TAM Custom Rocket Belt
grabbed that from Warren Ellis
I'm still thinking about helmet designs. Maybe something from Bob Bassett:
The pieces are coming in to view, it's only a matter of time.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
My World Takeover Bid Just Got One Step Closer To Realization
Seriously, you guys, I'm still recruiting. Think about how badass you'd look as my minions when you strap this thing on:
TAM Custom Rocket Belt
grabbed that from Warren Ellis
I'm still thinking about helmet designs. Maybe something from Bob Bassett:
The pieces are coming in to view, it's only a matter of time.
TAM Custom Rocket Belt
grabbed that from Warren Ellis
I'm still thinking about helmet designs. Maybe something from Bob Bassett:
The pieces are coming in to view, it's only a matter of time.
Forty-six and counting
I've developed a new system for tracking sleep-debt. It's sort of like keeping track of birthdays. A way to communicate how tired you are.
First, imagine an ideal period of sleep and waking. For the purposes of this example we'll say you're awake from 8AM to 10PM and asleep until 8AM. Every day this happens you've neither earned or lost any sleep time, you're starting from zero.
That's 10 hours of sleep and 14 of awake time. Good to be well-rested.
So, anyway, the system rates how tired you feel. Let's say you sleep until 10AM instead of 8AM. When you wake up you've gained two hours of sleep, or, you're negative two hours tired.
On the other hand, if you stay up past your 10PM bedtime, until 11PM, say, you've lost an hour of sleep, so even if you wake up at 8AM like you would on a normal day, you're one hour tired.
If you go for a week waking up at 8AM and going to bed at midnight, you're losing two hours of sleep per day, and not gaining any. If you sleep until 2PM on Saturday you've regained six hours, but you're still four hours in the hole.
Of course, it's cumulative, so if you've spent the last three weeks going to bed two hours too late, waking up an hour too early, only getting back three hours on the weekends, and today waking up an extra hour-and-a-half earlier to drive your stupid brother to school because "It's raining" you're now forty-six-and-one-half hours tired.
Except you're not you, you're me.
46.5, and it's only Wednesday. I now have to sleep for almost two days straight to break even.
This wouldn't be such a problem if they let me sleep on the job.
-t
First, imagine an ideal period of sleep and waking. For the purposes of this example we'll say you're awake from 8AM to 10PM and asleep until 8AM. Every day this happens you've neither earned or lost any sleep time, you're starting from zero.
That's 10 hours of sleep and 14 of awake time. Good to be well-rested.
So, anyway, the system rates how tired you feel. Let's say you sleep until 10AM instead of 8AM. When you wake up you've gained two hours of sleep, or, you're negative two hours tired.
On the other hand, if you stay up past your 10PM bedtime, until 11PM, say, you've lost an hour of sleep, so even if you wake up at 8AM like you would on a normal day, you're one hour tired.
If you go for a week waking up at 8AM and going to bed at midnight, you're losing two hours of sleep per day, and not gaining any. If you sleep until 2PM on Saturday you've regained six hours, but you're still four hours in the hole.
Of course, it's cumulative, so if you've spent the last three weeks going to bed two hours too late, waking up an hour too early, only getting back three hours on the weekends, and today waking up an extra hour-and-a-half earlier to drive your stupid brother to school because "It's raining" you're now forty-six-and-one-half hours tired.
Except you're not you, you're me.
46.5, and it's only Wednesday. I now have to sleep for almost two days straight to break even.
This wouldn't be such a problem if they let me sleep on the job.
-t
Monday, April 02, 2007
Back room politics
I'd like to make a case for a return to back room politics. It's worked in the past, it makes good financial sense, and, if executed correctly, can practically guarantee the winner of an election.
Historically, the national convention for each major political party here in the U.S. is the time and place for a rigorous discussion and ultimately a determination of the party's representative in the national election. More recently, the conventions have become nothing more than floor shows as the candidates have already been determined by the primaries. In either case, everybody knows who their candidate is at conventions end, which gives the party one message, one candidate, one goal, to focus on and promote.
And really, that's all I'm asking for - I just want to see it done eighteen months earlier in a secret meeting by the five most powerful members of the party.
A quick glance at the 2008 Democratic field yields two strong front runners, Obama and Clinton, each with their own strengths (popular appeal and fundraising, respectively), and a handful of others who may still have some time to either gain some momentum, or distract from the real race: Edwards, Biden, Richardson, and Dodd.
Call a secret meeting. Round them all up. Everybody, all your potential contenders. Bring in Gore and Kerry too. Do it early, before anyone has announced. Sit them all down in a room and say, "Listen. We're going with Edwards. Get on board."
Why not? You've then got a unified party from the very start. You've got all your strongest candidates supporting one guy, you've got the fundraising, the charm, the appeal, all working for one guy. You'll have one name on the ballot for the primaries, you won't have to compete for recognition, you won't have to field any attacks from within the party, you're golden.
It's win win win, because once the party's in power, all the other hopefuls get cushy jobs, or ridiculously awesome jobs, or super powerful jobs, or whatever, and they're next in line for the 2016 elections. It fixes everybody's problems. Think about it:
Run an Edwards/Clinton ticket for 2008; Edwards gets the financial support he needs from Clinton's fundraising. Nobody has to fight Obama in a popularity contest, the country gets its first female Vice President, which is a fine legacy for Clinton to leave, paving the way for generations of women to come, and the rest of the field, Gore, Kerry, et al, get a strong friend in the White House.
Once in power, you just need to worry about setting yourself up for a continued reign. Obama is getting flak for inexperience; How will he look in 2016 after serving four more years in Congress, then four as Vice President? How about a two year Senate term, then two years as ambassador to the UN, or China, then a Vice Presidency? If not Obama in 2016, maybe Gore. In the intervening eight years he'd do well to continue an independent campaign for the environment, but might do just as well with the same campaign as a high-ranking member of the Cabinet.
Maybe something like this:
2008
Edwards/Clinton : POTUS/VPOTUS
Obama : Senator
Kerry : Chairman, Ways and Means
2012
Gore/Obama : POTUS/VPOTUS
Clinton : Secretary of Health and Human Services
2016
Obama : POTUS
Any oversights? Glaring omissions? (Anybody want to set up a meeting?)
-t
Historically, the national convention for each major political party here in the U.S. is the time and place for a rigorous discussion and ultimately a determination of the party's representative in the national election. More recently, the conventions have become nothing more than floor shows as the candidates have already been determined by the primaries. In either case, everybody knows who their candidate is at conventions end, which gives the party one message, one candidate, one goal, to focus on and promote.
