Last pay period I had about 25 hours of overtime. And no one asked me to do any overtime, either. I just sort of... did it. But my work got done and that matters to me, for some reason. Actually, this job is SOOOOO much better than the last one that 12 hours here seems like, oh, 4 hours at the last one. Not so much drudgery.
True, my puppies don't complain about it-- always happy to see me-- but I do feel like I'm looking at the world through a cubicle, sometimes. I'm walking in the circle with blinders on. Yeah, it's like that scene from Conan except I'm not buffing up or anything. I'm just there with my iced tea i.v. drip, eyes glazing over looking at the screen for hours and hours.
Clearly, I have GOT to get some cubicle art. Was considering some fantasy art near-pr0n stuff with painted on chain-mail bikinis and tentacles and stuff, but the company is pretty conservative and I think would frown upon such things... I dunno-- macrame owls? Popsicle stick art?
Sometimes you think of things you found captivating many years ago and you might cringe on occasion. Mullets? Frankie Say t-shirts? Parachute pants? That were never me! Seriously. That wasn't me. Was merely pointing out sartorial missteps which may have been in your past, darling. Not judging, youse understand.
John Wesley Harding's superb album Here Comes The Groom endures in my heart as an eternal classic with dead-clever text set to beautifully crafted melodies. I have never stopped loving this album, and I'll never tire of listening to it.
With the Lindsay Lohan slow-motion carcrash going on in live! Action! 3-D! of late, I keep thinking of JWH's Spaced Cowgirl, performed below in a pub in Frankfurt in 2002 with sublime dobro ponied up by Ferdy Doernberg. [you know what a sucker I am for fine axe work! ]
Sometimes I listen to you it's the whisky talkin' Sometimes I watch you move and It's the whisky walkin' Sometimes I sit and think of the way things might have been...
Anyway, wistful. Beautiful. Yeah. Classic. Pretty girl, out to lunch with her hair on fire. Whoopsie.
Here's to Spaced Cowgirl in heavy rotation on me iPhone. Viva technology. Saw JWH live in Dallas at Deep Ellum Live in, oh, was it 1991? Oozing cool and style. What a sweet recollection. Anyway, John Wesley Harding is brilliant. Check him out. All his music is superb. :)
Called The Stinky Feet Project, its author sowed little descriptive gems which I'll not abuse you with here. This is precisely as disgusting as you might expect, but if you're on the strange side, you may enjoy it.
Bonus nugget: he's from Arkansas, so we're probably related. :P
So since I moved away from Dallas, I've been running with a nefarious crowd who play Dungeons & Dragons and now Munchkin. I don't spend all my free time thinking about these role-playing games, by any means, but I have found something I just LURRRVE about them which is right up my alley: accessorizing.
Just one year into playing, I have a dice collection that would probably make a geeky little boy slobber, and maybe some geeky men, as well. Saturday I picked up a sublime set of Skully dice from Q-workshop. Mine are black etched numbers on ivory colored resin, but this'll have to do as an example. LOVE. IT.
Naturally, as soon as I got my new dice home from the geekatorium, I hopped onto the website for Q-workshop and found they have sublime sets of very elegant steampunk dice, as well as another set I simply MUST have-- the Deadlands set with cards and revolvers emblazoned thereon.
Chuy helps himself to the lap of a houseguest who came over for a round of Munchkin. Chuy is my luvlump but he's also a bit of a tart. His theme song is "love me. love me. Say that you love me." It's so nice of houseguests to come over and share his lap-warming loveableness.
It's time somebody cracks down on bloggers, CNN anchors believe.
This is funny because while they say there should be a crackdown on anonymous bloggers who disparage others on the internet, they also say bloggers are cowardly people seeking attention. There certainly are people who seek to stir up a stink from the shelter of anonymity, but if someone really wants attention, anonymous will not fit the bill. It is far more likely that overly primped and preened anchors are jealous that they are not as unchallenged in the role of shapers of media focus as they once were. Anonymous and attention-seeking seem like mutually exclusive terms, to me. They are whining because their flogging of talking-points has been derailed by stories people have demanded to hear more about. So what if the un-polished and un-brainwashed have opinions they want to put out there? Then again, a media who did double-time buttressing the specious stances of the likes of Michael Moore and Al Gore would be understandably running scared, as they know too well the power of the oft-repeated lie. Pot: meet kettle, bitches.
Mention is also made of a book entitled "The Cult of the Amateur: How Today's Internet is Killing Our Culture," its author being asked what's to be done about all these uncredentialed folk run amok and setting afoot fantastical stories news anchors find upsetting[sharing information not formally sanctioned by the Press Secretary]. For good or bad, the internet is the most efficient social lubricant since the distillation process was perfected. The marketplace will out and the mainstream media are running scared because they are no longer the sole umbilical by which the public gets news-related information. No doubt laws and sanctions will be passed to declare this medium not subject to silly documents in our nation's founding which guaranteed we all get to say our peace. Until that time, let the chips fall where they may.
