(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!
Friday, September 21, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
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.
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.
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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- 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.
- Roll down the windows. Ventilation helps. This also allows people around you to participate unobstructed.
- Take this and apply it to your regular life (non-vehicular).
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 10, 2007
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
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
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
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
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
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