happy birthday brother

hope your day went well and at least one person gave you cup cakes.

we suck young blood

I was reading Tim Duncan's bio on a site, and it inspired me to, along with my overwhelming sense of cynicism on this Friday of joy and gladness (only 5 days of work left! Exciting!) write something brutally true and yet over the top exaggerated. and that would be how my institution eats its young.

Not the visiting young, but the new employees. I don't know if this is the case in the real world with real money dollar jobs, but I have seen a lot of super-swift hire-quit actions go down here. Let me explain how somehow, a renowned institution of 400+ employees has built a management system that contrives to suck the souls out of people.

Scenario 1: The impossible situation
There is one senior manager here (and by here, I mean collecting a fat paycheck) who actually lives in New York and is getting her doctorate. I'm not sure how that works. Who okayed this? I mean, what person in there right mind said, 'ah yes Barbie, we should pay her a lot and make her supervisor of 15 people on site, but pay for her to live far away and come to town whenever she wants'? I guess it could work, if she was a stellar manager/communicator, but here no one is a stellar communicator, and Barbie is worst than most.

A testament to this is the way that she can't keep people working for here for any long period of time. New hires are not hired/interviewed by her, so they are never forewarned of her *&*#*&-ness. Barbie will then roll into the scene at her leisure, and about 50% of the time, after the visit we are looking for a new hire. The swiftest hire-quit process I saw was within 24 hours of Barbie's landing at SFO. I am not sure if this is her record. I feel a little bad. The only ones who make it are just like her. It's an impossible situation for people who do not want to become conniving.

Scenario 2: Failure to drink the kool-aid
This is common, when the person hired has been a little lured in by our "mission" and "vision." Then they get in and take a good scope around and see that those were some really awesome pretty-lies we construct in order to not hate ourselves at the end of the day. Many people cut and run at this point. A few stick around, and some get so caught up in the kool-aid that they ask to franchise the stuff so they can peddle it to other unsuspecting folk.

An example of this can be seen, ironically, in our recruiter. He started in October. His last day is Wednesday. Which is too bad for Earnesto, because it means the person he was counting on to find my replacement will not be there. Which kind of means it will be a long time before there is a replacement. Oops!

Scenario 3: They saw behind the curtain
Last year for Camille's birthday, we, plus Renaldo, went to lunch. This was still when Renaldo was having a death-crush on Camille, and as part of his awkward ritual mating dance he had the Hopes & Dreams talk. Way too early in the wooing, buddy. No wonder you failed. But even at the time it was apparent that of the three of us, I was a #2, and they were going to either be lifers or have a #3 moment sometime soon. hopes and dreams don't make it very long here.

Think about it in these terms: Under the guise of 'creative engines,' the place sucks hopes and dreams up and then uses them to power the institution's Project Negative Value. I envision the movement to be similar to that of the beast in Yeats' poem "The Second Coming," slouching towards the target.

When people see past the eyewash and the kool-aid, what they basically see is the machine room of the Hopes & Dreams giant vacuum, and scales fall from eyes quickly. This is how we lose the most promising talent. They go and say, hey, if there is going to be a wizard behind the curtain, it should be something that grants wishes, or at least looks like Cary Grant, and not something that will eventually see me a dried up old bag with no additional training. And then they leave (usually not until I have told them something embarrassing about myself; they have phenomenal interrogation skills).

alack! alas!

I spoke too soon when I said yesterday that I was feeling unsmirchable, even if it involved Rusty. Last night I had this very besmirching dream about him. I will have to undergo therapy relating to it for several years, if not decades.

What can cleanse my mind? Perhaps some eyewash?

give me $3K and a eurail pass and i'll show you a good time

in the non-prostitute sense.

at this point, pretty much un-smirchable

When I was in high school, I participated in that time honored tradition of mediocrity: zero-period health. nothing says that "this isn't important" like having it start at ridiculously early hours. And the teacher was really the coach of the varsity baseball team, because we believe that it is the duty of academic integrity to suffer in the face of athleticism. This fellow thought, as I have mentioned before, that most of the best health knowledge could be gleaned from made-for-tv movies and very special episodes, and films starring comedians named Bill (What About Bob, I hate that movie, but I am okay with When Harry Met Sally).

We once watched the cinematic masterpiece of the small-silver-screen that was the movie in the which Fred Savage is a high school wrestler who abused his girlfriend Candace Cameron and then kills her and puts her body in the lake. Come on Fred, couldn't you think of somewhere more creative to put your dead? The lake is soooo cliché.

Anyway, after this one and the movie Sleeping with the Enemy, Mr. Coach then taught us what to say if we are in an abusive relationship.

PAUSE: THIS IS A DISCLAIMER. I am not trying to say abusive relationships are funny, or that what follows is a useful technique is escaping one. I'm trying to point out the stupidity of the technique. Don't get mad and read me lectures about how my insensitive soul will be forever cursed. It is a well-known fact I gambled away my soul in '01. UNPAUSE

As I was saying, Mr. Coach told us we should look the person in the eye and say forcefully, but calmly the following phrase.

"Look, (place name here), It's Over."

Then apparently the abuser will be enlightened and contrite and wish you well for the future and will not be tempted to kill you and put your body in the lake/bay/body of water.

So, as much as I've made fun of this, and I have, I kind of feel like I have said, 'look, workplace and Earnesto, It's Over.' But it worked this time. I feel borderline euphoric. So when I have had to interact with Rusty these last few days, I didn't have the smirched feeling he usually causes. I have become un-smirchable. Awesome. On the chart of awesome-osity that is my life, that rates right up there with my Mr. Popper's Penguins and Thom Yorke Dream. It's a pretty sweet dream. And it's pretty sweet that finally I can thumb my nose at the collective insanity that is this place.

the word is out

I went public (as in my workplace public, as opposed to the internet public) with my plans to quit on December 6. So now I have to field the questions of what next.

I DON'T KNOW.

So stop asking me.

Also something that should be a bolster to my self-esteem, but has turned out to be a little creepy is the strong reaction I receive from some people. I have only worked here 18 months. We can't be that close. So stop crying, or telling me how sad it is. Please stop trying to talk me out of it. I now have sound medical advice that backs up what little sanity I have left that considers it for the best of the entire world that I do not remain in this job.

And I have decided, despite the fact that this is a rare opportunity, I should probably pass on the going-away party. Because if I have to plan it, not nice things will happen. As in, Mutually assured destruction not nice. Plus, it's not in the budget. And having spent most of my time here having to be an evil queen of numbers, I should probably not go out with the fanfare. Plus, I'm not fond of brass.

crisis at the message centre

Timmy is injured! Luckily, not a horrible season ending sort of injury, but still, injured. I hate Clumsy James Jones for his futile attempts to stop Timmy's greatness. For that, mr. stupid-leg-in-the-way should be sentenced to the circle of the Inferno where the people where lead robes and are forced to walk in never-ending circles around a roasting fire. That is the weight of guilt. If it had been a acl tear, I don't think Dante described a level severe enough.

This whole incident has been enough to expel the sparkle in my heart which was disguising my space there, and it has brought to the forefront the black spot on my soul.

UPDATE:

Ok, here is something that makes this a tiny bit better.



I love these boys!

jack

I bought some new shoes tonight. Exciting! I saw them and wanted them because made me think of sweaters for my feet. Also Exciting!

But in describing them to family and friends, I realized I liked them because they remind me of my high school English teacher, Jack. There are a very few people that I wish came in pocket size so I could keep them around for reference. Jack is one of them. Since people do not come in pocket size, maybe in shoe-representation is the next best thing.



Yes, I know they are not blue,like I talked about before, but they are Jack-ish. Davey G. shoes will have to wait. But he is still my favorite.

i got a dollar (and happy birthday)

In the mail today, someone who wanted our business sent us a dollar. I like to think of it as them sending me a dollar. Either way, I'm keeping it. Want shall I do with my dollar, all crisp and new? Maybe I'll splurge and spend it all at the vending machine. Maybe I'll go to the Dollar Store. Maybe I'll fold it into a ring and propose to the next hot guy I meet.

Or . . .
Maybe I'll use it to start the slush fund to found my crime syndicate
Maybe I'll use it bribe a corrupt official
Maybe I'll keep it as a souvenir of my days here
Maybe use it to give someone a paper cut
Or maybe I'll put it in my purse and use it to tip the next delivery person.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DAVEY G!!!! YOU"RE MY FAVORITE DAVE EVER!! I hope life and the wife are treating your well in Austin.

