Monday, July 31, 2006
A Natural
The two things that I do not understand about my new job are these:
(1) I do not understand what I'm supposed to do.
(2) I do not understand why that doesn't seem to bother my boss.
What's the deal? It's not like it's been explained to me a hundred times and they've just given up. It's also not like this is the most complicated game in town. This is, in fact, one of the very least complicated games in town.
But, like Blackjack, "uncomplicated" doesn't mean "easy to succeed."
It's easy to understand "get to 21," but learning what it means to double-down, split, or take insurance will take a couple rounds, and learning when to use each strategy might take a couple days at the tables.
Unfortunately, here, one "round" corresponds to one month.
I'd know what I was doing now if I did month-end calculations for five or six funds a day every day, but, instead, I see one fund once a month.
Like learning to waltz without a partner, one step at a time, through a correspondence school.
Slow. And ineffective. Exactly the opposite of what I like to be. (Fast, and effective.)
I swear this job is easy, it's just going to take me until St. Patrick's Day to know how easy.
-t
recommended download:
Flogging Molly, Within A Mile of Home
and
Rautokoura, Ruutitynnyri (find it here; for more info don't click here)
(1) I do not understand what I'm supposed to do.
(2) I do not understand why that doesn't seem to bother my boss.
What's the deal? It's not like it's been explained to me a hundred times and they've just given up. It's also not like this is the most complicated game in town. This is, in fact, one of the very least complicated games in town.
But, like Blackjack, "uncomplicated" doesn't mean "easy to succeed."
It's easy to understand "get to 21," but learning what it means to double-down, split, or take insurance will take a couple rounds, and learning when to use each strategy might take a couple days at the tables.
Unfortunately, here, one "round" corresponds to one month.
I'd know what I was doing now if I did month-end calculations for five or six funds a day every day, but, instead, I see one fund once a month.
Like learning to waltz without a partner, one step at a time, through a correspondence school.
Slow. And ineffective. Exactly the opposite of what I like to be. (Fast, and effective.)
I swear this job is easy, it's just going to take me until St. Patrick's Day to know how easy.
-t
recommended download:
Flogging Molly, Within A Mile of Home
and
Rautokoura, Ruutitynnyri (find it here; for more info don't click here)
Friday, July 28, 2006
Burn down the Deli
We're having something of a food fight here at work today.
What is the proper way to construct a sandwich? Surprisingly the internet has been of very little help in this debate, for either side.
We're talking about a sub (or hero, grinder, etc) made on a long roll, sliced along its length, parallel to the tabletop.
How do you build the sandwich? Which ingredients do you use AND IN WHAT ORDER?
The order is what we're fighting about, and what the internet has failed to provide. Hundreds upon thousands of websites with interesting ingredients and tips for a better tasting sandwich (toasting, for example) but NO ORDER.
It's anarchy, basically.
So, the positions in the debate are these:
Position A
(1) Open roll flat
(2) spread conidments on roll (mustard, mayonaisse, etc)
(3) place cheese on both sides of roll
(4) place meat on both sides of roll
(5) fold together, and eat
Position B
(1) Open roll flat
(2) place cheese on both sides of roll
(3) place meat on both sides of roll
(4) spread (squirt, smear, etc) condiments (mustard, mayonaisse, etc) on meat
(5) fold together, and eat
For simplicity we will refer to Position A as "Condiments on bread" and Position B as "Condiments on meat"
The question I put to you, loyal readers, and sandwich eaters of the internet, is this:
Spread on the bread, or not?
-t
What is the proper way to construct a sandwich? Surprisingly the internet has been of very little help in this debate, for either side.
We're talking about a sub (or hero, grinder, etc) made on a long roll, sliced along its length, parallel to the tabletop.
How do you build the sandwich? Which ingredients do you use AND IN WHAT ORDER?
The order is what we're fighting about, and what the internet has failed to provide. Hundreds upon thousands of websites with interesting ingredients and tips for a better tasting sandwich (toasting, for example) but NO ORDER.
It's anarchy, basically.
So, the positions in the debate are these:
Position A
(1) Open roll flat
(2) spread conidments on roll (mustard, mayonaisse, etc)
(3) place cheese on both sides of roll
(4) place meat on both sides of roll
(5) fold together, and eat
Position B
(1) Open roll flat
(2) place cheese on both sides of roll
(3) place meat on both sides of roll
(4) spread (squirt, smear, etc) condiments (mustard, mayonaisse, etc) on meat
(5) fold together, and eat
For simplicity we will refer to Position A as "Condiments on bread" and Position B as "Condiments on meat"
The question I put to you, loyal readers, and sandwich eaters of the internet, is this:
Spread on the bread, or not?
-t
Thursday, July 27, 2006
New Notice
I'm adding a new blog to the "On Notice" links section: from the pear.
In particular because the third post I read there was this one about the Gilmore Girls.
Frankly I have next to no idea what they're talking about because I get my GG info from abc family channel reruns (which are still being broadcast with no regard for continuity or seasonal groupings), but it seems funny none-the-less.
So, Pear, I'm putting you on notice. (congrats)
Incidentally, I whisked that link from the sidebar of erinire, which is why it may seem familiar to some of you.
-t
In particular because the third post I read there was this one about the Gilmore Girls.
Frankly I have next to no idea what they're talking about because I get my GG info from abc family channel reruns (which are still being broadcast with no regard for continuity or seasonal groupings), but it seems funny none-the-less.
So, Pear, I'm putting you on notice. (congrats)
Incidentally, I whisked that link from the sidebar of erinire, which is why it may seem familiar to some of you.
-t
Easy Street
Two days ago I was invited to a CD sale at a local Newbury Comics store. Always one to (a) spend money and (b) leave work for any excuse, I accepted.
While there I purchased the brand new Flogging Molly CD/DVD "Whiskey on a Sunday," and also the just-released Pearl Jam EP "Live at Easy Street."
Both are excellent.
Then, yesterday, I purchased a new cellphone! Maybe you've seen the commerical for it, they feature this near-indestructible phone facing rain, dust, and a hailstorm of bb's.
I've seen first-hand what these indestructible Motorola phones can do. My brother had an earlier model that was run over by a dump truck. (He was working with the Parks Department and the phone slipped out of his pocket).
The hinge was broken, the casing was cracked in seven places (most notably along the battery door), the screen was smashed and blotted, and, the phone still worked.
Making calls, receiving calls, reception, clarity, you name it. The only thing you couldn't do was fold it back up or read anything on the screen.
Run over by a dumptruck, and it still worked!
This newer model, the i580, is even more indestructible, has a camera, and Bluetooth! Which means it can talk to my computer! Which means my calendar program can sync with my phone and I'll never miss a birthday or episode of Psych (Fridays this summer on USA!) again!
-t
recommended download:
Flogging Molly, Within A Mile of Home
While there I purchased the brand new Flogging Molly CD/DVD "Whiskey on a Sunday," and also the just-released Pearl Jam EP "Live at Easy Street."
Both are excellent.
