There's nothing I can do.
Truer words were never spoken. I sit here at my desk for days, weeks, and do nothing, because there is nothing I have the ability to do.
I think this must be what it's like to be an infant. I can imagine eyes opening to the world, the first glimpse of light, and then color, smelling smells for the first time, realizing you can smell, and taste, and touch.
And then thinking "Ok. Now what?"
There are people standing over you. They're expecting something. They're expecting it from you. They want you to do something. What?
You don't know. You don't even know that you can do anything. The only thing you know for sure is that you are. "I exist," is what you think to yourself.
Maybe they want you to smile, or to cry, or to kick your legs. But you don't even know that there are things called legs, or that you have them, or that by relaxing or contracting your muscles (still another thing you don't know you have) you can control these "legs."
What's a boy to do?
I tell you what. If you're the infant you fall into default mode. A vast majority of the time you just tell your body to "Do. Do something."
And, because our bodies are pretty magnificent things, even (especially?) when our brains aren't getting in the way, your body does. Just lets it all out, everything. And boy do you scream.
That's the "default" setting on a baby. Scream.
It's simple, you don't need to control or concentrate, just do. And then, once you've established that there are "things," and that those things can be "done," the sky's the limit. From here on out it's all about testing, questing, pushing the limits.
"These are legs? Ok, let's see if I can do something with them." Wallking.
"These are hands? What can they do?" Grabbing, pushing, pulling...hands can do anything.
"This is a "cat"? Well, it doesn't do very much...maybe I can use my hands..." Which is why babies love cats, and cats hate babies.
It starts with the one thought, "Do." And you just fall into default mode.
But what's the default mode on a fund accountant?
-tgme
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Returned: Undeliverable
Dear Blogger,
It's been a while since we've talked, I mean really sat down and had a heart-to-heart. I know it's hard to get together, because I'm stuck here in Boston, and your servers are way out in California, so I thought I'd write, to keep you up to date with what's been going on here.
There have been many many changes since my last letter, Blogger, some good, some bad, some big, some small.
I've lost a lot of friends to relocation: Donny moved to Milwaukee, Adina andDan moved to Philadelphia, Jackie and Steve are in Baltimore, Kat is home in New Jersey and ignoring her livejournal, John moved to some other country, Beth stopped returning phone calls, the list goes on...
I've also found a lot of new friends! There's Samantha, who lives in Alabama but comes to visit a lot, and then loads of new internet friends that I've never met! Like Erin, Sarah, Maggie, Matthew, Jason, pbr, Jenny, God, Dave, and more!
There are also some friends who stuck around, Tom and Maureen, Lindsay, Felecia, Tyler, and one friend who used to live way far away in Japan, but now only lives a little far away in Indianna, Laura.
I bought a new couch since the last time we spoke. It's giant, and plaid, and it reclines. I like it a lot. I've got it up in my room right in front of the television. It's a great place to watch the Red Sox, even when they're losing, and to play video games, even when I'm losing.
I also got a new job! It's very frustrating, because I've been here a long time but still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. It seems like a high-pressure environment, and I think I could thrive here if I could just get some decent training, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Don't worry, though, Blogger, I'm not thinking about going back to that other job. I've resolved to never work with stupid people again.
I'm thinking about moving out (again). I know, I know, it seems like every time I mention moving, or renting a place, or finding roommates it never happens, and who can say if this time will be any different? I just thought I should mention it so it doesn't come as a surprise if it really does happen.
I think I'm getting shorter too. The last time I measured myself I was just a little bit over 6'1" which is almost a whole inch less than my height in college! Is this the weight of the world bearing down on me? Is it the beginings of osteoporosis due to a lack of calcium in my diet? Or is it the dilapidated chair I spend eight hours a day in at work messing with my lower back? I can't say for sure.
I think you'll be very pleased to know that I've cut down drastically on my spending habits. There was a time when I would not even blink at dropping upwards of one hundred dollars on books, or movies, or comics, but now I can tell you that I can't remember the last time a media purchase was over twenty bucks! I am still spending a little, though, Blogger, a holdover from my spendthrift days, I'm sure. I try now, though, to stretch those purchases. For example, the video game I just bought? It's supposed to take over forty hours to complete. That's a month or more of diversion for only fifteen dollars! And the last book I bought was War and Peace which took me forever to finish.
Speaking of books, right now I've got a great lineup waiting for me. I'm reading an Orson Scott Card novel right now, after that it's going to be either American Gods, or The Time Traveller's Wife, and then on to A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius. Then I'm thinking about picking up another Tom Robbins novel.
I've drastically cut down my television watching time too, since last we spoke. I'm now only a slave to Lost, Psych, Monk, and The 4400. Also, Rescue Me, and The Shield, but not as much. There just isn't enough time in the day to see all I'd like to see, read all I'd like to read, do everything I'd like to do.
But that's ok, that's why there's "tomorrow," right? Right. I knew you'd agree.
Wow. I just looked back over this letter and realized it's a lot longer than I'd intended it to be. I guess I'll sum it all up by saying that I'm still doing well. Old friends, new friends, hated the old job, hating the new job (not quite as much), and pretty much the same as the last time you saw me.
I hope you're doing well, and handling your increased workload. You certainly don't seem any worse for wear!
Thinking of you,
Tom
It's been a while since we've talked, I mean really sat down and had a heart-to-heart. I know it's hard to get together, because I'm stuck here in Boston, and your servers are way out in California, so I thought I'd write, to keep you up to date with what's been going on here.
There have been many many changes since my last letter, Blogger, some good, some bad, some big, some small.
I've lost a lot of friends to relocation: Donny moved to Milwaukee, Adina and
I've also found a lot of new friends! There's Samantha, who lives in Alabama but comes to visit a lot, and then loads of new internet friends that I've never met! Like Erin, Sarah, Maggie, Matthew, Jason, pbr, Jenny, God, Dave, and more!
There are also some friends who stuck around, Tom and Maureen, Lindsay, Felecia, Tyler, and one friend who used to live way far away in Japan, but now only lives a little far away in Indianna, Laura.
I bought a new couch since the last time we spoke. It's giant, and plaid, and it reclines. I like it a lot. I've got it up in my room right in front of the television. It's a great place to watch the Red Sox, even when they're losing, and to play video games, even when I'm losing.
I also got a new job! It's very frustrating, because I've been here a long time but still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. It seems like a high-pressure environment, and I think I could thrive here if I could just get some decent training, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Don't worry, though, Blogger, I'm not thinking about going back to that other job. I've resolved to never work with stupid people again.
I'm thinking about moving out (again). I know, I know, it seems like every time I mention moving, or renting a place, or finding roommates it never happens, and who can say if this time will be any different? I just thought I should mention it so it doesn't come as a surprise if it really does happen.
I think I'm getting shorter too. The last time I measured myself I was just a little bit over 6'1" which is almost a whole inch less than my height in college! Is this the weight of the world bearing down on me? Is it the beginings of osteoporosis due to a lack of calcium in my diet? Or is it the dilapidated chair I spend eight hours a day in at work messing with my lower back? I can't say for sure.
I think you'll be very pleased to know that I've cut down drastically on my spending habits. There was a time when I would not even blink at dropping upwards of one hundred dollars on books, or movies, or comics, but now I can tell you that I can't remember the last time a media purchase was over twenty bucks! I am still spending a little, though, Blogger, a holdover from my spendthrift days, I'm sure. I try now, though, to stretch those purchases. For example, the video game I just bought? It's supposed to take over forty hours to complete. That's a month or more of diversion for only fifteen dollars! And the last book I bought was War and Peace which took me forever to finish.
Speaking of books, right now I've got a great lineup waiting for me. I'm reading an Orson Scott Card novel right now, after that it's going to be either American Gods, or The Time Traveller's Wife, and then on to A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius. Then I'm thinking about picking up another Tom Robbins novel.
I've drastically cut down my television watching time too, since last we spoke. I'm now only a slave to Lost, Psych, Monk, and The 4400. Also, Rescue Me, and The Shield, but not as much. There just isn't enough time in the day to see all I'd like to see, read all I'd like to read, do everything I'd like to do.
But that's ok, that's why there's "tomorrow," right? Right. I knew you'd agree.
Wow. I just looked back over this letter and realized it's a lot longer than I'd intended it to be. I guess I'll sum it all up by saying that I'm still doing well. Old friends, new friends, hated the old job, hating the new job (not quite as much), and pretty much the same as the last time you saw me.
I hope you're doing well, and handling your increased workload. You certainly don't seem any worse for wear!
Thinking of you,
Tom
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Taxidermy Analogy
Earlier (here) I said I wasn't going to post about work.
Since then I've changed my mind. Because I have been staring at this email all day long, at the top of my inbox, and I must vent the ever-increasing frustration lest I explode. (That happens to me sometimes.)
First (because I can't resist), a little background:
characters: The Senior Manager, The Lazy Manager, Me, and The New Fund
June:
July:
August:
Ok. Caught up? Good.