Maybe I'll use my dollar to buy awesome blue shoes like the ones that Davey G. used to wear. Yep, maybe that's what I will do.

all you need to know

So I scammed a copy of the latest Kent cd off my brother until I can get my own. I have to say, so far almost everything they have done I end up liking after enough plays. But the last cd was pretty awesome, Du & Jag Dogen (throw an accent or something in there) and even thought the only words of Swedish that I speak are pretty useless and couldn't form a sentence (mostly nouns), I loved it. It even had a few tracks that made it onto my top super-most-coveted playlist. So when my brother said this latest guy had gone in an 80s direction, I had some qualms. Are we talking Early Madonna 80s, The Cure 80s, or U2 80s?, because in my mind, only one of these was truly ever acceptable, even in the 80s, the one in the middle.

But you know, there are just some bands that, unless they launch a hydrogen bomb, you find a way to really get into it. And I did. It's Kent, that's all I need to know.

And Paul, you said you like Ingenting, which is good, but I think my favorite may be Columbus, or maybe Elephanter.

And I still have no idea what they are saying. None whatsoever.

shiny new and technological

What's more exciting: Tim Duncan being officially and correctly listed on the NBA All-Star Ballot, or the fact I actually figured out how to include the link to voting (widgit, whatever) in my blog.? I sure am not-knowing-what-I am-doing really well. So if you care, please vote, and make sure you vote for Tim Duncan.

the things i have learned

As I said before, I am in charge of Marie's farewell, Beer and Oysters on the beach. As I said before, I am not fond of either of these items. But luckily, Pierre is going to manfully step up on the seafood end and order the oysters and assume responsibility when the bill comes to something ridiculous and Earnesto chokes on his redbull when he has to sign the invoice. Way to go Pierre. I deeply appreciate you for this.

Still, this leaves the beer to me, not a beer aficionado. I was told it needed to be a keg. I have definitely never gotten a keg. Unless you are talking about a keg of hot chocolate for cold carolers, that I have done more than once, along with the stocking of one Pink Pam Manner's Silver Samovar with wedding punch. That's just how I roll. But kegs, no, not in my line.

But apparently in my line of duty. I now have to find the most recent male college graduate and find out how one goes about this. Maybe I'll charm someone into taking this one over. If not, I will be sure to add it to my skill set on my resumé: Able to Procure Kegs on appropriate occasions.

Maybe one day I will show you a brief glance at my resumé. It has become something of a joke.

look at you and your awful hair

Someone must have let Hugh know that a person could make an accurate guess at his mental health based on the flop-activity of his flopsome hair, because he has cut it. Now it just looks like hair any guy could have. It's terrible. Looks like someone is getting his game-face on. I don't think your fooling anyone buddy. And you look like you are five.

plotting a karaoke ambush

In my position at this institution, I have been in the position to plan many a going-away "parties." That is put in quotes because sometimes it is a party, sometimes a funeral, sometimes just a going through the motions, and sometimes, like with good-old Battleaxe, it was a chance to kick 'em while they're down/dance on grave. Next up is Marie's farewell: Beer and oysters on the beach. I applaud her simple vision, but can't help but think of the irony that she wants to feed a bunch of people oysters after an oil spill. Neither of the above items really appeals to me, yet I have to plan. It's proving to be a bit sticky, but I will contrive.

But it begs the question: Who will plan my party? Marie will be gone. Earnesto doesn't do details. That is the extent of my lauded department. Conclusion, I will plan my party.

This simultaneously sucks and has it's benefits. Foremost amongst the benefits is that I will allow myself to do whatever is in my imagination. I was talking to the head of HR about it, and she said it sounded pretty awesome. Complete Carte Blanche.

So when I come up with a devilishly good idea(with my creative engines) (and I have) like making it a karaoke party, and asking Earnesto to sing a song for my final request, I will not shoot my idea down. I will say instead, "Self, that sounds like a capital idea, and well within the budget I have established for this party." And Then I will say "Self, thanks for understanding what I am trying to envision." Fabulous. Finally, I get to plot my karaoke ambush.

As for songs that I will ask for Earnesto to sing, I will take written submissions. Although I would love to have it be something like "Total Eclipse of the Heart." Or something by Debbie Harry or Madonna. Or Barry Manilow. There are just so many ways to be cruel on this one.

this cupcake's for you

So, near my place of work is a fine establishment, a purveyor of cupcakes. I love these cupcakes. Brilliant and tasty. Today, in celebration of my quitting, me and Camille went to lunch and then to the cupcake store. I had a sweet chocolate cupcake, and I would like to say, this cupcake is for everyone who has ever been in a work situation that is untenable. It represents the sweet and rich creamy goodness of giving that crappy job the proverbial finger as you leave to do anything but that. Including being unemployed.

So, when I announced I was quitting, Earnesto said that I was too ambitious for this job. Since when is asking for some feedback ambitious? Not accepting mediocrity is not ambition, it is sanity.

As I once said to my #2 favorite Dave, this cupcake's for you, all those who know they are for better things than the dust they have shaken from their feet.

ticket to ride

So, my high school prom, which I did not go to because my brain was still nestled firmly in my noggin, had the theme of "Ticket to Ride" and was held in a train station. I hear it was enjoyable.

No Comment.

But now it is my favorite game, which I have used the online version to replace pirate quizzes as my favorite on-the-job timekill.

And, as simultaneously an aside and the purpose of this entry, I quit my job. My last day is January 4.

I actually quit my job last week, during the break of a MEETING OF DOOM, in which Earnesto convinced people to back his plan for Project Negative Value despite the overwhelming evidence that forecasts failure. I had it planned, but I didn't mean to say it than. It was like, "Oops, I quit."

So, you may notice some changes to the format of this page. Because finally, I am doing what I said all along I should do. What I wrote about from entry 1.

And I have no idea what I am going to do next. So please, take a moment and give a recommendation. PLEASE!

not with a bang

Ignore the title of this blog. Every once in a while, I get the urge to quote, and in the absence of having something to truly say relevant to the topic, I will misappropriate and write about other things. Like my weekend.

So, this weekend, my friend and I went to SFMOMA to take advantage of a neat trick I have of getting in free. Unfortunately, this Saturday it was not such a great trick, since, thanks to Oracle, it was a "Free4All" day. So, we spent the day rubbing elbows+ with the outpouring of the cheap and cultured (and that includes me). Still, it was cool to see the art again, and be with a friend. We didn't get to see the special Olafur Eliasson Exhibit, because we are not crazy enough to wait an hour to go up to the 4th floor. I've seen it before, and it's pretty awesome, but not 1 hour of standing in line awesome. To make up for it, we went to the much-acclaimed gift shop of SFMOMA. I admit to being a skeptic of the claims of its amazingness, but, indeed, it did rock my world. Not enough for me to pay insane prices and wait in yet another line of death (Note, lines do seem to be a problem at SFMOMA, we didn't see the BMW art-car either because of the lines).

Then we meandered to MOAD, or the Museum of the African Diaspora. I know what prompted the question, but it opened with the line "When did you find out that you were African?" Fine, whatever, except I am pretty much Wonder-bread white, and so it amuses me when they try to make sweeping statements like this. I know, they are saying all human life came from Africa. I get it. And African Culture permeates everything. But still, I smiled. Also, let me add that though a delightful space, MOAD is not equipped to fit the number of people packt like sardines in a crushd tin box.

Finally, we ended it by wandering through the rainy-day streets and shopping. Okay, I spent all the money. But I bought my favorite game, Ticket to Ride, and some music. Then I went home and played the game online for hours with my sisters. Happiness through Technology, people.

Another thing of note of Saturday was the USCv.UCB football game. I used to follow college football with the same fervor you now see exerted towards the NBA, but I was quickly cured of that by going to a college football game. I now find it slightly baffling that as many people from USC should be descending upon Berkeley like a hoard of locusts. Don't you have other responsibilities? They were everywhere. In the museums, in the stores, on BART, walking noisily by my house after they won the game. I tell you, it didn't help endear them to me.

