Dear Capital One,
When we met, I was young and naïve in need of health insurance and a steady income. You swept me off my feet with the promise of ten sick days, three weeks of vacation, and a business casual dress code. Ours was a whirlwind courtship at first, exciting and new. Sure we went through some rocky patches those first few years, especially when you decided to shut down America One and put me into redeployment, but there were plenty of good times too. Like any new romance, you showered me with gifts and attention: the clothes, the knick-knacks, the roadshows, and fun days.
Then something changed. You changed. The good times were fewer and far between. You kept moving me from desk to desk, building to building. After four buildings, sixteen desks, fourteen managers, and more job titles than I can count, I wondered if something was wrong with me. Were you trying to drive me away? But I know how much you love change. You REALLY love change.
We've been through a lot in our eight years together, and I will always cherish those memories. Except the memories of some of those crazies you made me work with. (We won't get into that now.) All good things must come to an end. So it's time for me to say goodbye.
I've met someone else. He's cute, charming and funny with a winner smile. He's also about two feet tall, toothless, bald, and occasionally vomits on me. It's true love. I think I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Or at least the next 18 years.
I'm sure you'll quickly find some new girl to take my place. All those radio ads you've been playing lately about what a great place this is to work. That's the same line you used on me.
Love,
Amanda
Showing posts with label Corporate Hell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Corporate Hell. Show all posts
Friday, July 14, 2006
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Day Four of Five
More packing. More packing.
I have a Summer Junk Food Television quandry. When it comes time for the dancers to go solo in the competition on "So You Think You Can Dance", who should I vote for: Benji or Donyelle? I am torn. I love them both. Also, which comic should get my vote in "Last Comic"? Big choices all around.
I had a very Proustian moment this afternoon when I walked into the restroom here at work. The scent of the cleaning supplies brought me back to working at the mall during the Christmas season. The smell is exactly the same as whatever they use in the mall bathroom that we used because the Hecht's bathroom was never really clean. It was like a trip back almost nine years ago. Whoosh! Freaky.
Still more packing today. I feel like I did when I graduated high school, excited yet terrified at the possibilities ahead. Mostly the possibility of failure. Except failing as a mom is a lot worse than failing a class in college.
I have a Summer Junk Food Television quandry. When it comes time for the dancers to go solo in the competition on "So You Think You Can Dance", who should I vote for: Benji or Donyelle? I am torn. I love them both. Also, which comic should get my vote in "Last Comic"? Big choices all around.
I had a very Proustian moment this afternoon when I walked into the restroom here at work. The scent of the cleaning supplies brought me back to working at the mall during the Christmas season. The smell is exactly the same as whatever they use in the mall bathroom that we used because the Hecht's bathroom was never really clean. It was like a trip back almost nine years ago. Whoosh! Freaky.
Still more packing today. I feel like I did when I graduated high school, excited yet terrified at the possibilities ahead. Mostly the possibility of failure. Except failing as a mom is a lot worse than failing a class in college.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Day Three of Five
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Today, I am cleaning and purging my desk so that I can start packing up the crap I want to keep and take home. Funny how, now that I am leaving the company, all this stuff that seemed so important and needed to be saved gets chucked into the wastebin without a second thought.
Last night, Little A was again gracious and fell asleep sans screaming even though he was a fussy crab through his meal of rice cereal and his bath. I can't wait to be able to spend time with my son when he isn't worn out from a day of Baby Work.
Adrian said that he finally got to see Little A interact with one of his co-workers at Baby Work, a boy named William. Alastair was content to let William take his toy away and then just lean against William. The head of the infant room said that normally Alastair likes to suck on William's head. Nice. My kid's a zombie baby. "Brains. Yummy!"
Today, I am cleaning and purging my desk so that I can start packing up the crap I want to keep and take home. Funny how, now that I am leaving the company, all this stuff that seemed so important and needed to be saved gets chucked into the wastebin without a second thought.
Last night, Little A was again gracious and fell asleep sans screaming even though he was a fussy crab through his meal of rice cereal and his bath. I can't wait to be able to spend time with my son when he isn't worn out from a day of Baby Work.
Adrian said that he finally got to see Little A interact with one of his co-workers at Baby Work, a boy named William. Alastair was content to let William take his toy away and then just lean against William. The head of the infant room said that normally Alastair likes to suck on William's head. Nice. My kid's a zombie baby. "Brains. Yummy!"
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Day Two of Five
I can only aspire to such humor in death. This man is my new hero.
My final week stretches out slowly like a Bataan death march. Short-timer's syndrome is infecting me. All the little quirks of my co-workers are magnified to the point of obnoxiousness. I have forsworn all meeting invites. I am starting to bequeath some of my cube detritus to my co-workers, including a unintentionally funny book on corporate change that a friend gave me when he left the company almost two years ago. Now he's back and I'm the one leaving. Figure it makes sense to return the book.
Bedtimes with Alastair have become something of a game of Russian roulette. One night he conks out after about 15-20 minutes of fussing. Then Sunday night he wailed for over an hour. Last night he totally crashed out the minute his head hit the pillow. My crazy baby. He likes to keep his mum and dad guessing.
Well, guess I better go do something that resembles work so I can claim to have earned my last paycheck.
My final week stretches out slowly like a Bataan death march. Short-timer's syndrome is infecting me. All the little quirks of my co-workers are magnified to the point of obnoxiousness. I have forsworn all meeting invites. I am starting to bequeath some of my cube detritus to my co-workers, including a unintentionally funny book on corporate change that a friend gave me when he left the company almost two years ago. Now he's back and I'm the one leaving. Figure it makes sense to return the book.
Bedtimes with Alastair have become something of a game of Russian roulette. One night he conks out after about 15-20 minutes of fussing. Then Sunday night he wailed for over an hour. Last night he totally crashed out the minute his head hit the pillow. My crazy baby. He likes to keep his mum and dad guessing.
Well, guess I better go do something that resembles work so I can claim to have earned my last paycheck.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Day One of Five
This is my final week of employment here at Capital One, and it could not be more anticlimactic. Many of the people I work with now in my group are new and don't have a clue who I am or what I do. This is like a non-event for them.
Guess I ought to start packing up my desk and deleting any incrementing personal shit from my computer.
Yesterday, Adrian and I finally went to see the new X-Men movie. We are desperately trying to NOT become those parents who grouse about having not seen an adult movie in years. It's just that we are a little behind on our new releases. After the movie, we chatted about the film, what we liked, how the absence of Bryan Singer was evident in the overall tone, etc. Eventually, the conversation was overtaken by Amanda's comic book nerdiness from her adolescence as I recounted all the storylines, characters, and artists from the X-Men universe that I loved. Adrian was very patient with me as I blathered on about alien sub-plots, spin-off comics, and what I saw as I decline in the genre with the early-90's "Mutant Apocalypse" story arc. In the midst of my blathering, I realized how much I wanted to have all my old comics (still sitting in my bedroom closet at my 'rents house) to show Adrian.
This morning it occurred to me that I might have a passion to share some day with my son. We've already guessed he'll inherit some measure of nerdiness from his parents (If he grows up to become a total jock, I'll eat these words.) which means he may very well have an appreciation for mom's stash of vintage comics. Having a son means that I probably won't be able to impart such wisdom as the importance of a good eyelash curler or how a sassy pair of heels can really pull an outfit together (Oh God help me if I eat those words!). But maybe, just maybe, I can share the joy of a well-drawn comic book and geek out over who'd win out in a battle: Wolverine or Batman.
Was it really July in Virginia this weekend? Saturday we actually turned off the A/C and opened our windows. I don't think I have ever turned off the A/C during a Richmond July except for the summer our unit busted and we had no choice. Today, however, Mother Nature is back to her old tricks with punishing highs in the 90's.