Yesterday afternoon on my first day back from vacation the lackaday manager tells me to tie out one of the six branches of the tree diagram.
I spend three hours trying to download the reports from the prior week that the lazy manager was supposed to download. The reports are no longer available.
I spend another hour pouring over a giant spreadsheet of the year-to-date activity trying to sort out the entries that were effective last week.
I fail.
This morning I tried again.
Failed again. And sent the following email at, clock this: 11:25AM:
From: OurHero,Tom@workisstupid.company
To:LazyIndolentManager@donothing.company
Subject: New Fund Cash Reconcilliation
The New Fund cash is not tied. Right now the recon is off by $176,845.36
I don’t know what entries to look for to find the difference, which reports to find those entries on, or if those reports are among the unavailable ones that should have been downloaded last week.
-Tom
Ok. That's not crazy, right? Maybe I sound a little upset, but I certainly feel that's warranted. Not the point. The point is I received this response from the lazy manager at exactly 11:26AM:
From:IndolentManager@lazy.com
To:Tom@isthegreatestbloggerever.com
Subject:New Fund Cash Reconcilliation
I’ll get back to you on this, I have a meeting with the VP.
That's it. The whole email. I have received nothing since from him or anyone else. No follow up, no new emails to distract, nothing.
That email has been sitting at the top of my inbox, open-ended, for FIVE HOURS.
The last time this fund tied out was July 31st. The Senior Manager Who Quit handled it then. It is somehow my responsibility to tie out the entire fund (all six tree-diagram brances) for the entire month of August, and then prepare the monthly reporting by FRIDAY.
It is an impossible task. Imagine yourself a newly hired taxidermist. Your only related experience in the field comes from burying your pet guinea pig when you were six. You are told that you will be trained in the art of taxidermy over the next two months, then given small animals to practice on before, gradually and with constant supervision, moving up to the larger game.
The next day you are handed a knife and dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the African Savanah amid herds of antelope, roaming lions, and a rhinoceros, with the words "Get to work."
I don't even know which hand to hold the knife in! Five hours. wtf.
-t
Since then I've changed my mind. Because I have been staring at this email all day long, at the top of my inbox, and I must vent the ever-increasing frustration lest I explode. (That happens to me sometimes.)
First (because I can't resist), a little background:
characters: The Senior Manager, The Lazy Manager, Me, and The New Fund
June:
- The New Fund is introduced.
- The Senior Manager begins working with the client to set up the fund by month end.
July:
- I am introduced to the new fund with a tree diagram and a hearty "Someday, this will all be yours"
- Neither myself, nor my lazy manager, receive any instruction or training on the new fund.
- The Senior Manager continues to work with the client to set up the fund which is, at this point, almost halfway completed
- I receive no training whatsoever, I lose the tree diagram.
August:
- The Senior Manager continues the set up the new fund.
- I get a new tree diagram. No training.
- The Senior Manager quits.
- The fund setup halts, I go on vacation, the workshirk manager says he will finish setup and process daily activity while I am away.
- I return from vacation, the lazy manager says "I didn't even look at the fund at all."
Ok. Caught up? Good.
Yesterday afternoon on my first day back from vacation the lackaday manager tells me to tie out one of the six branches of the tree diagram.
I spend three hours trying to download the reports from the prior week that the lazy manager was supposed to download. The reports are no longer available.
I spend another hour pouring over a giant spreadsheet of the year-to-date activity trying to sort out the entries that were effective last week.
I fail.
This morning I tried again.
Failed again. And sent the following email at, clock this: 11:25AM:
From: OurHero,Tom@workisstupid.company
To:LazyIndolentManager@donothing.company
Subject: New Fund Cash Reconcilliation
The New Fund cash is not tied. Right now the recon is off by $176,845.36
I don’t know what entries to look for to find the difference, which reports to find those entries on, or if those reports are among the unavailable ones that should have been downloaded last week.
-Tom
Ok. That's not crazy, right? Maybe I sound a little upset, but I certainly feel that's warranted. Not the point. The point is I received this response from the lazy manager at exactly 11:26AM:
From:IndolentManager@lazy.com
To:Tom@isthegreatestbloggerever.com
Subject:New Fund Cash Reconcilliation
I’ll get back to you on this, I have a meeting with the VP.
That's it. The whole email. I have received nothing since from him or anyone else. No follow up, no new emails to distract, nothing.
That email has been sitting at the top of my inbox, open-ended, for FIVE HOURS.
The last time this fund tied out was July 31st. The Senior Manager Who Quit handled it then. It is somehow my responsibility to tie out the entire fund (all six tree-diagram brances) for the entire month of August, and then prepare the monthly reporting by FRIDAY.
It is an impossible task. Imagine yourself a newly hired taxidermist. Your only related experience in the field comes from burying your pet guinea pig when you were six. You are told that you will be trained in the art of taxidermy over the next two months, then given small animals to practice on before, gradually and with constant supervision, moving up to the larger game.
The next day you are handed a knife and dumped unceremoniously in the middle of the African Savanah amid herds of antelope, roaming lions, and a rhinoceros, with the words "Get to work."
I don't even know which hand to hold the knife in! Five hours. wtf.
-t
Five Quotes Meme
I am totally frustrated at work and wouldn't dare try posting, lest I get angry comments from Felecia like "nobody cares that you hate your job."
I'm meme-ing (sp?) instead. From here, here, here, and so on...
Visit your favorites quotations page (they used this one), and search random quotations until you find five that you feel describe or reflect who you are.
See? Easy.
[also note, I didn't actually read any of the quotations other people had selected, nor do I expect you to read mine. I think the real value of this particular meme is to keep you busy reading quotes, rather than help others learn about you. because, really, who cares?]
Voltaire describes the best way to win: belive in God, and pit yourself against idiots.
Every once-in-a-while I stop and ask myself, "Could my life be more like a road trip/buddy comedy? Invariably I end up taking a trip to Chicago, or London, or (here's hoping?) Philly.
This might be the biggest stumbling block on my path to a writing career: I would never spend a year writing anything.
I'm glad they gave me this next one - I think something similar whenever I am presented with an inspirational quotation.
-t
recommended download:
The Eagles, Seven Bridges Road (get it? haha)
I'm meme-ing (sp?) instead. From here, here, here, and so on...
Visit your favorites quotations page (they used this one), and search random quotations until you find five that you feel describe or reflect who you are.
See? Easy.
[also note, I didn't actually read any of the quotations other people had selected, nor do I expect you to read mine. I think the real value of this particular meme is to keep you busy reading quotes, rather than help others learn about you. because, really, who cares?]
Learning to live in the present moment is part of the path of joy.Which is a lot like Dave Matthew's "The future is no place to place your better days."
Sarah Ban Breathnach
I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: 'O Lord, make my enemies ridiculous.' And God granted it.
Voltaire (1694 - 1778)
Voltaire describes the best way to win: belive in God, and pit yourself against idiots.
You must pray that the way be long, full of adventures and experiences.
Constantine Peter Cavafy
Every once-in-a-while I stop and ask myself, "Could my life be more like a road trip/buddy comedy? Invariably I end up taking a trip to Chicago, or London, or (here's hoping?) Philly.
I can't understand why a person will take a year to write a novel when he can easily buy one for a few dollars.
Fred Allen (1894 - 1956)
This might be the biggest stumbling block on my path to a writing career: I would never spend a year writing anything.
I'm glad they gave me this next one - I think something similar whenever I am presented with an inspirational quotation.
A facility for quotation covers the absence of original thought.
Dorothy L. Sayers (1893 - 1957)
-t
recommended download:
The Eagles, Seven Bridges Road (get it? haha)
Monday, August 28, 2006
Lock it up
"Sup?" might be one of my favorite abbreviations. I use it all the time but don't often notice (I think it's due to the lack of apostrophe, "s'up?" just isn't as cool).
"Sup?" takes less time, but conveys exactly the same message, as "Hey, what's happening in your world these days?" and, if you were to ask me "what's up?" then I would respond with the following:
I was on vacation last week. It was glorious.
Sunday
Samantha flew in on Sunday after completing the MCAT, I picked her up at the airport, and we went immediately to dinner with John, Lindsay, and Felecia. We ate a delightfully delicious meal at Legal Seafoods with the most atrocious service I have ever had.
Our waiter's name was Slave. He was slow, forgetful, probably high, and quite possibly also drunk. He brought the menus and dissapeared. Half and hour later he took our drink order, and dissapeared. Half an hour after that we got our drinks, and, before he could dissapear, aske for some bread to gnaw on whilst we made our dinner selections. He returned half an hour later with no bread, no drinks, no food, and did not ask for our order. He just stood next to the table for a few moments and then left.
John bought us a bottle of wine to celebrate his immenent departure for Guatemala. Eventually we got our food, well, some of us got our food, others of us go some other people's food, and others only got half of their food. That may, perhaps, be the runners fault and not Slave's but, at this point, we were quite willing to paint them all with the same brush.