Now I will work, until 3, when I will be playing trains again online with my sisters.

another blog? no one reads this one

Okay, I know three of you do, but really, you probably know that really isn't enough to justify the amount of time, minimal that it is, that I spend on this. Yet, be relieved all those people who pay attention and don't care about basketball etc, I am trying out blogging on the fan part of espn.com. We'll see how this goes. Don't expect me never to bring up sports, but count your blessings, because it spared you a detailed argument about trades. The platform still needs some work, but oh well.

penta-annual faulknerian (near) non-fiction: it'll make you stab your eyeballs out

This is a post for everyone who has ever had to write a scholarly paper in the general field of the humanities, specifically in English. Do you recall the time spent crafting a sentence to say exactly what you mean, pouring through words and phrases until something would click? When there was very little difference to be found between content and style because the two were inextricably linked. Then I recommend that you never have a go at editing the report that is now sitting on my desk.

Usually a visceral reaction to a written work can be considered a good thing. But it has to be for all the best reasons. If the reason is because it is so terrible, so full of errors and inappropriate tone, than no, not awesome.

Granted, this blog is hardly a stylistic achievement of greatness. But it's informal. I don't care, and if you are fretting about my abysmal punctuation, I have to say, get a life. This is something I write on the sly, like when I'm editing papers that make me cry (I wept on the way home last night thinking about how bad this was: truly wretched).

A report that you do five times a year, prepared for your Board of Directors, should not be this bad. It really shouldn't be bad at all, but if it has to be less than stellar, make it M.O.R, or mediocre. It shouldn't be this bad: it could be spread around it leaflets and used as a torture device.

And such a report should have a formal tone. If there is money on the line and it doesn't involve a lotto ticket, you should be formal. You can be conversational without becoming a servant of an Editorial Demon.

Curse you Earnesto, and your report as well.

what a blessed relief

That would be basketball, the NBA that started last night with the Spurs receiving their rings and ended with them comfortably defeating the constantly improving Blazers. Well, actually, it ended with the Utah Jazz trouncing the Warriors in a manner cruelly reminiscent of the playoff series last year. In the middle was the Rockets barely squeaking by the Lakers, which is not to say that this is a Kobe sandwich, because if that was the case, I don't think anyone would partake.

Like many other people who decided, or had fate decide for them, that Basketball was their sport of choice, I feel like I have long wandered in the wasteland of Baseball (which cannot even hold a candle to TSE's The Wasteland, and is much more in line with being caught in a storm in the Gobi - a feeling of perpetually impending doom). I have read countless blogs yesterday and today breathing the collective sigh of relief that at long last, October 30th has dawned and we will not have to suffer again until Late June (or the All-Star Break, depending on how much of a purist you are). And to add my voice to this chorus, I will set down my observations for last night's games.

Game 1: Spurs v. Blazers, in San Antonio
This season started as I feel every season should: with the Spurs getting their rings, celebrating, and unveiling the banner that looks (gasp! Spoiler alert!) just like the ones hanging right next to it. I was thrilled to see that Chip Engelland got a ring, because I think his work with the players was instrumental in the success. Also, who didn't love to see how geeked the first time players were, despite attempts to act degagé.

Trivia Time: Which time in the NBA has the longest winning streak of season opening games? Let's not be silly, we know it is the Spurs, with 11 years of victory. For a team that everyone knows is a grower (start slow, and builds into 58 wins of Awesomeness), they know they have to put the right foot forward.

That isn't to say that it was a sure thing, hands-down win. Portland, rapidly improving into a soon-to-be contender, put up a stiff fight, and LaMarcus Aldridge has some skills on him. That team really has a lot of the future greatness for the NBA amongst its ranks. They kept good intensity and pressured the Spurs all the way to the end. I think (I write at work, not in front of my tivo) that they got it to 4 point spread before the Spurs stopped playing and actually got down to business in the last few minutes.

And to you nay-sayers (I don't want to hear about Phoenix, people, not today), it was not a boring game. It had plenty of up-and-down and running, and good passes and "dunks." Well, Portland had dunks that don't have to be in quotes, but San Antonio is not the place to find DUNKS. It's kind of a more than a layup, less than a jam.

It was good to see Darius Washington get out there and make some mistakes along with some good moves. he looks like he has some potential, and I'm pretty excited that it was him out there, and not the recently departed Beno Udrih. (Side note: Last season my sister and I went to the games when the Spurs came to play the Warriors. One thing we noticed is that when it was the time out with the Warrior Girls, there were two players that were not listening to Pops, but were slack-jawed watching the ladies like they had never seen a cheerleader/dancer before, Udrih and James White. Both are now gone. coincidence? I don't think so. Listen to Pops, he has got 4 rings for a reason)

NEXT: Rockets v. Lakers, in L.A.
I was excited for this game because I had heard big talk about the Rockets, and I wanted to see what they had. What will Rick Adelman do with the talent he has under his tutelage? Because he's a pretty good coach himself. Plus, I wanted to see what the Spurs had given away in Luis Scola (Probably a good player, but definitely a member of the All Not-Good-Hair team). I was not excited for this game because it included the Lakers, who right now have some of my all-time not favorite players (Kobe, Luke Walton). plus, the people of Los Angeles feel a sense of bizarre entitlement - every call and every game should be going their way because they payed ridiculous money for those seats and merchandise. That's what you get for liking a large-market team, a storied franchise You are paying for goods that were delivered 5 years ago. I hope you like the taste of history. MMM, delicious, and past-due.

The game showed me this: the Rockets have potential, but that Angel food cake hasn't set entirely yet. Give it some time, and it will not collapse under its own weight, like the Rockets sort of did in the last 1:30. (The middle of the game was a little lost in a local earthquake, when we had to first figure out if there really was an earthquake, and second, I had to field calls to make sure I and the caller were still alive) Well, thank goodness for Shane Battier, who I have heard is a hated player, but who doesn't like a Blue Devil? And, Kobe, missing 9 free throws. Again, I sort-of quote my roommate when I say, he really f$#%@ his own s$#& up with all this controversy. And Rafer Alston redeemed himself by knocking away the last rebound.

Game 3: Warriors v Jazz, in Oakland.
Curiously, the game I didn't watch was the local one, but this is what I have to say. That box score is sick. My condolences, fellow bay area people. That's no way to start a season. But it's one game. Better luck next time.

Job Opening?

The news from Rangoon indicates that there may be a opportunity for advancement in my long-term career plan to head up an international crime syndicate. It's about time I was making my move.

A Very Special Episode

I grew up without a TV.

?? you may say, did you also live in a cave?

Why, no, I did not. I lived in a lovely house in the suburbs of Portland and I had no TV, so consequently, I never knew the joys of the "very special episode" until I grew older and had an early morning health class whose curriculum seemed to consist only of these. Like the 90210 when Brenda thought she was pregnant. Or the 7th Heaven where, oh wait, all 7th Heaven episodes are very special. There were also a lot of made for TV movies. Lifetime should sue for royalties.

But not to be irreverent, today feels like I have been trapped in one of these.

I admit, what has happened here is tragic. I don't feel like I can share this sort of details about the lives of others, but it is tragic. Still, I have the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a cliché. In a world of infinite possibilities, it is odd how often things fall into a predictable pattern. Maybe it's like I heard at one meeting, humans have no idea how to generate a truly random sequence of events.

Twilight Zone Revisited

So, I lack the time and energy to do as I promised, which is explain the bizarre side effects of job satisfaction. Most likely because it has gone and who knows when it shall return. But the good news is my work will be presented to a select few of the board tonight, and caused Earnesto to have to amend his outrageous optimism. and I have a lot of unnecessary knowledge about the Carnegie Museums of Pittsburgh.

But to all those who required it of me last week, I will no longer be taking the role of the optimist in conversations.

The intervening moments of life

I know I promised to continue my previous post, but I have neglected in my brief moment of laborial satisfaction to post a few things. First, congrats Camille, for getting that new position at the institution. True, I'll miss you like crazy since you won't be in the cell/cubicle next to me anymore. What will life be without those ridiculous calls between two people less than 15 feet apart? Also, who will I exchange catty gossip with about senior staff (besides Marie, or Bonnie, or Adelaide or a handful of other people such a the head of HR)? But props to you for escaping this cellblock and building. I only wish you were a) not located next to the desk of that media guy who loathes me and b) seated a little closer to the girl with the Scharfenberger chocolate. I take comfort in the fact that it all might change really soon, since they are undergoing the joys of curling for beginners in that building.

Secondly, I would like to say I have reclaimed my brother from the brink of banality. Just as far back as July, he was saying Travis was his favorite band. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate Travis, but really, if they are your favorite band you probably are going to eat banana cream pudding for your crazy-go-wild dessert and finish out the evening watching My Best Friend's Wedding. Not a horrible fate, but he is a 21-year-old boy, he should like something really far-out (in either the direction of vile taste (ie. Linkin Park) or towards something surprisingly good (in the realm of My Morning Jacket)). It's like what I think Oliver Wendell Holmes said about politics, there is plenty of time to play it safe when you get older. Anyway, brother dearest has since backed down from his dangerously boring position.

