Stream of consciousness blogging today, I'm afraid.
I'm wonking at home. I tried watching CNN's convention coverage but they were driving me mad (Mad! Mad, I tell you!) by obsessing over the stage set for tonight's speech, so I turned to CSPAN. It was the news anchor in the studio - she has some kind of weird fixation on the columns. (Everyone online noticed the similarity to the previous stage set used for Bush and decided that the WEP didn't own the concept of columns, then moved on.)
Now I'm watching CSPAN. They've having a panel of wonks (that's my word for today), the Obama campaign's foreign policy & defense advisors, talking good sense about foreign relations. (So surprising--I agree with Democrats!)
They're pretty funny, even if no one is laughing.
I'm eating yakisoba. A grocery store experiment I picked up last night - shake in the veggie packet, add water, and nuke for four minutes. It's amazingly entertaining. All wriggly noodles.
And, yes, I'm working. Really. I've gotten as much done already this morning as it would have taken me four hours to do in the office.
But I just noticed a cable truck outside. If he breaks my internet access, I'm going to have to pull myself together, put on some make-up (so I don't look SIXTY), and dash to the office in time for my 2:00 webinar.
Okay, not that much of a dash.
Yakisoba! So fun!
Ooooh! Grouchy commenter! Apparently I took a "Kill! Kill! Kill!" position without being aware of it. Politics. So tricky.
Later.... I flipped back into CNN and they're actually talking about how much time they spend talking about the Right! I came in a few seconds too later to hear whether or not they're acknowledging that they're spending too much time on McCain, but at least they're aware of the question.
OHMIGOD! Five. Seconds. Later. They're talking about the damned columns again!
Posted by AnneZook at 12:08 PM | Comments (1)I've always suspected that if Satan gets himself behind you and out of sight? He might get up to all kinds of naughty shenanigans before you know it. I think it's better to keep potential sources of trouble firmly in sight. (I'm lookin' at you.)
That's--not a mixed metaphor, but it's certainly a well-stirred figure of speech.
Anyhow. NutNews week and I am pleased to be able to report that I have, in fact, put temptation firmly behind me!
To keep a moderately boring story short, a co-worker has a family member in a band. Said band was invited to play at the WH for the Worst President Ever recently. Photos were taking and forwarded to TeamChaos. My own, personal ChaosManager decided this was good fodder for NutNews coverage. Two photos were forwarded to me.
Picture #1 was a gift. The WEP making a lemon-sucking face (he's at a microphone) while the band members behind him are either hiding their faces or looking depressed. And, okay the band members are actually wiping sweat off their faces or listening intently to what's being said, but you have to look very closely to see the difference.
Picture #2 was just a photo. Happy band members laughing at a joke by the WEP.
Due to extreme carelessness on the part of my own, personal ChaosManager, she forwarded both pictures and recommended Picture #1 as a better one of the entire group.
Yes, of course, she meant to type Picture #2. But she didn't! I would have been perfectly justified in using the picture she suggested, don't you think?
And OHMIGOD this story has already gotten three times as long as it deserves to be, but I think it should be established that I'm capable of doing The Right Thing when the occasion calls for it.
Once again, today is Extremely Emphatic Day in Anne's World.
Sorry. I get that way when I really don't have that much to say. I'm sort of dinking around for a few minutes. Taking a break, sort of thing.
It hasn't been all bad, having Gidget out for the past week. If the sales people across the cubicle divide become annoying, I can put on my headphones and bop along to some tunes. I bopped along to Mozart for most of last week, but then I was listening to my favorite piece for ten minutes last Friday before I realized I didn't actually have the music turned on, so, maybe time to mix it up a little.
I decided it was time to branch out. Today, I'm bopping along to Vivaldi.
What? You can totally bop along to classical music.
pah-dah-DAT-poom pah-dah-DAT-poom
You recognize that, right? Mozart. Yeah, that piece. I knew you'd be able to hear it if I played it for you. (Four hours of Vivaldi have not yet erased it from my brain.)
I had a candy bar today. I had a candy bar yesterday, too. I'm gonna get so fat.