Guess I ought to start packing up my desk and deleting any incrementing personal shit from my computer.
Yesterday, Adrian and I finally went to see the new X-Men movie. We are desperately trying to NOT become those parents who grouse about having not seen an adult movie in years. It's just that we are a little behind on our new releases. After the movie, we chatted about the film, what we liked, how the absence of Bryan Singer was evident in the overall tone, etc. Eventually, the conversation was overtaken by Amanda's comic book nerdiness from her adolescence as I recounted all the storylines, characters, and artists from the X-Men universe that I loved. Adrian was very patient with me as I blathered on about alien sub-plots, spin-off comics, and what I saw as I decline in the genre with the early-90's "Mutant Apocalypse" story arc. In the midst of my blathering, I realized how much I wanted to have all my old comics (still sitting in my bedroom closet at my 'rents house) to show Adrian.
This morning it occurred to me that I might have a passion to share some day with my son. We've already guessed he'll inherit some measure of nerdiness from his parents (If he grows up to become a total jock, I'll eat these words.) which means he may very well have an appreciation for mom's stash of vintage comics. Having a son means that I probably won't be able to impart such wisdom as the importance of a good eyelash curler or how a sassy pair of heels can really pull an outfit together (Oh God help me if I eat those words!). But maybe, just maybe, I can share the joy of a well-drawn comic book and geek out over who'd win out in a battle: Wolverine or Batman.
Was it really July in Virginia this weekend? Saturday we actually turned off the A/C and opened our windows. I don't think I have ever turned off the A/C during a Richmond July except for the summer our unit busted and we had no choice. Today, however, Mother Nature is back to her old tricks with punishing highs in the 90's.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
The Rain Scares Me
All this rain we are having worries me. I know that we need the rain; it's good for the plants. Last summer it was so dry, we lost several bushes in our yard-hardly surprising considering the collective Amos gardening skills or lack thereof. Rain is certainly welcome. Now days of rain storm after rain storm, especially the voracious storms that descended upon us last night are troubling.
Flooding is a mild concern, but I remember that the summer leading up to hurricane Isabel was a wet summer as well with numerous heavy storms and rainy patches. The excessive rain contributed to the widespread destruction that resulted from the hurricane. The ground was so saturated with moisture that the trees didn't have a firm root. Soft ground coupled with high, strong winds make for a lot of downed trees. A few weeks ago the national news predicted that this year will be a hurricane-heavy year for the Atlantic seaboard. Whereas the Gulf states got hammered last year, the East Coast is in for it in 2006. If that prediction is true and this summer continues to be rainy, I fear that we might have a repeat of the chaos that followed Isabel. I certainly hope not, but I am not taking any chances. My emergency box is stocked.
Adrian actually compared a character on House to me: "She's even more prepared than you." If that doesn't tell you something about my obsessive nature.
Alastair is doing great. Sitting up more and more on his own. He can even steady himself sometimes when starts to fall over. Before I know it, this kid is going to be walking, then driving, then racing Formula One...
T-minus 6 days until I am released for Corporate Hell. I am excited but at the same time terrified. This has been the only real job-type job I've known since college. For the longest time, I thought I could do nothing else but slave away in a cubicle-all my hopes and dreams faded. Now as I am coming upon the day of my freedom, I can't hardly believe it. Does this mean I will finally have to make something of myself instead of just settle into a complacent existence as a wage-earning Corporate Cog? What if I turn out to be a horrible disappointment, not only in my career but as a mom? The thought of slogging back here like a dog to its vomit is a possibility I don't even want to consider.
On top of the scary potential of being a total failure at life, what the fuck am I going to do for money? How am I going to keep myself well-dressed, well-shod, and well-read?
All big quandaries indeed. Of course, we could have a horrible hurricane or an outbreak of bird flu. That would put all my petty whinings in perspective, now wouldn't it.
Flooding is a mild concern, but I remember that the summer leading up to hurricane Isabel was a wet summer as well with numerous heavy storms and rainy patches. The excessive rain contributed to the widespread destruction that resulted from the hurricane. The ground was so saturated with moisture that the trees didn't have a firm root. Soft ground coupled with high, strong winds make for a lot of downed trees. A few weeks ago the national news predicted that this year will be a hurricane-heavy year for the Atlantic seaboard. Whereas the Gulf states got hammered last year, the East Coast is in for it in 2006. If that prediction is true and this summer continues to be rainy, I fear that we might have a repeat of the chaos that followed Isabel. I certainly hope not, but I am not taking any chances. My emergency box is stocked.
Adrian actually compared a character on House to me: "She's even more prepared than you." If that doesn't tell you something about my obsessive nature.
Alastair is doing great. Sitting up more and more on his own. He can even steady himself sometimes when starts to fall over. Before I know it, this kid is going to be walking, then driving, then racing Formula One...
T-minus 6 days until I am released for Corporate Hell. I am excited but at the same time terrified. This has been the only real job-type job I've known since college. For the longest time, I thought I could do nothing else but slave away in a cubicle-all my hopes and dreams faded. Now as I am coming upon the day of my freedom, I can't hardly believe it. Does this mean I will finally have to make something of myself instead of just settle into a complacent existence as a wage-earning Corporate Cog? What if I turn out to be a horrible disappointment, not only in my career but as a mom? The thought of slogging back here like a dog to its vomit is a possibility I don't even want to consider.
On top of the scary potential of being a total failure at life, what the fuck am I going to do for money? How am I going to keep myself well-dressed, well-shod, and well-read?
All big quandaries indeed. Of course, we could have a horrible hurricane or an outbreak of bird flu. That would put all my petty whinings in perspective, now wouldn't it.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Never Gain Weight From a Doughnut Hole
For the past week or so, I've been listening to my Pod on Shuffle. This fantastic little lime green machine has been in my possession for over two years, and somehow I have avoided using the Shuffle feature.
Boy, I was a doofus. Now I am totally hooked. It's like having my own personal radio station-a station that plays a Tori Amos tune almost every other song. Sweet. Here's a sampling of one of my recent sessions:
The Cure-The Edge of the Deep Green Sea
Scissor Sisters-Filthy Gorgeous
Johnny Cash-Ring of Cash
Modest Mouse-Float On
Ben Folds Five-Regrets
Steve Miller-Jungle Love
Curve-Bleeding Heart
Tori-Mother
Led Zeppelin-Immigrant Song
Chris Isaak-5:15
Tori-Cooling
Madonna-Papa Don't Preach
Tori-Purple People
Prodigy-Narayan
Tori-Witness
The Cure-The Perfect Girl
R.E.M.-Orange Crush
Jane's Addiction-Of Course
Ben Folds-Annie Waits
Tori-Talula
Crystal Method-American Way
Gorillaz-Clint Eastwood
Little Alastair tried some rice cereal on Sunday. That was a freaking hoot. Most of what went into his mouth oozed all over his chin. I think he got a few swallows down. These early eating sessions are for practice anyway. Alastair seemed to get into this new fun stuff that goes into his mouth, craning his neck towards every spoonful. Such a cutie is my kid.
On the flip side of Little A's cuteness is his recent refusal to go to bed at night. We lay him down in the crib and he pitches a big ole fat fit. Come to find out, we've been making a huge mistake in immediately coming into his room and picking him up when these cries begin. Now he's learned the stimulus/response equation. He cries...He gets picked up and rocked. Little manipulative fart.
Adrian is spearheading the resistance. He has begun using "The Ferber Method" (sounds ominous, huh?), in which we allow him to cry for short periods of about five minutes before coming into his room, soothing him with some words and a rub, and then leaving. But we do NOT pick him up. He stays in his crib. Gradually we stretch the time between soothings until he tires of crying and drifts to sleep.