Third, Earnesto will be gone for 3 of the next 4 weeks. Say no more.

Fourth, and most importantly, NBA season starts on Tuesday, opening with the Boys playing Portland. Guess who's leaving work early that day??

In support of the last fact, I link to this. No, I'll embed it. Enjoy!!

Welcome to the Twilight Zone

Things have been a little strange around here lately. I have fleetingly been experiencing something that the astute reader might realize is highly unlikely, job satisfaction. So unprecedented is this state that it has momentarily and profoundly shaken my patterns of usual behaviour. But more on that Later, let's just examine why it is so marvelous that I might actually want to go to work this week.

Why it is Crazy

a) I have actually been working on Project Negative Value. It isn't something that usually brings me great levels of joy on a usual basis. Actually, usually discussion of this project makes me want to Sylvia Plath myself (stick my head in the oven, not read The Bell Jar). It still sort of does. But this time I was doing work that I secretly hope will help derail the futility.

b) I have had to go to MEETINGS OF DOOM where there was lots of yelling and pointed questions and when we weren't meeting, we were prepping materials for the next meeting, which would commence as soon as the latest edit was done.

c) I had no time to do a Pirate quiz or virtual yahtzee. Having to work at work usually sucks.

Why I enjoyed it

a) I was able to do analysis. Marie is probably going to catch it from letting me take a break from my regular scheduling duties (from which I was already on enforced hiatus because there are only so many hours you can schedule). But she asked me to do what I have been university trained to do: analyze. And it involved research. My toes are curling at the very thought.

b) I was treated as an expert. I was all of the sudden a trusted source of information, someone who had answers, or if I didn't have them right then, I could get them. My initiatives were treated as insight the would have otherwise been unable to obtain. It doesn't matter that I am not an expert and anyone with half a brain and internet access could have collected the same information, and anyone with a working knowledge of, and a working calculator could have done it.

c) I was praised. Relying on someone and thanking them are two different things entirely, which is something I do not think that Earnesto has yet learned.

d) A little more indicative of my character flaws, I really enjoyed being part of something that throws a spanner into Earnesto's pie-in-the-sky dreaming. As my roommate has frequently said, I really f@#$% his s#$% up.

More on this later

Discretion is passé

I think that every workplace the size of the institution that I work for has to have a complete jerk who spends copious amounts of time doing nothing but drive everyone around them nuts. The one that stands out today (and most every other day) I will call John, after John McEnroe, because this is a person that thrills to argument. He thrives on conflict, he runs around fighting battles that really have very little to do with himself because he can, and no one has figured out a way to stop him, short of a nuclear explosion. He makes administration hellish.

Today he sent a email, political positioning that would only be tenuously supported because it was sent on the personal list serve. But of course he had to go so far as to make it a personal attack against someone that we do business with, a relationship that works very much more in our advantage. True, Businessman X has been known to ruffle many feathers on the SF scene, but you don't make a billion without breaking some people. Or whatever. But still, group emails on work accounts should not be a platform to launch attacks. Especially not such ridiculously short-sighted ones.

I mean, he enjoys a salary based in part on the revenue generated by Businessman X's association with us, so where does John get off trying to crucify him as a person?

So I forwarded it onto Marie, who hates John. We were once sitting in a meeting with some VIPs and John got up to speak. She leans over to me and says "someone should light John on fire." That's some pretty potent animosity for two people who have shared a workplace for 15+ years. Or maybe it's understandable. Either way, Marie LOST IT.

Admittedly, ever since the reorg her mouth issued some statements that have boggled my mind. This is the person who constantly lectured me on discretion in my position, constantly took time to correct me if she thought I was saying too much. When I said we should take it into her office, not the oh so public hallway, she asked why. She said, "I'm past the point where I have to consider discretion." So, I guess, is John.

What will probably happen is Earnesto will gently reprimand the both of them in a non-committal way, because no one sent him the memo/map that shows the point of discretion was passed by some months back. We shot meteorically past it, or so it would seem. Earnesto probably still quotes "discretion is the better part of valor." He's got himself some learning. But what he doesn't realize is that Falstaff, who said it, doesn't make it to the end of the series, and dies of some disease instead of in battle, and is also considered comic relief. I guess it all sort of transfers. Earnesto can be pretty hilarious with his bright-eyed opportunistic nature. And I wouldn't be surprised if he too ends up in ignominy.

So, today's lesson is, Shelve discretion. Stop biting your tongue and say give that blistering diatribe you have been perfecting in your mind through years of silence. And, as a corollary, start looking for a new job.

Another priceless gem from the vault

So, once again I was sorting through my past emails, and found a wonderful letter that you could either take seriously or as an elaborate joke, take your pick. I will have to cut bits for privacy, and maybe add in some notes to orient the reader, but please, enjoy this offering.

DRAFT OF IMPASSIONED LETTER TO ****** REX

Dearest ****** Rex -

I am not quite sure how to start this letter, there is just so much in my heart to say. I suppose I'll start with this, tucked away in my copy of Wassily Kandinsky's Concerning the Spiritual in Art lays carefully preserved that engagement happy note and ring that you sent to me on that fateful Wednesday that seems so long ago, but remains a constant memory. That may not mean much to you, considering the way I broke things off at dinner group and then became engaged to your roommate, but I implore you to read what I have to say to you.

I my defense, although there is no excuse for my rash actions and callous treatment of your heart, I was young, merely 22, and unprepared for the significant step of becoming betrothed. But as I approach the age of 23, I realize that I was a fool without all the important facts to inform my decisions. Truly, I was short-sighted.

For I hadn't realized that you were in graduate school for electrical engineering. That alone makes you highly attractive. Add in the fact that your middle name is REX and you are nearly irresistible. And furthermore, the absolute coup de gràce, you are both R's cousin, and D G's roommate. What more can I say?

You may have heard the tale of the man who once offered to fill the space in my heart. While he was seriously creepy and caused me to run home and hide in [another apartment] and not answer the phone for days, he was also right. There is a hole in my heart, and I was wondering if you could find it within yourself to forgive me, and try to fill that space. You may also be able to erase the black spot on my soul from the 2000 Sydney Summer Olympics.

I ask that you please disregard any and all information you may have heard recently about my commuter crush. While I do spend ridiculous amounts of time with him, he is just a paltry placeholder; he could never compare to you. The scales have fallen from my eyes, [feather boa blue] hair is now rust colored. His eyes may be the color of a kitchen table, but so are yours.

If you forgive me, and renew your offer of engagement, I promise that I will consider changing my last name to [yours], but not seriously and only for a short time.

What more can I say? I am not sure I have the words to articulate the things I could say.

Questions or comments? Please feel free to write or phone.

Adoringly and obsessed with your middle name,
E

It's been two years

No, today is not my birthday, but it is sometime in the neighborhood of now, and as I was sifting through my email inbox, I found a note from two years ago that brought me a lot of joy. May all your birthday's be as good as this one.

R-
Thanks so much for the stuff on my doorstep. I didn't have much time to look at it, but i am sure it is wonderful and very profound. and don't worry about breakfast: J made me lemon bars for breakfast last night. She didn't think that ice cream cake was an appropriate breakfast. By the way, if you want some ice cream cake, feel free to stop on by.
I have to go and dance around my office because, hey, it's my birthday. No Karaoke today, though. we can't have it all.
have a good day!
-E

That's right, at that time I had a job that allowed me to dance and do karaoke whenever I wanted, and a roommate who made me lemon bars. That was a good year. and I learned the secret of true love.

Welcome to Fleet Week

The Time has come once again, the time when unsuspecting souls walking along the bay in SF are suddenly subjected to the closest thing that they will get to (if they are lucky) living out that scene from Top Gun where Tom Cruise does a fly-by. That's right, it's Fleet Week. Oh!

I have only lived and worked in the area for 1.5-ish years, but let me tell you, Fleet week has fast become a noisome pest, rather than the thing of awe and wonder that some people seem to feel it is. I suppose in part that is due to the fact that every time the Blue Angels practice/perform, my entire building shakes like a truck just ran into it. A really large truck. Not entirely unlike when a earthquake hits. Deee-lightful.