And really, that's all I'm asking for - I just want to see it done eighteen months earlier in a secret meeting by the five most powerful members of the party.
A quick glance at the 2008 Democratic field yields two strong front runners, Obama and Clinton, each with their own strengths (popular appeal and fundraising, respectively), and a handful of others who may still have some time to either gain some momentum, or distract from the real race: Edwards, Biden, Richardson, and Dodd.
Call a secret meeting. Round them all up. Everybody, all your potential contenders. Bring in Gore and Kerry too. Do it early, before anyone has announced. Sit them all down in a room and say, "Listen. We're going with Edwards. Get on board."
Why not? You've then got a unified party from the very start. You've got all your strongest candidates supporting one guy, you've got the fundraising, the charm, the appeal, all working for one guy. You'll have one name on the ballot for the primaries, you won't have to compete for recognition, you won't have to field any attacks from within the party, you're golden.
It's win win win, because once the party's in power, all the other hopefuls get cushy jobs, or ridiculously awesome jobs, or super powerful jobs, or whatever, and they're next in line for the 2016 elections. It fixes everybody's problems. Think about it:
Run an Edwards/Clinton ticket for 2008; Edwards gets the financial support he needs from Clinton's fundraising. Nobody has to fight Obama in a popularity contest, the country gets its first female Vice President, which is a fine legacy for Clinton to leave, paving the way for generations of women to come, and the rest of the field, Gore, Kerry, et al, get a strong friend in the White House.
Once in power, you just need to worry about setting yourself up for a continued reign. Obama is getting flak for inexperience; How will he look in 2016 after serving four more years in Congress, then four as Vice President? How about a two year Senate term, then two years as ambassador to the UN, or China, then a Vice Presidency? If not Obama in 2016, maybe Gore. In the intervening eight years he'd do well to continue an independent campaign for the environment, but might do just as well with the same campaign as a high-ranking member of the Cabinet.
Maybe something like this:
2008
Edwards/Clinton : POTUS/VPOTUS
Obama : Senator
Kerry : Chairman, Ways and Means
2012
Gore/Obama : POTUS/VPOTUS
Clinton : Secretary of Health and Human Services
2016
Obama : POTUS
Any oversights? Glaring omissions? (Anybody want to set up a meeting?)
-t
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Here there be monsters
I've run out of things to read on the internet.
Now that my lines of communication have been cut, and presented with no medium for real-time give-and-take, I am left to seeking, forced into an observer's role.
Me and my little row boat (online surfboard?), so recently tied to shore with my IM/email tether, have been cast adrift. I can do nothing more than stand up in my boat, pick a direction, and then train my binoculars on the distant shore in front of me. I can see people interacting, I can react to their antics, but I cannot interact.
RSS and Atom are my binoculars, boston.com articles, kottke.org links, google news headlines, blog feeds, these are the things I view.
But I've gotten really good at looking through the binoculars. I've seen all I can see looking in the same old directions, to the same old blogs. I need to know what else is out there, where should I point my looking glass? I need content to at least keep me stimulated while I'm stuck here on my surfboard, before I paddle back in to shore at the end of the day.
Who updates a lot? Who is interesting? Who will keep me entertained?
Somebody throw me a lifeline here.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
Now that my lines of communication have been cut, and presented with no medium for real-time give-and-take, I am left to seeking, forced into an observer's role.
Me and my little row boat (online surfboard?), so recently tied to shore with my IM/email tether, have been cast adrift. I can do nothing more than stand up in my boat, pick a direction, and then train my binoculars on the distant shore in front of me. I can see people interacting, I can react to their antics, but I cannot interact.
RSS and Atom are my binoculars, boston.com articles, kottke.org links, google news headlines, blog feeds, these are the things I view.
But I've gotten really good at looking through the binoculars. I've seen all I can see looking in the same old directions, to the same old blogs. I need to know what else is out there, where should I point my looking glass? I need content to at least keep me stimulated while I'm stuck here on my surfboard, before I paddle back in to shore at the end of the day.
Who updates a lot? Who is interesting? Who will keep me entertained?
Somebody throw me a lifeline here.
-t
recommended download:
Bob Schneider, Orlando
Monday, March 26, 2007
Huffing and Puffing
As far as I can tell, everything being done here is being done right. Good people, good support system, good office space, no problems.
I spent the time at my first job bemoaning a major intelligence deficeit, and at the second, an overabundance of insolence and general malaise. Stupid people working vs. smart people being lazy.
I longed for a job without those troubles. A place where smart people worked.
Well, I found it.
And it sucks.
I know, I know, none of you are surprised. "Welcome to the real world, Tom," you say. And "Took you this long to figure it out?"
Excuse me for being optimistic. Hey, I've watched enough television to know how things are supposed to work. People quit jobs they hate, then magically find a job they love.
Rachel hated working for Joanna, and then got a fabulous job at Ralph Lauren. Joey was in terrible play after terrible play, then found fame and fortune on the soap circuit. Monica had to wear fake boobs and roller skates to bus tables, and ended up with her own resturant. Chandler processed numbers for a large, multi-national data firm, quit, and then got hired with no experience for a job supervising at a major New York ad agency.
So come on. It's been two years (it's been two years, right? It feels like so...much...longer) and I've done the fake boobs thing (metaphorically), I've put in my number crunching time, where's my fabulous job?
"Stop griping," you say. "We all hate our jobs. It doesn't get any better than this, ever."
Well, aren'y you little miss happy-face.
I'm reminded of a drew Carey quote:
"Wait, you hate your job? There's a club for people like you! It's called everyone! - and they meet at the bar."
Come on! Somebody out there likes their job...right? If not, then where did this myth of a good job come from? Because that's what you're saying, you're saying it's a myth!
Well, I don't know about you, but myths are based in fact. Little Red Riding Hood did where red, fat though she may have been. Cinderella did, in fact, have a godmother, though "fairy" might be a stretch. Pigs make excellent stone masons.
I am being starved for meaningful human contact. IM was a lifeline, one thin strand connecting me to the outside world, but I've lost even that. Now I'm dependent on a closely-monitored email account, and one-way blog posting. I remember when I had access to gmail. I REMEMBER WHEN I HAD ACCESS TO PEOPLE!!
Now I just have access to numbers. They're not even cool numbers.
-t
recommended downloads:
Fountains of Wayne, Hey, Julie
Oasis, Hey, Hey, My, My (Neil Young cover)
I spent the time at my first job bemoaning a major intelligence deficeit, and at the second, an overabundance of insolence and general malaise. Stupid people working vs. smart people being lazy.
I longed for a job without those troubles. A place where smart people worked.