Last night this process took almost two hours before sleep was achieved. Thankfully I was out of the house for most of the night because Little A's cries just tear me apart. I have to keep reminding myself that he needs to learn when bedtime is and how to relax independently. I've heard that using this approach can take anywhere from one week to one month before your baby is falling asleep peacefully and on his own. Our 4th of July plans might be thrown off by this recent develpmental snafu. Ah, the joys of parenthood.
Last week, I gave notice here at Corporate Hell. July 14 will be my last official day of toiling in the Ninth Level of Hell. Viva la Revolution!
Boy, I was a doofus. Now I am totally hooked. It's like having my own personal radio station-a station that plays a Tori Amos tune almost every other song. Sweet. Here's a sampling of one of my recent sessions:
The Cure-The Edge of the Deep Green Sea
Scissor Sisters-Filthy Gorgeous
Johnny Cash-Ring of Cash
Modest Mouse-Float On
Ben Folds Five-Regrets
Steve Miller-Jungle Love
Curve-Bleeding Heart
Tori-Mother
Led Zeppelin-Immigrant Song
Chris Isaak-5:15
Tori-Cooling
Madonna-Papa Don't Preach
Tori-Purple People
Prodigy-Narayan
Tori-Witness
The Cure-The Perfect Girl
R.E.M.-Orange Crush
Jane's Addiction-Of Course
Ben Folds-Annie Waits
Tori-Talula
Crystal Method-American Way
Gorillaz-Clint Eastwood
Little Alastair tried some rice cereal on Sunday. That was a freaking hoot. Most of what went into his mouth oozed all over his chin. I think he got a few swallows down. These early eating sessions are for practice anyway. Alastair seemed to get into this new fun stuff that goes into his mouth, craning his neck towards every spoonful. Such a cutie is my kid.
On the flip side of Little A's cuteness is his recent refusal to go to bed at night. We lay him down in the crib and he pitches a big ole fat fit. Come to find out, we've been making a huge mistake in immediately coming into his room and picking him up when these cries begin. Now he's learned the stimulus/response equation. He cries...He gets picked up and rocked. Little manipulative fart.
Adrian is spearheading the resistance. He has begun using "The Ferber Method" (sounds ominous, huh?), in which we allow him to cry for short periods of about five minutes before coming into his room, soothing him with some words and a rub, and then leaving. But we do NOT pick him up. He stays in his crib. Gradually we stretch the time between soothings until he tires of crying and drifts to sleep.
Last night this process took almost two hours before sleep was achieved. Thankfully I was out of the house for most of the night because Little A's cries just tear me apart. I have to keep reminding myself that he needs to learn when bedtime is and how to relax independently. I've heard that using this approach can take anywhere from one week to one month before your baby is falling asleep peacefully and on his own. Our 4th of July plans might be thrown off by this recent develpmental snafu. Ah, the joys of parenthood.
Last week, I gave notice here at Corporate Hell. July 14 will be my last official day of toiling in the Ninth Level of Hell. Viva la Revolution!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Today is my birthday
I am now 31. Somehow in light of recent events (e.g. the birth of Little A), my birthday seems to be less of a big deal. Also I think that once you reach your thirties, birthdays just stop being so important and more like the slow march to middle age.
As is typical in a Virginia spring, the weather was less than cooperative. Pouring rain for most of the day put a damper on plans I had to visit a big craft show at the Farmer's Market. We did manage to lunch at Cafe Guttenburg which was wonderful. For the last twenty minutes we were there, the Amelie soundtrack was playing. Lovely.
Adrian feted me with a bevy of my favorite types of gifts: books and DVD's. My biggest quandry is now which one to read/watch first.
Mom was lovely and watched our boy for a few hours while we caught a flick. Nothing like some cinematic escapism.
Little A was a trooper while his mom and dad lugged him about in the rain. Unfortunately, he is not the least be sleepy at 10:00 in the evening. This may turn out to be a looong night.
I am really looking forward to next weekend. There's the chocolate festival on Saturday and our first trip to Williamsburg since The Boy's arrival on Sunday. I'm excited to introduce Alastair to one of our home-away-from-homes
Thursday was my first day back at Corporate Hell. I hate it. Not only am I spending time away from my boy, but I am spending that time surrounded by the idiocy and drudgery of the office. Ick. I count the days until I set myself free. Literally three hours into my first day and people were already asking about projects and trying to get me involved. No down time whatsoever. Probably had a lot to do with the fact that the woman who was doing my role while I was on leave just went out to have surgery. Nice, huh? No slow transition back to work for this girl.
As is typical in a Virginia spring, the weather was less than cooperative. Pouring rain for most of the day put a damper on plans I had to visit a big craft show at the Farmer's Market. We did manage to lunch at Cafe Guttenburg which was wonderful. For the last twenty minutes we were there, the Amelie soundtrack was playing. Lovely.
Adrian feted me with a bevy of my favorite types of gifts: books and DVD's. My biggest quandry is now which one to read/watch first.
Mom was lovely and watched our boy for a few hours while we caught a flick. Nothing like some cinematic escapism.
Little A was a trooper while his mom and dad lugged him about in the rain. Unfortunately, he is not the least be sleepy at 10:00 in the evening. This may turn out to be a looong night.
I am really looking forward to next weekend. There's the chocolate festival on Saturday and our first trip to Williamsburg since The Boy's arrival on Sunday. I'm excited to introduce Alastair to one of our home-away-from-homes
Thursday was my first day back at Corporate Hell. I hate it. Not only am I spending time away from my boy, but I am spending that time surrounded by the idiocy and drudgery of the office. Ick. I count the days until I set myself free. Literally three hours into my first day and people were already asking about projects and trying to get me involved. No down time whatsoever. Probably had a lot to do with the fact that the woman who was doing my role while I was on leave just went out to have surgery. Nice, huh? No slow transition back to work for this girl.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Rally 'Round the Campfire
Please, for the love of Pete, VOTE FOR ELLIOTT!!! Honestly, he's got the most talent in terms of pipes, and he's our hometown boy. That and he's just so gosh-darn humble. Ya, gotta love it. He's been in the bottom three for two weeks now and I'm getting concerned that he will be exiting shortly. Let's boot Ace or Paris and keep Elliott for just a few weeks more.
Little A crossed 12 weeks on Easter. He did it looking quite smart and getting all the attention in Church. Plus, he was generous enough not to poop on his Easter outfit. The Easter Parade on Monument was a big hit as the bumps of the cobblestones lulled him right to sleep.
Alastair's been doing a lot of growing and changing lately. Aside from a few nights of the two-hour-long screamfest, he's still sleeping through the majority of the night. His sounds are taking on some great character. Lately, he's been getting into his upper register for some fun squeals. His motor control has been improving every day. He is getting the hang of having two hands and using them together. Just today, he started bringing his toys to his mouth. Now this means everything has got to pass the choking hazard test. It's so cool to see all the new ways Alastair is learning about and interacting with his world.
The countdown has begun: Two more days and I am back at work. Gross. Then I'll begin the new countdown...how many days until I quit. It'll be like the counter in Lost except unlike Locke, I won't be entering any numbers or pressing any buttons when the 108 minutes are up. Heh, heh.
Yet another countdown has also begun: four more days until my birthday. On April 22, I will be 31. This birthday does not inspire the same obsessive silliness as last year. (Funny how a new baby changes your perspective on things.) I'm just glad it falls on a Saturday. Still, if you are so inclined, once again My Birthday Wishlist.
Uh-oh. My kid's fussing. Danger, danger. Fussing after bedtime is not a good sign.
Gulp.
Little A crossed 12 weeks on Easter. He did it looking quite smart and getting all the attention in Church. Plus, he was generous enough not to poop on his Easter outfit. The Easter Parade on Monument was a big hit as the bumps of the cobblestones lulled him right to sleep.