Throughout the meal we enjoyed not only our food, but also the mean-spirited comments directed at Slave coming from the other tables in his section. John was so pleased he almost bought each of them a bottle of wine.
At the end of the meal I put the bill on my credit card. While waiting, again, for Slave to come by the table and pick it up, John decided this was the last straw, so he got up to inform the hostess of our situation. Perhaps overhearing the complaints of the other servers ran the receipt for me. The total on the credit card slip (including one bottle of wine, five dinners, two cups of soup, and an appetizer we never ordered) was $14.16.
Now, for me, this was the last straw. I took the bill with me and joined John at the hostess stand to let them know that, while I would certainly not be averse to a small discount, or knocking an appetizer off of the bill for our trouble, as is standard policy, I doubted they wanted to give us the meal for less than it would cost to take a cab across the street to Finale.
At this point the resturant manager stepped in, knocked the appetizers off the bill, presented it to me with an apology, and then gave Slave a good talking to over at the bar.
Then we walked across the street to Finale for dessert. And it was amazing. (Samantha and I shared a sampler and had coffee, John had a dessert wine trio that was quite intoxicating, Lindsay had the unimaginative creme brule, and Felecia had the cheesecake.)
We said some hearfelt and very emotional goodbyes then, snapped a few pictures, and wished John a safe trip into the southern hemisphere (note: Guatemala isn't actually in the southern hemisphere).
Then we all went to bed.
Monday
Monday, Samantha and I went on a whale watch. It was great. We sped out on one of the Boston Harbor Cruises catamarans and looked at whales feeding and breaching and waving and sleeping and doing all sorts of fun stuff. We also made fun of the naturalist running the show-and-tell because she couldn't tell time. She would say "At one o'clock you can see two whales sleeping, this is a mother and her calf." However, if you looked at one o'clock all you would see is ocean. The whales were actually at three o'clock. Meanwhile she totally missed the two whales that seemed to be having a diving contest directly off the stern of the boat (six o'clock), but even if she had seen them she probably would have told us to look at ten o'clock for them.
After the boat trip we grabbed some Dunkin' Donuts coffee and walked down towards Fenway to get something to eat and watch the Red Sox lose (again...stupid bullpen). Then we went up to the Coolidge theater to see Little Miss Sunshine (which was very good).
Then we slept.
Tuesday
Tuesday we travelled up to Maine to see the Portland Sea Dogs play the Binghamton Mets in the Double-A Eastern league. Samantha kept score, and I kept an alert eye out for dangerous foul balls.
The seats were amazing, we were fourteen rows from the field, right behind the visiting dugout, and surrounded by nice people from Maine who didn't get drunk or disorderly, and who knew the ushers by name.
It was a great game (even though the Sea Dogs lost).
Wednesday
Wednesday was my brother's twelfth birthday, so we played miniature golf! Samantha, Billy, Danny, Timmy, my mom, my grandmother, and myself, all went up to Richardsons (one of my favorite miniature golf courses (they have tons of home-made ice cream)) and played two rounds. Billy won, I came in a close second, and Samantha finished third. (The scores are not official though, because Samantha was keeping score and being nice about it. For example, on the tenth Danny miss putted seven times and then started kicking the ball toward the hole, even counting each kick as one stroke, and without applying a penalty he shot a fifteen, but Samantha scored it an eight.)
After golf we had ice cream, then we went home and had jell-o cake.
Thursday
Thursday we moved Timmy into his college dorm room. The move went very quickly, aside from the tediousness of the futon assembly, and we were home by early afternoon. Then we ordered pizza and watched movies. It was great.
Friday
Friday was supposed to be a beach day. I'd left it open on the schedule so we could spend it lounging in the sun (or, in my case, heavily shaded areas), but it rained. Rain, rain, rain. So we stayed at home and played board games! And watched movies. And played some video games.
Saturday
Saturday we went to the Patriots game at Gillette Stadium. It was awesome. My dad had gotten tickets through work, and gave them to us. Samantha, Danny, Billy, and I were on the twenty yard line, forty-five rows from the field. I could see Bellicheck's facial expressions, I could see Tom Brady watching the defense, we were right there, practically on the field. Field goal, touchdown, touchdown, field goal, touchdown. It was awesome. The Pats rolled right over the Kansas City Chiefs, and looked good on both sides of the ball. They looked ready for the season.
Sunday
Samantha left Sunday. I'm not going to talk about it. Then I visited Joey and Timmy up at school. They're both all settled in and getting ready for classes to start.
Monday
I'm back at work and thinking seriously about quitting. Because not working beats the hell out of working, any day.
-t
recommended download:
Social Distortion, Don't Drag Me Down
"Sup?" takes less time, but conveys exactly the same message, as "Hey, what's happening in your world these days?" and, if you were to ask me "what's up?" then I would respond with the following:
I was on vacation last week. It was glorious.
Sunday
Samantha flew in on Sunday after completing the MCAT, I picked her up at the airport, and we went immediately to dinner with John, Lindsay, and Felecia. We ate a delightfully delicious meal at Legal Seafoods with the most atrocious service I have ever had.
Our waiter's name was Slave. He was slow, forgetful, probably high, and quite possibly also drunk. He brought the menus and dissapeared. Half and hour later he took our drink order, and dissapeared. Half an hour after that we got our drinks, and, before he could dissapear, aske for some bread to gnaw on whilst we made our dinner selections. He returned half an hour later with no bread, no drinks, no food, and did not ask for our order. He just stood next to the table for a few moments and then left.
John bought us a bottle of wine to celebrate his immenent departure for Guatemala. Eventually we got our food, well, some of us got our food, others of us go some other people's food, and others only got half of their food. That may, perhaps, be the runners fault and not Slave's but, at this point, we were quite willing to paint them all with the same brush.
Throughout the meal we enjoyed not only our food, but also the mean-spirited comments directed at Slave coming from the other tables in his section. John was so pleased he almost bought each of them a bottle of wine.
At the end of the meal I put the bill on my credit card. While waiting, again, for Slave to come by the table and pick it up, John decided this was the last straw, so he got up to inform the hostess of our situation. Perhaps overhearing the complaints of the other servers ran the receipt for me. The total on the credit card slip (including one bottle of wine, five dinners, two cups of soup, and an appetizer we never ordered) was $14.16.
Now, for me, this was the last straw. I took the bill with me and joined John at the hostess stand to let them know that, while I would certainly not be averse to a small discount, or knocking an appetizer off of the bill for our trouble, as is standard policy, I doubted they wanted to give us the meal for less than it would cost to take a cab across the street to Finale.
At this point the resturant manager stepped in, knocked the appetizers off the bill, presented it to me with an apology, and then gave Slave a good talking to over at the bar.
Then we walked across the street to Finale for dessert. And it was amazing. (Samantha and I shared a sampler and had coffee, John had a dessert wine trio that was quite intoxicating, Lindsay had the unimaginative creme brule, and Felecia had the cheesecake.)
We said some hearfelt and very emotional goodbyes then, snapped a few pictures, and wished John a safe trip into the southern hemisphere (note: Guatemala isn't actually in the southern hemisphere).
Then we all went to bed.
Monday
Monday, Samantha and I went on a whale watch. It was great. We sped out on one of the Boston Harbor Cruises catamarans and looked at whales feeding and breaching and waving and sleeping and doing all sorts of fun stuff. We also made fun of the naturalist running the show-and-tell because she couldn't tell time. She would say "At one o'clock you can see two whales sleeping, this is a mother and her calf." However, if you looked at one o'clock all you would see is ocean. The whales were actually at three o'clock. Meanwhile she totally missed the two whales that seemed to be having a diving contest directly off the stern of the boat (six o'clock), but even if she had seen them she probably would have told us to look at ten o'clock for them.
After the boat trip we grabbed some Dunkin' Donuts coffee and walked down towards Fenway to get something to eat and watch the Red Sox lose (again...stupid bullpen). Then we went up to the Coolidge theater to see Little Miss Sunshine (which was very good).
Then we slept.
Tuesday
Tuesday we travelled up to Maine to see the Portland Sea Dogs play the Binghamton Mets in the Double-A Eastern league. Samantha kept score, and I kept an alert eye out for dangerous foul balls.
The seats were amazing, we were fourteen rows from the field, right behind the visiting dugout, and surrounded by nice people from Maine who didn't get drunk or disorderly, and who knew the ushers by name.
It was a great game (even though the Sea Dogs lost).
Wednesday
Wednesday was my brother's twelfth birthday, so we played miniature golf! Samantha, Billy, Danny, Timmy, my mom, my grandmother, and myself, all went up to Richardsons (one of my favorite miniature golf courses (they have tons of home-made ice cream)) and played two rounds. Billy won, I came in a close second, and Samantha finished third. (The scores are not official though, because Samantha was keeping score and being nice about it. For example, on the tenth Danny miss putted seven times and then started kicking the ball toward the hole, even counting each kick as one stroke, and without applying a penalty he shot a fifteen, but Samantha scored it an eight.)
