K.K. asked me if I would want to be frozen alive in order to be reanimated in the future during lunch. I said something to the effect of I would not, as I would need my friends and family also frozen. Then, I said something very strange:
K.T.: You know, I'd rather achieve immortality by being a good person to my friends and family, and having them remember me well, and living on that way. Was there enough sarcasm in my voice? No, I'd rather just become the ruler of a third-world country, oppress my subjects, and be remembered that way.
Thing was, I was completely honest about what I first said, and there was no trace of sarcasm in my voice. Why did I feel the need to dissemble like that? Is this what I've come to, that I can't even reveal myself without hiding it away immediately?
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Long Journey
I kept a mini-journal whilst on business travel. Cut and pasted directly from the word document, it follows:
Monday, December 17, 2007. 7:10 P.M. Union Station, Amtrak train, aboard and awaiting trip to New York – Penn Station. Dark, chilly, but not oppressively so.
Over the last six days (and has it only been six days? It feels like it has been so much longer.), I have been distracted constantly, always a little shaky, a little sweaty. I'd stayed late at the office, something I do from time to time to talk to people once my shift is over. P.G. came into my office, and his first words to me were "When it rains, it pours."
(The train has just started, and we're trundling along for right now, but I can definitely see this ramping up very quickly. We're leaving the shelter of the train canopy, headed out into the placid black yonder. I know my journey is not over (hell, it has barely begun), but at least for now, I can rest easier now that I am finally on my way to New York City. If I seemd a little distracted over the past week, it was because I was thinking about this.)
I'd been posted to a project in Tennessee a couple of weeks ago, set to start in late January. Great times, I thought to myself, as this meant I'd finally have the opportunity to travel to the client site and do something different from what I'd been doing. Great times. Now, well, it turned out, I was going to be put on a project just before then, and sent to New York now, today, in order to assist an extant project.
(We're now trucking along. The train shakes much like a metro train, and the scenery outside is blurring by just as quickly as a metro train does overground. The conductor has just come by and punched our tickets, something I thought only happened in the movies. We've also just arrived at New Carrolton from Union Station in just over ten minutes.)
This wreaked havoc with my plans of last minute Christmas shopping, as now every minute was essentially my last minute. Still, I found enough time, somehow, to send stuff out and/or get it into the hands of people that would make sure the presents were distributed correctly. And if I gave you money, I apologize, but there was just not enough time this year otherwise.
I have never traveled long distance for business before. I have gone to the Pentagon on business, which proved a mockery of everything I hold dear (logic AND emotion). However, this journey off to the Newer York, well. You tell me what to think. I think part of this fright is that if something goes wrong when I am driving to work, I lose fifteen, twenty minutes. If something goes wrong leaving the state, I lose hours, maybe days, and can't readily make it up by staying fifteen minutes later.
This is now my role as a consultant. I'm sent out to consult. I am a supposed expert on my field, and have been trained to Make The World A Better Place™. And if you believe that load of bull honkey, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you. Strangely, I'll probably be next to it in about three hours. How did J.L. put it? "Worry is good. If you're not worried, either you're not being challenged, or you don't care enough." I care. I care desperately. Think of me as a working-class version of Dudley Do-Right, trying to do the right thing at the workplace. I don't know if I am, but I'm trying.
(The foldout "desk", if you can call it that, is shaking worse than an alcoholic without his likker. These landmarks are all foreign to me. Hell, I didn't even realize that we'd re-entered Maryland, and for the next thirty minutes or so, I've regained the legal powers that make me such a "prized commodity.")
Last week and weekend were spent wrapping up everything. However, note my version of wrapping up is much like the present I gave to D.C., M.C. and A.W.: covered in a patchwork wrapping and smothered in duct tape, haphazardly bound and not really neat. It works, but it loses several points on style, though if you're postmodern, it gains in style.
Of course, the T.S. Christmas party (Corporate Headquarters version) took place last Friday, so I had an additional task or two to deal with. Like I said, it was a lot of fun, grand time had by all, and there are pictures floating around. The only problem was that I made it home by three in the ante meridian, and woke up around eight in the ante meridian. Burned, scorched, crisped, damn you circadian rhythm.
Saturday whipped past, spent mostly buying presents and some business casual clothing. At six in the post meridian, I looked at the clock, realized I could make it to C.E. and J.E.'s Christmas party, and told myself it would only be a fifteen minute nap. Then I woke up and it was ten in the post meridian.