Alastair's been doing a lot of growing and changing lately. Aside from a few nights of the two-hour-long screamfest, he's still sleeping through the majority of the night. His sounds are taking on some great character. Lately, he's been getting into his upper register for some fun squeals. His motor control has been improving every day. He is getting the hang of having two hands and using them together. Just today, he started bringing his toys to his mouth. Now this means everything has got to pass the choking hazard test. It's so cool to see all the new ways Alastair is learning about and interacting with his world.
The countdown has begun: Two more days and I am back at work. Gross. Then I'll begin the new countdown...how many days until I quit. It'll be like the counter in Lost except unlike Locke, I won't be entering any numbers or pressing any buttons when the 108 minutes are up. Heh, heh.
Yet another countdown has also begun: four more days until my birthday. On April 22, I will be 31. This birthday does not inspire the same obsessive silliness as last year. (Funny how a new baby changes your perspective on things.) I'm just glad it falls on a Saturday. Still, if you are so inclined, once again My Birthday Wishlist.
Uh-oh. My kid's fussing. Danger, danger. Fussing after bedtime is not a good sign.
Gulp.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Still Cookin' Up My Kid
Yet another day has passed and yet another Little A no-show. He was gracious enough to allow Momma A to get her haircut and not to interfere with her television viewing schedule. Now I am of the opinion that this delay in arrival in actual for my benefit. I am a planner by nature and hate to not be prepared for anything. Granted, I probably will never actually be ready for motherhood, at least these extra days will allow me time to get a few last minute things taken care of and make sure my bags are appropriately packed.
Thinking now about shooting for January 22 to push Little A out. I'll have a Capricorn/Aquarius cusp baby (Three Earth signs in one household was just too good to be true). Plus, January 22 is my old high school friend Ezra's birthday. Mr. Magna Cum Lauda Harvard graduate. Strangely enough, Ezra has popped into my head a few times over the past few weeks. Maybe it's a sign.
I've stepped up my activity level in hopes of kick-starting labor, walking several times a day, going up and down stairs. I even jumped on the elliptical trainer for about 15 minutes last night for a light jog.
Work continues to be a thorn in my side. It's frustrating to keep showing up day after day with people continuing to dump projects and work in my lap as if this whole pregnancy thing is just a a big hoax. At least I get to spend the next few days without Psycho, my nutty co-worker. She drives us all insane, but no one really has the fortitude to tell her to chill out. The person that management idiotically decided to bring in as my three-month replacement is still on pretty shaky ground. My boss and peers are all on pins and needles because they fear she'll royally screw the pooch on something after I leave.
This whole ordeal (training a brand new person to take over the full capacity of my role) has at least revealed to a great number of people that a.) My job is more difficult and complex than anyone really knew. b.) I am this weird font of wisdom and experience in the department. If anything, I feel very appreciated for one of the few times in my Corporate Hell career.
Is Brokeback Mountain really all that good or is it just getting buzz for political reasons? I am curious, but not enough to go see the film. At nine months pregnant, I am really not in the mood for depressive love stories.
Munich intrigues me because I always enjoy a good political thriller and good ole Steve S is pretty consistently entertaining no matter what genre he tackles. I only hope that come Oscar time Cinderella Man and Crash get some recognition and that the awards aren't dominated by one movie. Some years that works and other years it makes for a really boring show.
Thinking now about shooting for January 22 to push Little A out. I'll have a Capricorn/Aquarius cusp baby (Three Earth signs in one household was just too good to be true). Plus, January 22 is my old high school friend Ezra's birthday. Mr. Magna Cum Lauda Harvard graduate. Strangely enough, Ezra has popped into my head a few times over the past few weeks. Maybe it's a sign.
I've stepped up my activity level in hopes of kick-starting labor, walking several times a day, going up and down stairs. I even jumped on the elliptical trainer for about 15 minutes last night for a light jog.
Work continues to be a thorn in my side. It's frustrating to keep showing up day after day with people continuing to dump projects and work in my lap as if this whole pregnancy thing is just a a big hoax. At least I get to spend the next few days without Psycho, my nutty co-worker. She drives us all insane, but no one really has the fortitude to tell her to chill out. The person that management idiotically decided to bring in as my three-month replacement is still on pretty shaky ground. My boss and peers are all on pins and needles because they fear she'll royally screw the pooch on something after I leave.
This whole ordeal (training a brand new person to take over the full capacity of my role) has at least revealed to a great number of people that a.) My job is more difficult and complex than anyone really knew. b.) I am this weird font of wisdom and experience in the department. If anything, I feel very appreciated for one of the few times in my Corporate Hell career.
Is Brokeback Mountain really all that good or is it just getting buzz for political reasons? I am curious, but not enough to go see the film. At nine months pregnant, I am really not in the mood for depressive love stories.
Munich intrigues me because I always enjoy a good political thriller and good ole Steve S is pretty consistently entertaining no matter what genre he tackles. I only hope that come Oscar time Cinderella Man and Crash get some recognition and that the awards aren't dominated by one movie. Some years that works and other years it makes for a really boring show.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
Meet the New Year, Same as the Old Year
Here at Corporate Hell, the hamster wheel just keeps on turning, no better and no worse, for the New Year. The same bullshit problems. Same complaints. Same useless co-workers who continue to exist under the impression that they are invaluable resources to the Company.
Little A continues to gestate and beat me up regularly. Once he arrives, then 2006 will really begin. Otherwise, it's just a new page on the calendar.
Last week, I acheived a wonderful milestone in my human existence. I got all eight of the Invisibles correct! For about a year, I've been playing the Invisibles game and not once have I been able to correctly identify more than seven of the eight screen captures. Until now... Check out Quiz #264 and see if you can do as well as I did. Just try and best a Master.
Adrian and I actually had a fairly low-key New Year's weekend. Lots of sci-fi/horror movie watching from our new Christmas acquisitions (Matrix Trilogy, Blade Trilogy, Serenity). We were so engrossed in our movie watching, we totally missed the ball drop. Oh well, it will drop again next year. We spent more than a few hours playing House Jenga and moving crap around in preparation of Little A's arrival. It's amazing how much space this slightly-larger-than-a-breadbox human being is going to need. His room is probably 85% ready. Vivi's already seasoned the crib with her fur. As usual, any inanimate object we bring into the house falls under the domain of the felines. I can only hope that she doesn't want to bunk with the newborn. That's one of our big fears. Sometimes my kitties just have a little too much love for their own good.
The official countdown has begun. I'm trying out all the home remedies/old wives' tales to move things along and go into labor naturally. Maybe it's my old straight edge tendencies creeping in, but I just dread the thought of being tampered with and shot full of drugs to get this little apple to fall from the branches. Basically, the whole shot full of drugs things creeps me out anyway.
Say a prayer, shake a chicken, burn some incense, whatever for me and Adrian and Little A.
Little A continues to gestate and beat me up regularly. Once he arrives, then 2006 will really begin. Otherwise, it's just a new page on the calendar.
Last week, I acheived a wonderful milestone in my human existence. I got all eight of the Invisibles correct! For about a year, I've been playing the Invisibles game and not once have I been able to correctly identify more than seven of the eight screen captures. Until now... Check out Quiz #264 and see if you can do as well as I did. Just try and best a Master.
Adrian and I actually had a fairly low-key New Year's weekend. Lots of sci-fi/horror movie watching from our new Christmas acquisitions (Matrix Trilogy, Blade Trilogy, Serenity). We were so engrossed in our movie watching, we totally missed the ball drop. Oh well, it will drop again next year. We spent more than a few hours playing House Jenga and moving crap around in preparation of Little A's arrival. It's amazing how much space this slightly-larger-than-a-breadbox human being is going to need. His room is probably 85% ready. Vivi's already seasoned the crib with her fur. As usual, any inanimate object we bring into the house falls under the domain of the felines. I can only hope that she doesn't want to bunk with the newborn. That's one of our big fears. Sometimes my kitties just have a little too much love for their own good.