Then, yesterday, I purchased a new cellphone! Maybe you've seen the commerical for it, they feature this near-indestructible phone facing rain, dust, and a hailstorm of bb's.
I've seen first-hand what these indestructible Motorola phones can do. My brother had an earlier model that was run over by a dump truck. (He was working with the Parks Department and the phone slipped out of his pocket).
The hinge was broken, the casing was cracked in seven places (most notably along the battery door), the screen was smashed and blotted, and, the phone still worked.
Making calls, receiving calls, reception, clarity, you name it. The only thing you couldn't do was fold it back up or read anything on the screen.
Run over by a dumptruck, and it still worked!
This newer model, the i580, is even more indestructible, has a camera, and Bluetooth! Which means it can talk to my computer! Which means my calendar program can sync with my phone and I'll never miss a birthday or episode of Psych (Fridays this summer on USA!) again!
-t
recommended download:
Flogging Molly, Within A Mile of Home
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Free Coca-Cola all around!
I started work today at one thirty.
The first three hours of the day were taken up with a pointless training session (see previous post), then I spent an hour on the phone (finally got a Nextel rep who was nice, and kind, and empathetic, and helpful), and eating lunch.
I just finished my first fund of the day, in fifteen minutes.
I spent thirty minutes listening to some coworkers poke fun at another coworker's hair.
At some point I plan on finishing my other fund. But I have until five thirty.
-t
The first three hours of the day were taken up with a pointless training session (see previous post), then I spent an hour on the phone (finally got a Nextel rep who was nice, and kind, and empathetic, and helpful), and eating lunch.
I just finished my first fund of the day, in fifteen minutes.
I spent thirty minutes listening to some coworkers poke fun at another coworker's hair.
At some point I plan on finishing my other fund. But I have until five thirty.
-t
The Train to Nowhere
Today's training class: Futures & Options.
I've railed about this before: Training should not be conducted as a Question and Answer session when the trainer is the only one who knows the answers. If we knew what we were there to learn we wouldn't be there to learn it.
It seems that this woman is convinced that in order for us to Know a thing all that is required is for her to ask us an open-ended question about the thing.
What experience convinced her of this? What part of the brain was she using when this approach occurred to her? There are no explanations, there is no flow of information. She asks, they guess. If they get it right we move on.
Why is it right? What are the implications? WHAT OF DONUTS?
If it's wrong, she just asks the same question AGAIN, slower.
The trainer speaks:
The first sentence out of her mouth:
Trainer: "So, futures & options.... What is a future?"
Group: [silence]
Trainer: "Why are futures/options called derivatives?"
Group: [silence]
Trainer: "Ok, let's talk about initial margin ... What is initial margin?"
Trainer: "Let's talk about why your investment manager goes out and trades futures. What are some of the reasons?"
Trainer: "We're buying 250,000 shares for ten dollars apiece, what accounting do we see on trade date? What debits, and what credits? ..."
Trainer: "... ... ..."
Group: [crickets]
Trainer: "You're all right! No entries are made on trade date."
Trainer: "For this exercise you might need more information for question three. There might be a function on the system that might be helpful..."
Some guy: "I'm looking at the Cost/Value sheet, but I can't find the answer."
Trainer: "But if you don't hold the security it won't be on the C/V sheet. What other sheet can you use to find something you don't hold?"
Guy: "Um..."
Trainer: "The .....? The .... .... sheet?"
Guy: "The 'Positions' sheet?"
Trainer: "No, the Reference sheet which is under a different tab in a different window."
If we knew we wouldn't be there.
gah.
-t
I've railed about this before: Training should not be conducted as a Question and Answer session when the trainer is the only one who knows the answers. If we knew what we were there to learn we wouldn't be there to learn it.
It seems that this woman is convinced that in order for us to Know a thing all that is required is for her to ask us an open-ended question about the thing.
What experience convinced her of this? What part of the brain was she using when this approach occurred to her? There are no explanations, there is no flow of information. She asks, they guess. If they get it right we move on.
Why is it right? What are the implications? WHAT OF DONUTS?
If it's wrong, she just asks the same question AGAIN, slower.
The trainer speaks:
The first sentence out of her mouth:
Trainer: "So, futures & options.... What is a future?"
Group: [silence]
Trainer: "Why are futures/options called derivatives?"
Group: [silence]
Trainer: "Ok, let's talk about initial margin ... What is initial margin?"
Trainer: "Let's talk about why your investment manager goes out and trades futures. What are some of the reasons?"
Trainer: "We're buying 250,000 shares for ten dollars apiece, what accounting do we see on trade date? What debits, and what credits? ..."
Trainer: "... ... ..."
Group: [crickets]
Trainer: "You're all right! No entries are made on trade date."
Trainer: "For this exercise you might need more information for question three. There might be a function on the system that might be helpful..."
Some guy: "I'm looking at the Cost/Value sheet, but I can't find the answer."
Trainer: "But if you don't hold the security it won't be on the C/V sheet. What other sheet can you use to find something you don't hold?"
Guy: "Um..."
Trainer: "The .....? The .... .... sheet?"
Guy: "The 'Positions' sheet?"
Trainer: "No, the Reference sheet which is under a different tab in a different window."
If we knew we wouldn't be there.
gah.
-t
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Shouting "movie!" in a crowded firehouse
Fire Drill!
Today we had a fire drill. It was great. Just after I finished my first fund the lights started going off. A few seconds later the alarm sounded.
The office got up quietly, and proceded to the stairwell. We walked down fourteen flights, joined by the employees who work on the twelfth, thirteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth floors. There was a bit of a hold up near the fourt floor but, in the end, everyone made it out alive.
Also, as we were exiting the building past the watchful eyes of the fire wardens, everyone was handed a bottle of water. Whether it was to douse the flames that might have ignited our business casual attire on the way down, or to keep us hydrated while we stood outside in the sun waiting for the all clear, it doesn't matter: We never got water at the old place.
In fact, this was the nicest fire drill I've ever participated in. The stairwells were well-lit; they were very roomy (not once did I bump shoulders with anyone walking two abreast down the fourteen flights); and they were clean, except for the remnant from what might possibly have been about a gallon of blood on the twelvth floor landing, but I'm totally willing to overlook that, because if it was, in fact, mopped-up blood, it was definitely old mopped-up blood, so I think it's safe to assume there hasn't been any trouble on the twelfth floor for at least a little while now.
It's cool. I don't go down to the twelfth floor anyway.
We spent about half an hour out in the park at Post Office Square which was our designated gathering spot. The fire wardens showed up about fifteen minutes later to check everyone's name off of a master list.
My name was not on the list (due, no doubt, to the newness of my employment), but I'm not worried. I'm sure they wouldn't need a list to figure out I was missing, someone would climb valiantly back up those fourteen flights to get me. Right?
So we enjoyed the sun, we enjoyed our free bottled water, we enjoyed not working for about an hour. Then, when the all-clear was announced rather than enjoy a massive press of bodies trying to fit through the bottle-neck at the revolving doors and the hour-long wait for an elevator, a bunch of us enjoyed iced coffee instead.