Well, I found it.
And it sucks.
I know, I know, none of you are surprised. "Welcome to the real world, Tom," you say. And "Took you this long to figure it out?"
Excuse me for being optimistic. Hey, I've watched enough television to know how things are supposed to work. People quit jobs they hate, then magically find a job they love.
Rachel hated working for Joanna, and then got a fabulous job at Ralph Lauren. Joey was in terrible play after terrible play, then found fame and fortune on the soap circuit. Monica had to wear fake boobs and roller skates to bus tables, and ended up with her own resturant. Chandler processed numbers for a large, multi-national data firm, quit, and then got hired with no experience for a job supervising at a major New York ad agency.
So come on. It's been two years (it's been two years, right? It feels like so...much...longer) and I've done the fake boobs thing (metaphorically), I've put in my number crunching time, where's my fabulous job?
"Stop griping," you say. "We all hate our jobs. It doesn't get any better than this, ever."
Well, aren'y you little miss happy-face.
I'm reminded of a drew Carey quote:
"Wait, you hate your job? There's a club for people like you! It's called everyone! - and they meet at the bar."
Come on! Somebody out there likes their job...right? If not, then where did this myth of a good job come from? Because that's what you're saying, you're saying it's a myth!
Well, I don't know about you, but myths are based in fact. Little Red Riding Hood did where red, fat though she may have been. Cinderella did, in fact, have a godmother, though "fairy" might be a stretch. Pigs make excellent stone masons.
I am being starved for meaningful human contact. IM was a lifeline, one thin strand connecting me to the outside world, but I've lost even that. Now I'm dependent on a closely-monitored email account, and one-way blog posting. I remember when I had access to gmail. I REMEMBER WHEN I HAD ACCESS TO PEOPLE!!
Now I just have access to numbers. They're not even cool numbers.
-t
recommended downloads:
Fountains of Wayne, Hey, Julie
Oasis, Hey, Hey, My, My (Neil Young cover)
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Ships passing in the night elevator lobby
At 12:45 today I decided to get out and get some air. I grabbed my jacket and headed out to the 13th floor elevators. As soon as I hit *G* I realized I'd left my cell phone on my desk. Too late to stop the car, I hit the button for the next floor down, 12.
The car stopped, I got off, hit the up arrow, and waited.
When the light went off I stepped up to the elevator, just as Mary, our 13th floor receptionist, stepped out, lunch in one hand, cell phone against her ear, jacket draped over her arm. Inside the elevator, now, I looked around and 13 was already pressed. I rode back up, got my phone, and rode back down.
When I came back to the floor I stuck my head into Mary's cube "Were you visiting somebody down on 12?" I asked, innocently.
"Oh my God, no!" she replied, "I just got off the elevator and walked over to the door and walked around 12, twice and I was like, 'well, this isn't my floor!' and then I came back up here.
"I do that all the time, but this time it was really confusing, beause I saw you when I got off the elevator."
Of course, I sympathize. The elevators in this building can be awfullying confusing. The elevator lobbies are located in the middle of each floor, with two exits. It's a fifty-fifty chance you turn the correct way getting off, and there are no clues to help, everything's totally symmetrical. None of the lobbies are labeled with clearly visible and easy-to-read floor numbers, so it usually isn't until you've stepped off the elevator, guessed right or left, swiped your security card, gone through into cubeville, then gone at least half a circuit of the office before realizing this isn't where you wanted to go.
"So, you know, I'd gotten in on the ground floor, hit the button for my floor, I'm the only one on the elevator, the door opens, and I see someone from my floor waiting, shouldn't it be my floor?...but it wasn't. It was really confusing."
At least the fifth and seventh floors make it a little easier. They've each got distinct color schemes, though it actually doesn't help Mary: She's color blind.
-t
recommended download:
The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Dani California
and
NOFX, The Brews
The car stopped, I got off, hit the up arrow, and waited.
When the light went off I stepped up to the elevator, just as Mary, our 13th floor receptionist, stepped out, lunch in one hand, cell phone against her ear, jacket draped over her arm. Inside the elevator, now, I looked around and 13 was already pressed. I rode back up, got my phone, and rode back down.
When I came back to the floor I stuck my head into Mary's cube "Were you visiting somebody down on 12?" I asked, innocently.
"Oh my God, no!" she replied, "I just got off the elevator and walked over to the door and walked around 12, twice and I was like, 'well, this isn't my floor!' and then I came back up here.
"I do that all the time, but this time it was really confusing, beause I saw you when I got off the elevator."
Of course, I sympathize. The elevators in this building can be awfullying confusing. The elevator lobbies are located in the middle of each floor, with two exits. It's a fifty-fifty chance you turn the correct way getting off, and there are no clues to help, everything's totally symmetrical. None of the lobbies are labeled with clearly visible and easy-to-read floor numbers, so it usually isn't until you've stepped off the elevator, guessed right or left, swiped your security card, gone through into cubeville, then gone at least half a circuit of the office before realizing this isn't where you wanted to go.
"So, you know, I'd gotten in on the ground floor, hit the button for my floor, I'm the only one on the elevator, the door opens, and I see someone from my floor waiting, shouldn't it be my floor?...but it wasn't. It was really confusing."
At least the fifth and seventh floors make it a little easier. They've each got distinct color schemes, though it actually doesn't help Mary: She's color blind.
-t
recommended download:
The Red Hot Chili Peppers, Dani California
and
NOFX, The Brews
Monday, March 19, 2007
Superfriends
I got a couple emails after the last post asking for some more me-centric details: What did I do at the wedding/reception.
I had a seat at table five. Adina and Mr. Anonymous also had places there. Adina, I saved your name card. I might mail it to you. Also, I ate your dessert. And Mr. Anonymous's.
The rest of the table was made up of...Christina, her boyfriend, Heater, her boyfriend, Joe, and Emily. Christina had moved to New York three months ago and had taken a bus to Boston for the wedding. It was an eight hour trip because of the snowstorm. She also repeatedly said she lived in Boston, not New York, explaining that "being here with all my old school friends, it's like I never left, so I'm sort of slipping back." Which, I know from experience (having never moved away and visited Boston) could happen to anyone.
Emily is from Australia. Naturally by way of introduction I said "So, you're from Australia....do you watch Lost?
Actually, I said "So, you're from Australia...Queensland?" and she was all "DUDE! YES! Why would you say Queensland? That's so killer!"
And I was all, well, it was either that or Sydney...those are the only two place I know. Then I asked if she watched Lost.