The next time I start a new blog, I have to remember these rules, because I agree with all of them.
I love reading someone who has a unique voice. Reading blogs written by people so overflowing with passion for something that they want to share it around. Watching someone's exploration of their interests and becoming educated in turn.
I really love good writing (and not infrequently feel regret for the sloppiness of my own blog prose).
(Note to clients: If your Webstrainer campaign is turned off 60% of the time and you're only willing to spend $10/day on internet marketing? Do. Not. Come and whine at me about how poor your results are.)
And an occasional dose of weird? Just my kind of thing. I'll bet you didn't know that about me.
I'm actually thinking of adding another blog to my portfolio. Because what I really like is feeling passionate about something, and I haven't had a new passion in a while. I went over the top on writing and politics. I did OHMIGOD MY BOSS IS SO CRAZY for a year or so (which was, I think more fun for me than for the reader). I did art and knitting in a very small way.
I need a new shtick.
And a new shtick means a new blog. (Think of it as buying a new journal for a new year or a new hobby.)
(Note to clients: Going over my head and writing to my boss and every other boss whose email address you have will not endear you to me. It also won't change what I told you, which was merely the truth, shorn of subjective judgment. I don't know you and I don't care enough about you to waste time making up lies for you.)
Also I need a new blog platform. The sp*mm*rs have found the politiblog and if I leave comments on an article open for more than a week, I get a sp*mflood. It's very annoying to keep having to clean up a blog I'm not really using any more.
I guess I could upgrade from the software I have now, but it's harder to make myself put the effort in when it's just, you know, a blog blog and not an OHMIBLOGPASSION.
I'm feeling very overwrought today, aren't I? Practically 13.
Dum-dee-dum-dee-dum. It's hard to think up a passion, isn't it? It's a pity I burned out on politics before the convention came to town. Shrug. I still care. I just don't believe any more.
"What," I ask the Magic GoogleBall, "Should I feel passionate about?" I click I'm feeling lucky. The Magic GoogleBall lets me down by giving me some kind of writing site for rural kids. In Australia! I already wrote. Maybe it's telling me I should travel?
I haven't traveled a lot in my life. I've been to England. I was just over the Texas border into Mexico for a couple of hours once. I've been just over the border into Canada a time or two. I've visited 20 states, although I can't say I've "seen' them all since a lot of that was business travel. (It might have been more, but I ran out of fingers, toes, and interest in the topic halfway through the sentence.)
Travel requires time, money, and a cigarette, though. (No! No! Hits brain with a big stick. Bad monkey! No nut!)
Time, money, and a destination of interest is what I meant to say. You have to want to go somewhere, then have time to investigate it and read up on it, so you know what you're seeing when you see it. I lack the first two, so we'll table that idea for a while.
Hey! It's 5:00!
I'll think more about it on the way home.
What does it say about my life that when I read of a television show with a title like Puppets Who Kill, I instantly think of three friends who entirely need to be aware of it? (What does it say about my friends?)
I must remember to check out Robson Arms for myself.
In the meantime, I've promised myself the boxed 4-season set of Corner Gas as a reward for a successful NSP.* I didn't actually know WGN was running it, but they're in S3 and I've only seen a couple of episodes of S1.
I'm not actually All About Television these days. I'm All About a lot of things.
I'm All About No Jury Duty. I was called this week and I would have answered the call, no matter how awkward it would have been to miss even one day of work this week, but they didn't want me.
I'm All About Work. I've taken work home two nights this week - the thin end of the wedge for a recovering workaholic.
Now that Gidget's out for a week healing after surgery, and going to be back part-time for another week or two after that, I have the joy of "covering" for her. Since I don't know where she keeps everything, what programs or interfaces she uses to change things, or what her policies are on handling change requests, it's been--challenging at times.
I've been grumbling to myself already, ever since the news came in that no replacement for Penelope will be forthcoming. I mean, yes, I knew when they asked me to take on half her job "for a couple of weeks, a month tops" that I'd never get rid of it. I've been down this path before and I know better than to believe management when they ask you to step up "temporarily." But having it made, you know, officially official makes me mutter.