Sunday saw me shipping out presents, attempting to clean (the one task I always shirk), and packing. Packing carry-on luggage is a crapshoot, and I'm pretty sure all my clothing will come out of the suit case rumpled and sad. However, I also wrapped up some sweat clothes for a-runnin', because I plan on a-runnin' at least one morning or evening outside in the New York rush hour in the piles of snow.
(We've just arrived at BWI, just under half an hour since we set out from Union Station. I might as well just take the train everywhere from now on, this is freaking incredible. To think that with all the requirements for flying, this trip will take about as much time as if I had flown is boggly to my mindery.)
And so we've been lead to today. Today, where all day, the same questions kept getting asked. Did I lock the front door? Did I lock the car door? Do I have my luggage? Do I have everything I'll need in my luggage? Do I know how to get to Union Station? Am I going to be late? Can I get to my hotel? Have I forgotten to plan anything? What if I get lost? What if they don't like me at the client site? What if I can't do the work? Where am I going, and why am I in a handbasket? Is this right? Is this right?
Though it's become a denigrating term, that I've been able to play Jack of All Trades instills me with a little pride. Vigiliant persistence, eternal flexibility. Something needs be done, and I do it. I may not do it to the best of my abilities (witness law school), but I get it done. Right now, as I'm figuratively and literally leaving my comfort zone, I can't help but look out at the Baltimore slums, and smile at my translucent reflection in the mirror. Because, maybe, just maybe, the question that should have been asked isn't "What if I can't," but "What if I can?"
Wednesday, December 19, 2007, 7:52 PM. 1515, hotel between Madison and 38th. Dark, rainy, chilly.
The toll New York takes on you is quite high. The taxi, the subway, the bus, the food, the rent, the parking, the walking, the smoke, the noise, the everything. These past couple of days, the persistent feeling I've had is that of a country bumpkin recently dislocated from his place in society, junked here, and left to explore. Bright lights, big city, and I cannot help but stare all about me.
One of the most embarrassing things about getting to New York was the simple fact that I'd never called for a taxi before. Here I am, walking in circles in front of the train station, wondering how to flag down a taxi. Every time I raised my hand, another taxi flew past. I eventually had to run up to a taxi stopped at the light and get inside.
Now, taxis are credit card enabled, and the one I got in had a touch screen map/television in the back. The driver referred to me as "boss." This is disorienting. (And I must say, I still cannot get used to some people calling me "Sir" while other people ask "So, are you in high school or college?")
The hotel was nothing special, but I found myself unable to sleep due to nervousness. Tossing and turning all night long, wondering what the next day would be like.
I'm going to refrain from giving too many details about the actual work. It's enough to say that I'm consulting right now. However, the taxi ride to the office the first morning was amazing. Never seen that many near misses in a ten minute cab ride since I went to Taiwan, and cars has roughly six inches to one foot of space between them.
There are a lot of buildings that I pass, and it's kind of ridiculous how many of them call themselves "the best." This is clearly untrue, as every sandwich shop cannot be the best, unless each is equally good (or bad).
Friday, December 21, 2007. 7:54 P.M. Train from Penn Station, en route to Union Station. Dark, unnaturally lighted with the faint glow of the track fluorescence.
Privilege brings distance. The higher the echelon you ascend, the fewer people around you. Look at The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe, wherein their single combat champions had ascended to heights few had ever known, few would know.
That is one of the reasons why the T.S. corporate headquarters is (perceived as) much more distant, much less cool than the T.S. N.Y. office. I had the opportunity to work from their office this afternoon. It is barely half the size of the T.S. corporate headquarters. They stuff four people into an office that I considered cramped when I saw two people within in the Annandale office. You can cross from one side of the office to the other in a few seconds, and you'll have to pass several cubicles in the middle. Makes it incredibly easy to start up conversation with your coworkers, because going anywhere in the office brings you close to them, by necessity.
Contrast this with the Annandale office, where many people have their own office, and those few that do not at least share an office space. Only our receptionist is accessible to all, and there are even two entry/exit doors to the office. It would be theoretically possible for me to come in to work, do my work, and leave, without being seen by another human.
Another issue is that the Annandale office seems always to be in transit. There, and everywhere, but never here. We are flung much further than our New York counterparts, often within subway distance of the office, and often working on New York projects as far as I can tell.