Certainly one of the best fire drills ever.
I am looking forward to the next one.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
Today we had a fire drill. It was great. Just after I finished my first fund the lights started going off. A few seconds later the alarm sounded.
The office got up quietly, and proceded to the stairwell. We walked down fourteen flights, joined by the employees who work on the twelfth, thirteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth floors. There was a bit of a hold up near the fourt floor but, in the end, everyone made it out alive.
Also, as we were exiting the building past the watchful eyes of the fire wardens, everyone was handed a bottle of water. Whether it was to douse the flames that might have ignited our business casual attire on the way down, or to keep us hydrated while we stood outside in the sun waiting for the all clear, it doesn't matter: We never got water at the old place.
In fact, this was the nicest fire drill I've ever participated in. The stairwells were well-lit; they were very roomy (not once did I bump shoulders with anyone walking two abreast down the fourteen flights); and they were clean, except for the remnant from what might possibly have been about a gallon of blood on the twelvth floor landing, but I'm totally willing to overlook that, because if it was, in fact, mopped-up blood, it was definitely old mopped-up blood, so I think it's safe to assume there hasn't been any trouble on the twelfth floor for at least a little while now.
It's cool. I don't go down to the twelfth floor anyway.
We spent about half an hour out in the park at Post Office Square which was our designated gathering spot. The fire wardens showed up about fifteen minutes later to check everyone's name off of a master list.
My name was not on the list (due, no doubt, to the newness of my employment), but I'm not worried. I'm sure they wouldn't need a list to figure out I was missing, someone would climb valiantly back up those fourteen flights to get me. Right?
So we enjoyed the sun, we enjoyed our free bottled water, we enjoyed not working for about an hour. Then, when the all-clear was announced rather than enjoy a massive press of bodies trying to fit through the bottle-neck at the revolving doors and the hour-long wait for an elevator, a bunch of us enjoyed iced coffee instead.
Certainly one of the best fire drills ever.
I am looking forward to the next one.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
I don't go to western Massachusetts
So, I'm back from the Berkshires. (Did I mention I was in the Berkshires this weekend?)
We spent a few days in the country surrounded by nature. It was awful.
The one day we went into the "city" it was even worse.
Driving was made very difficult because street signs are very difficult to find. The ones we did find were mislabeled, and, there was more traffic on "Main Street" (if you believe the sign) than on Comm Ave. during rush hour.
The traffic was probably due to the giant Arts festival at Tanglewood. The missing street signs were probably due to the general laziness associated with the rural people of this country.
And another thing: Why aren't any of these roads straight? Why don't any of these roads connect to each other?
In the city if you miss your turn you can go one block further and turn there, because cities are (mostly) laid out in grid fashion (with Boston's Back Bay being the notable local exception, but that contributes to the character of the city, so it gets a pass), but in the country, if you miss your turn you're screwed. Because there isn't another turn for two miles, and that road goes to some completely different, completely far-off place.
And why aren't the roads straight? All the corn in all the corn fields is planted in straight lines, it's not like "straight" is a foreign concept. I get that when there's a giant mountain you have to build the road around it or winding precipitiously up the side, that's fine, but when you're staring at a vast open plain of flat upon flat upon flat, tell me, what compels you to make your roads meander through the cornfields?
And another thing. There were rich people out there for the art festival and to go "antiquing," loads of them. Antiquing is every bit as loathesome as sitcom stereotypes make it out to be.
Stockbridge, though quaint-sounding in James Taylor's lyrics, and peaceful, quiet, and domestic in Norman Rockwell's memoirs, is now a place for the affluent to gather to flaunt their affluence. "There are others like us" they seem to say, "we should all pick a spot to gather so we may judge one another's worth based soley on the expensiveness of our luxury vehicles and SUVS, and the number and price of the antiques that have been laid out before us by the locals of this particular town to swindle our money from us (which, of course, is immaterial, for getting swindled can only illustrate how affluent we really are by trivializing the money spent over and above the true value for any item."
I was very tempted to run over a few Mercedes with my truck.
Also, in western Massachusetts everything closes at five o'clock. AND THERE ARE NO RESTURANTS OPEN ON SUNDAYS.
We ended up eating at the one place we could find that served food, the Barrington Brewery. The prices were outrageous (which, based on the yuppie culture mecca that we had come to understand Stockbridge to be, we should have anticipated), but the beer was good. I tried their light beer "Blonde" and was surprised at the tastiness, especially the finish. Great finish. And I also sampled the Barrington Brown Ale which was much darker than I had expected, much more of a Scotch Ale than a typical off-the-shelf brown ale, like Newcastle. Not bad, just much heavier than expected.
Again, though, prices were ridiculously expensive, and the food wasn't great.
Monday we drove home from the great wide western half of the state and settled back into the comfort of city-traffic and suburban summer heat.
Western Massachusetts might be a nice place to go for a week as long as you could be assured that you would have no contact with anyone for the whole time. I certainly couldn't live there. Not without a running tab with the local police for property damage to the tourists' luxury cars.
-t
We spent a few days in the country surrounded by nature. It was awful.
The one day we went into the "city" it was even worse.
Driving was made very difficult because street signs are very difficult to find. The ones we did find were mislabeled, and, there was more traffic on "Main Street" (if you believe the sign) than on Comm Ave. during rush hour.
The traffic was probably due to the giant Arts festival at Tanglewood. The missing street signs were probably due to the general laziness associated with the rural people of this country.
And another thing: Why aren't any of these roads straight? Why don't any of these roads connect to each other?
In the city if you miss your turn you can go one block further and turn there, because cities are (mostly) laid out in grid fashion (with Boston's Back Bay being the notable local exception, but that contributes to the character of the city, so it gets a pass), but in the country, if you miss your turn you're screwed. Because there isn't another turn for two miles, and that road goes to some completely different, completely far-off place.
And why aren't the roads straight? All the corn in all the corn fields is planted in straight lines, it's not like "straight" is a foreign concept. I get that when there's a giant mountain you have to build the road around it or winding precipitiously up the side, that's fine, but when you're staring at a vast open plain of flat upon flat upon flat, tell me, what compels you to make your roads meander through the cornfields?
And another thing. There were rich people out there for the art festival and to go "antiquing," loads of them. Antiquing is every bit as loathesome as sitcom stereotypes make it out to be.
Stockbridge, though quaint-sounding in James Taylor's lyrics, and peaceful, quiet, and domestic in Norman Rockwell's memoirs, is now a place for the affluent to gather to flaunt their affluence. "There are others like us" they seem to say, "we should all pick a spot to gather so we may judge one another's worth based soley on the expensiveness of our luxury vehicles and SUVS, and the number and price of the antiques that have been laid out before us by the locals of this particular town to swindle our money from us (which, of course, is immaterial, for getting swindled can only illustrate how affluent we really are by trivializing the money spent over and above the true value for any item."
I was very tempted to run over a few Mercedes with my truck.
Also, in western Massachusetts everything closes at five o'clock. AND THERE ARE NO RESTURANTS OPEN ON SUNDAYS.