I'm not kidding. I spent the first twenty minutes of dinner rehashing season 3 so far, then I ate three desserts, then there was some crazy dancing going on. I requested some Jude - but the DJs didn't have it, so I requested something Irish for St. Patrick's Day, and they were like "...um, Cranberries?" and I was all, "dude, that is so lame" and then they were like, "Pogues?" and I was like, "Now we're talking."
I also requested some Bee Gees. Which, serendipitously, Erin had forgotten to give to the DJs as part of her required playlist, as she and her dad apparently dance to "Stayin' Alive" at every wedding they attend. So, Tom's phenomenal taste in music saves the day! I'm the hero of the wedding!
I then spent about half an hour talking video games with some of JP's high school friends and Emily, the Australian, because, it turns out,they're all we're all huge nerds, and two thirds of them work in the video gaming industry. I told everybody to play Prince of Persia, Emily made sure I'd promise to try Elder Scrolls Oblivion, and there was a general consensus that Burnout Revenge is an awesome game.
Then there was more dancing.
And then I was invited to the after party. Which was a freaking blast. I discussed movies all night with these people who were carting around liters of alcohol (becasue the hotel bar closed at 10 (wtf, RI?) to all floors and lounges of the hotel (eventually settling in the lobby - where they had COMPLIMENTARY COFFEE! which was totally sweet), specificaly Cohen brothers movies, and also did a fair share of debating comic-book-to-movie adaptaions, specifically alan Moore's V for Vendetta and Frank Miller's 300.
I was genuinely impressed by the caliber and quality of Erin's friends. I would not hesitate to place erinire's bunch right up there with our 18aers. I found it very encouraging that there are other awesome people out there, and that folks who aren't me had opportunities to be a part of that. I've got a small notion that maybe we could get everybody together. Erin's friends, my friends, and form the Superfriends! (You know, like Spiderman and his Amazing Friends (Firestar and Iceman) - also, I'd get to be Spiderman.)
They were some great people. Everybody, the whole time. It was wonderful.
-t
I had a seat at table five. Adina and Mr. Anonymous also had places there. Adina, I saved your name card. I might mail it to you. Also, I ate your dessert. And Mr. Anonymous's.
The rest of the table was made up of...Christina, her boyfriend, Heater, her boyfriend, Joe, and Emily. Christina had moved to New York three months ago and had taken a bus to Boston for the wedding. It was an eight hour trip because of the snowstorm. She also repeatedly said she lived in Boston, not New York, explaining that "being here with all my old school friends, it's like I never left, so I'm sort of slipping back." Which, I know from experience (having never moved away and visited Boston) could happen to anyone.
Emily is from Australia. Naturally by way of introduction I said "So, you're from Australia....do you watch Lost?
Actually, I said "So, you're from Australia...Queensland?" and she was all "DUDE! YES! Why would you say Queensland? That's so killer!"
And I was all, well, it was either that or Sydney...those are the only two place I know. Then I asked if she watched Lost.
I'm not kidding. I spent the first twenty minutes of dinner rehashing season 3 so far, then I ate three desserts, then there was some crazy dancing going on. I requested some Jude - but the DJs didn't have it, so I requested something Irish for St. Patrick's Day, and they were like "...um, Cranberries?" and I was all, "dude, that is so lame" and then they were like, "Pogues?" and I was like, "Now we're talking."
I also requested some Bee Gees. Which, serendipitously, Erin had forgotten to give to the DJs as part of her required playlist, as she and her dad apparently dance to "Stayin' Alive" at every wedding they attend. So, Tom's phenomenal taste in music saves the day! I'm the hero of the wedding!
I then spent about half an hour talking video games with some of JP's high school friends and Emily, the Australian, because, it turns out,
Then there was more dancing.
And then I was invited to the after party. Which was a freaking blast. I discussed movies all night with these people who were carting around liters of alcohol (becasue the hotel bar closed at 10 (wtf, RI?) to all floors and lounges of the hotel (eventually settling in the lobby - where they had COMPLIMENTARY COFFEE! which was totally sweet), specificaly Cohen brothers movies, and also did a fair share of debating comic-book-to-movie adaptaions, specifically alan Moore's V for Vendetta and Frank Miller's 300.
I was genuinely impressed by the caliber and quality of Erin's friends. I would not hesitate to place erinire's bunch right up there with our 18aers. I found it very encouraging that there are other awesome people out there, and that folks who aren't me had opportunities to be a part of that. I've got a small notion that maybe we could get everybody together. Erin's friends, my friends, and form the Superfriends! (You know, like Spiderman and his Amazing Friends (Firestar and Iceman) - also, I'd get to be Spiderman.)
They were some great people. Everybody, the whole time. It was wonderful.
-t
And They Danced To Yoshimi...
I count myself fortunate to be one of the few friends intvited to, and, more importantly, able to attend, Erin's wedding. (Though, point of fact, I never actually received an invitation, as it was lost in the mail.)
The ceremony took place on what would undoubtedly have been a beautiful, warm, spring day, if not for the seven inches of snow and biting wind that had arrived the night before courtesy of Old Man Winter - but, as they say: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only different types of good weather." And, while the snowstorm did have the unfortunate effect of preventing eight or nine of the guests from attending, the sqaull certainly did nothing to diminish the joyful spirit of the occaission.
The wedding party looked wonderful; JP, the groom, and his best men dressed in ultra-cool no-button tuxes (though there were rumors some of the wedding party had been lobbying for lime green and ruffles), and the bridesmaids in a wonderful deep green. The ceremony itself was very nice, Erin teared up during the vows and held her composure remarkably well otherwise.
But the real fun, was the reception.
To begin: An open-bar cocktail hour while the wedding party was busy with photographs. This correspondent, who had found himself utterly alone upon entering - as his anticipated companions had been waylaid by the storm - was soon surrounded by one of the more charming groups of people he has had chance to meet. First, I was befriended by Kristin, girlfriend of the best man, and similarly unattached while the wedding party was engaged, and then, soon after, Meagan, who I encouraged to sign the hitherto unsigned guestbook, and lead by example.
As soon as the photographer was done with them, the smiling bride and groom made their way out to the bar to greet their guests. JP was shaking hands with everyone with an enormous grin upon his face, and Erin (cocktail in hand) could be seen hopping from group to group laughing and smiling, while simultaneously inquiring about the ceremony, her hair, the dress, and if everything had gone well. In my opinion, and, indeed, that of everyone she asked, everything had gone splendidly.
On, then, to the dinner portion of the evening. The guests were asked to enter the ballroom and take there seats (I found myself at a table with a few of JP's high school friends and their dates), and the wedding party was introduced.