The official countdown has begun. I'm trying out all the home remedies/old wives' tales to move things along and go into labor naturally. Maybe it's my old straight edge tendencies creeping in, but I just dread the thought of being tampered with and shot full of drugs to get this little apple to fall from the branches. Basically, the whole shot full of drugs things creeps me out anyway.
Say a prayer, shake a chicken, burn some incense, whatever for me and Adrian and Little A.
Monday, October 24, 2005
Fried Oreos, Ralph Stanley, Zombies, and Canada
I've been busy brewing up a kid and having a life. That's all I'm going to say about that.
A few weeks ago the State Fair was in town. We got to introduce our friends to the time-honored Fair traditions of demolition derby and fried Oreos. Amazingly they still speak to us. Plus, I had one of the best corn dogs ever. It's a nutritional blessing the Fair only comes once a year.
The next weekend, The National Folk Festival was held downtown (and people say there's nothing to do in Richmond...). While there were many fine acts throughout the festival, I was especially excited about seeing the legendary Ralph Stanley perform. He's a trip and a wonderful musician. It's great to see him performing even at his venerable age. Richmond gets to host the festival for at least two or three more years, and I look forward to what every year has in store.
A week ago, my mother and I were shopping in Carytown when we saw across the street a crowd of about fifty zombies shambling along the sidewalk. Granted, it was pretty obvious to someone as knowlegable as myself that these were faux zombies and not actual flesh-eating reanimated dead. Still it was pretty bizarre to watch a city block-worth of costumed and makeup-ed folks shambling down the sunny shopping thoroughfare. The patrons of the bistro Can-Can all stopped mid-munch to gawk at the sight. Pretty much everyone on both sides of the street stopped to watch the undead parade. It appeared that the stunt was part of a film school project as there were a few cameramen interspersed in the crowd, filming the spectacle. It's a boon that the horde didn't come down my side of the street or I might have flipped my shit and ran.
Watching as people gaped along the sidewalk, I couldn't help to wonder if this wasn't a small glimpse into the reality of a zombie invasion. Should the average person come across a horde of zombies in the street, he would more than likely stand and stare in disbelief until some ghoul was chewing his face off and then evasive action would be impossible. People are just not prepared for the reality of a zombie attack. Granted on this particular day, I was unarmed but buddy, even at seven-months pregnant, I could have hauled ass to the car beating off zombies with my purse.
Last week I (and my unborn son!) went to Canada for a few days on business. I spent what felt like half my life on a plane or in an airport. Novia Scotia is very lovely and clean. The people are all especially pleasant. It was chilly. I played a slot machine for the first time ever. Good trip.
Now I am back in the office trying to resist my strong urge to beat my co-worker Choad/Turtleman into a bloody pulp with my shoe.
Halloween is only a week away. Adrian put on his costume last night, and I laughed so hard I nearly fell down the stairs.
A few weeks ago the State Fair was in town. We got to introduce our friends to the time-honored Fair traditions of demolition derby and fried Oreos. Amazingly they still speak to us. Plus, I had one of the best corn dogs ever. It's a nutritional blessing the Fair only comes once a year.
The next weekend, The National Folk Festival was held downtown (and people say there's nothing to do in Richmond...). While there were many fine acts throughout the festival, I was especially excited about seeing the legendary Ralph Stanley perform. He's a trip and a wonderful musician. It's great to see him performing even at his venerable age. Richmond gets to host the festival for at least two or three more years, and I look forward to what every year has in store.
A week ago, my mother and I were shopping in Carytown when we saw across the street a crowd of about fifty zombies shambling along the sidewalk. Granted, it was pretty obvious to someone as knowlegable as myself that these were faux zombies and not actual flesh-eating reanimated dead. Still it was pretty bizarre to watch a city block-worth of costumed and makeup-ed folks shambling down the sunny shopping thoroughfare. The patrons of the bistro Can-Can all stopped mid-munch to gawk at the sight. Pretty much everyone on both sides of the street stopped to watch the undead parade. It appeared that the stunt was part of a film school project as there were a few cameramen interspersed in the crowd, filming the spectacle. It's a boon that the horde didn't come down my side of the street or I might have flipped my shit and ran.
Watching as people gaped along the sidewalk, I couldn't help to wonder if this wasn't a small glimpse into the reality of a zombie invasion. Should the average person come across a horde of zombies in the street, he would more than likely stand and stare in disbelief until some ghoul was chewing his face off and then evasive action would be impossible. People are just not prepared for the reality of a zombie attack. Granted on this particular day, I was unarmed but buddy, even at seven-months pregnant, I could have hauled ass to the car beating off zombies with my purse.
Last week I (and my unborn son!) went to Canada for a few days on business. I spent what felt like half my life on a plane or in an airport. Novia Scotia is very lovely and clean. The people are all especially pleasant. It was chilly. I played a slot machine for the first time ever. Good trip.
Now I am back in the office trying to resist my strong urge to beat my co-worker Choad/Turtleman into a bloody pulp with my shoe.
Halloween is only a week away. Adrian put on his costume last night, and I laughed so hard I nearly fell down the stairs.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I Want Candy!
Finally went to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and was very entertained. Johnny Depp was marvelous, but then again he's Johnny Depp. When has he not been marvelous? The ending was a little overly sentimental and there was no "I want an Oompa Loompa Daddy!" Overall, I enjoyed it. There will always be a special place in my heart for the Gene Wilder version. He's just a deliciously insane Willy Wonka.
Today in the lobby of my building I spotted a man coming out of the elevators wearing shorts, t-shirt, and half-laced tennis shoes with no socks. I can only assume he works here because he wasn't wearing the "Visitor" badge. I had to wonder why I even try looking nice at work when these asshats can come in dressed like high school kids at Beach Week. Granted, I'm wearing a linen skirt from H&M and platform heels from Old Navy, but at least I look put together! I've got style dammit!
Another interesting chapter in Turtleman/Gareth's f*cked up family life. Monday, he left work early to, as he put it, "Take his daughter to an appointment." I found out the next day from a co-worker just what the appointment was all about. Apparently, Gareth's wife The Shrew decided that their daughter wasn't eating well enough and demanded that Gareth to take The Brat to a nutritionist. Okay. I've seen this kid; she's not starving. In fact she's a bit of a chuky monkey like her 'rents. This kid also goes to a speech therapist. I had the priviledge of once listening to The Brat prattle on for at least a full hour. She didn't have any problem flapping her yap then. Man, that is one weird family.
Spending a week with a gaggle of teenagers all flashing their phones constantly was peer pressure enought to convince me that it is time to step up. So today, I might just take the plunge and replace my almost five-year-old cell phone with a newer model. If the people at the Sprint store don't scare the crap out of me first. But I was a good girl and browsed the models before the movie yesterday to get an idea of what I wanted. Slowly, I am catching up with the rest of world. Still no cable television, however. That's my last bastion and I'm holding on mighty strong.
Today in the lobby of my building I spotted a man coming out of the elevators wearing shorts, t-shirt, and half-laced tennis shoes with no socks. I can only assume he works here because he wasn't wearing the "Visitor" badge. I had to wonder why I even try looking nice at work when these asshats can come in dressed like high school kids at Beach Week. Granted, I'm wearing a linen skirt from H&M and platform heels from Old Navy, but at least I look put together! I've got style dammit!