We ended up eating at the one place we could find that served food, the Barrington Brewery. The prices were outrageous (which, based on the yuppie culture mecca that we had come to understand Stockbridge to be, we should have anticipated), but the beer was good. I tried their light beer "Blonde" and was surprised at the tastiness, especially the finish. Great finish. And I also sampled the Barrington Brown Ale which was much darker than I had expected, much more of a Scotch Ale than a typical off-the-shelf brown ale, like Newcastle. Not bad, just much heavier than expected.
Again, though, prices were ridiculously expensive, and the food wasn't great.
Monday we drove home from the great wide western half of the state and settled back into the comfort of city-traffic and suburban summer heat.
Western Massachusetts might be a nice place to go for a week as long as you could be assured that you would have no contact with anyone for the whole time. I certainly couldn't live there. Not without a running tab with the local police for property damage to the tourists' luxury cars.
-t
Thursday, July 20, 2006
I just want to hooooold you close...mm-mm-mm mm-mmm.
Two of my coworkers, the two that sit closest to me, sing.
Not "Hi, I'm a pop star who wants to be famous and I've got the voice that could take me all the way" or the "I'm the lead singer of a Zeppelin cover band that plays locally on the weekends" or "we're two of a barbershop quartet."
It's really more like mumbling with a barely discernable melody. Just melodic enough that you understand they're trying to sing a real song.
What real song? Why, practically any song that's been in the top forty in the last five years. As I'm writing this one of them is mumbling Aerosmith's Don't Want To Miss A Thing.
Two things:
1. They only sing loud enough for me to hear them. Unless you share a cubicle wall with either of these two the singing is imperceptible.
2. I say "one of them" is singing now because very often they start singing together. Out of nowhere someone will start up a song in the middle of a verse, I'll look around to figure out what that weird sound is ("oh, it's the singing"), and then, just at the chorus, the other one will come in.
And try to harmonize.
-t
Not "Hi, I'm a pop star who wants to be famous and I've got the voice that could take me all the way" or the "I'm the lead singer of a Zeppelin cover band that plays locally on the weekends" or "we're two of a barbershop quartet."
It's really more like mumbling with a barely discernable melody. Just melodic enough that you understand they're trying to sing a real song.
What real song? Why, practically any song that's been in the top forty in the last five years. As I'm writing this one of them is mumbling Aerosmith's Don't Want To Miss A Thing.
Two things:
1. They only sing loud enough for me to hear them. Unless you share a cubicle wall with either of these two the singing is imperceptible.
2. I say "one of them" is singing now because very often they start singing together. Out of nowhere someone will start up a song in the middle of a verse, I'll look around to figure out what that weird sound is ("oh, it's the singing"), and then, just at the chorus, the other one will come in.
And try to harmonize.
-t
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Broken Records
How do you kill two hours of time on a lazy summer afternoon at the office, after all your daily responsibilities are finished, after you've watched the Red Sox day game against the Kansas City Royals (1-0 Boston victory), and with nothing remotely associated with work left to do?
If you're working in this office, you talk baseball.
There are seven ways to reach first base safely. What are they?
(answers below)
There are nine ways to score from third base. What are they?
(answers below)
Will someone bat over .400 in the regular season before someone breaks DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak? Will either mark ever be reached?
To that, I say no. Ted Williams was the last to hit over .400 for an entire season (.406 in 1941). Ichiro Suzuki is the game's best (most consistent, most technically proficient, most serious?) hitter, and his highest average in his first five seasons with the Mariners was .372.
DiMaggio's record won't be broken either, the game today features too many specialty pitchers, advance scouting, and better defense. Most recently Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies carried a 38 game hitting streak over two seasons. DiMaggio's single-season record is safe.
What other records out there are ready to be broken? Are there other numbers that will never be bested? Can anyone say for sure?
That last question is rhetorical. It's why baseball discussions among baseball fans are so interesting, and why they can eat up two hours of unstructured time - no one will ever know until it happens. But there are always two things you can count on: the anticipation that comes when someone makes a run at a record, and the discussion that goes with it.
-t
reach first safely:
1. hit
2. error
3. fielder's choice
4. base-on-balls
5. hit-by-pitch
6. dropped third strike
7. catcher's interference
score from third:
1. hit
2. error
3. fielder's choice
4. base-on-balls with bases loaded
5. hit-by-pitch with bases loaded
6. steal
7. balk
8. sacrifice
9. wild pitch
If you're working in this office, you talk baseball.
There are seven ways to reach first base safely. What are they?
(answers below)
There are nine ways to score from third base. What are they?
(answers below)
Will someone bat over .400 in the regular season before someone breaks DiMaggio's 56-game hitting streak? Will either mark ever be reached?
To that, I say no. Ted Williams was the last to hit over .400 for an entire season (.406 in 1941). Ichiro Suzuki is the game's best (most consistent, most technically proficient, most serious?) hitter, and his highest average in his first five seasons with the Mariners was .372.
DiMaggio's record won't be broken either, the game today features too many specialty pitchers, advance scouting, and better defense. Most recently Jimmy Rollins of the Phillies carried a 38 game hitting streak over two seasons. DiMaggio's single-season record is safe.
What other records out there are ready to be broken? Are there other numbers that will never be bested? Can anyone say for sure?
That last question is rhetorical. It's why baseball discussions among baseball fans are so interesting, and why they can eat up two hours of unstructured time - no one will ever know until it happens. But there are always two things you can count on: the anticipation that comes when someone makes a run at a record, and the discussion that goes with it.
-t
reach first safely:
1. hit
2. error
3. fielder's choice
4. base-on-balls
5. hit-by-pitch
6. dropped third strike
7. catcher's interference
score from third:
1. hit
2. error
3. fielder's choice
4. base-on-balls with bases loaded
5. hit-by-pitch with bases loaded
6. steal
7. balk
8. sacrifice
9. wild pitch
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Feeding the Habit
Today I spent my lunch hour reading in Post Office Square. The experience was very enjoyable.
So enjoyable, in fact, that I plan to continue reading in Post Office Square on my lunch break for the foreseeable, fair weather, future.
Currently I am reading Tolstoy's War and Peace and have (relatively) little to go. Next up on my "to be read" shelf is some fantasy novel I've forgotten the name of, two detective books (I think), two sci-fi novels, and three other books I can't recall.
It is not very often I don't have a stack of books to be read, which is exactly the way I like it.
With the introduction of this new lunctime reading hour I expect to make good progress for the rest of the summer.
Any reading suggestions? High up on the list of "you've gotta read this book" books (which I have yet to acquire) are The Time Traveller's Wife, A Heart-breaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Moby Dick (I'm only half kidding about that one).
Adina, please do not suggest the Gilmore Girls novelization. I prefer my GG as reruns on the ABC Family channel.
-t
So enjoyable, in fact, that I plan to continue reading in Post Office Square on my lunch break for the foreseeable, fair weather, future.