After golf we had ice cream, then we went home and had jell-o cake.
Thursday
Thursday we moved Timmy into his college dorm room. The move went very quickly, aside from the tediousness of the futon assembly, and we were home by early afternoon. Then we ordered pizza and watched movies. It was great.
Friday
Friday was supposed to be a beach day. I'd left it open on the schedule so we could spend it lounging in the sun (or, in my case, heavily shaded areas), but it rained. Rain, rain, rain. So we stayed at home and played board games! And watched movies. And played some video games.
Saturday
Saturday we went to the Patriots game at Gillette Stadium. It was awesome. My dad had gotten tickets through work, and gave them to us. Samantha, Danny, Billy, and I were on the twenty yard line, forty-five rows from the field. I could see Bellicheck's facial expressions, I could see Tom Brady watching the defense, we were right there, practically on the field. Field goal, touchdown, touchdown, field goal, touchdown. It was awesome. The Pats rolled right over the Kansas City Chiefs, and looked good on both sides of the ball. They looked ready for the season.
Sunday
Samantha left Sunday. I'm not going to talk about it. Then I visited Joey and Timmy up at school. They're both all settled in and getting ready for classes to start.
Monday
I'm back at work and thinking seriously about quitting. Because not working beats the hell out of working, any day.
-t
recommended download:
Social Distortion, Don't Drag Me Down
Friday, August 18, 2006
Unemployable
I have no boss. Does that make me unemployed or self-employed?
My manager doesn't speak. He sits over in his cubicle and every third or fourth day sends an email with a vauge question about my funds.
My senior manager just left the company.
The one other guy in my group, the "trainer" called in today.
That's three levels of supervision I'm missing. There is no one here today to tell me what to do.
So I'm not doing anything.
It's the greatest thing ever. I've got one simple fund that I'm supposed to finish, one giant complicated fund that I was supposed to learn (but can't now, because the senior manager is the one who was supposed to train me), and nothing else to do.
I've been wandering around the office checking with other groups trying to help out. Like Caine in Kung Fu, you know, wander the earth, get in adventures.
I've also been telling jokes, like "What's orange and sounds like a parrot?"
Meanwhile the VP has banned espn, espn2, and fox from our television. CNN is the only channel allowed now. So I can't watch the Sox/Yankees game.
Instead I'm trying to set up gmail chat. If it works it could be better than AIM. Which means I'm very close to being back, baby.
-t
My manager doesn't speak. He sits over in his cubicle and every third or fourth day sends an email with a vauge question about my funds.
My senior manager just left the company.
The one other guy in my group, the "trainer" called in today.
That's three levels of supervision I'm missing. There is no one here today to tell me what to do.
So I'm not doing anything.
It's the greatest thing ever. I've got one simple fund that I'm supposed to finish, one giant complicated fund that I was supposed to learn (but can't now, because the senior manager is the one who was supposed to train me), and nothing else to do.
I've been wandering around the office checking with other groups trying to help out. Like Caine in Kung Fu, you know, wander the earth, get in adventures.
I've also been telling jokes, like "What's orange and sounds like a parrot?"
Meanwhile the VP has banned espn, espn2, and fox from our television. CNN is the only channel allowed now. So I can't watch the Sox/Yankees game.
Instead I'm trying to set up gmail chat. If it works it could be better than AIM. Which means I'm very close to being back, baby.
-t
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Done
It took about four seconds for the glass in my hand to slip, and fall slowly to the floor.
One minute I was holding a Jack and Seven, the next I was watching, helplessly, as it tumbled slowly from my grasp, executing nearly one half turn before the rim of the glass met the tile with a "pshnnk!!"
At work, tomorrow, I'm going to blame the slip on the condensation on the glass, and not, as it may be told, to my state of inebriation.
Condensation.
--
We had gone out to send off my manager who is leaving the group after almost one full year of employment at the company. (Who's last day is a Wednesday? And who leaves on a Wednesday when their first day at the new company is Monday? A four day weekend? I take a minimum of two weeks between jobs. Minimum.)
We got to the bar right after work. A few of us decided to enjoy the nice outdoor weather, ordered drinks, and retired to the courtyard. I was drinking Jack Daniels and Seven Up. Most of them were drinking Bud Light.
We had a good time. I heard some stories, I told some jokes, we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves - also it was all (perhaps unwittingly?) on the exiting manager's tab, which was pretty generous of him.
I had about four(?) drinks. But I was sitting down. I think that's why what happened happened. Usually on an outing like this I'll be on my feet the whole time which makes it very easy for me to judge my own level of sobriety (wobbling and waving usualyl indicates a significantly decreased level).
At about the time I ordered the fifth (sixth?) drink we moved into the bar area to talk to the manager who was leaving. At this point I did not know that anything was wrong.
It was.
Three minutes later, as I was in the middle of an anecdote and watching the Red Sox game with one eye, and the glass slipped out of my hand.
I was flabergasted.
My eyes followed it to the floor, in a drop that seemed to take forever, then I slowly raised my head to the three guys I was talking to, spread my hands and simply said, "I'm done."
Tomorrow I'm going to blame the condensation on the glass, but to be honest, I couldn't tell you what it was..
t
One minute I was holding a Jack and Seven, the next I was watching, helplessly, as it tumbled slowly from my grasp, executing nearly one half turn before the rim of the glass met the tile with a "pshnnk!!"
At work, tomorrow, I'm going to blame the slip on the condensation on the glass, and not, as it may be told, to my state of inebriation.
Condensation.
--
We had gone out to send off my manager who is leaving the group after almost one full year of employment at the company. (Who's last day is a Wednesday? And who leaves on a Wednesday when their first day at the new company is Monday? A four day weekend? I take a minimum of two weeks between jobs. Minimum.)
We got to the bar right after work. A few of us decided to enjoy the nice outdoor weather, ordered drinks, and retired to the courtyard. I was drinking Jack Daniels and Seven Up. Most of them were drinking Bud Light.
We had a good time. I heard some stories, I told some jokes, we all thoroughly enjoyed ourselves - also it was all (perhaps unwittingly?) on the exiting manager's tab, which was pretty generous of him.
I had about four(?) drinks. But I was sitting down. I think that's why what happened happened. Usually on an outing like this I'll be on my feet the whole time which makes it very easy for me to judge my own level of sobriety (wobbling and waving usualyl indicates a significantly decreased level).
At about the time I ordered the fifth (sixth?) drink we moved into the bar area to talk to the manager who was leaving. At this point I did not know that anything was wrong.
It was.
Three minutes later, as I was in the middle of an anecdote and watching the Red Sox game with one eye, and the glass slipped out of my hand.
I was flabergasted.
My eyes followed it to the floor, in a drop that seemed to take forever, then I slowly raised my head to the three guys I was talking to, spread my hands and simply said, "I'm done."
Tomorrow I'm going to blame the condensation on the glass, but to be honest, I couldn't tell you what it was..
t
Monday, August 14, 2006
The Black Spots
I've been attacked by ladybugs. Bitten. Imagine Peter Parker and a radioactive spider.
I was reclining in my couch, minding my own business, playing video games. It was summer. It was hot.
I felt something on my neck. A dust mote? A lock of hair? An insect?
Yes. An insect. The something moved, and before I could raise my hand to brush it away IT BIT ME! I brushed it the hell off then and it flitted over to the opposite wall, no doubt to stare and laugh, because I had just been bitten by A LADYBUG!
Now, let's just get one thing straight, right off the bat: ladybugs bite. I don't want to hear anybody out there suggesting that it might have been some type of beetle, a mosquito, a tiny tiny mouse, or some sort of radioactive spider.
I know what a ladybug looks like. And, now, I know what it bites like.
I related the incident to my family at the next opportunity. They, like many of you, no doubt, doubted.
It was at that very moment that another ladybug flew down from the ceiling and BIT ME AGAIN!
After about ten minutes of "Tommy got beat up by a girl-bug" jokes and some hysterical laughter, and a few Bug's Life quotes ("So, just because I'm a ladybug that automatically makes me a girl!?") they believed me.
Too little, too late, if you ask me. Where were they the first time I was bitten, mm?
Since then I have been especially wary of ladybugs, which are crawling around in greater numbers than ever. I fear that word has perhaps gotten around the ladybug community that I am easy prey, or perhaps look like a giant aphid.
I am of two minds: one, destroy any and every ladybug I see in order to prevent further attacks.
or, two, allow the ladybugs to keep biting in the hopes that one of them may be radioactive and in this way gain powers beyond those of ordinary men.
A six-foot tall ladybug with the power of speech. Ladybug Man, or something, I'm still working on the name.
My powers would be great. I would have an eye-catching red and black shell, I could fly (and bite, apparently). I may not have very many offensive powers, but, as part of a superhero team I could aid in the retreat, whisking my fellow superheroes back to the safety of home base when they were in trouble.