Instead, we're getting a "National Accounts Development" person. Which makes me grumble even more.
#1 - Our budget doesn't have the money for a mid-range communications person (in a company where everyone is already bitching about sparse communication), but we can afford a no-doubt six-figure "business development" person's salary?
#2 - Why is this sales position being created in marketing? Why not in the sales department?
#3 - Am I the only person who thinks it's stupid that the most productive VP in the company is now so busy with administrative work that she has no time to do her actual job? And that she's going to remain that way, since 80% of Penelope's job was administrative and this place has not one, single admin to support four VPs, two Directors, and a CEO? **
Anyhow. I'm doing 2-1/2 jobs this week, so, yes, All About Work, but I hope it's temporary. (Pay no attention to the complete text of the website, neatly printed out and bound, laying on the desk next to me. I'm only pretending that I'm tired of waiting and I'm going to rewrite the blasted thing myself. Really.)
The only bright spot on this morning's horizon is Morning Mozart on NPR. Which starts now! That's nice, because I'm All About Office Music this week. I decided that I'd listened to Chuckles (he sits on the other side of my cube wall) mumble, stumble, and fumble his way through enough sales calls. It was so painful listening to him that it was distracting me from my actual work.
I brought in my Walkman and some good music on tape (Mozart and Vivaldi) and on the local NPR station's classical channel. Then the R.C. loaned me her CD Walkman (mine's cassette) so I brought in Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Strauss.
I wanted the Brandenburg Concertos but the R.C. didn't have them. She gave me something called "Russian Sketches" instead. I mean, she knows how I feel about Russian composers. So overwrought. What kind of world is it when you ask for Bach and you get Russians?
I muttered to myself for two hours when I got to work that morning. Then I gave up and listened to the CD and, you know, not really overwrought at all, so I wasted a good mutter. In fact, there's a piece by Ippolitov-Ivanov called "Procession of the Sardar" that's absolutely fabulous.
I'm All About Fruit this summer. I've eaten pounds and pounds of fresh cherries. I don't know if I've ever eaten fresh cherries before, but this summer I can't get enough of them. I've also eaten bunches of bananas and I'm eagerly awaiting this weekend's trip to the farmer's market so I can grab a heaping handful of Colorado peaches.*** I'm told by a usually reliable source (the R.C.) that they're finally available. Only one cantaloupe so far, but I'm going to remedy that on my next grocery store trip because the Rocky Fords are also available. Mmmm.
In spite of the healthiness of all that, I suspect I'm getting fat again. I've been afraid to weigh myself for the last two weeks.
And I'm All About Friends. Coffee with Meghan and Ruthless tonight. I haven't seen them for a month and we've been trying to schedule a get-together for two or three weeks. Sometimes it's ridiculous how hard it is to find two free hours at the same time in three women's schedules.
Getting there on time means I'll have to slide out of here just a little early, so I think I'd better do some actual work between now and then.
___________________________
* At whatever time the NSP is, you know, successful. Which is not yet. Not quite. Maybe in a few days. (Don't ask.) (Thank you.)
** It's because the entire management staff (aside from the CEO) are women. That's what I think. If VP Row (the west side of the office) was filled with men? No one would expect them to sit in on meetings for other people's departments, take minutes, type them up, and distribute them. Male executives wouldn't do it, but women? They just assume the grunt work is their problem, even if it says "Vice-President" on their door.
*** Sometimes I push the alliteration thing too far.
Tuesday
I was emailing a friend today and it reminded me of "putter." Arguably one of the best words in the world (Although not the best. "Pursuant" continues to reign supreme in that category.) I love to putter. I love the poke-along feeling the word has. The impression of doing, but not breaking a sweat. The implication of fun.
I was puttering away at my work today (I should be working on the newsletter, but the files due on my desk by end of day Monday or 8:00 a.m. on Tuesday, without fail, have yet to materialize) and my phone rang.
Bernie! Long time no talk! How's it going? Yes, I like my new job! It's a ten-minute commute from my place, instead of a 70-minute commute! (Whispering: And my new boss is not a crazy.)