As they took their seats at the main table I was struck, immediately, by Erin - her composure, her poise, the light, the dress, the look of calm and air of comfort and assuredness - she was, it seemed, meant to be a bride.
Those of you who have been keeping up with her rants and ramblings at erinire might be under the impression that Erin is excitable, frenzied, frustrated, or overwhelemed. Please, let me assure you that she was none of those things, and seemed completely immune to anything except happiness and joy.
As the night wore on (and wear on it did - as the reception was breaking up I was invited to the after party and began to beg off, citing the late hour, only to glance down and my watch to find the time was only nine fifteen! Needless to say, with the night so young, I made my way to the party with haste, and was up with some of the newly married couples closest friends through the night), there was much dancing (Erin's sisters the wildest of the bunch) and eating, and dancing, and drinking, but it would not be sufficient to describe it here, with my limited prose.
Instead, I will simply relate that after the wedding party's introduction, Erin and JP were called out for their first dance together as husband and wife. And in a moment that refelcted a perfect uniqueness, whimsy, charm, humor, and grace that I am sure will characterize their life together, they danced to the Flaming Lips, Yoshimi Vs. The Pink Robots.
-t
recommended download:
Yoshimi
The ceremony took place on what would undoubtedly have been a beautiful, warm, spring day, if not for the seven inches of snow and biting wind that had arrived the night before courtesy of Old Man Winter - but, as they say: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only different types of good weather." And, while the snowstorm did have the unfortunate effect of preventing eight or nine of the guests from attending, the sqaull certainly did nothing to diminish the joyful spirit of the occaission.
The wedding party looked wonderful; JP, the groom, and his best men dressed in ultra-cool no-button tuxes (though there were rumors some of the wedding party had been lobbying for lime green and ruffles), and the bridesmaids in a wonderful deep green. The ceremony itself was very nice, Erin teared up during the vows and held her composure remarkably well otherwise.
But the real fun, was the reception.
To begin: An open-bar cocktail hour while the wedding party was busy with photographs. This correspondent, who had found himself utterly alone upon entering - as his anticipated companions had been waylaid by the storm - was soon surrounded by one of the more charming groups of people he has had chance to meet. First, I was befriended by Kristin, girlfriend of the best man, and similarly unattached while the wedding party was engaged, and then, soon after, Meagan, who I encouraged to sign the hitherto unsigned guestbook, and lead by example.
As soon as the photographer was done with them, the smiling bride and groom made their way out to the bar to greet their guests. JP was shaking hands with everyone with an enormous grin upon his face, and Erin (cocktail in hand) could be seen hopping from group to group laughing and smiling, while simultaneously inquiring about the ceremony, her hair, the dress, and if everything had gone well. In my opinion, and, indeed, that of everyone she asked, everything had gone splendidly.
On, then, to the dinner portion of the evening. The guests were asked to enter the ballroom and take there seats (I found myself at a table with a few of JP's high school friends and their dates), and the wedding party was introduced.
As they took their seats at the main table I was struck, immediately, by Erin - her composure, her poise, the light, the dress, the look of calm and air of comfort and assuredness - she was, it seemed, meant to be a bride.
Those of you who have been keeping up with her rants and ramblings at erinire might be under the impression that Erin is excitable, frenzied, frustrated, or overwhelemed. Please, let me assure you that she was none of those things, and seemed completely immune to anything except happiness and joy.
As the night wore on (and wear on it did - as the reception was breaking up I was invited to the after party and began to beg off, citing the late hour, only to glance down and my watch to find the time was only nine fifteen! Needless to say, with the night so young, I made my way to the party with haste, and was up with some of the newly married couples closest friends through the night), there was much dancing (Erin's sisters the wildest of the bunch) and eating, and dancing, and drinking, but it would not be sufficient to describe it here, with my limited prose.
Instead, I will simply relate that after the wedding party's introduction, Erin and JP were called out for their first dance together as husband and wife. And in a moment that refelcted a perfect uniqueness, whimsy, charm, humor, and grace that I am sure will characterize their life together, they danced to the Flaming Lips, Yoshimi Vs. The Pink Robots.
-t
recommended download:
Yoshimi
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Best laid plans... to rant and ramble
I've been invited to a wedding this weekend. (woo!) I've also been invited to a wedding near the end of April. (woo!)
I'd planned to buy a new suit for the occasion(s), something light, and spring-y.
Then I found a suit store on the same block as my new job and it was having a sale!
So...I decided it would be way easier just to wear one of the suits I already have.
Also, it'll save me some money.
Ok, quick updates: I've been singing "More Than A Feeling" in my head for days now. I still don't know any of the lyrics. This has, of course, earned me a few funny looks from my coworkers, but I don't care. I'm pretty sure you're civicly obligated to love Boston if you're from Boston. I'm pretty sure that also goes for Boston Baked Beans, the Boston Red Sox, and theBoston Strangler - I mean the Boston Pops.
For those of you wondering if I'd finished my book, I have. I loved it. I've moved on to Bram Stoker's Dracula. I've also decided to really sit down and update the hell out of my LibraryThing booklist this weekend. Right now the only things I've got on there are some trade paperbacks and sci-fi/detective novels. (Actually, when I'm finished, that's still probably all that will be there, there'll just be a ton more of them).
For those others of you who care nothing for what I do for recreation in my spare time, but instead smugly enjoy the thought of me toiling away for hours, nay, days, upon end here at my new job, slaving over a blurry CRT and tiny-fonted spreadsheets, get over yourselves. "Lo," they say "Tom has work to do now. No longer can he cast his web of laziness and inefficiency outward to his readers and drag them into his loathful existence, he has been smited (smoted?) and we rejoice!" (I imagine that's what they say. My enemies usually appear biblical in my imagination)(or Amish?).
I'd like to address that point by point:
- I have not yet toiled for days. No all-nighters or sleep-overs at the office.
I did come in on a Saturday, which turned out to be a total waste of time, and gave me cause to rededicate myself to never ever ever coming in to work on a weekend ever again. It's not worth it.
- I don't stare at a blurry monitor or tiny spreadsheets. We've all got nice big, giant flat screens - and I know how to change font sizes in Excel.
- I do have work to do now - I'd just like to point out that I used to have work to do then as well. Way back then, when I was still working under hypermanager's tutelage. Loads of work. Which I hated. I've got plenty of work now, and it's a pleasant change from trying to figure out how to kill eight hours of doing nothing at my last job with Insolent Bob staring over my shoulder. And it's not difficult, it's just constant. But, I've resolved to leave every day between five and five-thirty from here on out. Last week I was stuck at work until after six four out of five nights. I'm trying not to let that happen again.