Currently I am reading Tolstoy's War and Peace and have (relatively) little to go. Next up on my "to be read" shelf is some fantasy novel I've forgotten the name of, two detective books (I think), two sci-fi novels, and three other books I can't recall.
It is not very often I don't have a stack of books to be read, which is exactly the way I like it.
With the introduction of this new lunctime reading hour I expect to make good progress for the rest of the summer.
Any reading suggestions? High up on the list of "you've gotta read this book" books (which I have yet to acquire) are The Time Traveller's Wife, A Heart-breaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Moby Dick (I'm only half kidding about that one).
Adina, please do not suggest the Gilmore Girls novelization. I prefer my GG as reruns on the ABC Family channel.
-t
Monday, July 17, 2006
More on nicknames
Since writing this post the other day I've been thinking more about nicknames. Nicknames for me.
Unfortunately self-nicknaming is generally frowned upon, so I will have to appeal to the masses (I mean the half dozen of you who read this).
Dear masses: Since reading my earlier post have you also been thinking about nicknames more frequently? Have any of you thought about nicknaming your friends or online acquaintences? If so, I would encourage you to share what you've come up with in the comments section of this post - and if not, I'd encourage you to do so, and then do what I've already encouraged the other half of you to do. (Also, I challenge anyone to rewrite that sentence in a grammatically pleasing way - It's a word game! Word games are fun! Like soduku!)
Remember, just because most nicknames are related in some way to the personality or profession of the nicknamee (great word (that I didn't just make up, btw)), they can also be totally unrelated as long as they're cool.
Alliteration (one 'l' or two?) is a marvelous (one 'l' or two?) way to make the nickname sound cool. "Elbows" Eldridge, for example, or Pat "Pasta-face" Perogi.
Wordplay is also often used: "Tom Thumb" or "Tommy Gun" are popular variants. And colors, though less imaginative, can be used too: "Red," "Blue," etc.
Also, if you do decide to use a body part it is cooler if the body part has a violent connotation: "Elbows" Eldridge is much cooler than "Wristy" McGee, or "Knees" Neeland. Though, you also do have to be careful of doube entendres, "Fists" Allen, for example.
Actually, after re-reading that earlier post, I must say that I'm starting to like the nickname "Knife-face" more and more.
-t."a."e. (the 'a' is for "awesome")
Unfortunately self-nicknaming is generally frowned upon, so I will have to appeal to the masses (I mean the half dozen of you who read this).
Dear masses: Since reading my earlier post have you also been thinking about nicknames more frequently? Have any of you thought about nicknaming your friends or online acquaintences? If so, I would encourage you to share what you've come up with in the comments section of this post - and if not, I'd encourage you to do so, and then do what I've already encouraged the other half of you to do. (Also, I challenge anyone to rewrite that sentence in a grammatically pleasing way - It's a word game! Word games are fun! Like soduku!)
Remember, just because most nicknames are related in some way to the personality or profession of the nicknamee (great word (that I didn't just make up, btw)), they can also be totally unrelated as long as they're cool.
Alliteration (one 'l' or two?) is a marvelous (one 'l' or two?) way to make the nickname sound cool. "Elbows" Eldridge, for example, or Pat "Pasta-face" Perogi.
Wordplay is also often used: "Tom Thumb" or "Tommy Gun" are popular variants. And colors, though less imaginative, can be used too: "Red," "Blue," etc.
Also, if you do decide to use a body part it is cooler if the body part has a violent connotation: "Elbows" Eldridge is much cooler than "Wristy" McGee, or "Knees" Neeland. Though, you also do have to be careful of doube entendres, "Fists" Allen, for example.
Actually, after re-reading that earlier post, I must say that I'm starting to like the nickname "Knife-face" more and more.
-t."a."e. (the 'a' is for "awesome")
Feed me
I'm reading the google news feeds.
Pop muppet weds Canada's answer to Tom Delonge
You'll all know who Avril Lavigne is, of course - she's the tiny wee singer who did that Sk8ter Boi song and is solely responsible for all the little girls who walked around in skinny ties for about a month four years ago...
Congressman speaks out re: Stephen Colbert
"They interview you for an hour and take the four or five minutes that make you look the most ridiculous. That's their job, and my job was to look ridiculous," Larsen said...
(video of the interview here.)
Stock price of Really Tiny Antennas Inc. (RTAI) sky-rockets after HP announcement
The "Memory Spot" is about the size of a grain of rice, if you can imagine a grain of rice with its own antenna or interweb access...
Overheard: President Bush likes English sweaters, improv, dislikes Syria, long speeches
Bush also said that when he next spoke to G8 leaders, he would keep it brief.
"I'm just going to make it up. I'm not going to talk too damn long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long. Gotta go home. Got something to do tonight," he said."
Eventually I'm going to go to lunch.
-te
Pop muppet weds Canada's answer to Tom Delonge
You'll all know who Avril Lavigne is, of course - she's the tiny wee singer who did that Sk8ter Boi song and is solely responsible for all the little girls who walked around in skinny ties for about a month four years ago...
Congressman speaks out re: Stephen Colbert
"They interview you for an hour and take the four or five minutes that make you look the most ridiculous. That's their job, and my job was to look ridiculous," Larsen said...
(video of the interview here.)
Stock price of Really Tiny Antennas Inc. (RTAI) sky-rockets after HP announcement
The "Memory Spot" is about the size of a grain of rice, if you can imagine a grain of rice with its own antenna or interweb access...
Overheard: President Bush likes English sweaters, improv, dislikes Syria, long speeches
Bush also said that when he next spoke to G8 leaders, he would keep it brief.
"I'm just going to make it up. I'm not going to talk too damn long like the rest of them. Some of these guys talk too long. Gotta go home. Got something to do tonight," he said."
Eventually I'm going to go to lunch.
-te
Friday, July 14, 2006
When my mind wanders, this is where it ends up
I've read many many blogs dedicated to chronicling the life and times of offspring. Amalah, defective yeti, Dooce, and KenandBelly (who I just found through Adina, hi! Adina's friends!) are all good examples. Pregnancy seems to be a good motivator for sitting still for hours at a time typing to anonymous internet strangers. (Work is also a good motivator).
Anyway, now that the long introductory links-filled paragraph is out of the way, I'd like to talk about my main point: nicknames.
In each of the above blogs the authors have chosen (seen fit?) to give their offspring nicknames. Is it to protect their innocent unborn/recently born/born a while ago progeny from the slings and arrows of anonymous slander from this wide web we call the internet in an age of shrinking privacy and growing ciritcism from worldwide webziens who think they know better? Maybe.
Is it to endear the child to the reader, in much the same way sports heroes are given names by their fans, such as the very endearing, and not at all violent, Frank "The Big Hurt" Thomas, "Tiger" Woods, "Hammerin' Hank" Aaron, Greg "Mad Dog" Maddux, Roger "The Rocket" Clemens, Dave "Cement Head" Semenko, and Eric "Elbows" Nesterenko, to name a few? Maybe.
These bloggers have used names like Squishy, Squirrelly, The Clump, and Leta (ok, that's not a nickname).