It's the first time he's called me since She left. Sounds like his new person is digging in and learning what needs to be learned. (I doubt that She was of much use in training. Anything She didn't grasp in ten seconds the first time I explained it to Her, She never bothered to learn.)
Anyhow, Bernie did want a favor. A client is trying to do a very complicated thing and Bernie wanted to know if we could teach them how or we'd have to tell them that if they want that done, we have to do it. (That "we" is hard to break.)
It's a thing I don't think I ever did when he was paying me for my brains, so I'll have to go home tonight, read through that product manual, and decide just how weird and complicated it's going to be.
Wednesday
I didn't get that posted, so today you're getting bonus blogging!
By the time I got to "How it works" in #2? I knew what I should have been doing with my life! I mean, who knew that talking before you think is an important skill? But it's definitely one I have.
And I entirely want a guerilla garden. I mean, I've thought about doing that for years. Who knew it was a Thing, with a name and all?
Friday
And now the work week is almost over. I spent 9 hours running and summarizing reports to convince people whose programs are running well that their programs are--wait for it--running well.
I'd bitch about the time wasted, but honesty compels me to admit that time spent puttering around in spreadsheets, generating charts, cross-referencing, and writing incomprehensible summaries, is more like kindergarten play time than actual work.
Today's weather is wet and gray and cool.
Right now, it's about 65--at my desk, not outdoors. Boy, when these people fix the A/C, they fix the A/C!
Sometimes, life has been so strange that I don't quite know how to talk about it. Things never quite turn out the way you anticipate.*
I'm talking about Friday night, Vela's wedding, okay? (Even though it's clear that your interest in it is at zero or less.)
To begin with, I convinced Gidget (we were carpooling) that driving to LoDo** on a Friday evening was going to be a nightmare and that parking spots were going to be few and far between. She's never taken the Light Rail and was actually excited about the idea.
We met for a light salad dinner and I guided her to the park-and-ride, and bought her a ticket. We embarked when the correct train arrived and--it was packed! Why didn't anyone tell me there was a stupid Rockies game Friday night? We stood, swaying from the straps, for 45 minutes as the train wended its leisurely way to Union Station. And Gidget talked to people.
I don't know what the etiquette is in other cities? But in Denver, the light rail isn't so much a social mixer as a place where you're expected to focus on keeping your elbows out of other people's faces. She was having fun, though so whatever.
We slid into the wedding with a clear four minutes to spare and wound up, with no prior planning, in a row filled with other 'Nuts. (Vela invited TeamChaos.) So, you know, points right up front for being prominently in appearance but a requirement to be on your Very Best Behavior during the ceremony. (Not that I'm prone to throwing pies under other circumstances or anything.)
I hadn't thought much about the ceremony (other than to hope it would be short) and was momentarily surprised at the guest list. Not that I mind if people want to invite the god of their choice or anything, but I can't remember how many years it's been since I sat in a room full of people muttering prayer responses, interjecting at intervals in what was clearly a well-worn presentation, and amening all over the landscape. I'm afraid I behaved a little badly, but mostly in muttered asides to Gidget, so I didn't disrupt the festivities. Much.
I might have annoyed the men next to me who were involved in looking up every bible text mentioned on their Blackberries, but they were annoying me, so that's fair.
The highlight of the ceremony for me, with apologies to the bride and groom, came when the five year-old girl in front of me, entranced with the fairy lights and her own pretty frock, said to the little boy sitting beside her, "I'm going to marry you very soon." And she sealed her promise with a gentle kiss on his cheek.
Anyhow. Post-ceremony, Gidget headed for a nearby knot of 'Nuts and I trailed along after her. After the obligatory spousal introductions, most of them seemed happy to let me stand back and smile and nod vaguely while I pretended to follow their conversations. (I'm good at that. In my next life, I might be a Nodder.***)
I was perfectly happy with this arrangement. I'm sure Jason meant well, but he's a social retard (according to a slightly inebriated member of TeamChaos) and demonstrably has no fund of social small talk at all. What possessed him to single me out for conversation, I don't know.
He managed "good evening." Then he stood there, looking freaked.