- I have not been smoted (smitten?) and wasn't dragging you readers into my miserable lazy existence in any case. You're here because I write brilliantly and hilariously, and also because you think I'm the coolest thing to hit blogging since sliced bread - until you see this little number.
And I guess that's it. No new suit, I haven't started my taxes, I have started a new book about the most nefarious of evil creatures, and I fully intend to beat Super Mario 64 DS soon. Oh, and try this game, it's a blast.
I'd planned to buy a new suit for the occasion(s), something light, and spring-y.
Then I found a suit store on the same block as my new job and it was having a sale!
So...I decided it would be way easier just to wear one of the suits I already have.
Also, it'll save me some money.
Ok, quick updates: I've been singing "More Than A Feeling" in my head for days now. I still don't know any of the lyrics. This has, of course, earned me a few funny looks from my coworkers, but I don't care. I'm pretty sure you're civicly obligated to love Boston if you're from Boston. I'm pretty sure that also goes for Boston Baked Beans, the Boston Red Sox, and the
For those of you wondering if I'd finished my book, I have. I loved it. I've moved on to Bram Stoker's Dracula. I've also decided to really sit down and update the hell out of my LibraryThing booklist this weekend. Right now the only things I've got on there are some trade paperbacks and sci-fi/detective novels. (Actually, when I'm finished, that's still probably all that will be there, there'll just be a ton more of them).
For those others of you who care nothing for what I do for recreation in my spare time, but instead smugly enjoy the thought of me toiling away for hours, nay, days, upon end here at my new job, slaving over a blurry CRT and tiny-fonted spreadsheets, get over yourselves. "Lo," they say "Tom has work to do now. No longer can he cast his web of laziness and inefficiency outward to his readers and drag them into his loathful existence, he has been smited (smoted?) and we rejoice!" (I imagine that's what they say. My enemies usually appear biblical in my imagination)(or Amish?).
I'd like to address that point by point:
- I have not yet toiled for days. No all-nighters or sleep-overs at the office.
I did come in on a Saturday, which turned out to be a total waste of time, and gave me cause to rededicate myself to never ever ever coming in to work on a weekend ever again. It's not worth it.
- I don't stare at a blurry monitor or tiny spreadsheets. We've all got nice big, giant flat screens - and I know how to change font sizes in Excel.
- I do have work to do now - I'd just like to point out that I used to have work to do then as well. Way back then, when I was still working under hypermanager's tutelage. Loads of work. Which I hated. I've got plenty of work now, and it's a pleasant change from trying to figure out how to kill eight hours of doing nothing at my last job with Insolent Bob staring over my shoulder. And it's not difficult, it's just constant. But, I've resolved to leave every day between five and five-thirty from here on out. Last week I was stuck at work until after six four out of five nights. I'm trying not to let that happen again.
- I have not been smoted (smitten?) and wasn't dragging you readers into my miserable lazy existence in any case. You're here because I write brilliantly and hilariously, and also because you think I'm the coolest thing to hit blogging since sliced bread - until you see this little number.
And I guess that's it. No new suit, I haven't started my taxes, I have started a new book about the most nefarious of evil creatures, and I fully intend to beat Super Mario 64 DS soon. Oh, and try this game, it's a blast.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Forty-one hours and forty-five minutes, before Saturday
I showed up at work....and there's nobody here! Granted, they all said they planned to start at 9:30 this morning, and I didn't roll in until 12:30, so they might be out getting lunch...but it's still pretty disconcerting.
I'm all alone up here. I'm starting to suspect that maybe there isn't that much work to do...maybe they came in, saw twelve trades instead of twenty-four hundred trades, and said "great, screw it, let's go home."
If that is what happened, I really would have appreciated a phone call or email or something telling me that, so when i did drag myself in here and log on at least I'd know not to expect them, and that I have my Saturday back and maybe I could go catch a movie or something.
But I think they're nice guys, and if they decided to quit early they would have emailed me. And since they didn't, then they're probably eating and will be back shortly. In the meantime, I'm going to sit here and do nothing - heaven forbid I start to do some work on my own and screw something up - I'd be here all night fixing it and that is the last thing I want.
Also, this is the last time I'm every coming in to work on a weekend. It's just not worth it.
I could be asleep right now.
-t
recommended download:
The Dropkick Murphys, The Fields of Athenry
Bob Schneider, Lonelyland
I'm all alone up here. I'm starting to suspect that maybe there isn't that much work to do...maybe they came in, saw twelve trades instead of twenty-four hundred trades, and said "great, screw it, let's go home."
If that is what happened, I really would have appreciated a phone call or email or something telling me that, so when i did drag myself in here and log on at least I'd know not to expect them, and that I have my Saturday back and maybe I could go catch a movie or something.
But I think they're nice guys, and if they decided to quit early they would have emailed me. And since they didn't, then they're probably eating and will be back shortly. In the meantime, I'm going to sit here and do nothing - heaven forbid I start to do some work on my own and screw something up - I'd be here all night fixing it and that is the last thing I want.
Also, this is the last time I'm every coming in to work on a weekend. It's just not worth it.
I could be asleep right now.
-t
recommended download:
The Dropkick Murphys, The Fields of Athenry
Bob Schneider, Lonelyland
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Drinking the Kool-Aid
I was going to write a post called "Drinking the Kool-Aid" early this week. I was going to go on and on about how much the new company seems "nice," and "happy," and "good." As opposed to all the previous companies I've worked for that are "bad," and "evil," and, (worst of all) "stupid."
But I didn't post about how great my job is. The two facts are related.
My "great" job has kept me at work until 6:15 three of four nights this week. Getting home a frustrating two hours later than usual is not conducive to flippant blog postings.
I have also been asked to come in Saturday to get an early jump on the mid-month trading deluge, which, I am told, can exceed 2,500 trades per section, per day. That is significantly more than the normal amount. About twelve times as much.
So, rather than spend twelve times as much time at work on Monday, I have elected, with three other members of our four member group, to come in on the weekend. Something I had sworn never to do.
Nine to six aren't the hours I signed on for. I agreed to work thirty-five hours a week, not forty-five plus.
Which is a shame, because for that week or so I enjoyed my job, I really thought it was possible to enjoy your job.
-t
But I didn't post about how great my job is. The two facts are related.
My "great" job has kept me at work until 6:15 three of four nights this week. Getting home a frustrating two hours later than usual is not conducive to flippant blog postings.
I have also been asked to come in Saturday to get an early jump on the mid-month trading deluge, which, I am told, can exceed 2,500 trades per section, per day. That is significantly more than the normal amount. About twelve times as much.