I know that secretly, there are many people out there that are absolutely geeked at the thoughts of thousands of gallons of jet fuel being burned for you viewing pleasure. These are the same people that make model airplanes. nothing wrong with that. I don't make model airplanes and am not a five-year-old boy, so the thrill is gone. The honeymoon is over, the earplugs are in.

I have to say, I think Portland does this better with the Rose Festival and Greet the Fleet. San Francisco's sprawling ports lacks the central where it's at feeling. But who knows, maybe I'm missing something.

The system is down

(What can I say? I'm a child of the times.)

If this weeks entries have seemed a bit off, it's because I've been a trifle off all week due to the intoxicating mixture of a cold, dayquil, nyquil, and my regular battery of medications. and by a trifle off, I mean, falling asleep unexpectedly, losing my voice, and dancing in the back of a truck outside of my house last night to the music only I seemed to be hearing. All in all, except for the fact I tend to get a bit grumpy when sick, it's one of the best, most entertaining times to know me. When I'm sick, I don't know anything about discretion. Which is only a bad thing because it's something I need for work. Ooops!

Still, I'm ill enough to decide to forgo a pleasant evening spent seaside for Miss Camille's birthday this weekend. Any guesses as to who will be there? That's right, Renaldo is taking a break from his busy boogaloo schedule to go and make puppy-dog eyes at his girl in several million. Which just reminds me of last year around this time was when his death-crush made it's Debut. And I'm talking about full on high society debut: it might as well have donned a gown and gloves and descended down the spiral stair to make an entrance into our workplace. (It would have done a lovely dance and looked so darling with a decorative fan)

Thinking about that night also reminds me how much I miss Sam, a fellow that came, worked for 6 months here, and changed my life. Sam, who remains the only person willing to even start up with me about the competition of the Spurs versus Mavericks. (there really isn't a competition: winning it all vs. being out in the first round thanks to the absolute genius of a single man bent on revenge). Sam, who when he sets his alarm always makes sure the digits add up to 9. I miss Sam 8 trillion times more than I miss Henry, which shows you my achilles heel. I love to have a crush; careless and spontaneous outpourings of emotion that in the end are not worth much. Examples include Henry (a great guy who I liked to like because he is funny and there was a game involved) and Rusty (not great guy I liked because I was dangerously bored).

Anyway, it makes me think of Sam because it was an occasion when he also joined us at a local libation station and imbibed. Can I say I miss him one more time? I MISS SAM!

Happy Birthday Camille!

Meanwhile, let's return to our sheep

That's a much funnier phrase in French, trust me.

Still, my dearest coworker Camille informs me that today is "Talk like a Pirate day." In honor of this day, I have taken many a pirate quiz and endured many 'Ahoy' and 'avast' comments. I have also worked on my plan to take over the world, because while talking like a pirate certainly honors their collective memory, nothing shows how much I truly respect and revere them like following in their crooked footsteps. What with my vacant heart and blotted soul, I am well on my way to piracy.

The Brothers Gibb or How to Entertain yourself while in a traffic jam of doom!

I promised a story, and I keep my promises (at least when it's as simple as wasting time at work).

Way back when, like seven years ago, but not that long, a select grouping of my familial unit and myself were traveling via auto (imagine it said in a German accent) from San Francisco to Reno on our way to vacationing somewhere (the where is irrelevant to the story). Unfortunately, on this evening, many other people also decided to trek that path, and to add to the horrible traffic, throw in a massive accident. It took hours to travel the last few miles. We were stopped absolutely.

We would have gone mad, not being a patient sort of persons, but luckily, we had a cd player and an inexhaustible supply of Bee Gees classics to keep us rocking. That's right, we had a Mobile Disco.

A Mobile or Car Disco is an easy thing to do, but a few rules are attached to the concept.

1. It should probably only be undertaken when in truth all the people in the car can participate. That's not fair to the driver, who often times knows best how to get down. Don't deny them the joy.
2. It's not a Mobile Disco if the music is not disco. Bee Gees = Disco. Pet Shop Boys = Dance. etc. and so forth with other musical genres. Other Mobile dance parties can be fun, don't get me wrong, but don't put the peas in the spaghetti; or call a spade a spade.
3. As an adjunct to Rule 1, it is best enjoyed when the car is forced to a complete halt. Example: horrendous traffic jam of doom, or a bridge being raised and stopping traffic, or a really long train crossing. That way, the cars around are also stopped, and those passengers will be in complete awe of how exactly is that guy doing the hustle in the back seat (trade secret) and the joy derived from the incident will be that much greater because you shared with others. Or, others may decide to join with you, and that can be pretty awesome too.

Some suggestions on how the occasion can be improved (upon what? you say that what I have outlined above can not possibly get any better? Well My Friends, read and learn):

1. Sing along. Singing along to a Brothers Gibb classic improves everything, and the overall aerobic experience is bettered by singing and dancing. While in most life falsetto is not a great idea, here's your chance to go for it.
2. Make your own strobe light. I don't know if the newfangled cars of today can achieve the effect quite so well, but in the classic we were driving that night, the rapid open/close of a door caused the interior light to strobe. Take turns doing this, because after a while, you get tired. Doors are not light and easy to control. But only one person do it at a time, otherwise, the rhythmic pattern is ruined.
3. Roll down the windows. Ventilation helps. This also allows people around you to participate unobstructed.
   
4. Take this and apply it to your regular life (non-vehicular).

Total Eclipse of the Heart

Fooled you, didn't I? What I have to say has nothing to do with my heart and has to do with perception, interpretation, and analysis.

Because we deal in language and not direct thought transference, we have all been trained to make logical assumptions based on the communications and behavior of those around us.

For example, when I title my blog "Total Eclipse of the Heart," you might reasonably think, 'she has a story that ties back into the Bonnie Tyler classic song,' and then extrapolate based on your own experiences what that might be, within the realm of limited realistic possibilities. IF I had a story, say about the time I went to Jazzercise with my sister in the 90s and that was one of the songs and the routine was hilarious mostly due to the man in a modified unitard who knew all the words, you probably would not have assigned that specific scenario to the likely stories, but it would be close to the one about Karaoke or some such thing.

Well, the above story did take place, but that is not why I am writing on this the busy of busy days. I am writing to make the point that if you knew me, personally, you might know that that is one of the songs I feel it is nearly impossible to get out of your head, and thus, is an important torture device. If I were feeling particularly devious, I would have titled this "Leaving on a Jet Plane." Behold, my deviosity.

But Interpretation of what I say is based on background, and experience, and overall analytical capabilities. And I am University trained to read between the lines and extract little bits of truth that I will piece together until I find something that reasonably assumes the shape of feasible reality.

Point of the Exercise: Despite the frequent speeches I hear about not having a clue about what is going on in Project Negative Value, I am going to say I think I have a pretty good notion of the picture, thanks muchly, and it is a picture painted in the red. I would offer up specific estimates, but I cannot in good faith do so (publicly, at least).

I will make up for my tricks by telling you a good story next time about a disco. A Mobile disco. (not Simian Mobile Disco) But come on, you know you loved the link. That one is for you, Ms. Murdock. That one's for you. This one is for Paul or Ian.

I was concerted, I swear it

Well, sometimes work just acts like the wort sort of bully, and it is times like those I remember something I once saw on one of the Blackboards of my high school calculus class. It went something like this:

Math is what we do, but we do not do it well, that is why we DANCE!

I take no credit for this. It was a notice for some sort of dance club that I was far too geeky to participate in. But the line stuck with me, and this was my philosophy today at work (substitute work for math). So when Earnesto left the office unexpectedly for the second time today, throwing his schedule into absolute shambles, I turned on the tunes and indulged in a little chair dancing. You know, when you groove around without actually moving the chair.

I think I was inspired by the exhibition opening/ concert I went to on Wednesday. It was a dreadful combination of rich snobby people sneering at my dress, and then indie rock kids sneering at my dress, but at least it had a rocking soundtrack. Why all the sneering? Perhaps it is because my outfit was a tiny bit prom-night-revisited, not chic enough for SFMOMA, but too dressy for the Independent and the Okkervil River crowd.

My dear friend was kind enough to bring me less painful shoes, meaning I checked my 4-inch black patent leather heels. Admittedly, the skirt, knee-length, benefitted from the tall shoes, but my comfort level did not. So I went to the coat check area, and turned over my shoes (my stockings were filled-in-fishnet, but irretrievably laddered, so I took them off and binned them in the bathroom). Following is the exchange between me and the Coat Check Men:

Me: I'd like to check these shoes.
Them: You have to wear shoes.
Me: I am wearing shoes, just different shoes.
Them: But you would look better in these shoes.
Me: I've already been wearing them for 4 hours, and my feet hurt, so I'll wear these other ones, thanks.
Them: That will be 2 dollars.
Me (paying them): Thank you.