So I thought, I should be ready. At first I wanted a cool nickname, one that the other playground kids wouldn't make fun of, and maybe would be a little intimidating, like "Monster."
But that seems a little bit too much for an infant, he'd really have to grow into that one. Same goes for Killer, Mauler, Knife-face, and Son-of-Sam-Tom.
It can't be too girly either, no Daisy, Flower, Bumble-bee, Butter-fly, or Sparkle or anything stupid like that. I don't want my kid getting beat up before he even learns to stand.
It should be scrappy, but Scrappy is out because that's the name of Scooby-Doo's nephew. And I hate Scooby-Doo.
But I figured it out. I'll call him Scrabble. Possibly The Scrabble.
It's a little bit like scrappy, so you know he'll be ready for a fight. It's intellectual, plenty of room to grow there, it's practically famous, no worries about recognition, and you can bet your ass I'll have him ready to challenge any word you use that isn't a word.
Also, and this is my favorite part, when Scrabble grows up and has a kid, we've got the nickname "Scrabble Jr." built right in.
-t
Update: I just thought of another nickname - The Fund. As in, something all of my money will undoubtedly be invested in (possibly with diminishing returns - ha!)
Anyway, now that the long introductory links-filled paragraph is out of the way, I'd like to talk about my main point: nicknames.
In each of the above blogs the authors have chosen (seen fit?) to give their offspring nicknames. Is it to protect their innocent unborn/recently born/born a while ago progeny from the slings and arrows of anonymous slander from this wide web we call the internet in an age of shrinking privacy and growing ciritcism from worldwide webziens who think they know better? Maybe.
Is it to endear the child to the reader, in much the same way sports heroes are given names by their fans, such as the very endearing, and not at all violent, Frank "The Big Hurt" Thomas, "Tiger" Woods, "Hammerin' Hank" Aaron, Greg "Mad Dog" Maddux, Roger "The Rocket" Clemens, Dave "Cement Head" Semenko, and Eric "Elbows" Nesterenko, to name a few? Maybe.
These bloggers have used names like Squishy, Squirrelly, The Clump, and Leta (ok, that's not a nickname).
So I thought, I should be ready. At first I wanted a cool nickname, one that the other playground kids wouldn't make fun of, and maybe would be a little intimidating, like "Monster."
But that seems a little bit too much for an infant, he'd really have to grow into that one. Same goes for Killer, Mauler, Knife-face, and Son-of-
It can't be too girly either, no Daisy, Flower, Bumble-bee, Butter-fly, or Sparkle or anything stupid like that. I don't want my kid getting beat up before he even learns to stand.
It should be scrappy, but Scrappy is out because that's the name of Scooby-Doo's nephew. And I hate Scooby-Doo.
But I figured it out. I'll call him Scrabble. Possibly The Scrabble.
It's a little bit like scrappy, so you know he'll be ready for a fight. It's intellectual, plenty of room to grow there, it's practically famous, no worries about recognition, and you can bet your ass I'll have him ready to challenge any word you use that isn't a word.
Also, and this is my favorite part, when Scrabble grows up and has a kid, we've got the nickname "Scrabble Jr." built right in.
-t
Update: I just thought of another nickname - The Fund. As in, something all of my money will undoubtedly be invested in (possibly with diminishing returns - ha!)
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Quick and firm, like a Band-Aid
I'm bored at work again. The monthly reporting has all been completed and my daily work is as done as it's going to get today.
I've spent the last two hours practicing tearing the receipt tape from my ten-key in order to consistently achieve a clean, even rip.
The edges are serrated so the edge of the paper on a perfect tear would look like this
"^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"
Straight, even, nice.
(don't know what I'm talking about? here's a ten-key, here's another one.)
-t
I've spent the last two hours practicing tearing the receipt tape from my ten-key in order to consistently achieve a clean, even rip.
The edges are serrated so the edge of the paper on a perfect tear would look like this
"^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^"
Straight, even, nice.
(don't know what I'm talking about? here's a ten-key, here's another one.)
-t
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
All of this is true. Every word.
Happy Birthday, to me. This year I will turn twenty-four on the twenty-fourth.
I have completed, without major injury or accomplishment, twenty-four years here on spaceship earth.
Year twenty-five, I hope, will be filled with major accomplishments, and lots of other spaceships.
So, because I'd rather not be working: The Year in Review: A Recap:
Last year at this time I was promoted, receiving crazy messages from Adina, and got a truck (an issue which sparked the most comments on a non-gilmore girls post to that point).
This year at this time I am working at a new company and frustrated with the job, though fascinated with the existence of genuinely nice, friendly people. Adina made it to blogger (check the links), and I still have my truck.
Highlights of the past month include a pitching a fifty-one inning hitless streak in wiffleball, (racking up almost ninety strikeouts), and starting a new blog.
Highlights of the past year include receiving a regulation-size ping pong table for Christmas, and kidnapping one of the little blue penguins from the New England Aquarium.
Hopefully the rest of the year will see me maintaining my wiffleball dominance, improving my ping pong, and getting away with the penguin-napping.
You can be sure I will keep you updated.
-t
recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, My Wasted Friends, and Duty Free
I have completed, without major injury or accomplishment, twenty-four years here on spaceship earth.
Year twenty-five, I hope, will be filled with major accomplishments, and lots of other spaceships.
So, because I'd rather not be working: The Year in Review: A Recap:
Last year at this time I was promoted, receiving crazy messages from Adina, and got a truck (an issue which sparked the most comments on a non-gilmore girls post to that point).
This year at this time I am working at a new company and frustrated with the job, though fascinated with the existence of genuinely nice, friendly people. Adina made it to blogger (check the links), and I still have my truck.
Highlights of the past month include a pitching a fifty-one inning hitless streak in wiffleball, (racking up almost ninety strikeouts), and starting a new blog.
Highlights of the past year include receiving a regulation-size ping pong table for Christmas, and kidnapping one of the little blue penguins from the New England Aquarium.
Hopefully the rest of the year will see me maintaining my wiffleball dominance, improving my ping pong, and getting away with the penguin-napping.
You can be sure I will keep you updated.
-t
recommended download:
The Ike Reilly Assassination, My Wasted Friends, and Duty Free
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Work flow
Ok. I'm going to try and lay this out for you in a direct, coherent, and slightly funny way. If it strikes you in any other way (lacking directness, incoherent, rambly (it's a word), not funny) then I encourage you to use that post-editor in your head and punch it up a little for me.
What's a little rewrite among friends, right?
Or, if you'd rather not try mentally rewriting the post to resemble what I had meant to say, instead of what you've actually read, then I encourage you to leave a comment.
That statement could totally apply to everything I've ever written here. On, then, to the story:
I think we will start out by saying that I am not a morning person, but not in your stereotypical "not a morning person" way. I am not grumpy, I don't moan getting out of bed, I don't accidentally put my car keys in the toaster, or spread jam on my newspaper, or leave the house, get in the car, drive all the way to the office, and then realize I'm not wearing shoes, or anything like that.