We're lucky enough to have our own offices, most of us, and because of that, we're lucky enough to be able to get away from each other, to do work without interruption if we so choose.
***
On Thursday night, at a steakhouse, both C.L. and T.K. pinched my cheek, within seconds of each other. I mean, damn. This is supposed to be a professional situation. They're my superiors. And they pinched my cheeks. What do I look like, I'm five? Wait, don't answer that.
***
Working in New York for a few days, (and N.H.'s and J.L.'s words) have shown me that I never quite worked out this wanderlust. When I return to VA, it's going to seem a dump (because it is a dump?). Not that I really did that much in New York, but it was just different. Different is neither inherently bad nor good, it just is different. And, I suppose that if I were able to meet more people, I wouldn't mind so much this life, but it's the same old rut over and over. Not that I'm knocking any of you, just that while a lot of you aren't hindering my goals, it's not exactly helping them either.
Maybe New York isn't the answer. Probably, New York isn't the answer. Then again, what is? Anything but D.C. If I could figure out a way to pay off all my loans, I'd pack up and move, right fucking now. Would I miss you all? Sure. Would it be that bad? No.
***
One of the client administrators spoke with a Russian accent, so I had to add in my mind "Moose and Squirrel" after everything she said, a pale imitation of Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.
***
I met a lot of people in New York. Hopefully I'll be able to match some faces to some names. For better or for worse, a lot of them knew me through Google Talk as the guy with the constant away messages speaking of T.S.
I also had a chance to try to dissuade F.R.'s girlfriend from continuing on in law school. That half a beer really helped my case, I think. At the very least, it stripped me of balance and dignity, really my two biggest barriers towards meeting people (No, really. "I'm sorry for falling on you. By the way, I'm K.T.").
***
Running was so stop-and-go, much like this post. I'd go out ten or fifteen blocks, figure I was running out of time in the morning, then go running back. Ever seen those people jogging in place at intersections, waiting for the traffic to change, looking for all the world like flipping idiots? You may now count me among their number. Hell, I may be their king, for all I know.
***
It turns out if you leave your change on the counter in a hotel, it is taken as a gratuity. This bugged me the first night, when I lost all my change. I love change, unlike most people. Still, I guessed that I'd leave it as the gratuity when I was done anyways, so I just ended up emptying my pockets every night, leaving it there. Still sucked.
***
So I managed to make myself look like a complete idiot every time I walked through New York, staring up at the gigantic buildings like a complete fool. Yay, buildings. Now, I'm just a simple backwater country lawyer, but…
***
There was no free internet at the hotel, so the only time for most of the week I had an internet connection was through the client site. While at the client site, most of the time I was working on client hardware. Thus, my work week was almost like a mini vacation from my life, as I did not really respond to anyone's emails, did not keep up with the happenstances in the world at large, didn't waste hours upon hours browsing the intarwebs.
It was actually really nice. I spent a lot of my free time reading A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. Such an epic scope, but at the same time, he focuses so well on a few characters that you feel immersed in it.
Living in that hotel room made me realize I have far too much stuff right now, and if I planned right, I really could get away with having very little. Since I'm moving (of necessity) fairly soon, this should be my goal, to get rid of everything nonessential, that I need not have to take it with me.
***
It's odd, I know the work when I go back will be absolutely horrific, but… I can't wait.
Monday, December 17, 2007. 7:10 P.M. Union Station, Amtrak train, aboard and awaiting trip to New York – Penn Station. Dark, chilly, but not oppressively so.
Over the last six days (and has it only been six days? It feels like it has been so much longer.), I have been distracted constantly, always a little shaky, a little sweaty. I'd stayed late at the office, something I do from time to time to talk to people once my shift is over. P.G. came into my office, and his first words to me were "When it rains, it pours."
(The train has just started, and we're trundling along for right now, but I can definitely see this ramping up very quickly. We're leaving the shelter of the train canopy, headed out into the placid black yonder. I know my journey is not over (hell, it has barely begun), but at least for now, I can rest easier now that I am finally on my way to New York City. If I seemd a little distracted over the past week, it was because I was thinking about this.)
I'd been posted to a project in Tennessee a couple of weeks ago, set to start in late January. Great times, I thought to myself, as this meant I'd finally have the opportunity to travel to the client site and do something different from what I'd been doing. Great times. Now, well, it turned out, I was going to be put on a project just before then, and sent to New York now, today, in order to assist an extant project.