Of course, the base would probably be on fire when we get there.
-t
I was reclining in my couch, minding my own business, playing video games. It was summer. It was hot.
I felt something on my neck. A dust mote? A lock of hair? An insect?
Yes. An insect. The something moved, and before I could raise my hand to brush it away IT BIT ME! I brushed it the hell off then and it flitted over to the opposite wall, no doubt to stare and laugh, because I had just been bitten by A LADYBUG!
Now, let's just get one thing straight, right off the bat: ladybugs bite. I don't want to hear anybody out there suggesting that it might have been some type of beetle, a mosquito, a tiny tiny mouse, or some sort of radioactive spider.
I know what a ladybug looks like. And, now, I know what it bites like.
I related the incident to my family at the next opportunity. They, like many of you, no doubt, doubted.
It was at that very moment that another ladybug flew down from the ceiling and BIT ME AGAIN!
After about ten minutes of "Tommy got beat up by a girl-bug" jokes and some hysterical laughter, and a few Bug's Life quotes ("So, just because I'm a ladybug that automatically makes me a girl!?") they believed me.
Too little, too late, if you ask me. Where were they the first time I was bitten, mm?
Since then I have been especially wary of ladybugs, which are crawling around in greater numbers than ever. I fear that word has perhaps gotten around the ladybug community that I am easy prey, or perhaps look like a giant aphid.
I am of two minds: one, destroy any and every ladybug I see in order to prevent further attacks.
or, two, allow the ladybugs to keep biting in the hopes that one of them may be radioactive and in this way gain powers beyond those of ordinary men.
A six-foot tall ladybug with the power of speech. Ladybug Man, or something, I'm still working on the name.
My powers would be great. I would have an eye-catching red and black shell, I could fly (and bite, apparently). I may not have very many offensive powers, but, as part of a superhero team I could aid in the retreat, whisking my fellow superheroes back to the safety of home base when they were in trouble.
Of course, the base would probably be on fire when we get there.
-t
Friday, August 11, 2006
And, I'm beseiged by ladybugs in my own home.
I have been stressing out over the last week or so, and I was trying to figure a way to describe it. I think "to the max" is appropriate.
This last week I have been stressing out to the max.
John and Samantha know this because I have had the opportunity to eat lunch with/call them at some point over the last week.
I haven't mentioned it here because I've been a little too busy stressing out (to the max).
It's this report. It's the job. It's not knowing what's going on. Like the Lion King.
The scene where grown-up Nala and Simba are fighting because she's hunting warthog and Simba's protecting warthog. Just as Nala is about to deliver the killing stroke Simba recognizes her and BAM just like that we're reminiscing and all caught up.
Which is when Timon, voiced by Nathan Lane, desperate to get their attention, screams "WHAT'S GOIN' ON HERE!?"
Which is sort of how things are going at work.
There's all this reporting (eight section report) that's due on month end (that's once-a-month) which I don't know how to do, and no one will tell me how to do.
I can run the report. Expenses, for example, section six. I can click on the little "expense report" button, and put in the date range, but, it comes up blank.
Know why?
Because I haven't processed any of the expenses, so there's nothing to show on the report.
How do I process the expenses? Easy, you click the button labeled "book expenses" and then input the amounts and submit.
Where do the amounts come from?
I HAVE NO IDEA.
I don't have any trouble with the software, or the mechanics of "how-to." Those things are easy. You could train a monkey to perform those tasks.
But no one has instructed me in any of the procedures that involve thinking.
AND I AM A THINKER!
(And, also, apparently, I am a tasty delight for the ladybugs of the world, but I will expound upon that at a later date)
In this context, I am a thinker who is unable to think.
It's not just the expenses, it's every section of the report. If I need to book a trade, I can do that. If I need to book an income adjustment I can do that.
But how do I know I need to do those things? Why are those things necessary? Throw me a frickin' bone here. (erinire will get the Monty Python reference).
So, anyway. I have been stressed out to the max. I sent an email to the other guy in the group. I said "I need help with this reporting" he responded with "What have you done so far"
I said "Nothing. I need help on all of it."
And he said "I'll help you with expenses. Tie out everything else and then I'll come by."
He likes to think this is trial by fire, or learning to swim by getting pushed off the pier. I think that is the stupidest way to teach anything, ever.
Anyway. He came over. And was not much help. But it got done. In an hour.
AN HOUR.
This stupid report I've been stressing out (to the max) over for a week took AN HOUR to complete.
AND I KNEW IT WOULD AND COULD HAVE FINISHED IT MYSELF IF I COULD JUST GET A LITTLE GUIDANCE AROUND HERE SOME OF THE TIME IS ALL I'M SAYING YA KNOW?
Gah.
Oh, also, my senior manager, the one guy who I can go to and get problems answered? He's going back to his old company effective Next Wednesday. We just found out.
It's all good. It's fine. Reporting is done for the month. Things are looking up. I've got a vacation coming up. One week from today. I'll spend next week catching up on all the work I missed this week, then leave for a week. Maybe they'll reshuffle the groups because the senior manager guy is leaving. Maybe I'll find someone who can tell me how to do what I'm supposed to be doing.
Wishful thinking maybe.
-t
This last week I have been stressing out to the max.
John and Samantha know this because I have had the opportunity to eat lunch with/call them at some point over the last week.
I haven't mentioned it here because I've been a little too busy stressing out (to the max).
It's this report. It's the job. It's not knowing what's going on. Like the Lion King.
The scene where grown-up Nala and Simba are fighting because she's hunting warthog and Simba's protecting warthog. Just as Nala is about to deliver the killing stroke Simba recognizes her and BAM just like that we're reminiscing and all caught up.
Which is when Timon, voiced by Nathan Lane, desperate to get their attention, screams "WHAT'S GOIN' ON HERE!?"
Which is sort of how things are going at work.
There's all this reporting (eight section report) that's due on month end (that's once-a-month) which I don't know how to do, and no one will tell me how to do.
I can run the report. Expenses, for example, section six. I can click on the little "expense report" button, and put in the date range, but, it comes up blank.
Know why?
Because I haven't processed any of the expenses, so there's nothing to show on the report.
How do I process the expenses? Easy, you click the button labeled "book expenses" and then input the amounts and submit.
Where do the amounts come from?
I HAVE NO IDEA.
I don't have any trouble with the software, or the mechanics of "how-to." Those things are easy. You could train a monkey to perform those tasks.
But no one has instructed me in any of the procedures that involve thinking.
AND I AM A THINKER!
(And, also, apparently, I am a tasty delight for the ladybugs of the world, but I will expound upon that at a later date)
In this context, I am a thinker who is unable to think.
It's not just the expenses, it's every section of the report. If I need to book a trade, I can do that. If I need to book an income adjustment I can do that.
But how do I know I need to do those things? Why are those things necessary? Throw me a frickin' bone here. (erinire will get the Monty Python reference).
So, anyway. I have been stressed out to the max. I sent an email to the other guy in the group. I said "I need help with this reporting" he responded with "What have you done so far"
I said "Nothing. I need help on all of it."
And he said "I'll help you with expenses. Tie out everything else and then I'll come by."
He likes to think this is trial by fire, or learning to swim by getting pushed off the pier. I think that is the stupidest way to teach anything, ever.
Anyway. He came over. And was not much help. But it got done. In an hour.
AN HOUR.
This stupid report I've been stressing out (to the max) over for a week took AN HOUR to complete.
AND I KNEW IT WOULD AND COULD HAVE FINISHED IT MYSELF IF I COULD JUST GET A LITTLE GUIDANCE AROUND HERE SOME OF THE TIME IS ALL I'M SAYING YA KNOW?
Gah.
Oh, also, my senior manager, the one guy who I can go to and get problems answered? He's going back to his old company effective Next Wednesday. We just found out.
It's all good. It's fine. Reporting is done for the month. Things are looking up. I've got a vacation coming up. One week from today. I'll spend next week catching up on all the work I missed this week, then leave for a week. Maybe they'll reshuffle the groups because the senior manager guy is leaving. Maybe I'll find someone who can tell me how to do what I'm supposed to be doing.
Wishful thinking maybe.
-t
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
What are friends for
An email from my good friend Tyler (I added the links to help you readers keep track):
Hi Tom,
This is Tyler, your #1 blog fan. That's a complete lie as Donny, Adina, and an assorted cast of characters vie for your admiration and blog inclusion, while I read not infrequently, but not quite regularly. I've often wanted to inject my opinion but haven't wanted to do a longtime reader..first time respondent type entry. I skip Gilmore Girls posts, Enjoy just about anything you have to say about the Red Sox. I too abhor misused and misguided colloquialisms such as Dunkie's.
Credentials established, why am I coming out of the woodwork now you ask? Basically, I was wondering if you and your Truck could lend your services to a former 18aer, someone who perhaps straddles the line between acquaintance and friend if only because I don't share your affinity for tragically bad TV. I do however love Fireball Island (Which if I'm not mistaken you posted on a while back.)