I just don't function as well in the A.M. It generally takes me a while to warm up. Like your car engine on a February morning in New England that you had to run outside and start so you could let it idle for fifteen minutes while you finish breakfast, sportscenter, or regis & kelly. Except instead of a car engine it's my brain, and instead of fifteen minutes it's however much time there is between "now" and "noon o'clock."
In the morning I let the auto-pilot run all the lower-cognitive functions between waking up and lunch time (like: showering, getting dressed, getting to the train, and most of the work I had to do for my old job).
At the old job I would complete most of my daily work in the first forty-five minutes of the day, before my brain actually turned on. It was nice, and in a way, necessary. The mindless daily tasks helped the transition from "zombie-mode" to "work-mode" (later, food would help the transition from "work-mode" to "normal-person-mode").
I believe having mindless work to do in the mornings made me a more effective employee. It certainly made me more efficient, since I would have been unable to do any work that required higher cognitive function that early in the day. Get the zombie stuff out of the way while I'm a zombie, work on challenging and interesting stuff after my brain starts working.
I tried to set up a similar system here at the new job. Unfortunately, under the current structure, the tasks that fall under "mindless" take about fifteen minutes at the start of the day which leaves me with two hours (at least) in which I am totally unable to perform anything more complicated than zoning out to some music, or writing a blog entry.
Now, alternately, at the new job, we have monthly reports that need to be prepared which take priority over the daily work. These reports also require a lot of thinking, which makes them "after lunch" reports.
It would seem obvious, therefore, that I would arrive in the morning, midlessly process the daily reporting for fifteen minutes, and then wait patiently for my brain to start firing on all cylinders (noon) before tackling the monthly reports.
This is, in fact, what I have been doing, right up until yesterday.
Yesterday, at approximately eleven thirty A.M. my manager approched my desk and asked how I was coming along with the monthly reports. I told him that I hadn't started on them, that I would do so that afternoon.
He looked at me in disbelief. "What have you been doing all morning?" he asked. I told him I had been working on the daily reports.
"No." he said. "Work on the monthly stuff. We can put off the daily stuff for a few days to get the monthly reports done."
Finally, a few facts, and a conclusion:
The monthly reports are due by the fifteenth of the month. I am new, they gave me a small fund, the monthly processing would take, maybe, two afternoons. We are in no danger of missing deadlines. If I am not doing mindless daily reporting in the morning, then I'm not doing anything.
The instructions I've received from the manager have basically eliminated my morning workload for every day up to the fifteenth.
If I'm not going to be doing anything between nine and twelve for the first fifteen days of the month, then I should not have to come in before twelve on the first fifteen days of the month. Right?
I've gone from semi-productive complete days to barely productive afternoons. I'm getting paid to stare into my coffee for three hours, eat lunch, and work for three hours. There's an extra hour of web surfing in there too.
-t
What's a little rewrite among friends, right?
Or, if you'd rather not try mentally rewriting the post to resemble what I had meant to say, instead of what you've actually read, then I encourage you to leave a comment.
That statement could totally apply to everything I've ever written here. On, then, to the story:
I think we will start out by saying that I am not a morning person, but not in your stereotypical "not a morning person" way. I am not grumpy, I don't moan getting out of bed, I don't accidentally put my car keys in the toaster, or spread jam on my newspaper, or leave the house, get in the car, drive all the way to the office, and then realize I'm not wearing shoes, or anything like that.
I just don't function as well in the A.M. It generally takes me a while to warm up. Like your car engine on a February morning in New England that you had to run outside and start so you could let it idle for fifteen minutes while you finish breakfast, sportscenter, or regis & kelly. Except instead of a car engine it's my brain, and instead of fifteen minutes it's however much time there is between "now" and "noon o'clock."
In the morning I let the auto-pilot run all the lower-cognitive functions between waking up and lunch time (like: showering, getting dressed, getting to the train, and most of the work I had to do for my old job).
At the old job I would complete most of my daily work in the first forty-five minutes of the day, before my brain actually turned on. It was nice, and in a way, necessary. The mindless daily tasks helped the transition from "zombie-mode" to "work-mode" (later, food would help the transition from "work-mode" to "normal-person-mode").
I believe having mindless work to do in the mornings made me a more effective employee. It certainly made me more efficient, since I would have been unable to do any work that required higher cognitive function that early in the day. Get the zombie stuff out of the way while I'm a zombie, work on challenging and interesting stuff after my brain starts working.
I tried to set up a similar system here at the new job. Unfortunately, under the current structure, the tasks that fall under "mindless" take about fifteen minutes at the start of the day which leaves me with two hours (at least) in which I am totally unable to perform anything more complicated than zoning out to some music, or writing a blog entry.
Now, alternately, at the new job, we have monthly reports that need to be prepared which take priority over the daily work. These reports also require a lot of thinking, which makes them "after lunch" reports.
It would seem obvious, therefore, that I would arrive in the morning, midlessly process the daily reporting for fifteen minutes, and then wait patiently for my brain to start firing on all cylinders (noon) before tackling the monthly reports.
This is, in fact, what I have been doing, right up until yesterday.
Yesterday, at approximately eleven thirty A.M. my manager approched my desk and asked how I was coming along with the monthly reports. I told him that I hadn't started on them, that I would do so that afternoon.
He looked at me in disbelief. "What have you been doing all morning?" he asked. I told him I had been working on the daily reports.
"No." he said. "Work on the monthly stuff. We can put off the daily stuff for a few days to get the monthly reports done."
Finally, a few facts, and a conclusion:
The monthly reports are due by the fifteenth of the month. I am new, they gave me a small fund, the monthly processing would take, maybe, two afternoons. We are in no danger of missing deadlines. If I am not doing mindless daily reporting in the morning, then I'm not doing anything.
The instructions I've received from the manager have basically eliminated my morning workload for every day up to the fifteenth.
If I'm not going to be doing anything between nine and twelve for the first fifteen days of the month, then I should not have to come in before twelve on the first fifteen days of the month. Right?
I've gone from semi-productive complete days to barely productive afternoons. I'm getting paid to stare into my coffee for three hours, eat lunch, and work for three hours. There's an extra hour of web surfing in there too.
-t
Monday, July 10, 2006
A Cure for what ails you me us
I don't think anyone should be required to come in to work on Mondays. I feel so strongly, in fact, that I would make that the central tenet of my congressional platform. They'll call me the "long-weekend candidate."
Also among my goals will be to nationalize Dan Goldin Day, abolish stupid laws, and make economics a required course for all college students. I had some other goals too, but I've forgotten them.
Back to the main issue: The weekend should include Monday. Everyone would be happy. No one hates Mondays anymore because it's a day off, and no one will hate Tuesdays because it's the start of a four-day work week.
Decades later I'm sure people will begin to forget that Monday was once a dreaded day on the calendar, and start hating Tuesday as the begining of the week.
That's ok. Let Tuesday see how it feels for a while.
And know I've got some critics out there. "Only a hippie/liberal/republican/unionist would make Monday the third weekend day. True patriots say it should be Friday!" They'll shout. "What have you got against Friday?"
