It's raining here too.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
"Reading" (sort of)
Woo! Got an email back from lauramm
From: tom@workaccountforpersonalemails
To: laura@japan
subject: Those crazy Americans (or, Those crazy Japanese)
I just read this which started me thinking about the crazy things we Americans think Japanese do.
I’ve got visions of samurai, temples, martial arts, and peasants vs. the visions of Tokyo I’ve seen in movies and anime:
Neon signs, sleek black and silver cars, gangsters, millionaires, motorcycles, and roving gangs of teenagers decked out in 80’s era Air Jordans, glaring colors, and portable Playstation Dance Dance Revolution hookups.
Gadget-happy Japanese city dwellers, contestants on wacky gameshows (the most mild of which are spoofed on the Simpsons).
My question is this: Is it real?
Is there a distinction between traditional Japanese and new-age, high-tech, Japanese? Are these caricatures we see on this side of the Pacific accurate? Are they wrong?
Is is the case that most Japanese are actually both of these, praying at a temple in the early morning, walking the dog, getting the kids off to school, only to head in to the city for business and then retire after work to a neon green and orange strip club for blowfish and saki bombs?
Have we ever seen the real Japan, or anything close, over here?
And how do they perceive Americans? I know I could think of crazy stories about New York’s own neon-colored depravities. Do they think of us as cowboys? Farmers?
Embittered city dwellers who carry cell phones, iPods, keychains, credit cards, ID cards, paperback books, pens, watches, and chapstick, instead of one device that provides all of that?
I’ve been reading your blog a little bit. I see there is a distinction between suburb and city, I’m wondering how distinct they really are.
Also, excellent writing. Your page is a compelling read. Have fun in Thailand. Try to learn Thai Boxing. Then you can skip grad school and become an ultimate fighter.
BAM!
-t
From: japanlaura@mmmmm.com
To: tom@woo-ha.com
Subject: Those crazy Americans...
Hey Tom,
I could write a book about your questions, and I'm sure that someone actually already has. But I'll try to answer as best and truthfully as I can in a moderately readable length. The problem with all your questions is twofold:
1. I've lived here for long enough now that nothing Japanese people do is really that strange to me, and therefore, I can no longer remember what it was like to have these questions.
2.Japan is firstly and foremostly a country of contradiction. Are there samurai? No. Are there people who still wear traditional clothing? Yes. Do teenagers dress like they walked out of an 80's music video? Some. But there's a whole lot who shop at the Japanese equivalent of the Banana Republic as well. Do Japanese men love their families? Absolutely. Do they also love their mistresses and going to sex hotels? Quite a few do.
The stereotypical Japanese businessman with glasses and a camera working long hours, bowing too much, and drinking the night away is mostly true.
Salarymen have ridiculous lives. A two hour commute, a twelve hour work day, and then mandatory drinking with the boss or clients. Their children never see them, and their wives wait up until they come home so to feed them dinner, heat up the bath, and send them to bed.
This is changing, however, with the younger generation. There is less job security and there are increasing numbers of young people who don't want to work, don't want to go to school, and don't want to move out of their parents' house. They are the consumers. They buy designer clothes, fancy cell phones (camera, phone, mp3 player, TV, mirror, internet, email), and stay out late drinking. They don't care about preserving the traditional family home and most can't speak polite language anymore.
The old people, if anyone, keeps what you consider "traditional" Japan alive. There are still quite a few grandmas who wear kimono all the time, and a few grandpas who wear the wooden sandals in the summer. They take care of the ancestors and support traditional theatre, art, and music.
Technologically speaking, I think Japan is behind on the times. Internet didn't start to take off until a few years ago. Cell phones were so advanced so quickly that young people always did email on their phones and it isn't until now that they are learning how to use computers.
The government is so full of old bureaucrats that won't change anything, so the mess of above ground power lines keeps the country looking dirty, entrance exams from middle school to college keep children studying all of their waking hours, and despite the fact that I am living in a brand new house, there is no central heating or air conditioning.