Anyway call me if you think you might be able to schlep a couch from Roxbury to Somerville. It would be an awesome assist, making you the Magic Johnson of former college floor mates. (I doubt Magic pays for dinner anywhere in LA if you catch my drift.)
If not, well I'll keep wandering the city with a desperate and roving eye, looking for my John Stockton.
Seriously dude, it would be sweet to catch up. Even if you can't help me out I'd still love to get together and chat: I've got some rad plans, and, you...adjust mutual funds or some shit.
Thanks for even considering,
Tyler
You bet buddy.
Hi Tom,
This is Tyler, your #1 blog fan. That's a complete lie as Donny, Adina, and an assorted cast of characters vie for your admiration and blog inclusion, while I read not infrequently, but not quite regularly. I've often wanted to inject my opinion but haven't wanted to do a longtime reader..first time respondent type entry. I skip Gilmore Girls posts, Enjoy just about anything you have to say about the Red Sox. I too abhor misused and misguided colloquialisms such as Dunkie's.
Credentials established, why am I coming out of the woodwork now you ask? Basically, I was wondering if you and your Truck could lend your services to a former 18aer, someone who perhaps straddles the line between acquaintance and friend if only because I don't share your affinity for tragically bad TV. I do however love Fireball Island (Which if I'm not mistaken you posted on a while back.)
Anyway call me if you think you might be able to schlep a couch from Roxbury to Somerville. It would be an awesome assist, making you the Magic Johnson of former college floor mates. (I doubt Magic pays for dinner anywhere in LA if you catch my drift.)
If not, well I'll keep wandering the city with a desperate and roving eye, looking for my John Stockton.
Seriously dude, it would be sweet to catch up. Even if you can't help me out I'd still love to get together and chat: I've got some rad plans, and, you...adjust mutual funds or some shit.
Thanks for even considering,
Tyler
You bet buddy.
Thrifty
My consumeristic urges are running rampant. I am spending, spending, spending.
But, do not be deceived, I am not spending without motivation.
I have heard that in order to modify behavior in self-improvement-oriented individuals a reward system can be implemented:
-Standing up to, instead of cowing in the face of, an overbearing boss? Have a slice of chocolate cake.
-Resisted taking that extra slice of chocolate cake after dinner? Treat yourself to a pedicure.
-Didn't splurge on that unnecessary pedicure? Go tell off your boss.
The problem with these systems, I think, can be illustrated with the dieting and chocolate cake examples:
-Didn't take an extra slice of chocolate cake after dinner? Reward yourself with an extra slice of chocolate cake.
While I have found myself in a similar self perpetuating situation before, my current situation is a little less circular:
I have two problems: A severe lack of motivation at work, and a seemingly uncontrollable impulse spending.
A wise, mature, individual would attempt to fix both at once, possibly with the reward method in a manner that might work out like this:
Accomplished something at work? Have a slice of cake!
Resisted the urge to spend, spend, spend? Have some cherry pie!
(Weight loss is not something I'm trying to accomplish)
Instead, I chose to tackle the first problem by instituting a reward system and not even consider the second problem until the first one is solved.
I assume you all know what sort of reward I've instituted for accomplishing goals at work: I get to buy myself a video game!
The result is unrestricted spending on ebay, amazon, and half.com with the added bonus that occaissonally I can justify the purchase as a reward for showing up on time to the office.
I think, for most of these problems, the best thing to do is to find a system that works for you.
-t
But, do not be deceived, I am not spending without motivation.
I have heard that in order to modify behavior in self-improvement-oriented individuals a reward system can be implemented:
-Standing up to, instead of cowing in the face of, an overbearing boss? Have a slice of chocolate cake.
-Resisted taking that extra slice of chocolate cake after dinner? Treat yourself to a pedicure.
-Didn't splurge on that unnecessary pedicure? Go tell off your boss.
The problem with these systems, I think, can be illustrated with the dieting and chocolate cake examples:
-Didn't take an extra slice of chocolate cake after dinner? Reward yourself with an extra slice of chocolate cake.
While I have found myself in a similar self perpetuating situation before, my current situation is a little less circular:
I have two problems: A severe lack of motivation at work, and a seemingly uncontrollable impulse spending.
A wise, mature, individual would attempt to fix both at once, possibly with the reward method in a manner that might work out like this:
Accomplished something at work? Have a slice of cake!
Resisted the urge to spend, spend, spend? Have some cherry pie!
(Weight loss is not something I'm trying to accomplish)
Instead, I chose to tackle the first problem by instituting a reward system and not even consider the second problem until the first one is solved.
I assume you all know what sort of reward I've instituted for accomplishing goals at work: I get to buy myself a video game!
The result is unrestricted spending on ebay, amazon, and half.com with the added bonus that occaissonally I can justify the purchase as a reward for showing up on time to the office.
I think, for most of these problems, the best thing to do is to find a system that works for you.
-t
Alarm!
The emergency lights just started flashing, the alarm just sounded. "This is an emergency alert, if this alert is followed by the evacuation signal please leave the building immediately blah blah blah handicapped blah blah"
This is exactly what a fire drill (or actual fire alarm) would sound like.
Except that there was no evacuation signal.
I'm sitting here under strobe lighting thinking there might be a fire. Which wouldn't be a big deal, right? I mean, if it was on this floor surely we'd smell the smoke, and then I wouldn't need any evacuation signal to tell me to get out, and, if it's not on this floor, then we're perefectly safe. This building is made out of concrete and steel and marble, and those things don't burn. Totally safe.
It's only half of the alarm. Light, but no sound. What do the lights mean by themselves? It's smoky?
And if there isn't a fire, then what set off the alarm? I have no idea. I could speculate (a disgruntled employee desperate for a coffee break, perhaps?) but I won't, because these lights are starting to get to me.
I'm getting a headache. FLASH flash flash flash. (3 second pause) FLASH flash flash flash. (3 second pause) FLASH...
This is probably going to trigger a seizure.
Well, make the best of it, I guess. I was going out for coffee anyway. I'll be sure to update you all if I spot any smokiness.
-t
This is exactly what a fire drill (or actual fire alarm) would sound like.
Except that there was no evacuation signal.
I'm sitting here under strobe lighting thinking there might be a fire. Which wouldn't be a big deal, right? I mean, if it was on this floor surely we'd smell the smoke, and then I wouldn't need any evacuation signal to tell me to get out, and, if it's not on this floor, then we're perefectly safe. This building is made out of concrete and steel and marble, and those things don't burn. Totally safe.
It's only half of the alarm. Light, but no sound. What do the lights mean by themselves? It's smoky?
And if there isn't a fire, then what set off the alarm? I have no idea. I could speculate (a disgruntled employee desperate for a coffee break, perhaps?) but I won't, because these lights are starting to get to me.
I'm getting a headache. FLASH flash flash flash. (3 second pause) FLASH flash flash flash. (3 second pause) FLASH...
This is probably going to trigger a seizure.
Well, make the best of it, I guess. I was going out for coffee anyway. I'll be sure to update you all if I spot any smokiness.
-t
Friday, August 04, 2006
Lingo
If you're sitting there reading over this post and thinking to yourself "Oh, I say that sometimes! Well, he can't possibly mean me because when I say it it's always cute/topical/clever/or endearing" you're wrong, and this is meant especially for you.
It's never "cute." Knock it off.
-t
It's never "cute." Knock it off.
- When people refer to Dunkin' Donuts as "Dunks."
- "Barnes and NobleS." There's only one 'S'! If you must stick an 's' on the end just go with the proper name: Barnes and Noble Booksellers.
- Anyone who refers to their home state of Massachusetts as "Mass." That is completely unacceptable, if you must abbreviate then I urge you to use the official postal abbreviation "MA," which is pronounced "Em - Ay.
- Oh, ditto for "tax-achusetts." If you don't like the taxes, move to New Hampshire. If you don't mind the taxes, shut it.
- Anyone who prefers Starbucks coffee to Dunkin Donuts. Dunkin Donuts brews far superior coffee. Starbucks lovers, you're wrong. You're probably all Yankee fans too.
Saying "Dunkie's" is acceptable, but it must be used sparingly and only in mixed company.
There are only a handful of state names long enough to prompt abbreviation and do you really want to be in the same boat as those west-coast hippies who refer to theirs as "Callie"? No. Now go get a haircut.
-t
I would have reacted the same if it had been a barbershop quartet
I came into work on Monday and a few people were standing near my desk talking about girls.
And I thought to myself, "I hate it when they talk about girls at the office. Couldn't they talk about baseball or something appropriate?"
I came into work on Tuesday and a few people were standing near my desk talking about the best place in the city to get a haircut.
And I thought to myself, "I hate when they talk about hair or clothes or fashion at the office. Couldn't they talk about something important, like baseball?"
I came into work on Wednesday and just kept my headphones on because I just knew they weren't talking about baseball.
I came into work Thursday and they were talking about upcoming movie releases.
