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.

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.

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.