Is everything you see on TV real? Maybe. Have you seen Lost in Translation? Take it with a grain of salt, but it does a pretty good job of conveying what Japan is pretty much about. At least the part of Japan you see in the movie.
The wacky game shows shown on Spike TV and spoofed on the Simpsons are from the 80's. Yes, Japanese game shows are still very silly sometimes, but not as bad as they were.
I don't think I've done a particularly good job of addressing your questions. Directly:
Yes. There are neon signs everywhere in Tokyo. And Osaka, and any big downtown area.
No. There are not sleek black cars everywhere. Anime does not clearly portray that Japanese streets are so tiny that one small sized vehicle can barely pass. You know the Honda Element? Take that car and shrink it. Or the VW Bug. That's the size of average Japanese cars.
Again, as you said the distinction between urban and rural is great. You can't take all of what I say and apply it to the middle of nowhere Japan. There are still plenty of farmers, plenty of kids who play outside, and isolated villages who are in danger of running out of food in the winter when the snows get too high.
What do they think of us? My host mother thought:
Americans eat beef, lots of it, every day.
Americans are never scared of public speaking or being in embarrassing situations.
Americans are loud and energetic and rude.
Americans drive huge cars.
Americans have huge houses.
Americans eat three times as much as Japanese people.
Americans don't eat rice.
They see our movies and get their impressions from there, I think. America=New York. America=San Francisco.
America is dangerous. Everyone carries a gun. And you could be robbed at any second.
The cowboy phase was about 20 years ago. Now everyone emulates rappers, pop stars, and famous people.
This email is pretty incoherent. I might rewrite it and send it again. But I wanted to get back to you now, before another two weeks passed. Cherry blossoms are about to peak and I hope to be going to a few flower viewing parties. This is another traditional part of Japanese culture: go sit under the beautiful trees but get so wasted that you can't see them.
Hope you enjoyed the long winded Thailand stories.
Laura
From: tom@workaccountforpersonalemails
To: laura@japan
subject: Those crazy Americans (or, Those crazy Japanese)
I just read this which started me thinking about the crazy things we Americans think Japanese do.
I’ve got visions of samurai, temples, martial arts, and peasants vs. the visions of Tokyo I’ve seen in movies and anime:
Neon signs, sleek black and silver cars, gangsters, millionaires, motorcycles, and roving gangs of teenagers decked out in 80’s era Air Jordans, glaring colors, and portable Playstation Dance Dance Revolution hookups.
Gadget-happy Japanese city dwellers, contestants on wacky gameshows (the most mild of which are spoofed on the Simpsons).
My question is this: Is it real?
Is there a distinction between traditional Japanese and new-age, high-tech, Japanese? Are these caricatures we see on this side of the Pacific accurate? Are they wrong?
Is is the case that most Japanese are actually both of these, praying at a temple in the early morning, walking the dog, getting the kids off to school, only to head in to the city for business and then retire after work to a neon green and orange strip club for blowfish and saki bombs?
Have we ever seen the real Japan, or anything close, over here?
And how do they perceive Americans? I know I could think of crazy stories about New York’s own neon-colored depravities. Do they think of us as cowboys? Farmers?
Embittered city dwellers who carry cell phones, iPods, keychains, credit cards, ID cards, paperback books, pens, watches, and chapstick, instead of one device that provides all of that?
I’ve been reading your blog a little bit. I see there is a distinction between suburb and city, I’m wondering how distinct they really are.
Also, excellent writing. Your page is a compelling read. Have fun in Thailand. Try to learn Thai Boxing. Then you can skip grad school and become an ultimate fighter.
BAM!
-t
From: japanlaura@mmmmm.com
To: tom@woo-ha.com
Subject: Those crazy Americans...
