I'd asked a rhetorical question and received an answer from a loyal reader, an answer that should have occurred to me immediately.
My default mode is blogging.
It's what I do when I have nothing to do, or when I can't do what I do have to do, or do to do do to do do do. (haha)
So here I sit, still blogging away.
Yesterday I set up my very first RSS/Atom reader which now means I can stare at one page that's never updated instead of clicking on a thousand links to look at a thousand pages that are never updated.
Nice, right?
Well, yes. It has certainly efficiencized my blog reading. I'm buzzing through the thirty-or-so blogs I used to read daily in about a minute's time. I think I'm going to have to increase my intake to about 300 blogs a day (at least until I've practiced and gotten used to the feeder reader (which I'm going to abbreviate henceforth as either "feader" or "reeder"), then I'll probably be cruising through 1000 blogs a day).
They're great, these reeders. It's like saying "Hey, readers, I don't want you coming to my page. I'm going to put stuff up here, but please, please, don't come by and read it! Just customize your own little reeder, then you're good! You'll see my content without stopping by, and I won't have to worry about keeping up my html or formatting, or colors, or links, or anything!
It's like talking on the phone instead of stopping by for a visit. I can be just as charming via the airwaves as I would be in person, and you can pretend I'm talking to you from a pristine and hip apartment, but this way I don't have to worry about picking up the place.
So, bloggers, I encourage you, get yourselves a reeder, because they're fun! And you can leave me to my empty-pizza-box masthead, and dirty-laundry links, and tired-old-unwashed-dishes-in-the-bathroom-sink template. Go on, be free!
-t
Friday, September 01, 2006
Thursday, August 31, 2006
If I've learned anything from the Star Wars movies it's this: "There is no try." And if I've learned anything from this new job it's "There is no do."
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
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
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
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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