(We're now trucking along. The train shakes much like a metro train, and the scenery outside is blurring by just as quickly as a metro train does overground. The conductor has just come by and punched our tickets, something I thought only happened in the movies. We've also just arrived at New Carrolton from Union Station in just over ten minutes.)
This wreaked havoc with my plans of last minute Christmas shopping, as now every minute was essentially my last minute. Still, I found enough time, somehow, to send stuff out and/or get it into the hands of people that would make sure the presents were distributed correctly. And if I gave you money, I apologize, but there was just not enough time this year otherwise.
I have never traveled long distance for business before. I have gone to the Pentagon on business, which proved a mockery of everything I hold dear (logic AND emotion). However, this journey off to the Newer York, well. You tell me what to think. I think part of this fright is that if something goes wrong when I am driving to work, I lose fifteen, twenty minutes. If something goes wrong leaving the state, I lose hours, maybe days, and can't readily make it up by staying fifteen minutes later.
This is now my role as a consultant. I'm sent out to consult. I am a supposed expert on my field, and have been trained to Make The World A Better Place™. And if you believe that load of bull honkey, I have a bridge in Brooklyn I'd like to sell you. Strangely, I'll probably be next to it in about three hours. How did J.L. put it? "Worry is good. If you're not worried, either you're not being challenged, or you don't care enough." I care. I care desperately. Think of me as a working-class version of Dudley Do-Right, trying to do the right thing at the workplace. I don't know if I am, but I'm trying.
(The foldout "desk", if you can call it that, is shaking worse than an alcoholic without his likker. These landmarks are all foreign to me. Hell, I didn't even realize that we'd re-entered Maryland, and for the next thirty minutes or so, I've regained the legal powers that make me such a "prized commodity.")
Last week and weekend were spent wrapping up everything. However, note my version of wrapping up is much like the present I gave to D.C., M.C. and A.W.: covered in a patchwork wrapping and smothered in duct tape, haphazardly bound and not really neat. It works, but it loses several points on style, though if you're postmodern, it gains in style.
Of course, the T.S. Christmas party (Corporate Headquarters version) took place last Friday, so I had an additional task or two to deal with. Like I said, it was a lot of fun, grand time had by all, and there are pictures floating around. The only problem was that I made it home by three in the ante meridian, and woke up around eight in the ante meridian. Burned, scorched, crisped, damn you circadian rhythm.
Saturday whipped past, spent mostly buying presents and some business casual clothing. At six in the post meridian, I looked at the clock, realized I could make it to C.E. and J.E.'s Christmas party, and told myself it would only be a fifteen minute nap. Then I woke up and it was ten in the post meridian.
Sunday saw me shipping out presents, attempting to clean (the one task I always shirk), and packing. Packing carry-on luggage is a crapshoot, and I'm pretty sure all my clothing will come out of the suit case rumpled and sad. However, I also wrapped up some sweat clothes for a-runnin', because I plan on a-runnin' at least one morning or evening outside in the New York rush hour in the piles of snow.
(We've just arrived at BWI, just under half an hour since we set out from Union Station. I might as well just take the train everywhere from now on, this is freaking incredible. To think that with all the requirements for flying, this trip will take about as much time as if I had flown is boggly to my mindery.)
And so we've been lead to today. Today, where all day, the same questions kept getting asked. Did I lock the front door? Did I lock the car door? Do I have my luggage? Do I have everything I'll need in my luggage? Do I know how to get to Union Station? Am I going to be late? Can I get to my hotel? Have I forgotten to plan anything? What if I get lost? What if they don't like me at the client site? What if I can't do the work? Where am I going, and why am I in a handbasket? Is this right? Is this right?
Though it's become a denigrating term, that I've been able to play Jack of All Trades instills me with a little pride. Vigiliant persistence, eternal flexibility. Something needs be done, and I do it. I may not do it to the best of my abilities (witness law school), but I get it done. Right now, as I'm figuratively and literally leaving my comfort zone, I can't help but look out at the Baltimore slums, and smile at my translucent reflection in the mirror. Because, maybe, just maybe, the question that should have been asked isn't "What if I can't," but "What if I can?"
Wednesday, December 19, 2007, 7:52 PM. 1515, hotel between Madison and 38th. Dark, rainy, chilly.