Oh the crazy coat checking fashion police!

It was a great show. I really enjoyed it. I was concerted by the whole experience.


very similar to my shoes

With Defiance, and some peanut butter

Yesterday was one of the few days of the year when anyone who thinks at his fine institution that they should have say over what I do piles it up (their insane requests) and then drops it on me like a ten ton truck. I had to work. In fact, I have a surfeit of actual work to do right now. And what am I doing? Blogging, with defiance, and some peanut butter.

Because I don't think we are seeing eye to eye right now. How outrageous is it that I requested access to the datebase of contact information for people I am supposed to be trying to schedule with Earnesto?? In my crazy pov, the only outrage is that the request has to go through 3 people now. Earnesto's always talking about how we need to act nimbly (that's a quote). Well, my nimbility on this issue is being severely impaired by spangly hoops I am being forced to jump through.

Furthermore, just because someone is working on Project Negative Value, it does not make them my boss. It makes them a b-f-b = blind-following-blind. Or Lemming. Some people didn't get that memo. Maybe they were being distracted by some eyewash. I hope they choke on it.

Please pardon my vitriolic rage. It appears we are fresh out of pinatas

So it was written, so it was put on the free table

Thinking about that last incident, I was pining a bit for cake, but all I had was apples and peanut butter. I went to wash my apple, and my coworker was just dropping a chocolate cake off on the free table. I had a slice and it was delicious - whipped cream, strawberries. Delightful! Score that one to Team Positivity. Now, maybe next week I will write about the man of my dreams and see if this trend continues.

A Reward for your Patience

For those of you who have been patiently awaiting my next post, provided that there are any of you, I am sorry. Pre-vacation prep and vacation has kept me away. Here is a brief update of what went on while I was away from the keyboard.

• Henry had his last day and rode off into the sunset.

• My foot swelled up like a sausage and broke one of my favorite shoes.
  

• I was invited to a very la event at SFMOMA, and will go next week. Apparently the person who wangled the invitation for me said I was qualified to go based of my 'young and fascinating" status. I didn't know I was young and fascinating, but hey, I'm not going to argue with it.

• I went on a leisurely vacation far away from my cell/cubicle. Acquired a bit of color that has in the two days I've been back faded back to gray.
  

• Earnesto and the senior managers went on a retreat I planned for them, enjoyed it, talked me up there, and repaid me by de-authorizing my overtime. What a swell guy.
  

But I promised a reward, and you so richly deserve it, don't you? So I will tell you all about the time when I was driven to the brink of madness by Renaldo. That's right, our very own James Brown of the industry/institute have a fascinating history that includes him driving me so batty I walked a mile to buy a chocolate cake.

I have a lovely coworker named Camille, who all the boys love. Not joking. Henry loved her, Renaldo loves her, and various and sundry other pathetic fellows have prostrated themselves at her feet in the hopes she will pay them some attention. To date, that I know of, she has only dated Henry. She has repeated fended off advances from Renaldo, who has an obnoxious tendency to pout in an obvious manner afterwards and general then endeavors to makes everyone around him feel acutely embarrassed for his complete inability to take the none-too-subtle hint.

One day, many moons ago (think May-ish) I agreed to go out one evening and give Renaldo a few tips about the situation. It was a moment of weakness on my part, but motivated by the excellent intention to give him the tip of 'IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN' and have done with the whole slightly silly saga. It had been going on since last September. Anyway, you know what they say about intentions.

So the evening rolled around and I was already feeling grave misgivings about the whole scheme. Renaldo was just so happy. He was also ridiculously stealthy as he collected me from my cell and we left to the sports bar he had chosen for what would be my torture. I don't drink, but for a fleeting moment I wished I did so I would have something to blunt the agony that loomed. No, just a diet coke and glimpses out of the corner of my eye of a Detroit-Chicago playoff game (that was a tragic series, I rather like the Bulls, but they do have some room for improvement).

Even P.J. Brown felt better than I did that night (and less violated). (Reuters)

Renaldo got himself a beer and what he perceived as license to wax poetical about the virtues of Camille. The best/worst was when he said "She is one in a million, no, one in several million girls." News Flash - That same could be said of me, but it is certainly not high praise, now, is it?

He continued for TWO hours, and every time I tried to reacquaint him with reality, he would reject it out of hand. Add to that overly loud really bad music (pretty much things I would only ever hear if I was being tortured, like being forced to go to a baseball game, or back in time to the 80s ((and not the good bit of the 80s, but the really cringe-worthy parts))) and the fact that I hadn't eaten yet that day, and you will understand, surely. I tried melting into the wooden table top or just disappearing completely, but that is the one time Radiohead actually didn't help. Nothing could prevail against this pernicious crush. It was a new kind of evil.

Finally, I demanded that I be let go. Renaldo relented, in that he took me to the Bart station, but the entire ride was absorbed with his descriptions of his "feelings" for Camille. That's right, he used the f-word. And it wasn't as funny as the clip I just linked and it was more painful than this one (partially redeemed by the Spanish intro). Anyway, feelings are things that should either be able to be explicated - example, I am attracted to Damon, I loathe Styrofoam - or not mentioned. I tried explaining this to him, but something was lost in the English as a second language area.

** DISCLAIMER** Please don't assume this means I am xenophobic or anti-Hispanic or anti-ESL. Not that it matters, but Renaldo is not in fact Hispanic. That's not his real name. It is a simple fact, however, that when going between any two languages there are certain nuances and cultural factors that are frequently misunderstood. That is all I am saying.***

I was in this purgatory of a car ride when by divine intervention, my brother called me to discuss basketball. You can bet our last dollar that I was all over that. Who cares about cell-phone courtesy when their are being granted a reprieve from torture? So I leapt from the car when it came to the station and ran.

I was shell-shocked by the time I arrived home. Shell-shocked and ravenous. All I could think of was, 'must have chocolate.' Indeed, chocolate seemed the only thing that could possible make it bearable. So I proceeded to walk a mile to the store and a mile back (uphill, in the snow, both ways! okay, it's a little cliché, but it is the truth), purchased a fine chocolate cake and ate a healthy slice. By healthy, I refer to my mental health, as it did much to restore my mental health.

Ever since that fateful day, things have never been the same between Renaldo and me. Being around him makes me crave chocolate, even though he has not repeated his version of the Inquisition. It's simply not the way things used to be. He asked, as have his coworkers, what happened that has cause this rift. I don't say anything, because I have realized, it doesn't matter what you say to Renaldo, he has very selective hearing powers. He perceives that which is pleasing to him, and this isn't it.

And to cap this tale, I have made a timeline. Enjoy!

Chapter 3: In which I ponder why I go to drinks so often

For someone who doesn't drink alcohol, I sure do go to a lot of things that are planned around the consumption of it. and it means that I shell out $5 dollars for a diet coke and then watch the rest of the people impair their natural thinking abilities. Why?

Well last night and tonight again it is part of the mass exodus that has hit the workplace. Going to drinks for the farewell sort of like this: A soldier is about to bolt from one trench to another in WWI and so not to get mown down by the machine guns of the Ottoman empire (here chosen because of the word Empire, not because I hate Ottomans) calls to his buddies that will stay in the trench and latter get hit by mustard gas "cover me." I won't blame you if you don't get that.

But, as many 'oh, we'll miss yous' as are uttered at these anti-sobriety shindigs, you have to know that the people left in the trench are a tiny bit envious that the other people is getting out. Maybe it's the faintly impending sense of doom that Project Negative Value creates. Who knows? But that explains all the times we go out otherwise, to escape.

And Tonight, it is for Henry, who I will miss, along with his extensive vocabulary. But not his cigars.

Why I am not a nurse

In some people, empathy lives in never-ending stores, like bottomless wells of the stuff. And in me, I have a small bottle of the stuff.

Is that the mo0st fair way to say this? I don't know. I don't laugh at the sufferers. I just was raised in a bit of a bootstrap environment. As in, "pull yourself up by those bootstraps and stop whining and go kick some butt." And when it came to being sick, it was "stand up straight and smile and you'll feel better by lunchtime." Direct quote. Not joking.

So when Earnesto smashed his finger yesterday morning, and was convinced it was broken, I was "oh well, that sucks." It is broken. and he had to bin his carefully crafted schedule to go to the doctor twice to be told yes it is broken, no, we don't do anything about this kind of break.