Another interesting chapter in Turtleman/Gareth's f*cked up family life. Monday, he left work early to, as he put it, "Take his daughter to an appointment." I found out the next day from a co-worker just what the appointment was all about. Apparently, Gareth's wife The Shrew decided that their daughter wasn't eating well enough and demanded that Gareth to take The Brat to a nutritionist. Okay. I've seen this kid; she's not starving. In fact she's a bit of a chuky monkey like her 'rents. This kid also goes to a speech therapist. I had the priviledge of once listening to The Brat prattle on for at least a full hour. She didn't have any problem flapping her yap then. Man, that is one weird family.
Spending a week with a gaggle of teenagers all flashing their phones constantly was peer pressure enought to convince me that it is time to step up. So today, I might just take the plunge and replace my almost five-year-old cell phone with a newer model. If the people at the Sprint store don't scare the crap out of me first. But I was a good girl and browsed the models before the movie yesterday to get an idea of what I wanted. Slowly, I am catching up with the rest of world. Still no cable television, however. That's my last bastion and I'm holding on mighty strong.
Monday, July 25, 2005
Gather 'Round the Idiot Box
It's Monday. I wonder when the nail clipping will begin?
In a bizarre twist of irony, Adrian and I were chosen to be a Nielson family this week. The family without The Cable, and only one television that actually gets turned on in the house. Plus, it's summer and since there's no new episodes of the few shows we do watch, the Idiot Box stays pretty cold. We have to fill out these little booklets with the shows we watch, plus when the TV is off.
Needless to say, there are a lot of squiggly lines in the "OFF" column and The Oprah Show in the other column.
Thank goodness they let you put "pre-recorded DVD" when you watch a movie, or our little book would be pretty empty.
For all of these hardwork, we received $10. Cash. Plus, the satisfaction in knowning that our own little brand of subverting America's vapid pop culture is being duly noted by the folks who duly note such things.
Viva La Revolution!
In a bizarre twist of irony, Adrian and I were chosen to be a Nielson family this week. The family without The Cable, and only one television that actually gets turned on in the house. Plus, it's summer and since there's no new episodes of the few shows we do watch, the Idiot Box stays pretty cold. We have to fill out these little booklets with the shows we watch, plus when the TV is off.
Needless to say, there are a lot of squiggly lines in the "OFF" column and The Oprah Show in the other column.
Thank goodness they let you put "pre-recorded DVD" when you watch a movie, or our little book would be pretty empty.
For all of these hardwork, we received $10. Cash. Plus, the satisfaction in knowning that our own little brand of subverting America's vapid pop culture is being duly noted by the folks who duly note such things.
Viva La Revolution!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Bad Little Things
This morning Turtleman/Gareth asked me if I could access my personal drive. Apparently, there's some huge global issue with the personal drives here at Corporate Hell. This gave me an excuse to wade through all the crap I had stored in my personal drive, some of which dates back to my first few years here (I am even a pack rat in the virtual world.).
I came across this funny list of "Bad Things" that someone had sent me who knows how long ago.
Is is schadenfreude when you can chuckle about the bad crap that has happened to you or is that just masochistic?
************************************************************************************
*You have to try on a pair of sunglasses with that stupid little plastic thing in the middle of them.
*The person behind you in the supermarket runs his cart into the back of your ankle.
*The elevator stops on every floor and nobody gets on.
*There's always a car riding your tail when you're slowing down to find an address.
*You open a can of soup and the lid falls in.
*It's bad enough that you step in dog poop, but you don't realize it till you walk across your living room rug.
*The tiny red string on the Band-Aid wrapper never works for you.
*There's a dog in the neighborhood that barks at EVERYTHING.
*You can never put anything back in a box the way it came.
*You drink from a soda can into which someone has extinguished a cigarette.
*You slice your tongue licking an envelope.
*A station comes in brilliantly when you're standing near the radio but buzzes, drifts and spits every time you move away.
*There are always one or two ice cubes that won't pop out of the tray.
*The car behind you blasts its horn because you let a pedestrian finish crossing.
*A piece of foil candy wrapper makes electrical contact with your filling.
*You set the alarm on your digital clock for 7pm instead of 7am.
*The radio station doesn't tell you who sang that song.
*You rub on hand cream and can't turn the bathroom doorknob to get out.
*People behind you in a supermarket line dash ahead of you to a counter just opening up.
*You can't look up the correct spelling of a word in the dictionary because you don't know how to spell it.
*You have to inform five different salespeople in the same store that you're just browsing.
*You had that pen in your hand only a second ago and now you can't find it.
*You reach under the table to pick something off the floor and smash your head on the way up.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
The Return of Turtleman
So he's back. Joy.
I had no hesitation in dropping all his work unceremoniously back into his lap yesterday with a virtual thud.
No nail clipping. Yet.
However, as I type, he seems to be stapling a larger number of different stacks of papers together. From they way he is slamming on his damn stapler, it seems to be some pretty thick stacks of paper.
Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!
Methinks I've found something else to hide from him.
Hope everyone's Independance Day celebrations were fun-filled. Adrian and I really enjoyed our weeked. I'll have to devote a whole entry to our adventures.
Right now, I'm a little too jumpy to concentrate with all the SLAM! stapling going on next to me.
I had no hesitation in dropping all his work unceremoniously back into his lap yesterday with a virtual thud.
No nail clipping. Yet.
However, as I type, he seems to be stapling a larger number of different stacks of papers together. From they way he is slamming on his damn stapler, it seems to be some pretty thick stacks of paper.
Slam! Slam! Slam! Slam!
Methinks I've found something else to hide from him.
Hope everyone's Independance Day celebrations were fun-filled. Adrian and I really enjoyed our weeked. I'll have to devote a whole entry to our adventures.
Right now, I'm a little too jumpy to concentrate with all the SLAM! stapling going on next to me.
Friday, June 24, 2005
People are Strange
For most of my thirty years, I've lived under the assumption that I am an oddball, different, left of center. While I still assert that I am strange and intentionally so, the more I come to know other people (and by that I mean the people I am forced to work with, not my friends) the more I realize that I am not as weird as I thought.
There are others out there who take the concept of weirdness to a new, creepy, get-behind-me-Satan flavor.
Exhibit A: So for the entire month of June, my co-worker, The Spineless Turtleman, has been AWOL delivering toilet paper in Germany or some such other Territorial Army bullshit. While I've been toiling away under the yoke of all this additional work, I've quite enjoyed the empty cube next to mine. No nail clipping, no tense phone calls with his wife The Fat Shrew, no obtuse questions...
Yesterday morning, I'm here all by myself. The rest of my group's out of the office. I am milling around, giving myself a break from the oppressive millstone that Corporate Hell has strapped to my back. I stroll past Turtleman's cube, and notice this rather larger stack of photos sitting on his desk.
Okay, I am going to Hell. I know. I snooped through his stuff.
But the pictures were in plain view. In court, that counts for something. That'd be admissable evidence.
I casusally flipped through the pictures. There were probably between 25 and 30. All of his daughter. At various ages ( I think she's 8 now.).
What was disturbing about the pictures is that so many of them seem very clearly posed. Here she was bent over, picking flowers and looking up at the camera grinning. A second picture of the same flower picking, except this time she's looking pensively into the distance. A handful of pictures in what looked like New York. Girl in front of FAO Schwartz, sitting on a park bench, in front of a balloon seller. Cheesy, staged shots of her looking excited on the ferry to the Statue of Liberty or peeking through those $.25 binocular thingees. In every one, she looked as though she was following someone's directions, "Okay honey, now look excited! We're in New York! Big smile! Good!"
There were a few candid shots. Girl playing soccer (bleck). Girl in dance class. But the majority of the pictures seemed forced. It was obvious that the subject knew what to do, as if this was some game of "Model/Photographer" she played with her daddy. And there were so many of these damn pictures. It started to creep me out.