The toll New York takes on you is quite high. The taxi, the subway, the bus, the food, the rent, the parking, the walking, the smoke, the noise, the everything. These past couple of days, the persistent feeling I've had is that of a country bumpkin recently dislocated from his place in society, junked here, and left to explore. Bright lights, big city, and I cannot help but stare all about me.
One of the most embarrassing things about getting to New York was the simple fact that I'd never called for a taxi before. Here I am, walking in circles in front of the train station, wondering how to flag down a taxi. Every time I raised my hand, another taxi flew past. I eventually had to run up to a taxi stopped at the light and get inside.
Now, taxis are credit card enabled, and the one I got in had a touch screen map/television in the back. The driver referred to me as "boss." This is disorienting. (And I must say, I still cannot get used to some people calling me "Sir" while other people ask "So, are you in high school or college?")
The hotel was nothing special, but I found myself unable to sleep due to nervousness. Tossing and turning all night long, wondering what the next day would be like.
I'm going to refrain from giving too many details about the actual work. It's enough to say that I'm consulting right now. However, the taxi ride to the office the first morning was amazing. Never seen that many near misses in a ten minute cab ride since I went to Taiwan, and cars has roughly six inches to one foot of space between them.
There are a lot of buildings that I pass, and it's kind of ridiculous how many of them call themselves "the best." This is clearly untrue, as every sandwich shop cannot be the best, unless each is equally good (or bad).
Friday, December 21, 2007. 7:54 P.M. Train from Penn Station, en route to Union Station. Dark, unnaturally lighted with the faint glow of the track fluorescence.
Privilege brings distance. The higher the echelon you ascend, the fewer people around you. Look at The Right Stuff by Tom Wolfe, wherein their single combat champions had ascended to heights few had ever known, few would know.
That is one of the reasons why the T.S. corporate headquarters is (perceived as) much more distant, much less cool than the T.S. N.Y. office. I had the opportunity to work from their office this afternoon. It is barely half the size of the T.S. corporate headquarters. They stuff four people into an office that I considered cramped when I saw two people within in the Annandale office. You can cross from one side of the office to the other in a few seconds, and you'll have to pass several cubicles in the middle. Makes it incredibly easy to start up conversation with your coworkers, because going anywhere in the office brings you close to them, by necessity.
Contrast this with the Annandale office, where many people have their own office, and those few that do not at least share an office space. Only our receptionist is accessible to all, and there are even two entry/exit doors to the office. It would be theoretically possible for me to come in to work, do my work, and leave, without being seen by another human.
Another issue is that the Annandale office seems always to be in transit. There, and everywhere, but never here. We are flung much further than our New York counterparts, often within subway distance of the office, and often working on New York projects as far as I can tell.
We're lucky enough to have our own offices, most of us, and because of that, we're lucky enough to be able to get away from each other, to do work without interruption if we so choose.
***
On Thursday night, at a steakhouse, both C.L. and T.K. pinched my cheek, within seconds of each other. I mean, damn. This is supposed to be a professional situation. They're my superiors. And they pinched my cheeks. What do I look like, I'm five? Wait, don't answer that.
***
Working in New York for a few days, (and N.H.'s and J.L.'s words) have shown me that I never quite worked out this wanderlust. When I return to VA, it's going to seem a dump (because it is a dump?). Not that I really did that much in New York, but it was just different. Different is neither inherently bad nor good, it just is different. And, I suppose that if I were able to meet more people, I wouldn't mind so much this life, but it's the same old rut over and over. Not that I'm knocking any of you, just that while a lot of you aren't hindering my goals, it's not exactly helping them either.
Maybe New York isn't the answer. Probably, New York isn't the answer. Then again, what is? Anything but D.C. If I could figure out a way to pay off all my loans, I'd pack up and move, right fucking now. Would I miss you all? Sure. Would it be that bad? No.
***
One of the client administrators spoke with a Russian accent, so I had to add in my mind "Moose and Squirrel" after everything she said, a pale imitation of Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle.
***
I met a lot of people in New York. Hopefully I'll be able to match some faces to some names. For better or for worse, a lot of them knew me through Google Talk as the guy with the constant away messages speaking of T.S.
I also had a chance to try to dissuade F.R.'s girlfriend from continuing on in law school. That half a beer really helped my case, I think. At the very least, it stripped me of balance and dignity, really my two biggest barriers towards meeting people (No, really. "I'm sorry for falling on you. By the way, I'm K.T.").