It's like he is made of papier-mache. He did have a life-threatening illness within the past five years. That will make you take care of yourself better, be a little more cautious. But when he took more time off for a trifling cold than I did for mono, that's outside of enough. Stand up straight, I want to yell, and make yourself feel better. It's only a ring finger.

Maybe that's why, in the Pirate Quizzes, I always get such a good rating. Black spot on my soul (after the Sydney Olympics), and space in my heart, and the like.

A Moment I've been waiting for

The NBA Schedule was released today!!! For those of you who know me, you know this is exciting beyond belief. It also means that I can buy tickets to when the Warriors play the Spurs. I miss my boys so. Will I be able to breathe before the day I buy those tickets to heaven? That I cannot say.

Let's hear it for a repeat!!!



UPDATE:

A Moment of genius insanity had me buy courtside seats to one of the games on Friday. My life is so good. My bank balance, not so good.

James Brown

I know the James Brown of my Industry. I didn't know I knew him, and have in fact been out with him. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you Renaldo.

In honor of this discovery, let's add in this video clip that is educational. Yes, that is the real James Brown, not Renaldo.

What is it about the Accounting Department that makes them want to drink?

Maybe it's the fact that they deal with the dirty cold facts that underlie this place, that we are poor, and will perpetually be poor. Maybe it's the way they all secretly seem to hate each other. Maybe they are all so overworked that they have no friends to go out with in real life. But our accountants here tend to be BIG fans of the happy hour, and beyond. And Monday night, we went out to celebrate 10 years of service from our resident groupie, Susie.

Susie is crazy. She is the type of obsessive energy type person I talked about earlier in the Harry Potter post, except for minus the anime. Instead, add in Buffy, anything Sci-Fi and Fantasy, and soooo much more. She gets 6 weeks of vacation for her time served, and I think that almost every second of it is spent at some convention. Unfortunately, she missed Comi-Con this year, and will also take a miss on Dragon Con as well. But she has at least three more planned for the year. But what really makes her crazy is the fact she has been here for 10 years.

Never mind the fact that we have treated her horribly as an institution, and shuffled her around like some sort of rummy cube tile. She's here for the vacation.

Monday we went to a bar that has table that they must have pillaged from a massive garage sale of round end tables. They are all about the size of a postage stamp. Not designed for group visits. It is also dark and noisy, but plays sports of three tvs, which redeems is slightly. Since I don't drink, I often get bored and watch the tvs, since they are slightly less embarrassing than watching coworkers work on drinking themselves into the ground.

Since Accounting/ Finance is one of the largest admin. departments, I thought for sure there would be more people showing up. Battleaxe's low turnout numbers from that department would have been due to the fact she was an absolute witch (although she did once buy me a scone). I mean, 10 years is something.

Something to ignore, apparently. From what I hear, a total of 8 people showed, including myself and Susie. Henry was there, and it was clear he still had a thing for my coworker, so maybe it is not so tragic that he is leaving. It was a modified open tab, where you had a settling up at the start of each round. Pre-pay tab. I left early, so I can't comment on the success of this strategy, but I don't think that we ended up $120 in the hole.

So where were the absentee accountants? One had a legit excuse: planning for a wedding. He would have never heard the end of it if he had not reported for duty. The rest? MIA. Can't they even come and fake it through a single round? Friends don't let friends celebrate in a dismally attended affair.

Pictures are not always Eyewash

Not for everyone, and don't assume I agree with his analysis, but good heck, these things are funny. I can't wait for him to get to the Spurs pick. I also wish these were actual Little People. Pay attention, Fisher Price.

Harry Potter gives me hives!

Actually, it's not Harry who does it, but the unwashed masses that turn out to the book release.

I rarely comment about my life outside of work, because it is very much more personally satisfying than my work life, and I don't need the catharsis of the written rant. But now I will tell you and after hours story that may curdle you blood, or make it boil, depending on what sort of person you are.

Now, this isn't a anti-Potter crusade, it's an anti-obsession thing. UPDATE: More of an anti-obsessing-over-everything thing

My dear little nephew is all of five-years-old, and loves Harry Potter. He is not a skilled enough reader to read the books, since lifting them might kill the poor fellow. What he has done is listened to the books on cd as he and his family travel hither and yon. He has been waiting and anticipating the last book for some time.

As you may have heard, book 7 came out at 12:00am Saturday morning. I happened to go with my sister to the chain store she had ordered the book from to pick it up. she was wait-listed on the audiobook. We arrived at 11:30pm Friday as were told, and were subsequently informed we would have to wait until the last book had been sold to pick up a copy of the cds. Or we could come in the next day and pick it up. We were #102 of 1000+, and still had a wait and then some, in close proximity that 1000++ people crammed into the store.

And such people. Not everyone was frightening, in fact it wasn't the costumes that were most unnerving. It was the people that were there because it was the obsession du jour. The girls that were squealing on their cells about 'a whole book all about Smallville, can you even believe it?' and the anime section was crammed full of crazy. How can you have that much obsessive energy?

We got out alive, but I'm not kidding, the whole thing left me with hives. If Dante were alive, he would ad this as a level to Purgatory, if not the Inferno.

Virtual Voodoo and Family

As I have said, my sister introduced me to the idea of virtual voodoo. She heard about it at work. It was a wonderful site. You could choose girl or boy, glasses, and all sorts of details for the doll. After defacing the doll digitally, there were several menacing messages that could be selected to accompany the image. It was always something like, 'you shouldn't have done that.' Fabulous. And then you would email it and it was completely anonymous. Plus, you could check back to see if it had been opened.

In the midst of our first flirtation with this program, my brother got engaged. If you knew my brother, you would know it seemed at the time that the girl would be extremely dubious. It turns out years later that she was really quite all right, very tolerable. But without ever having met her, we were convinced that this girl was no good. So we sent our future sister-in-law voodoo emails. Several, if I remember correctly. I don't think she ever read them. But even today, any voodoo reminds me of her.

APPP

We all have the days where there is a particular person that drives you to the edge of sanity and seems determined to give you a good hefty shove off. Today has been one of those days. Not only was the initial move of Earnesto's office-ly goods absolutely muffed, I have dealt with the unexpected evil of the questions that will not end and for which I have no good answer. and we have nearly 400 employees. You do the math.

I have received quite a bit of sympathy, but am still ill-tempered. What can I do to restore me to my usual state of placidity? My beloved sister had introduced me to virtual voodoo, but this lacks the physical elemental, the visceral bliss and causing someone in your immediate vicinity pain. (See, I would make a good Head of an International Crime Syndicate). And now that the email is not anonymous, it isn't quite as fun.

As my colleague pointed out, sometimes you need to smack something good and hard, when you can't smack that certain special someone. Forget Pillows. And Walls. I would like to introduce the very brilliant idea of Pinatas. As in, the newly formed Association for the Promotion and Propagation of Pinatas. Hit something, destroy it, and have it end in a pile of sweets. (unless you are one of those really suspect people who don't eat sweets)

the simple thought of a pinata is cheering me up. And if we combine another favorite activity, building and burning effigies, I could build the pinata in the form of the given antagonist, and then beat it, finally ending by burning the remainder after the candy spills out.

Now that is Catharsis.

Team Positivity Strikes Again

More Later, I think I have to go to sleep so I can go to work to waste time tomorrow, but thought I would give an update.

UPDATE:
Last night I decided that I would retry Team Positivity, which is not an organized team in a uni and matching socks sort of manner, but more a group of individuals that believe in things such as personal mantras like "Something wonderful is going to happen today." Notice it isn't, "Today is going to be wonderful." That's just too much to believe every day, even for Team Positivity.

I have tried T.P. before, and usually it is short lived. The sarcasm gene is alive and present in me, I'm, afraid, and I can be critical. (Warning: that last sentence was a gross understatement) But in the past I have always been forced to turn in my metaphorical jersey in when I succumb to sneering at optimism.

But yesterday they decided on the final course of office moves, and my office is being cut by 1/3. And I'm okay with that. Not that I am not having occasional panic attacks about how to fit things and arrange Earnesto's office, but I can handle it. Thanks to my new subscription to Positivity Today.

I can make a list of things that are positive about the move. Let me share:

• It means that Rusty no longer will know where my desk is , curtailing his obnoxious tendency to needlessly walk by repeatedly. In essence; I won't be stalked so much.
  