I wasn't prepared for a 35 year-old man panicking like an eight year-old who has forgotten his party piece, so I just looked at him. (Okay, after a few seconds I took pity on him, but still. The man is CEO of the company and he doesn't have the presence of mind to pass an unscripted remark about the weather or something?)
It was hot in the foyer, so after a couple of uncomfortable minutes I made the Usual Excuse (ladies' room) to the group at large and wandered around the hotel, stood in the front door and watched the rain bucketing down (hoping, somewhat meanly, that all of those baseball fans who had been pigging up all of the seats on the light rail were getting wet), and generally tried to stay cool.
Back at the party I stuck close to Gidget, making polite noises at various strangers, watching in disbelief as at least four members of TeamChaos bypassed the open bar (beer and wine only) in favor of a bootleg bottle of vodka smuggled in by Willy Loman and a friend. (What is it about salesmen and alcoholism?) Jason was seen partaking of the bootleg bonanza as well. How inappropriate is that?
And then later (one assumes several drinks later), Jason appeared next to the table where I was nibbling sushi and bruschetta and stared at me owlishly for a few seconds before announcing that he didn't know anything about me.
I know that, okay? I've been with this company for over six months and pretty much no one there knows anything about me. I sit at my desk and do my job. It's a system I have and it works for me.
Anyhow, Jason pulled up a chair, sat down, and asked me if I was married. No. Did I have any children? No.
His conversational well ran dry at this point.
After a few seconds, I mentioned that I had plants.
"Plans?" He asked fuzzily.
"Plants," I enunciated carefully. (A joke is never funny if you have to repeat it.)
He didn't know what to do with this information.
Gidget took pity on him and announced that I was a Democrat. (She told me later that he's rabidly Republican, so, in context, her remark was less helpfulness and more rabble-rousing. But I like a good rabble as well as the next person.)
"Well, that's a problem," he said.
No, no, he added a few seconds later. Just kidding.
"I'm not really a Democrat," I assured him.
He looked relieved.
"I'm independent," I told him maliciously. "Because the Democratic party isn't liberal enough for me."
"They're not liberal enough?" He stared at me in disbelief. "So, you're a socialist?"
I sweartogod (who didn't attend the reception) that the man thinks today's Democratic Party is a half-step to the right of Socialism. So, you know, that pretty much told me everything I needed to know about him.
I bowed out of the conversation and he turned with some relief to Gidget. And gave her hell about a new program she'd instituted a couple of weeks ago that hadn't performed to spec. So inappropriate at a non-work function.
Shortly afterward, Gidget and I made the Usual Excuse and bailed on the party. The rain had stopped but it was a muggy walk back to the train station. I didn't care. I was free.
A 30-minute wait for a train heading to our stop. Boring, but Gidget and I rarely run out of things to chat about.
Eventually there was boarding. Riding. Stopping. Power outage at the next major junction. A "short delay."
Because I have manners, no matter what anyone says, I relinquished the empty row I'd been managing to fully occupy and let some nearby standees relax on it.
Gidget, whose purse really had needed a seat of its own, gave me space and thirty seconds later she was back to her old, bad habits. A few minutes later, everyone in the car knew she was riding the Light Rail for the first time, that we'd been attending our boss's wedding, that the CEO of our company was a nitwit but that I'd smacked him down***** during the party, etc., etc., etc. She's sort of like me that way. She doesn't need to drink. When she gets a little tired, she gets silly.
By this point in the evening, we were both silly. I like to think that we contributed largely to making the ensuing 45-minute delay a little more enjoyable for everyone within a 50-yard radius but I suspect we were just annoying some people. The conversation was wide-ranging (smoking, depression, dentists, weddings, lesbians, eyesight deteriorating with age, John Edwards, axe murderers on buses, cheesecake) while it lasted, but the husband of one of the women we were chatting with (okay, at) came over to announce that he could hear us all ten feet from where we were sitting and that made us too loud.
Eventually (11:42p.m.) I made it home. The next time someone invites me to spend an evening with a lot of people I already know I have nothing in common with? I'm going to catch a communicable disease first, so I can give it a miss.