Hey Tom,
I could write a book about your questions, and I'm sure that someone actually already has. But I'll try to answer as best and truthfully as I can in a moderately readable length. The problem with all your questions is twofold:
1. I've lived here for long enough now that nothing Japanese people do is really that strange to me, and therefore, I can no longer remember what it was like to have these questions.
2.Japan is firstly and foremostly a country of contradiction. Are there samurai? No. Are there people who still wear traditional clothing? Yes. Do teenagers dress like they walked out of an 80's music video? Some. But there's a whole lot who shop at the Japanese equivalent of the Banana Republic as well. Do Japanese men love their families? Absolutely. Do they also love their mistresses and going to sex hotels? Quite a few do.
The stereotypical Japanese businessman with glasses and a camera working long hours, bowing too much, and drinking the night away is mostly true.
Salarymen have ridiculous lives. A two hour commute, a twelve hour work day, and then mandatory drinking with the boss or clients. Their children never see them, and their wives wait up until they come home so to feed them dinner, heat up the bath, and send them to bed.
This is changing, however, with the younger generation. There is less job security and there are increasing numbers of young people who don't want to work, don't want to go to school, and don't want to move out of their parents' house. They are the consumers. They buy designer clothes, fancy cell phones (camera, phone, mp3 player, TV, mirror, internet, email), and stay out late drinking. They don't care about preserving the traditional family home and most can't speak polite language anymore.
The old people, if anyone, keeps what you consider "traditional" Japan alive. There are still quite a few grandmas who wear kimono all the time, and a few grandpas who wear the wooden sandals in the summer. They take care of the ancestors and support traditional theatre, art, and music.
Technologically speaking, I think Japan is behind on the times. Internet didn't start to take off until a few years ago. Cell phones were so advanced so quickly that young people always did email on their phones and it isn't until now that they are learning how to use computers.
The government is so full of old bureaucrats that won't change anything, so the mess of above ground power lines keeps the country looking dirty, entrance exams from middle school to college keep children studying all of their waking hours, and despite the fact that I am living in a brand new house, there is no central heating or air conditioning.
Is everything you see on TV real? Maybe. Have you seen Lost in Translation? Take it with a grain of salt, but it does a pretty good job of conveying what Japan is pretty much about. At least the part of Japan you see in the movie.
The wacky game shows shown on Spike TV and spoofed on the Simpsons are from the 80's. Yes, Japanese game shows are still very silly sometimes, but not as bad as they were.
I don't think I've done a particularly good job of addressing your questions. Directly:
Yes. There are neon signs everywhere in Tokyo. And Osaka, and any big downtown area.
No. There are not sleek black cars everywhere. Anime does not clearly portray that Japanese streets are so tiny that one small sized vehicle can barely pass. You know the Honda Element? Take that car and shrink it. Or the VW Bug. That's the size of average Japanese cars.
Again, as you said the distinction between urban and rural is great. You can't take all of what I say and apply it to the middle of nowhere Japan. There are still plenty of farmers, plenty of kids who play outside, and isolated villages who are in danger of running out of food in the winter when the snows get too high.
What do they think of us? My host mother thought:
Americans eat beef, lots of it, every day.
Americans are never scared of public speaking or being in embarrassing situations.
Americans are loud and energetic and rude.
Americans drive huge cars.
Americans have huge houses.
Americans eat three times as much as Japanese people.
Americans don't eat rice.
They see our movies and get their impressions from there, I think. America=New York. America=San Francisco.
America is dangerous. Everyone carries a gun. And you could be robbed at any second.
The cowboy phase was about 20 years ago. Now everyone emulates rappers, pop stars, and famous people.
This email is pretty incoherent. I might rewrite it and send it again. But I wanted to get back to you now, before another two weeks passed. Cherry blossoms are about to peak and I hope to be going to a few flower viewing parties. This is another traditional part of Japanese culture: go sit under the beautiful trees but get so wasted that you can't see them.
Hope you enjoyed the long winded Thailand stories.
Laura
Monday, April 03, 2006
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