• Earnesto's office will no longer have a large window onto the main hallway, cutting down on people making faces at him while he is on conference calls. It will also eliminate the possibility of this one guy Flashing Earnesto again. ( He was trying to get his attention)
• I won't be in charge of answering the front door anymore. Meaning I'll have a lot more time to waste uninterrupted.
• I may get a new desk, since my current one (I hate it) is too big for the space I'm going into.
• I will be by a working printer
• I'm leaving in two months.

So the last point isn't a benefit of the move, but it is what has me reconciled to the chaos. And also back on the team.

Top Hats off to you

I was in the train under the maze area by West Oakland Station when I swear I saw a top hat drifting along, falling from one of the overpasses. It was all the sudden like I was in some sort of Mary Poppins-esque film and I expected Dick van Dyck to pop out and start singing. Luckily, I would have been protected by my trusty ipod.

Activating my Sleeper Cells

I was browsing though job postings at work and realized, my time has come to set into action all my plans made carefully in years past. It is time to activate my sleeper cells. It is also time to start looking for cheap farm houses in the English countryside, an old red bicycle, and the ultimate librarian cardigan. More on this later. Now I have to watch summer league basketball, to see what sort of players the Spurs have.

When Things are officially strange

With Earnesto out for the rest of the week, I was at liberty to waste time with the maximum efficiency today. I did so well I didn't have time to write at work. But prior to playing games, taking quizzes, and leaving a word for Henry, I took the time to review my resumé and update it. I felt pretty satisfied with my changes. But when I in passing mentioned my actions to my supervisor Marie, she had some strong feelings. As in editorial changes to improve my chances in getting hired somewhere away from this crazy-house.

And that's jut it. You know things are odd when your supervisor is editing your c.v. You know things are strange when she encourages you to go on vacation and work from home. You know things are off when you spend 30 minutes discussing humus.

But on the upside, I think my resumé is rocking. And I have time to play Yahtzee.

He's leaving

Just as I start really enjoying the forbidden flirtation between myself and Henry, I find out he's quitting. In August, on the 16th. Never mind that I am leaving soon thereafter. It is gut-wrenching to find out this (ps, you can't tell anyone, this isn't for public consumption. Tippy-top secret. That's why it's on my blog).

pps - How come the boy I like is leaving and the one I want to burst into flames is bumping into me 2-3 times a day? What kind of sick joke is that?

Who let him in the building?

Some one is going to suffer from letting Rusty in the building. When I find them, it's going to be the level of the Inferno for those who committed simony, because upside-down baptism in fire is what they richly deserve.

This Charming Man, or is it Charmless Man

As stated before, I am not a big believer in Boyish Charm. Boyish Charm is capitalized because I am quite sure somewhere out there there is a name brand can producted that most men who employ Boyish Charm use. Like Velveeta.

Boyish Charm is alright when it is used sparingly. Like a flash of a boyish smile to punctuate a particular flirtation. In this case, it is all the better because of the rarity of use. I am strongly against the carpet bombing technique of Boyish Charm, when it's the one and only modus operandi. Then it assumes a cloying nature and makes me want to beat the man.

For example, knew this guy once who was such a charmer. It was nice at first, but then, it wasd irritating. You could never get a stright answer from him, it was always something carefullly calculated to be chart-toppingly charming, almost to the point of nonsensicalness. I swear, if I had asked him to watch my pet guinea pig (mythical, by the way, I have no pets), he probably would have said "Anything for you, darling heart. I will cherish this time with the creature as if it was time spent with you, and plan our future together" If you can't tell via the written word if this is sarcastic, then good, you can't tell when he said it either.

Actually, Boyish Charm is a label I think I am using to describe all excessive charm, including Roguish Charm, Winning Charm, etc. I label it Boyish Charm because it is mainly employed by males. Sweeping Generalization? Yes. But behind the bias lives the truth. Woman rely on wiafishness and other forms of faux-naivete. Men use charm.

So think, next time someone is trying to charm your socks off. Charm or substance? Please only give them your socks if the charm has a little more behind it than nice eyelashes and a rakish smile.

Just because I'm emotional, doesn't mean I wrong

Have you ever been really upset about something? Felt really passionatly about an issue? Had your opinion dismissed completely out of hand because if you actially care, you can't be righ? Or can you?

Earnesto once told me that when I vent about a person or issue, he is unable to really consider my opinions on the matter as valid because "they're just so emotional." Newsflash: Emotional doesn't mean wrong. It just means emotional. It doesn't mean right either.

So I watch him ignore Marie (my real boss) and her actually really valid opinions because she is upset about the issue. Who wouldn't be upset when someone totally usurps their power and treats them like trash? But hey, however ticked off she is, it doesn't mean that she isn't aware of all the issues that go into moving office space and etc. It's in her pervue.

Go away for the weekend, and look what happens!

Someone stole it! The label maker, I mean. What horrible person would abscond with the item that brings me and others so much joy? I mean, it's cruel and unusual to deprive people of the happiness brought on by the words we hide. And If you think I'm taking it badly, you should see how Henry's doing. Not good. Not good at all. We may have to call in a professional.

And in other news, my commuting pal, Eitan has left his job, and I will never see his smiling sleepy face again in the morning. Unlike many others mentioned in this blog, Eitan is his real name, and he's a very nice fellow I have known for a year, although I have only ever spoken to him in the last 4 months or so, since we had a brief foray into carpooling. He is a really great guy, very funny, very low-key and mellow. I will miss him in a vague way. Best wishes to you Eitan, along with your girlfriend, in your new place and job. May you find that committed carpool you have been looking for.

Update: Take down the police tape, Lassie came home
I should know better than to listen to Henry, I guess, because no one stole the label maker. They were actually labeling things. I went to check on it and it had been returned, but had no word. I put in an appropriate word, to avoid further trauma for Henry. Poor kid.

call it a day: why you leave the bar early

For Drinkers and Nondrinkers alike

Are you ready for part II of the Battleaxe farewell tour? No? Because last night was the external party, when every one who has ever worked for her (and it's a lot, can someone say high turn-over?) showed up to drink to her downfall and murmur to each other how well deserved it was. I was went part out of pity and part as an envoy from the Executive Offices. Which is to say, Earnesto couldn't go, so he sent me. Unfortunately, he wasn't bankrolling the venture.

I don't drink. So happy hour isn't my favorite hangout. I just feel redundant as I sip my coke with grenadine and wish I was somewhere else. For example, last night, in the super-posh Fairmont Hotel Tonga Room, I wished I was at home watching the NBA Draft.

(Sidebar: Draft! I love it, except I really wanted San Antonio to take Jarod Dudley from Boston College, but stupid Michael Jordan picked him. Still, some good trading going on, and as a Portland native, I appreciate efforts to retool the team to bring in some quality. End of Aside)

No, I was in a dark and murky bar that I had heard good things about. I guess it shows that everyone who goes there usually is drunk, because sobriety does not make it a fun place. It makes it dark and kitschy and in this case, full of people I didn't really like before, and drunkenness did not add to their charm. Like a guy who used to have my position and filled the computer with porn and demeaning emails about his then girlfriend, one of my coworkers, that I was forced to clean out. Ohhhh, he's a favorite. Favorite person to build a voodoo doll of, that is.

After drinking my coke, and eating some pretty decent Swiss cheese, it was an hour in and it was getting crowded. I opted out, leaving $25 to cover my tab and get one of Battleaxe's. It was a gesture. I left at 6:30, and after a nice walk and train ride, got home in order to catch the end of the first round of the draft. and I only saw one or two of my coworkers fall-down drunk (fast workers).

I just talked to someone there at the end of the night, and it was a great reminder of the evils of an open tab. Apparently they were $120 short at the end of the night. Not my fault. But it sure made me glad I wasn't there at the end to pick up that tab. A good reason to leave early. Which makes the list this:

1. Even if you like a person sober, drunk may be a different story. Avoid being there when the things get so out of hand that someone tears open Hugh's shirt and that way you can maintain good working relationships as well as your eyesight.
   
2. You don't have to pay for all the cheap people who came for the "free" drinks. Just pay what you own (with tax and tip figured in) and walk away, knowing some other chump can deal with the mess.
3. You can still walk in the city without undue fear, and use mass transit without a taser.
   
4. The evening isn't wasted, and neither are you. Go home and do something cool.
5. You cultivate an air of mystery. People wonder where you went. You don't have to tell them you played computer Yahtzee for hours.
   

And the greatest lesson of all is: Never start an open tab.