________________________________
* Obviously I noticed this many years ago, but I also decided, many years ago, that it was better to go on anticipating anyhow. That way, you get 10-for-1 on your experiences--you get to have ten anticipated experiences for every one reality.
Sometimes I worry that I'm a little weird.
** Lower Downtown
*** Wodehouse
**** Willy is about to be transferred from the "bring in new locations" team to Vela's team where he'll be in charge of bringing in new national accounts. I tried to avoid him for the rest of the evening. I didn't really want to begin my professional acquaintance of him with the memory of him being drunk and stupid while I was sober and annoyed.)
***** Longer story than I feel like typing at the minute after this already a ridiculously long entry.
08-08-08, 08:08:08
Posted by AnneZook at 08:08 AM | Comments (0)And, speaking of weird (There was an interval, okay? I was thinking of weird.), I had a very peculiar hair appointment yesterday.
HairMan was ridiculously grateful that I wasn't angry that he'd had to reschedule my appointment. Even though I've been going to see him for the last decade, he was, well, really peculiarly grateful. He hugged me three times and kissed the top of my head at one point. Grateful.
Or, something. I don't know precisely what was going on with him--just that, most unusually, our conversation during my 2-1/4 hour (I hate that) appointment, revolved around sex.
Not only him recounting his previous night's dream where I flashed him my--well, the part of my anatomy that usually hides under my blouse, but a memory he had from five or six years ago when I showed up at an appointment one winter day with--well, that part of my anatomy standing, so to speak, at attention. Apparently that moment has been living in his memory ever since.
(It's difficult to blog about physical topics without using words that will attract sp*mm*rs and the wrong kind of search results.)
I have no idea why my--um, err, you know(s), were so high on his list of conversational topics, but I can say sincerely that I hope he's forgotten about it--them--by the time I have another appointment.
Also, at the end of my appointment, he kissed me goodbye. It's a thing he started doing a few years ago and normally I put up with it--a chaste peck on the cheek from someone I've known for years doesn't freak me out, but last night he went for the lips and I have to say I wasn't thrilled.
He's a nice guy and I don't object to chatting with him while he does my hair (although I frequently wish he'd chat less and work faster, especially since we have little in common*) but we aren't really friends, you know? If I never saw him again, I wouldn't care, as long as I found someone else who could do a decent job of cutting my hair.
In less-bizarre news, I have to go to a wedding Friday evening. It's Vela's and while she's a great ChaosManager and a really nice person? I begrudge giving up precious weekend hours to standing around in a hotel ballroom making desperately polite conversation with people I've never seen before and hope never to see again.
I'm not really as social as I was ten or fifteen years ago, and I was never really all that keen on large parties full of strangers. I'm not good with strangers. (Especially since I quit drinking.)
Weddings can be the worst. People are always, "Oh, how do you know the bride?" And then they stand there, hoping desperately that you give them an interesting response and help them fill at least ten minutes of the interminable four-hour ordeal.
And this time, I'll be, like, "Well, I've worked for her for the last six months. I can't actually remember the name of the guy she's marrying and I've never met him and I've never spent any time with her outside of work or, for that matter, much time with her while at work, but she invited me to her wedding and there's no way to decline attending someone's nuptials without giving mortal offense, so here I am. Not having a good time. Moving on now."
Oh, well. At least the season-ender for Doctor Who was last week, so I don't have to miss it.
I think I'll go back to Mozart.
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* Yesterday? He admitted to voting for Reagan (first term) and the current WPE (also first term).
So, you know, minus points for not being able to spot dangerous ideologues at first sight, and then minus another point for returning to the same rightwingnut well a second time.
Here I am, puttering around in my little cubicle, happily taping bits of paper together before I really get busy with variously sized and hued highlighters, assorted sticky-notes, and five colors of pens, when--the thrill is gone. Just like that. I just really don't care any more.
It's not a permanent condition. Just one of those days when I got so focused on doing what I do that I forgot to eat breakfast until 11:00, sending my blood sugar deep into the doldrums.
Another major contributor to the problem was music. I finally remembered to bring my walkman, some batteries, and my favorite cassette tapes into the office all at the same time. I was lost in Mozart for hours.