***
Running was so stop-and-go, much like this post. I'd go out ten or fifteen blocks, figure I was running out of time in the morning, then go running back. Ever seen those people jogging in place at intersections, waiting for the traffic to change, looking for all the world like flipping idiots? You may now count me among their number. Hell, I may be their king, for all I know.
***
It turns out if you leave your change on the counter in a hotel, it is taken as a gratuity. This bugged me the first night, when I lost all my change. I love change, unlike most people. Still, I guessed that I'd leave it as the gratuity when I was done anyways, so I just ended up emptying my pockets every night, leaving it there. Still sucked.
***
So I managed to make myself look like a complete idiot every time I walked through New York, staring up at the gigantic buildings like a complete fool. Yay, buildings. Now, I'm just a simple backwater country lawyer, but…
***
There was no free internet at the hotel, so the only time for most of the week I had an internet connection was through the client site. While at the client site, most of the time I was working on client hardware. Thus, my work week was almost like a mini vacation from my life, as I did not really respond to anyone's emails, did not keep up with the happenstances in the world at large, didn't waste hours upon hours browsing the intarwebs.
It was actually really nice. I spent a lot of my free time reading A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin. Such an epic scope, but at the same time, he focuses so well on a few characters that you feel immersed in it.
Living in that hotel room made me realize I have far too much stuff right now, and if I planned right, I really could get away with having very little. Since I'm moving (of necessity) fairly soon, this should be my goal, to get rid of everything nonessential, that I need not have to take it with me.
***
It's odd, I know the work when I go back will be absolutely horrific, but… I can't wait.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Ravenous Hunger
Well, I just watched the Baltimore Ravens get kicked in the teeth by the Miami Dolphins in overtime. I didn't really watch the game, as R.Y. came over and we were connecting (i.e. playing Halo and not really connecting). However, I did have to leave to mail out some Christmas presents (were you one of those lucky few? Stay tuned, you should have your answer by Wednesday). When I came back, the internets told me that it was 16-13, and the Ravens had 4th and goal at the 1 yard line. I turn on the television, and it turns out they kicked the field goal to tie it up.
You have it that close, and you're not going to go for it? Your team's offense is based on the running game, overtime is essentially a toss up, all you need to do is stack the line and essentially fall forward, and you're not going to go for it? You have an excellent chance to avoid the humiliation of losing to a winless team in week 14 of the NFL season, and you're not going to go for it?
In overtime, the Ravens did get the ball, and they put it on Matt Stover's foot to kick the winning field goal. It was a 44 yard field goal, not an automatic make for every kicker, and certainly not for Matt Stover, now about 62 years old. I do not blame him for the miss, because he can only do so much. No, when you have to gain 3 feet, and you do not go for it, and you think a 44 yard field goal, or losing that field position in OT, is the better option, you deserve to lose. Brian Billick, you make baby Jesus cry. Shame on you. I hope you go coach the Patriots as their offensive coordinator next year.
You have it that close, and you're not going to go for it? Your team's offense is based on the running game, overtime is essentially a toss up, all you need to do is stack the line and essentially fall forward, and you're not going to go for it? You have an excellent chance to avoid the humiliation of losing to a winless team in week 14 of the NFL season, and you're not going to go for it?
In overtime, the Ravens did get the ball, and they put it on Matt Stover's foot to kick the winning field goal. It was a 44 yard field goal, not an automatic make for every kicker, and certainly not for Matt Stover, now about 62 years old. I do not blame him for the miss, because he can only do so much. No, when you have to gain 3 feet, and you do not go for it, and you think a 44 yard field goal, or losing that field position in OT, is the better option, you deserve to lose. Brian Billick, you make baby Jesus cry. Shame on you. I hope you go coach the Patriots as their offensive coordinator next year.
At Steak
At the T.S. Christmas party (held at Ruth's Chris Steak House, hence the bad pun title), what was at stake for me? Two things, getting to mess around with my co-workers outside of the office, and determining whether or not to mess around with my friends in Azeroth.
The confluence of those things came in the form of D.C., long-standing friend and new co-worker. In an attempt to get me to rejoin the fold and start playing World of Warcraft again, he convinced R.L. to start tweaking my nipples, and to not stop until I started playing again.
R.L. resides in the office next to mine. You see how this would cause issues in the office. When I have time, I'm going to probably work on an installation.