All of the photos on Turtleman's cube wall or in frames on his desk are of his daughter. No pictures of his wife, other family members, friends. Then there's this stack of pictures of his kid playing Junior Brooke Shields. The sheer volume of photography is overwhelming. I can only imagine what he's got at home.
I've met The Turtleman's offspring. She's annoying and bratty. Certainly not worth the amount of film with which he's dedicated to immortalizing her.
I'm an only child. I grew up in a house with lots of my own pictures adorning the mantle and the walls, but not to this extent. There was no Gallery of Amanda. Not at my parent's places of employment either. Shit, I think now my mom's probably got more pictures up of her cats than me.
Am I wrong to think this is bizarre and more than a little bit lascivious? Father seems a little over-enamored with his Daughter. I fear for the years to come in that family.
More of what Not To Do when Lumpy arrives.
There are others out there who take the concept of weirdness to a new, creepy, get-behind-me-Satan flavor.
Exhibit A: So for the entire month of June, my co-worker, The Spineless Turtleman, has been AWOL delivering toilet paper in Germany or some such other Territorial Army bullshit. While I've been toiling away under the yoke of all this additional work, I've quite enjoyed the empty cube next to mine. No nail clipping, no tense phone calls with his wife The Fat Shrew, no obtuse questions...
Yesterday morning, I'm here all by myself. The rest of my group's out of the office. I am milling around, giving myself a break from the oppressive millstone that Corporate Hell has strapped to my back. I stroll past Turtleman's cube, and notice this rather larger stack of photos sitting on his desk.
Okay, I am going to Hell. I know. I snooped through his stuff.
But the pictures were in plain view. In court, that counts for something. That'd be admissable evidence.
I casusally flipped through the pictures. There were probably between 25 and 30. All of his daughter. At various ages ( I think she's 8 now.).
What was disturbing about the pictures is that so many of them seem very clearly posed. Here she was bent over, picking flowers and looking up at the camera grinning. A second picture of the same flower picking, except this time she's looking pensively into the distance. A handful of pictures in what looked like New York. Girl in front of FAO Schwartz, sitting on a park bench, in front of a balloon seller. Cheesy, staged shots of her looking excited on the ferry to the Statue of Liberty or peeking through those $.25 binocular thingees. In every one, she looked as though she was following someone's directions, "Okay honey, now look excited! We're in New York! Big smile! Good!"
There were a few candid shots. Girl playing soccer (bleck). Girl in dance class. But the majority of the pictures seemed forced. It was obvious that the subject knew what to do, as if this was some game of "Model/Photographer" she played with her daddy. And there were so many of these damn pictures. It started to creep me out.
All of the photos on Turtleman's cube wall or in frames on his desk are of his daughter. No pictures of his wife, other family members, friends. Then there's this stack of pictures of his kid playing Junior Brooke Shields. The sheer volume of photography is overwhelming. I can only imagine what he's got at home.
I've met The Turtleman's offspring. She's annoying and bratty. Certainly not worth the amount of film with which he's dedicated to immortalizing her.
I'm an only child. I grew up in a house with lots of my own pictures adorning the mantle and the walls, but not to this extent. There was no Gallery of Amanda. Not at my parent's places of employment either. Shit, I think now my mom's probably got more pictures up of her cats than me.
Am I wrong to think this is bizarre and more than a little bit lascivious? Father seems a little over-enamored with his Daughter. I fear for the years to come in that family.
More of what Not To Do when Lumpy arrives.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Let's all go out to the lobby and get ourselves a treat!
Monday was a holiday. My office was closed on Monday. No one was here. So I guess that's why this morning my annoying co-worker, TurtleMan, starting clipping his nails. No one was here on Monday to enjoy the soothing sounds of his snipping. Dammit! Does he not own nail clippers at home? Does his wife, the Tubby Shrew, not allow him to clip his nails at home?
I know one thing; during his month-long absence from the office, I am going into his drawer, taking out the nail clippers, and hiding them. Not stealing, just very cleverly hiding them somewhere in his cube domicile. Then I will wait for the first Monday he's back to listen and enjoy as he tears apart his desk because he needs to clip his nails. Maybe he'll go into the DT's or something.
Hee hee.
Now that's out of my system.
Adrian and I were thwarted in our attempts to see Episode III Friday afternoon (all shows Sold Out!), so we are making another go at it this week. We really aren't much into the whole opening week hysteria anyway and would like to avoid seeing the film in a theater packed with pre-pubescent and teenage boys.
We did get to see Hitchhiker's Guide. If you haven't seen it but don't want to know too much about the film stop reading now and skip the next three paragraphs.
As big fans of the book series, we were both disappointed with the outcome. There were some good performances; I enjoyed Sam Rockwell's Zaphod and Mos Def's take on Ford Prefect. Alan Rickman's voicing of Marvin was just dead on. There were also some genuinely funny moments in the film where the spirit of the book really shown through: the realization of the Vogons (especially the Vogon soldiers), every time the Heart of Gold went into Improbability Drive, Eddie the on-board computer, Marvin with the Point of View gun.
Overall, however, I think the filmmakers missed the mark. The tone of the film was no where near what I expected it should be. There was little trace of the droll, wry Douglas Adams prose. The movie had a manic energy about it that didn't fit with the book at all. The Trillian character was WAY off, turning her from a cool-headed, blase astrophysicist into a wide-eyed flibertygibbit. While I adored Martin Freeman in The Office and was ecstatic initially about his casting as Arthur Dent, I was sorely disappointed with his characterization of Arthur as an eye-bulging spaz. Then there was the horrid Trillian/Arthur love story subplot that was SO not necessary. Plot points were either totally reworked like the reason Zaphod wanted to find Magrathea or missing completely like Arthur shutting down the ship's computer for a good cup of tea. I also didn't like where they decided to show plot back story in the movie. In the book we learn about things like Arthur knowing Trillian and Zaphod or the reason for Earth's creation at the time that these facts come up the plot. But the movie switched all this around, putting the back stories way earlier in the movie. It just didn't flow well.
Anyway, I wonder if I'd have liked the film a whole let better having never read the book. I'm sure it was pretty funny to people who aren't familiar with Douglas Adams and perhaps that is who the filmmakers were trying too hard to play too. Perhaps they were trying to make the film accessible to a wider audience than just fans of the book. I think they should have taken a lesson from Peter Jackson: Play to the fans of the literature and the movie will be great.
Yesterday, we went to see Unleashed, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The balance of drama and action was very near perfect. The fight scenes were expertly choreographed with some seriously stunning moves and more than a few cringe-inducing moments. Morgan Freeman did his usual Morgan Freeman-thing which never fails to satisfy. Bob Hoskins gave a spot-on performance of a street thug whose dapper demeanor and three-piece suit is a thin veneer over the surging madman beneath. Jet Li turned in a highly credible performance. His transformation from subjugated fighting machine into independent human being was compelling, and at no time did he fall back on Forrest Gump-esque stereotypes. Highly entertaining, just like a good movie should be. It satisfied both my love of kung fu action and genuine human drama. Amanda recommends.
I know one thing; during his month-long absence from the office, I am going into his drawer, taking out the nail clippers, and hiding them. Not stealing, just very cleverly hiding them somewhere in his cube domicile. Then I will wait for the first Monday he's back to listen and enjoy as he tears apart his desk because he needs to clip his nails. Maybe he'll go into the DT's or something.
Hee hee.
Now that's out of my system.
Adrian and I were thwarted in our attempts to see Episode III Friday afternoon (all shows Sold Out!), so we are making another go at it this week. We really aren't much into the whole opening week hysteria anyway and would like to avoid seeing the film in a theater packed with pre-pubescent and teenage boys.
We did get to see Hitchhiker's Guide. If you haven't seen it but don't want to know too much about the film stop reading now and skip the next three paragraphs.