Which is, of course, joy unbounded, but the occasional sandwich is still a necessity.
In passing, and not really inviting comments but more just updating those who care but who are respecting my injunction to please, fortheloveofgodmontressor, not to mention these things at all? The diet is at a stalemate--I'm not losing any more at the moment, but at least I'm not putting any on, right? And the NSP is going--well, awkwardly. I'm doing very well for 23 hours and 58 minutes of every day. And, by "very well" I mean, I'm really over the insane, constant obsession with the activity. As soon as I conquer that last two-minute "break" that I haven't been able to resist for the last week (it's really only been 10 days since the official NSP went into effect), I'll be in business.
Although, before we leave related topics entirely, I would like to point out to the, you know, rabidly anti among you? That there are worse things I could do.
You may now return to not mentioning the Forbidden Topics at all and thankyouverymuch for your consideration.
For those who feel they need a bit of economic 'news' in their day? Read this about the deficit forecast.
I found it depressing, so I stopped to read some of the stories about the GOP Congressional members who are holding mock-sessions in the House and demanding the Majority Leader Pelosi call Congress back into session and "deal with the energy crisis" or the Repubs are gonna refuse to fund the government this fall.
To paraphrase one of them (from Texas, natch), "if we don't get permission to deep drill America's coastlines and put up environmentally unsound oil rigs in the middle of already fragile ecosystems and prolong, by any means possible, America's dependence on fossil fuels, thereby enriching our most valuable corporate constituents, then we're doing to do our darndest to bring about an economic Armageddon that will teach those liberal weenies a thing or two about messing with a Texas oilman!"
Or, you know, something to that effect.
The bottom line is they gotta get it now if they're going to get it at all (permission to drill the ocean shelf, I mean), because at least some of them are smart enough to see the writing on the wall and they know that the Worst President Ever and his sidekick, Torture Czar Cheney's bid for Iraq's oil was a dismal failure, we're not tough enough to take on (much less beat) Iran, and Republicans are coming in at position #3 in the popularity poll of the country's two-party system, so the odds of another wingnut Republican hitting office before the current windfall oil profits peter out is pretty slim.
Grammar and punctuation--right out the window in that sentence. Sorry.
In today's funny news, stop and picture George Bush having to get on a plane and fly to Bejing ten seconds after the Chinese government told him to shut up and mind his own business. Hee.
And, as long as I'm being, you know, sort of political?
Obviously I am too smart to go see the new X-Files movie. The previews I saw would have discouraged me even if I had not previously taken a lifelong oath to refrain from ever again putting a single dime in Chris, I Really Didn't Have A Plan, Carter's pocket. (Yes, I hold a grudge.)
Anyhow, as I started to say, I won't be seeing the movie, but the R.C. saw it last night and came home bubbling over with priceless plot points and moments of mirth.
I won't spoil it for you if you intend to see if for yourself, but I hear that there's one scene you really should watch for. It's a scene where they go into FBI headquarters and the camera goes into close-up of a doorway. On one side, it lingers on a picture of the current WPE. The camera pans over to a picture of Hoover--and the movie breaks out the X-Files theme music for the first time. Hee.
I'm not suggesting anything, or saying I believe those very prominent rumors we all heard. No, I'm mentioning this because just the knowledge that this scene exists? May be enough to rehabilitate Chris Carter to some extent.
From what the R.C. said, this may be 2008's Gayest Possible Movie. Which would be funny if the plot, as she described it, had not convinced me that no one on the planet has enough spare brain cells to risk losing twenty-seven million of them by sitting through such an aggregation of crap.
Raise your hands, everyone, if you sekritly wish that I'd start taking the time to proofread and even edit my blog posts.
In spite of promises of cooler temperatures and intermittent rain showers, this isn't really shaping up to be a better week.
It started on the weekend, when some slack-jawed, teen-aged restaurant cashier asked me, with a straight face, if I was qualified for the 60+ "senior" discount on their menu. Even when I stared at her in shock, her face registered no awareness of the fact that she had actually mortally offended not only me, but the R.C., who happened to be with me and who was included in the question. 60!