There was also a lot of drunken merriment (read: drunken people). It is surprising how people can really knock back the booze. Nothing out of the ordinary, except one entire table cheering for what I assume was a plane taking off.
I wish I could tell you more, but this was one time I wanted to have fun solely to have fun. We'll keep closer track of details at a later date.
The confluence of those things came in the form of D.C., long-standing friend and new co-worker. In an attempt to get me to rejoin the fold and start playing World of Warcraft again, he convinced R.L. to start tweaking my nipples, and to not stop until I started playing again.
R.L. resides in the office next to mine. You see how this would cause issues in the office. When I have time, I'm going to probably work on an installation.
There was also a lot of drunken merriment (read: drunken people). It is surprising how people can really knock back the booze. Nothing out of the ordinary, except one entire table cheering for what I assume was a plane taking off.
I wish I could tell you more, but this was one time I wanted to have fun solely to have fun. We'll keep closer track of details at a later date.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Presenting Christmas
I've gotten to the point where I don't much care about what I get, so much as what I give for Christmas. This is dangerous when mixed with my perpetual laziness, because then I just give everyone money. Not that people mind so much, but when it comes down to it, sometimes I think they think they'd rather I put some thought into my gift giving. I posit.
Christmas has lost a lot of meaning for me. It's the end of the calendar year, and a time to exchange presents, but I no longer feel extra good will at this time of year. The optimist in me says it's because I try to extend that elevated level of good will all year, but the pessimist says it's because there's no good will left in me. The realist just doesn't have time, and wants to give everyone $20s.
Still, there I was just now, rushing from store to store, picking up presents for people, trying to keep track of what I still had to get, a bit flustered at my inability to keep it all straight. Told myself that I'd do the online shopping, like I tell myself every year. Realized that it wasn't going to happen because I was too lazy. Note the irony, since I spend weeks, months in a year doing nothing in the internet. How hard would it have been to take a quick shop? Pretty freaking hard, apparently.
Nonetheless, Happy (early) Christmas.
Christmas has lost a lot of meaning for me. It's the end of the calendar year, and a time to exchange presents, but I no longer feel extra good will at this time of year. The optimist in me says it's because I try to extend that elevated level of good will all year, but the pessimist says it's because there's no good will left in me. The realist just doesn't have time, and wants to give everyone $20s.
Still, there I was just now, rushing from store to store, picking up presents for people, trying to keep track of what I still had to get, a bit flustered at my inability to keep it all straight. Told myself that I'd do the online shopping, like I tell myself every year. Realized that it wasn't going to happen because I was too lazy. Note the irony, since I spend weeks, months in a year doing nothing in the internet. How hard would it have been to take a quick shop? Pretty freaking hard, apparently.
Nonetheless, Happy (early) Christmas.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Sleep Enough?
Who did I snap at during my work day? I don't even remember. What I do know is that it affirms that I absolutely need to get my eight hours, or I just devolve into a cranky child, short-tempered and wet-eared, being more of a jackass than normal.
I envy those that get by on four hours of sleep a night, and are fresh and ready to go. If we live to the same age, they will have lived one-sixth more than I have, due to that extra time up and doing stuff. I think about it, and I'd almost rather sleep every day than be doing stuff straight.
There's a book I read by Iain Banks, probably Consider Phlebas. One of the characters was able to put each hemisphere of his brain to sleep independently of the other. For eight hours of the day, he was coldly logical. For eight hours, he was incredibly creative. And for eight hours, it was all working together. What I wouldn't give for that.
The dolphins, they put half their brain to sleep also. I wouldn't mind being a dolphin. Swimming free for a few years, then ending up as someone's tuna sandwich. God I'm tired and illucid. Hell, is that even a word?
I envy those that get by on four hours of sleep a night, and are fresh and ready to go. If we live to the same age, they will have lived one-sixth more than I have, due to that extra time up and doing stuff. I think about it, and I'd almost rather sleep every day than be doing stuff straight.
There's a book I read by Iain Banks, probably Consider Phlebas. One of the characters was able to put each hemisphere of his brain to sleep independently of the other. For eight hours of the day, he was coldly logical. For eight hours, he was incredibly creative. And for eight hours, it was all working together. What I wouldn't give for that.
The dolphins, they put half their brain to sleep also. I wouldn't mind being a dolphin. Swimming free for a few years, then ending up as someone's tuna sandwich. God I'm tired and illucid. Hell, is that even a word?
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