I say to you I have nothing against Friday, in fact, I love Friday - and so do you! Everyone looks forward to Fridays as the start of their weekend, and you ask me to take that away?
Let's not overlook the fact that such drastic change, as my opponents propose, would ruin a nation-wide franchise of quality resturants, because the phrase is not "Thank Goodness It's Thursday," is it? No.
No, if we cancel work on Fridays henceforth it does nothing for Monday's reputation, nothing to cure "the Mondays," nothing to help the legions of beleagured workers across the nation.
Perpetual long-weekends. Vote for Tom.
-t
recommended download:
bluegrass anything.
Oh, and one month mandatory vacation.
Also among my goals will be to nationalize Dan Goldin Day, abolish stupid laws, and make economics a required course for all college students. I had some other goals too, but I've forgotten them.
Back to the main issue: The weekend should include Monday. Everyone would be happy. No one hates Mondays anymore because it's a day off, and no one will hate Tuesdays because it's the start of a four-day work week.
Decades later I'm sure people will begin to forget that Monday was once a dreaded day on the calendar, and start hating Tuesday as the begining of the week.
That's ok. Let Tuesday see how it feels for a while.
And know I've got some critics out there. "Only a hippie/liberal/republican/unionist would make Monday the third weekend day. True patriots say it should be Friday!" They'll shout. "What have you got against Friday?"
I say to you I have nothing against Friday, in fact, I love Friday - and so do you! Everyone looks forward to Fridays as the start of their weekend, and you ask me to take that away?
Let's not overlook the fact that such drastic change, as my opponents propose, would ruin a nation-wide franchise of quality resturants, because the phrase is not "Thank Goodness It's Thursday," is it? No.
No, if we cancel work on Fridays henceforth it does nothing for Monday's reputation, nothing to cure "the Mondays," nothing to help the legions of beleagured workers across the nation.
Perpetual long-weekends. Vote for Tom.
-t
recommended download:
bluegrass anything.
Oh, and one month mandatory vacation.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Protest Song (update)
Earlier, I posted about Pearl Jam's appearance on VH1's Storytellers (here's a link to an article about the concert) in order to highlight Eddie Vedder's cover of Phil Och's Here's To The State Of Mississippi.
Here is a transcript of the song from a performance Vedder gave at the Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View, CA on October 24, 2004.
Note: More recently on VH1's Storytellers Vedder substituted "John Roberts" for "William Renquist" and "Gonzalez" for "John Ashcroft."
-te
Here is a transcript of the song from a performance Vedder gave at the Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View, CA on October 24, 2004.
Here's to the judges of William Renquist
Who wear the robe of honor in their phony legal fort
And justice is a stranger when the partisans report
When the court elected the president, it was the
begining of this war
Here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
William Renquist, find yourself another country to be part of
And here's to the government of Dick Cheney
With criminals posing as advisors to the crown
And they hope that no one sees the sights and
no one hears the sounds
'Cause the speeches of our president are the
ravings of a clown
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
Dick Cheney, find yourself another country to be part of
And here's to the churches of Jerry Falwell
Where the cross was made of silver and
now is caked with rust
And the sunday morning sermons pander to
the fear of men in lust
And heaven only knows in which god they can trust
Oh, here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
Jerry Falwell, find yourself another country to be part of
And here's to the laws of John Ashcroft
And Congress will pass an act in the panic of the day
And the Constituion is drowning in an ocean of decay
And freedom of speech is dangerous I've even heard them say
Oh here's to the land you've torn out the heart of
John Ashcroft, find yourself another country to be part of
And here's to the businessmen of George W.
Who want to change the focus from Halliburton and Enron
And their profits like blood money spilling out
on the White House lawn
To keep their hold on power they're using terror as a con
While the bombs that fall on children don't care
which side that they're on
Oh here's to the land you've torn out the heart of,
George W. find yourself another country to be part of.
Note: More recently on VH1's Storytellers Vedder substituted "John Roberts" for "William Renquist" and "Gonzalez" for "John Ashcroft."
-te
Sketchbook
Any fans of the recently posted pictures? I've added a new blog solely for the sketches.
Intransitivity
Visit as often as you like, but I wouldn't expect more than one update every few days.
-tgme
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Somewhere Over The Rainbow
Intransitivity
Visit as often as you like, but I wouldn't expect more than one update every few days.
-tgme
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Somewhere Over The Rainbow
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
A message from beyond
AUGH! Tiffany, with whom I share both a current and former employer, just forwarded an email she received from none other than... the stupid kid. It seems quitting my job was not enough:
"Stupid" is a permanent condition.
-----Original Message-----
From: thestupidkid@oldcompany.com
Sent: Wednesday, July 05, 2006 12:10 PM
To: tiffany@newcompany.com
Subject: Digits
Hi Tiffany,
What’s up? Are you enjoying your new job? I hope you like it better than here. Monday was the worst day ever because it was the first day of a split month end. It really sucked. It would have been a lot easier on all of us if you and Tom were still here. Why did you guys have to leave?
Anyway, I hope you had a good 4th of July and didn’t lose any fingers or other appendages due to firework misshapes. Bye bye.
-Joe-
"Stupid" is a permanent condition.
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
I may need a whole new blog for this
ok, two more. I need some feedback on these. I NEED IT. It's like frickin' heroin.
-tgme
-tgme
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Big Cheese
As promised, my first attempt at a cohesive drawing (sketch, doodle, whatever) on the tablet:
(this is also the first time posting an image to blogger through blogger. No more blogging photos from flickr.)
-t
recommended download:
Shakira (featuring Wyclef Jean), Hips Don't Lie
(this is also the first time posting an image to blogger through blogger. No more blogging photos from flickr.)
-t
recommended download:
Shakira (featuring Wyclef Jean), Hips Don't Lie
Saturday, July 01, 2006
A Protest Song
Phils Ochs was one of the most talented folk singers of his generation (which included Pete Seger and Bob Dylan). He may also have been one of the least well known.
He wrote a song condeming Richard Nixon's abuses of power and immorality.
Eddie Vedder, Pearl Jam's lead singer covered the song on VH1's July 1st Storytellers. He updated the lyrics for the current administration. Here's a bit about the concert.
-t
you can guess what the recommended downloads are:
Phil Ochs, Here's To The State Of Richard Nixon
Eddie Vedder, Here's To The State Of George W.
He wrote a song condeming Richard Nixon's abuses of power and immorality.
And here's to the laws of Richard Nixon
Where the wars are fought in secret, Pearl Harbor every day/
He punishes with income tax that he don't have to pay
And he's tapping his own brother just to hear what he would say
But corruption can be classic in the Richard Nixon way...
Eddie Vedder, Pearl Jam's lead singer covered the song on VH1's July 1st Storytellers. He updated the lyrics for the current administration. Here's a bit about the concert.
-t
you can guess what the recommended downloads are:
Phil Ochs, Here's To The State Of Richard Nixon
Eddie Vedder, Here's To The State Of George W.
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