As big fans of the book series, we were both disappointed with the outcome. There were some good performances; I enjoyed Sam Rockwell's Zaphod and Mos Def's take on Ford Prefect. Alan Rickman's voicing of Marvin was just dead on. There were also some genuinely funny moments in the film where the spirit of the book really shown through: the realization of the Vogons (especially the Vogon soldiers), every time the Heart of Gold went into Improbability Drive, Eddie the on-board computer, Marvin with the Point of View gun.
Overall, however, I think the filmmakers missed the mark. The tone of the film was no where near what I expected it should be. There was little trace of the droll, wry Douglas Adams prose. The movie had a manic energy about it that didn't fit with the book at all. The Trillian character was WAY off, turning her from a cool-headed, blase astrophysicist into a wide-eyed flibertygibbit. While I adored Martin Freeman in The Office and was ecstatic initially about his casting as Arthur Dent, I was sorely disappointed with his characterization of Arthur as an eye-bulging spaz. Then there was the horrid Trillian/Arthur love story subplot that was SO not necessary. Plot points were either totally reworked like the reason Zaphod wanted to find Magrathea or missing completely like Arthur shutting down the ship's computer for a good cup of tea. I also didn't like where they decided to show plot back story in the movie. In the book we learn about things like Arthur knowing Trillian and Zaphod or the reason for Earth's creation at the time that these facts come up the plot. But the movie switched all this around, putting the back stories way earlier in the movie. It just didn't flow well.
Anyway, I wonder if I'd have liked the film a whole let better having never read the book. I'm sure it was pretty funny to people who aren't familiar with Douglas Adams and perhaps that is who the filmmakers were trying too hard to play too. Perhaps they were trying to make the film accessible to a wider audience than just fans of the book. I think they should have taken a lesson from Peter Jackson: Play to the fans of the literature and the movie will be great.
Yesterday, we went to see Unleashed, which I thoroughly enjoyed. The balance of drama and action was very near perfect. The fight scenes were expertly choreographed with some seriously stunning moves and more than a few cringe-inducing moments. Morgan Freeman did his usual Morgan Freeman-thing which never fails to satisfy. Bob Hoskins gave a spot-on performance of a street thug whose dapper demeanor and three-piece suit is a thin veneer over the surging madman beneath. Jet Li turned in a highly credible performance. His transformation from subjugated fighting machine into independent human being was compelling, and at no time did he fall back on Forrest Gump-esque stereotypes. Highly entertaining, just like a good movie should be. It satisfied both my love of kung fu action and genuine human drama. Amanda recommends.
Monday, May 23, 2005
Put that thing back where it came from! So help me!
I'za slacker.
In my defense I did just return from a week-long 5th anniversary trip to lovely Asheville, NC, a wonderful little town nestled in the moutains of WNC. Great hiking, food, sights, art, and a scrumdelicous spa.
And no the Amos' have still not seen Episode III. And NO, the Slack Ass Amos' have not been replaced by Pod People. We were on vacation. Sheesh. We managed to miss Lost, for crying out loud. The Hitchiker's Guide is still on our list of flicks to see. But not for long. Heh, heh.
I think my job is trying to drive me insane. I am slowly working my way down to the Ninth Level of Corporate Hell where they will stick my ass in a frozen lake and some demon will gnaw on my exposed limbs.
However, there is a minor bright spot in the near future. My annoying co-worker, BobbleHeaded Turtle Man, will be out for the entire month of June. Which means no complaining, whining, obtuse e-mails, tense spousal phone conversations, frozen lunches that stink like dog food, and most importantly, no nail clipping. Praise God and pass the biscuits.
But guess who gets stuck doing all his work while he's gone?
Lucky me.
Gotta take the good with the bad.
In my defense I did just return from a week-long 5th anniversary trip to lovely Asheville, NC, a wonderful little town nestled in the moutains of WNC. Great hiking, food, sights, art, and a scrumdelicous spa.
And no the Amos' have still not seen Episode III. And NO, the Slack Ass Amos' have not been replaced by Pod People. We were on vacation. Sheesh. We managed to miss Lost, for crying out loud. The Hitchiker's Guide is still on our list of flicks to see. But not for long. Heh, heh.
I think my job is trying to drive me insane. I am slowly working my way down to the Ninth Level of Corporate Hell where they will stick my ass in a frozen lake and some demon will gnaw on my exposed limbs.
However, there is a minor bright spot in the near future. My annoying co-worker, BobbleHeaded Turtle Man, will be out for the entire month of June. Which means no complaining, whining, obtuse e-mails, tense spousal phone conversations, frozen lunches that stink like dog food, and most importantly, no nail clipping. Praise God and pass the biscuits.
But guess who gets stuck doing all his work while he's gone?
Lucky me.
Gotta take the good with the bad.
Monday, April 18, 2005
You have T-minus four and a half days to reach minimum safe distance
Today, there will be no nail-clipping. The Bobbleheaded Turtle-Man is out all week. Unfortunately, I will also be out two days this week, missing out on a full week of annoyance-free days at work. Ah well.
Friday, BTM brought his obnoxious daughter into the office. She's about seven-years-old but behaved like she was three. I don't think there was a quiet moment in the last hour I was here. She talked to my boss and then when my boss stopped participating in the conversation, she talked to herself. She sang. She played with noisy toys. Maybe twice, her father made half-assed attempts to get her to calm down and sit with him. Did she? Hells no.
It was as if he knew he would be out all this week and wanted to give us all a friendly send-off care of his bratling spawn. If he only knew the great effort I was making to keep from taping his kid's lips shut and tying her to a chair, he probably woulnd't have tempted fate so much. Ill-behaved children are my nemises.
Sunday, Mr. Harper and I got our fill of boyfriend goodness. Shirtless boyfriend goodness. Yum. The Amityville Horror was ancillary and not very scary at all. For me it served only as a vessel for boyfriend goodness. Like crackers are to peanut butter. Except I normally dispense with the crackers and eat the peanut butter right out of the jar with a spoon. Now, how do I get boyfriend goodness like that?
Hooray to my husband, the champion race car driver! Another win under his belt. I'm so proud. While I was in the movie, he was off kicking some asphalt ass. Smart, handsome, funny, sweet, AND a race car driver. Sheesh! How can one girl be so lucky.
Tonight's Netflix pics: Spanglish or Garden State? Hmmmmmm Dinner: Mexican or Veggie-Boursin Burgers? Life is full of choices.
Friday, BTM brought his obnoxious daughter into the office. She's about seven-years-old but behaved like she was three. I don't think there was a quiet moment in the last hour I was here. She talked to my boss and then when my boss stopped participating in the conversation, she talked to herself. She sang. She played with noisy toys. Maybe twice, her father made half-assed attempts to get her to calm down and sit with him. Did she? Hells no.
It was as if he knew he would be out all this week and wanted to give us all a friendly send-off care of his bratling spawn. If he only knew the great effort I was making to keep from taping his kid's lips shut and tying her to a chair, he probably woulnd't have tempted fate so much. Ill-behaved children are my nemises.
Sunday, Mr. Harper and I got our fill of boyfriend goodness. Shirtless boyfriend goodness. Yum. The Amityville Horror was ancillary and not very scary at all. For me it served only as a vessel for boyfriend goodness. Like crackers are to peanut butter. Except I normally dispense with the crackers and eat the peanut butter right out of the jar with a spoon. Now, how do I get boyfriend goodness like that?
Hooray to my husband, the champion race car driver! Another win under his belt. I'm so proud. While I was in the movie, he was off kicking some asphalt ass. Smart, handsome, funny, sweet, AND a race car driver. Sheesh! How can one girl be so lucky.
Tonight's Netflix pics: Spanglish or Garden State? Hmmmmmm Dinner: Mexican or Veggie-Boursin Burgers? Life is full of choices.
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