And I thought to myself, "Don't they have anything better to do than to rehash movie quotes they saw in some stupid commercial? I wouldn't mind if they were talking about the Red Sox."
I came into work today and the guys standing near my desk were talking about the Red Sox.
And I thought to myself, "Couldn't they just keep it to themselves, or go stand next to somebody else's desk while they do this? Why is it always my desk?"
And then I realized that it's probably not what they're talking about that's the problem.
Being at work before noon is the problem.
-t
And I thought to myself, "I hate it when they talk about girls at the office. Couldn't they talk about baseball or something appropriate?"
I came into work on Tuesday and a few people were standing near my desk talking about the best place in the city to get a haircut.
And I thought to myself, "I hate when they talk about hair or clothes or fashion at the office. Couldn't they talk about something important, like baseball?"
I came into work on Wednesday and just kept my headphones on because I just knew they weren't talking about baseball.
I came into work Thursday and they were talking about upcoming movie releases.
And I thought to myself, "Don't they have anything better to do than to rehash movie quotes they saw in some stupid commercial? I wouldn't mind if they were talking about the Red Sox."
I came into work today and the guys standing near my desk were talking about the Red Sox.
And I thought to myself, "Couldn't they just keep it to themselves, or go stand next to somebody else's desk while they do this? Why is it always my desk?"
And then I realized that it's probably not what they're talking about that's the problem.
Being at work before noon is the problem.
-t
Thursday, August 03, 2006
Bee yourself
We're on a five-day deadline here at work, and today is day three, so, I was pretty busy for most of the day.
But now it's five o'clock, and, even though we're supposed work until five thirty, under the assumption that we won't be leaving unless all our work is finished, I've decided to stop working now.
Which means I have to look busy without actually doing anything for half an hour.
If I look too busy I'll attract attention and questions like "What are you working so hard on? Do you need help?"
If I don't look busy enough I'll get handed another project, probably something simple that can be completed in twenty-five minutes.
I can't leave now because they would notice that. But I don't want to work anymore.
So I won't.
-t
But now it's five o'clock, and, even though we're supposed work until five thirty, under the assumption that we won't be leaving unless all our work is finished, I've decided to stop working now.
Which means I have to look busy without actually doing anything for half an hour.
If I look too busy I'll attract attention and questions like "What are you working so hard on? Do you need help?"
If I don't look busy enough I'll get handed another project, probably something simple that can be completed in twenty-five minutes.
I can't leave now because they would notice that. But I don't want to work anymore.
So I won't.
-t
Dilbert
Scott Adams has a blog. And he's hilarious.
http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/
I just found it.
-t
http://dilbertblog.typepad.com/the_dilbert_blog/
I just found it.
-t
For Boston
Excerpted from an article from the Slate.com archives about the Red Sox ring ceremony in April 2005 (full text here):
Lo, it is revealed that the author is NOT a true Red Sox fan.
A true Red Sox fan would not even have the composure to analyze his feelings. A true fan would not be able to not talk about it, they would not even be able to write about thinking about not talking about it. It would already be written.
They would think “Should I talk about this?” and then glance down at the computer screen where there would be a four paragraph, completely incomprehensible ovation to the championship team and how it changed their lives forever.
Read Bill Simmons on espn.com (his piece about Big Papi vs. Larry Legend, for example) - that’s how it’s supposed to be written about.
Perhaps those four paragraphs were cut out of the article? A real fan wouldn’t cut that, it's too important. He would not try to reach a broader audience by minimizing what that World Series win did for the Red Sox fan base, or by deleting personal Boston-centric emotional outbursts.
A real fan doesn’t pander to the masses.
The lesson is clearly: Don't get your sports information from Slate.
This article is ridiculous.
It’s written for the wives of die-hard baseball fans who walk into a room in the middle of a no-hitter and ask “Ohh, that pitcher looks like somebody, do you know who I mean? That guy with the blonde hair. He was in that movie that was on Lifetime last week.”
THAT IS NO WAY TO TREAT A NO-HITTER.
A real fan would feel that it is fundamentally wrong to undercut the accomplishments of the 2004 Red Sox, and what those accomplishments meant to the fan, even for comedy’s sake.
I understand he’s a humorist. That’s fine, nothing wrong with humor. I would advise him to parody something he doesn’t care about, or, if that’s the case here (that he doesn’t actually care about the Sox), then to refrain from pretending he does care.
Rather than listen to Seth Stevenson's Red Sox reminisces I read Bill Simmons, a great source for Boston sports info.
I agree with about 85% of what Simmons writes. The only guys I agree with more are John Kruk (commentator on Baseball Tonight) and Peter Gammons (basically the smartest man to ever walk the earth).
Seriously, if Gammons had gone into politics he would have the entire world united under a common flag, and we’d probably have colonized Venus and the moons of Saturn by now. I don't doubt it.
"Suffice it to say the ceremony was a thrill. Blah blah Johnny Pesky blah blah rings.”
That isn't diehard fanaticism. That is derision and mockery and self-depreciation.
We don't do that here.
So, take that, Stevenson, how do you like them year-and-a-half-old apples, eh?
-t
Right field upper level box, beginning of ring ceremony:
I grab a kosher dog with mustard and find a perfect spot to watch the celebration. Here is where I should describe for you my mixed emotions as a Sox diehard, how my very nature as a fan has been transformed, how much this means to me on countless levels both as a Red Sox obsessive and as a human being. But I won't force you to endure that. Suffice it to say the ceremony was a thrill. Blah blah Johnny Pesky blah blah rings.
Lo, it is revealed that the author is NOT a true Red Sox fan.
A true Red Sox fan would not even have the composure to analyze his feelings. A true fan would not be able to not talk about it, they would not even be able to write about thinking about not talking about it. It would already be written.
They would think “Should I talk about this?” and then glance down at the computer screen where there would be a four paragraph, completely incomprehensible ovation to the championship team and how it changed their lives forever.
Read Bill Simmons on espn.com (his piece about Big Papi vs. Larry Legend, for example) - that’s how it’s supposed to be written about.
Perhaps those four paragraphs were cut out of the article? A real fan wouldn’t cut that, it's too important. He would not try to reach a broader audience by minimizing what that World Series win did for the Red Sox fan base, or by deleting personal Boston-centric emotional outbursts.
A real fan doesn’t pander to the masses.
The lesson is clearly: Don't get your sports information from Slate.
This article is ridiculous.
It’s written for the wives of die-hard baseball fans who walk into a room in the middle of a no-hitter and ask “Ohh, that pitcher looks like somebody, do you know who I mean? That guy with the blonde hair. He was in that movie that was on Lifetime last week.”
THAT IS NO WAY TO TREAT A NO-HITTER.
A real fan would feel that it is fundamentally wrong to undercut the accomplishments of the 2004 Red Sox, and what those accomplishments meant to the fan, even for comedy’s sake.
I understand he’s a humorist. That’s fine, nothing wrong with humor. I would advise him to parody something he doesn’t care about, or, if that’s the case here (that he doesn’t actually care about the Sox), then to refrain from pretending he does care.
Rather than listen to Seth Stevenson's Red Sox reminisces I read Bill Simmons, a great source for Boston sports info.
I agree with about 85% of what Simmons writes. The only guys I agree with more are John Kruk (commentator on Baseball Tonight) and Peter Gammons (basically the smartest man to ever walk the earth).
Seriously, if Gammons had gone into politics he would have the entire world united under a common flag, and we’d probably have colonized Venus and the moons of Saturn by now. I don't doubt it.
"Suffice it to say the ceremony was a thrill. Blah blah Johnny Pesky blah blah rings.”
That isn't diehard fanaticism. That is derision and mockery and self-depreciation.
We don't do that here.
So, take that, Stevenson, how do you like them year-and-a-half-old apples, eh?
-t
Too good to be true:
Yesterday I sent a message to a seller on ebay to inquire about and estimated shipping date for an item I purchased. Here is his response:
Hi, So I got back in town from a work trip last night and there was a note from the post office to claim a package.
Turns out all the packages I shipped one evening have to be repackaged because some knuckle head who used the automated postal center after me decided not to package a BBQ sauce very well and it got all over everything.
I ship in tyvek so your item is fine, but the USPS doesn't want sticky packages going through their machines, so I re-packaged everything and shipped today.
The new USPS tracking number is xx79807233602903tvuw, give it a day or two to register in the system. Sorry about this, very wierd.
What's weirder is that I thought I wouldn't have anything to post today.
-t
Hi, So I got back in town from a work trip last night and there was a note from the post office to claim a package.
Turns out all the packages I shipped one evening have to be repackaged because some knuckle head who used the automated postal center after me decided not to package a BBQ sauce very well and it got all over everything.
I ship in tyvek so your item is fine, but the USPS doesn't want sticky packages going through their machines, so I re-packaged everything and shipped today.
The new USPS tracking number is xx79807233602903tvuw, give it a day or two to register in the system. Sorry about this, very wierd.