So, rather than spend twelve times as much time at work on Monday, I have elected, with three other members of our four member group, to come in on the weekend. Something I had sworn never to do.
Nine to six aren't the hours I signed on for. I agreed to work thirty-five hours a week, not forty-five plus.
Which is a shame, because for that week or so I enjoyed my job, I really thought it was possible to enjoy your job.
-t
The Hot Gates
A couple of my favorite excerpts from the first few paragraphs from this Seattle Times review of "300":
"It's one of history's great last stands — like 'The Alamo' and 'Zulu,' except with hyper-macho, near-naked muscular guys who seem like something from one of John Milius' childhood fantasies."
"When the hot, naked oracle of a group of deformed priests tells Leonidas not to go war, he instead goes for a 'walk' with 300 armed "bodyguards'"
and
"...as the action alternates between slow-motion and fast to emphasize every decapi-tastic detail."
Decapi-tastic. Sweet.
-t
Though maybe the Persians weren't that bad, and the Spartans did lose...
"It's one of history's great last stands — like 'The Alamo' and 'Zulu,' except with hyper-macho, near-naked muscular guys who seem like something from one of John Milius' childhood fantasies."
"When the hot, naked oracle of a group of deformed priests tells Leonidas not to go war, he instead goes for a 'walk' with 300 armed "bodyguards'"
and
"...as the action alternates between slow-motion and fast to emphasize every decapi-tastic detail."
Decapi-tastic. Sweet.
-t
Though maybe the Persians weren't that bad, and the Spartans did lose...
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Rocks, Salt, and a heavy dose of Pre-Season Baseball
Step One: turn on NESN to watch some pre-season Red Sox baseball
Step Two: stare blankly at your computer screen trying desperately to think of something to blog about. The preceding week-long drought doesn't help matters.
Step Three: reach down without looking for your glass of coffee, bring it slowly to your mouth while watching Ortiz take ball three, and take a sip.
Step Four: Spit contents of the mug all over your computer, shirt, coffee table, when you realize the funny taste is half a cup of salt dumped surrepticiously into your coffee by your stupid younger brother.
We get geared up for April Fool's day pretty early around here.
We'll see who's laughing when he wakes up this weekend to find I've buried every piece of clothing he owns under two inches of river rocks.
Step Five: Star worrying that the salt all over your computer is going to eat into the screen and keyboard and damage it irreprably.
Step Six: Post.
-t
Step Two: stare blankly at your computer screen trying desperately to think of something to blog about. The preceding week-long drought doesn't help matters.
Step Three: reach down without looking for your glass of coffee, bring it slowly to your mouth while watching Ortiz take ball three, and take a sip.
Step Four: Spit contents of the mug all over your computer, shirt, coffee table, when you realize the funny taste is half a cup of salt dumped surrepticiously into your coffee by your stupid younger brother.
We get geared up for April Fool's day pretty early around here.
We'll see who's laughing when he wakes up this weekend to find I've buried every piece of clothing he owns under two inches of river rocks.
Step Five: Star worrying that the salt all over your computer is going to eat into the screen and keyboard and damage it irreprably.
Step Six: Post.
-t
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Devil
I had a devil of a time getting a T pass this morning. I was going to rant and rave about it, but I've done enough of that to the MBTA director via email, and I'm all ranted out. Quickly:
Tried to buy my pass with a credit card after waiting in line at a cash only machine;
Switched lines to wait for a credit/debit card machine
Credit/debit machine wouldn't take credit/debit cards
Received no aid at all from the so-called MBTA ambassador
Switched back to another line and dug through my backpack to find change for a one-way fare
Took the train in to work
At lunch I tried State Street station, Downtown Crossing, and Chinatown fare vending machines
None of them took credit cards either
Finally when I left work they'd been fixed and I got my monthly pass.
Stupid T.
In other news the book I'm reading right now, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is freakin' awesome. It's about magicians - but not your regular storybook magicians where magic is good or evil (Harry Potter, Voldemort, Merlin, Sabriel, any of Neil Gaiman's books...) in this book magic is... it's less fantastic, less unbelievable, and less understood. It's also sinister. Totally, totally sinister.
And awesome.
I'm going to go read some more.
-t
Tried to buy my pass with a credit card after waiting in line at a cash only machine;
Switched lines to wait for a credit/debit card machine
Credit/debit machine wouldn't take credit/debit cards
Received no aid at all from the so-called MBTA ambassador
Switched back to another line and dug through my backpack to find change for a one-way fare
Took the train in to work
At lunch I tried State Street station, Downtown Crossing, and Chinatown fare vending machines
None of them took credit cards either
Finally when I left work they'd been fixed and I got my monthly pass.
Stupid T.
In other news the book I'm reading right now, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell is freakin' awesome. It's about magicians - but not your regular storybook magicians where magic is good or evil (Harry Potter, Voldemort, Merlin, Sabriel, any of Neil Gaiman's books...) in this book magic is... it's less fantastic, less unbelievable, and less understood. It's also sinister. Totally, totally sinister.
And awesome.
I'm going to go read some more.
-t
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Books
I'm being paid for 35 hours a week. I shouldn't be required to come in at nine a.m. if I'm obligated to stay until 6 p.m. Overtime's fine, but so is sleep.
The boring parts of the day I used to get through by blogging I'm now getting through by singing songs in my head. One song per day. Today it was Fidelity by Regina Spektor. Recently I've also sung Cold As Ice, Carry On My Wayward Son, and Popular, from Wicked.
That's all I've got for you today. Brain's not quite up for hilarity. Even amus-arity. Bleh.
-t
The boring parts of the day I used to get through by blogging I'm now getting through by singing songs in my head. One song per day. Today it was Fidelity by Regina Spektor. Recently I've also sung Cold As Ice, Carry On My Wayward Son, and Popular, from Wicked.
That's all I've got for you today. Brain's not quite up for hilarity. Even amus-arity. Bleh.
-t
Friday, February 23, 2007
The real difference.
People seem to like it here. They seem...happy.
I've never experienced anything like it.
Nobody is talking about how much they hate it here, no one is saying that it sucks. Nobody is talking about looking for a new job.
I think they like it here.
This is weird.
I've never experienced anything like it.
Nobody is talking about how much they hate it here, no one is saying that it sucks. Nobody is talking about looking for a new job.
I think they like it here.
This is weird.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
General Standards for using the Internet and Online Services
An excerpt from the Internet/Email Policy from The Company, in two parts:
Part One: The Internet
Ownership
The Company owns its technical resources and has the right to and is monitoring and tracing Internet usage. Please be aware that the Internet usage at The Company is not private. Failure to comply with the Internet standards stated in this and the following section on information sharing can be grounds for disciplinary action up to and including termination and/or legal action.