60!!!! I am so offended. And never patronizing that restaurant again.
Also? Never again leaving the house without full make-up.
Yesterday evening was punctuated with sirens. I don't know why. It just seemed like there were a lot of them screaming up and down the major thoroughfare close by.
The noise continued until the wee hours of the morning. I know this, because I was laying in bed, watching the clock tick, and wondering if I was ever going to get some sleep. (By the time I realized I hadn't taken a sleeping pill--the only help I've found for those too-hot-to-breathe nights, it was so late that I couldn't take one, for fear I wouldn't wake up on time in the morning.)
To add to the joy, my insomnia was punctuated, at one point, with silence. The kind of silence you get when the power goes out and the fan stops churning the hot air around. Granted, it only lasted for about 20 seconds, but I'm assuming that somewhere in our building, a critical breaker was tripped. How else to explain the icy flood pouring from the "hot" water tap when I got up (on time!) this morning and wanted to brush my teeth?
And then, there was some kind of massive back-up on my preferred route to work. I sat in traffic for a while, watching the ever-thickening gridlock two blocks away, then turned off and headed for a back route I know of. It got me to work--10 minutes late, but here.
And then my wireless mouse stopped working and I had to reboot my computer to get it to recognize the old mouse I plugged in and now the stupid computer keeps telling me the "virtual" memory is running out. Apparently this requires that it dink around with the real memory, so everything's on slowdown.
Basically? I am just so cranky today!
P.S. Sigh.
Later that same extraordinarily difficult day:
Okay, so, I left the office early because I had a hair appointment today. When I got to the salon, they told me to call HairMan. I did, and he explained that he was three hours away and would need to reschedule. (To do him credit, he had tried to call me earlier. I wasn't at my desk and didn't think to check my cell phone.) So, ten minutes (round-trip) wasted.
I came back to the office and informed my slightly tizzying (she's getting married on Friday) ChaosManager that I had sensed that she wanted me in the office this afternoon. She said I was a weirdo and a loser and then she left for the day.
Posted by AnneZook at 02:06 PM | Comments (4)Blah-dee-blah-blah.
It's August, you know. How can it be August already? I've barely started summering!
Seems like this always happens. Just about the time I'm 'way past ready for summer, the temperature spikes to the high 90s and stays there until the snow starts to fall again. (It's possible that's a slight exaggeration.)
What happened to those long, balmy spring days, and the warm-but-not-smokin' early summer days we used to get? (It's possible my memory is at fault.)
Moving on, I wanted to say that my phone rang this morning! My actual work phone! It only rings once a week or so, so this was very exciting. Turned out to be a potential customer (and how she got my line, I'll never know), so I just transferred her on to someone else. That's the best kind of phone call.
The diet is going exceptionally well this week! Saturday I had spaghetti & Italian sausage (twice). Monday, for dinner, I had French fries and buttered kernel corn. Wednesday, I had four of the "two-bite" brownies that someone left in the lunch room. Some weeks, "exceptionally well" is code for "I've had a lot of calories and now I'm happy."
Hey! Tell me if The Great Depression and the New Deal (by Eric Rauchway) looks like a decent intro to the whys and wherefores of it all. Or maybe Rethinking the Great Depression (by Gene Smiley)?
I originally started looking for the R.C., who has been searching for a short, succinct "how did it happen" book about The Great Depression for quite a long time, without finding it, but now I'm interested on my own account as well. But not, you know, deeply interested. At least, not at the moment.
The weekend is approaching rapidly and I have no plans. Or, no firm plans. I have ideas around movie theatres and/or malls, but nothing concrete. With temperatures forecast to top 100 each day (and probably not cooling off that much at night), it strikes me as a perfect weekend to find air conditioning someone else is paying for. :)
Anyhow, even if the new Mummy movie isn't getting great reviews, I've heard that you need 3D glasses to watch it and I want to play!
I also need to see, Mamma Mia, which a friend assures me is the perfect combination of feel-good sentimentality and mock-worthy missteps. (And it's playing right across the street, so bonus points for offsetting A/C pollution by not driving my car to get to it, right?)
It's possible that I really didn't have anything to say today.