What's weirder is that I thought I wouldn't have anything to post today.
-t
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Worse than a rant: a ramble
For the second day in a row I have accomplished nothing at work.
This is in no way my fault.
Well, of course, it is my fault in some way. There are always steps I can take in order to accomplish something.
But that would require an inordinate amount of self-motivation. "Inordinate" in this case is synonymous with "some."
I'm talking about reasonable expectations. A normal person, on a normal day would have done the same - not some crazy scenario where I am replaced by a misunderstood world-beater with an inner drive, who would got to any lengths, including not sleeping or eating for days, totally bent on a takeover of the global air travel market by the time he's twenty-seven, and who is good enough to do it.
You know, the guy those apprentice contestants wish they were.
I'm not that guy. I'm me. (Hello.)
My goals involve much simpler things: watching the Colbert Report, eating lunch, not melting between the office and the T.
Those are all accomplishable goals.
"Doing my job" used to be.
It's the begining of the month, which means it's report time. I do not understand how to complete all of the reporting. (They tell me it should take aobut six months before I'm totally comfortable with it - this is my second month.)
I emailed my manager to ask for help. The text of the email read something like this:
Can you help me with the expense reports? I know how to book expenses once they're calculated, but not how to calculate them. Thanks.
My manager came over to my desk, and in a Bill Lumberg kind of way said
"Um, yeah, I don't really know much about this fund. Who did it last month? Yeah, well, maybe you should ask him, because this really isn't my thing."
That is no way to be helpful.
So, I emailed the other guy. Surprisingly he came over and helped. He said
"We don't calculate those, the client does. You should send him an email."
So I did. And I am still waiting.
Since then I have done nothing. There was a brief moment where I thought I would have a few trades to book because the system went down, but the system came back up.
I have resorted to doodling on notepads. (see intransitivity).
One of my coworkers leaned over the cubicle wall to inquire as to what I was scribbling. When he say the celtic knot I had on the notepad in front of me he said, mockingly,
"Is that work related?"
"No." I replied.
For two days now at work I have done nothing that has been "work related." How ironic.
And completely frustrating.
-t
recommended download:
Fall Out Boy, Dance, Dance
This is in no way my fault.
Well, of course, it is my fault in some way. There are always steps I can take in order to accomplish something.
But that would require an inordinate amount of self-motivation. "Inordinate" in this case is synonymous with "some."
I'm talking about reasonable expectations. A normal person, on a normal day would have done the same - not some crazy scenario where I am replaced by a misunderstood world-beater with an inner drive, who would got to any lengths, including not sleeping or eating for days, totally bent on a takeover of the global air travel market by the time he's twenty-seven, and who is good enough to do it.
You know, the guy those apprentice contestants wish they were.
I'm not that guy. I'm me. (Hello.)
My goals involve much simpler things: watching the Colbert Report, eating lunch, not melting between the office and the T.
Those are all accomplishable goals.
"Doing my job" used to be.
It's the begining of the month, which means it's report time. I do not understand how to complete all of the reporting. (They tell me it should take aobut six months before I'm totally comfortable with it - this is my second month.)
I emailed my manager to ask for help. The text of the email read something like this:
Can you help me with the expense reports? I know how to book expenses once they're calculated, but not how to calculate them. Thanks.
My manager came over to my desk, and in a Bill Lumberg kind of way said
"Um, yeah, I don't really know much about this fund. Who did it last month? Yeah, well, maybe you should ask him, because this really isn't my thing."
That is no way to be helpful.
So, I emailed the other guy. Surprisingly he came over and helped. He said
"We don't calculate those, the client does. You should send him an email."
So I did. And I am still waiting.
Since then I have done nothing. There was a brief moment where I thought I would have a few trades to book because the system went down, but the system came back up.
I have resorted to doodling on notepads. (see intransitivity).
One of my coworkers leaned over the cubicle wall to inquire as to what I was scribbling. When he say the celtic knot I had on the notepad in front of me he said, mockingly,
"Is that work related?"
"No." I replied.
For two days now at work I have done nothing that has been "work related." How ironic.
And completely frustrating.
-t
recommended download:
Fall Out Boy, Dance, Dance
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Too many hours in the day
I am writing this at four fifteen. It is going to be a great struggle to make it to five thirty today.
I was surrounded by sheets of paper for the first half of the day. Piles of trade sheets and balance sheets and dividend reports were scattered around my desk in an extremely haphazard-looking, but actually meticulously-organized, debris field.
There were entries to be made to the funds. Important entries. Entries with dollar amounts in the millions. They were not made.
Nothing was done for the entire first half of the day to upset those papers. No entries were made. I sat in front of my computer, waiting for comments on my blog. Hitting the refresh key, compulsively.
Then, I went to lunch. I had pizza.
When I returned the system had crashed. I waited for another half of an hour. My senior manager came to my desk to outline which entries needed to be made to solve all the problems I had been having for three days.
The entries took two minutes to complete. The funds were fine. The extremely well-organized stacks of paper were re-organized into actual stacks. Then they were filed away.
Two minutes. Three days work, done.
Since that time I have been, compulsively, checking for comments on my blog. I was fortunate enough to receive one comment about singing cows. It gave me an opportunity to demonstrate my near-comprehensive Sesame Street knowledge base.
Now I'm just sitting here.
Very soon I will look to consumerism to fill the void. Bargain video games on half.com, amazon recommends, zero percent financing on new appliances at sears.
Very soon there will be trouble.
-t
recommended download:
The Oinker Sisters, I Got A New Way To Walk (Walk, Walk) (if you can find it)
Update: I bought Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II, and Star Wars Battlefront II for Xbox, and really thought long and hard about getting this guy.
I was surrounded by sheets of paper for the first half of the day. Piles of trade sheets and balance sheets and dividend reports were scattered around my desk in an extremely haphazard-looking, but actually meticulously-organized, debris field.
There were entries to be made to the funds. Important entries. Entries with dollar amounts in the millions. They were not made.
Nothing was done for the entire first half of the day to upset those papers. No entries were made. I sat in front of my computer, waiting for comments on my blog. Hitting the refresh key, compulsively.
Then, I went to lunch. I had pizza.
When I returned the system had crashed. I waited for another half of an hour. My senior manager came to my desk to outline which entries needed to be made to solve all the problems I had been having for three days.
The entries took two minutes to complete. The funds were fine. The extremely well-organized stacks of paper were re-organized into actual stacks. Then they were filed away.
Two minutes. Three days work, done.
Since that time I have been, compulsively, checking for comments on my blog. I was fortunate enough to receive one comment about singing cows. It gave me an opportunity to demonstrate my near-comprehensive Sesame Street knowledge base.
Now I'm just sitting here.
Very soon I will look to consumerism to fill the void. Bargain video games on half.com, amazon recommends, zero percent financing on new appliances at sears.
Very soon there will be trouble.
-t
recommended download:
The Oinker Sisters, I Got A New Way To Walk (Walk, Walk) (if you can find it)
Update: I bought Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II, and Star Wars Battlefront II for Xbox, and really thought long and hard about getting this guy.
This is no way to run a business
Four questions: What, Why, How, and When. These are the questions I need to answer.
I have been at my desk since nine a.m. this morning. To this point I have not accomplished anything.
There are trades that need to be proccessed, entries that must be made, but I am unable to do that because I don't know which entries to make or how to book them to the system.
I have emailed both of my managers and even the guy that used to be in the group but transferred out. Each of them has responded with "Ask someone else, I'm too busy."
Hi, I'm Tom, you can call me "hot potato."
I understand that it's the begining of the month and they all have their own work to do, but, I also believe that having me, dead weight, not doing any work, only increases the amount of work they have to do later, either by explaining to me, in painstaking detail, which entries to make and how; or, by doing the work themselves before shooting me an email back to me with "all set" in the subject line.
Why not make sure I know what I'm doing, and then let me do my job? No more headaches for anyone!
What entries need to be made? - I have no idea
Why do they need to be made? - I have NO idea
How are the entries made? - Again, no idea
When was the deadline? - YESTERDAY.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
I have been at my desk since nine a.m. this morning. To this point I have not accomplished anything.
There are trades that need to be proccessed, entries that must be made, but I am unable to do that because I don't know which entries to make or how to book them to the system.
I have emailed both of my managers and even the guy that used to be in the group but transferred out. Each of them has responded with "Ask someone else, I'm too busy."
Hi, I'm Tom, you can call me "hot potato."
I understand that it's the begining of the month and they all have their own work to do, but, I also believe that having me, dead weight, not doing any work, only increases the amount of work they have to do later, either by explaining to me, in painstaking detail, which entries to make and how; or, by doing the work themselves before shooting me an email back to me with "all set" in the subject line.
Why not make sure I know what I'm doing, and then let me do my job? No more headaches for anyone!
What entries need to be made? - I have no idea
Why do they need to be made? - I have NO idea
How are the entries made? - Again, no idea
When was the deadline? - YESTERDAY.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
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