Access
Access to the Internet is monitored to ensure appropriate use. Management reports are produced periodically, highlighting excessive and inappropriate Internet usage.
Intent of Use
Internet access is provided to enable users to carry out their responsibilities as employees of The Company. Activities that are normally inappropriate while performing job responsibilities are also inappropriate on the Internet. Users are prohibited from using technology resources, including the Internet, for any purpose that is, in the sole discretion of The Company, unlawful, threatening, abusive, libelous, obscene, hateful, or encourages conduct that would constitute a criminal offense, give rise to civil liability, or otherwise violate any local, state, national, or international law.
Part Two: Email
Ownership Rights
The Company owns all e-mail and has the right to and is monitoring and reading all e-mail sent and received by The Company's employees. Please be aware that e-mail communications at The Company are not private. The firm has installed systems to screen global e-mail electronically and to store internal e-mail for potential future review. Misuse of email will not be tolerated and could lead to disciplinary action up to and including termination and/or legal action.
What is covered Under E-Mail
All types of electronic communications are covered by this policy. That includes but is not limited to:
E-Mail
Instant Messaging
Blackberries
All other forms of electronic messaging systems.
Also, it's a violation to share company information electronically, including policies and procedures, like the above, you know, just, fyi.
-t
Part One: The Internet
Ownership
The Company owns its technical resources and has the right to and is monitoring and tracing Internet usage. Please be aware that the Internet usage at The Company is not private. Failure to comply with the Internet standards stated in this and the following section on information sharing can be grounds for disciplinary action up to and including termination and/or legal action.
Access
Access to the Internet is monitored to ensure appropriate use. Management reports are produced periodically, highlighting excessive and inappropriate Internet usage.
Intent of Use
Internet access is provided to enable users to carry out their responsibilities as employees of The Company. Activities that are normally inappropriate while performing job responsibilities are also inappropriate on the Internet. Users are prohibited from using technology resources, including the Internet, for any purpose that is, in the sole discretion of The Company, unlawful, threatening, abusive, libelous, obscene, hateful, or encourages conduct that would constitute a criminal offense, give rise to civil liability, or otherwise violate any local, state, national, or international law.
Part Two: Email
Ownership Rights
The Company owns all e-mail and has the right to and is monitoring and reading all e-mail sent and received by The Company's employees. Please be aware that e-mail communications at The Company are not private. The firm has installed systems to screen global e-mail electronically and to store internal e-mail for potential future review. Misuse of email will not be tolerated and could lead to disciplinary action up to and including termination and/or legal action.
What is covered Under E-Mail
All types of electronic communications are covered by this policy. That includes but is not limited to:
Instant Messaging
Blackberries
All other forms of electronic messaging systems.
Also, it's a violation to share company information electronically, including policies and procedures, like the above, you know, just, fyi.
-t
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
The Grey Area
The work, it is unending. It is also mislabeled. There is very little actual "work." As I described in my last post, I am charged with double- or triple-clicking things in a computer program, for seven hours a day. It is very similar to my first real job in that the task is easily understood, endlessly repeating, and I will no doubt master it within two weeks.
Unending, and uninteresting. My coworkers, however, seem smart and competent. We will see how long that illusion lasts.
I have no other news at this time. I have not yet worked out a good system for updating my blog, reading others blogs, and thinking creative, original thoughts. The job seems to preclude thinking in its higher forms. While the activity itself is not intellectually taxing, the constantness precludes any time at all for losing oneself in a daydream, weird fantasy, or thinking up a clever haiku about the weather:
Alas, there is work enough that I am not bored, and not enough work that I am at all stimulated. The limbo of computerized accounting. The gap between sunset and twilight and night when you can't tell see colors, when the sky blends so totally into the horizon you swear the earth doesn't end, just overlaps. The grey area. Stasis. I will no longer work. I'll muddle.
It's going to be weird.
Unending, and uninteresting. My coworkers, however, seem smart and competent. We will see how long that illusion lasts.
I have no other news at this time. I have not yet worked out a good system for updating my blog, reading others blogs, and thinking creative, original thoughts. The job seems to preclude thinking in its higher forms. While the activity itself is not intellectually taxing, the constantness precludes any time at all for losing oneself in a daydream, weird fantasy, or thinking up a clever haiku about the weather:
slush, sleet, freezing rain
my hometown's "wintery mix"
southerners' "torture"
Alas, there is work enough that I am not bored, and not enough work that I am at all stimulated. The limbo of computerized accounting. The gap between sunset and twilight and night when you can't tell see colors, when the sky blends so totally into the horizon you swear the earth doesn't end, just overlaps. The grey area. Stasis. I will no longer work. I'll muddle.
It's going to be weird.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Tuesday, last.
I wish today, my first Tuesday at a new job, was my last. I am faced, once again, with a mind-numbing array of monotonous tasks that require little more physical effort than clicking a mouse button or two, and a cognitive effort of similar amount.
Each trade I am responsible for takes about three shakes of a mouse tail (or is that three clicks of a lamb's button) to process. Just about the only thing I can say this job has going for it is that there are nine hundred trades to process every day (two thousand on busy days). I won't want for things to do.
I also don't have internet access from work.
No blogger. No email. Nothing.
I'll be blogging, henceforth, from home, at the end of the work day. I'll also be reading/commenting on blogs from home, at the end of the work day. This will drastically reduce the number of blogs I read regularly.
Of course, I'll let you know as soon as things change, if they ever do. And if I suddenly decide to go off the deep end, quit my life of suburban luxury and retire to a log cabin in the mountains to become a gun nut, and friend to bears and all animals of the forest, you all should know the very first thing I would do is let you all know about it here.
The second thing I would do is start growing my beard out.
Each trade I am responsible for takes about three shakes of a mouse tail (or is that three clicks of a lamb's button) to process. Just about the only thing I can say this job has going for it is that there are nine hundred trades to process every day (two thousand on busy days). I won't want for things to do.
I also don't have internet access from work.
No blogger. No email. Nothing.
I'll be blogging, henceforth, from home, at the end of the work day. I'll also be reading/commenting on blogs from home, at the end of the work day. This will drastically reduce the number of blogs I read regularly.
Of course, I'll let you know as soon as things change, if they ever do. And if I suddenly decide to go off the deep end, quit my life of suburban luxury and retire to a log cabin in the mountains to become a gun nut, and friend to bears and all animals of the forest, you all should know the very first thing I would do is let you all know about it here.
The second thing I would do is start growing my beard out.
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