In olden times, towns sprang up around wells, and folks would exchange news and gossip around the town well. Many years have passed, but I think we cleave to sources we consider reliable and relatable and in that way the ability to share information via the internet has served the purpose of town well. With their falling numbers, television and print media whining about bloggers is like the Prom Queen grousing because someone asked the wallflower to dance. In a free marketplace celebratory of freedom of speech and freedom of the press, there should be room for everyone at the table (except for the ones I find icky). I suppose the question becomes is this a free marketplace with freedom of the press and freedom of speech?
On sitemeter Tuesday, I noticed an extraordinary number of hits on my blog on one specific phrase for a particular post: "crop circles 2010." I dubbed the image for this post in January "crop circles."
Yup. I have the number one google image search for that phrase.
Baffling, yet compelling, yeah, and more than a little cringe-inducing. I heard nasty rumours that Barbarella was going to be remade. Insanity. I mean, that would be like remaking Rocky Horror, right? The Velveeta quotient is part of what made it such a toothsome morsel. Anyway.
Badly behaved folk in the news recently remind me how much I appreciate not having a negative example for a father...
In so many things, my Dad is the standard for me on how one ought behave. Dad is kind and giving and loving, and he helps people whenever he can. If Dad's feelings are hurt, he doesn't hurl invective. I think he examines his own behaviour and makes sure he's behaved honorably, and he lets the bullshit slide right off. Dad is a strong man and not to be trifled with, and he's confident in that and doesn't need to abuse to feel like a big person. Dad also NEVER berates his children or Mom. Dad says what is right and just, and would tell us if he thought we were making a mistake, but there was never a raking-over-the-coals ordeal where he sought to make us feel bad for being so very, very naughty and a tedious waste of his time.
As for not-to-be-trifled-with, I think I have a certain confidence that can only come of having such an exceptional man for a father. It's not just me who feels that way, either. Dad is a pillar of strength to everyone who knows him. He has a giant heart and has kept countless people afloat throughout his life. I know that with all his heart, Dad loves me very much and that nothing I ever did would change that. I know that [despite my self-indulgent vulgarity] my default setting must be to be the decent, honest person Dad taught me to be.
I also know that under fire, Dad has my back, every single time. I know that if any evil ever befell me, he'd make Charles Bronson look like tadpole class in the bringing-perps-to-justice department.
Maybe that's the key to what's wrong and what distinguishes a man like Dad from other types of people. Dad is strong, decent, and bad medicine to bad people, whereas people who abuse are thuggish and ultimately feel weak and powerless. Dad's strong enough to be a gentle man.
Dad has said so many times that it made him feel good that I was always so proud of him. He's said when I was little bitty, he'd come to pick me up from school in his dirty work uniform and that I was gleeful to see him and wasn't ashamed of him being all grubby from work. Well, you can't polish a turd(even if you can get a dull shine on one), but a little honest dirt is not going to sully a diamond, and that's what he is to everyone who knows him. Dad's a sparkling, brilliant diamand, and oh so precious to me. How could I not be proud of the best father in the world?
Happy birthday, Dad. Thank you for being so decent and loving and supportive. Thank you for being exactly who you are and not being some soulless business mogul or some Hollywood person. Thank you for showing me and countless others what a person ought to be. Thank you for making such a wonderful home and life for us-- you are a jewel. I love you more than words could ever convey.
The time has come to get a proper upright vacuum cleaner. BlowfuzzyVonSassy swears by her dyson per hair thingy. Anyone have a great experience with a vacuum which you'd highly recommend? I'd appreciate your input.
One of the guys in the video said it wasn't scared of him at all. Uh, maybe it was just a dog, you think? I mean, they didn't describe it as a snarling, feral beastie. I'm kind of suspicious that a pair of mangey bald coyotes got popped. Then again, coyotes would have been scared of the people.
Since then he had also pinched builder's gloves, a knee-pad, a paint roller, rubber gloves and 10 pairs of children's underpants. On average he commits 10 robberies a day.
"He brings them back as presents," Birgitt told the Echo. "We can't give him back now as he makes such an effort with all these gifts. He's got a lovely personality and is a very loving cat.
Would be a little awkward, I should think.
Not related, really, but I was visiting an American friend living in England when one of her local pals was laughing about her washing machine crapping out. She said she might have known it would happen "when I was washing me smalls." That was the first I'd heard of that British euphemism for underwear. I like it.
I've been to work about 7:30 every morning this week and I've left work at 7:30, 7:45 and 7:14 of an evening but Wednesday I decided I'd gotten ahead enough to take a lunch, for a change. If I work 8 hours and take no breaks, I'd be behind. I'm plumb tuckered out, but I'm getting a lot done and I'm enjoying it. Best still, I've sort of achieved a comfort level with what I'm doing and now I'm bantering with the vendors.
Vendor: I need to do it this way. Do you think the customer will be alright with that? Me: Well, he oughta. I'll just tell him that's the way we need to do it and if there's no hollerin' and snot-slingin', we'll just leave it at that.
I think snot-slinging is an under-used expression, so I try to trot it out whenever possible. Tomorrow it'll be something else like running for the barn or a toad-strangler or ... I'm sure I'll come up with something.
I've also found that the folks in the Northeast seem to enjoy helping me when I sort of purr and say y'all. See how easy that is? Just playing nice and being my own natural self seems to get a lot done, and they get the the dividend of good feelings which can only come of helping out a little lady. I don't see any harm in finding a giggle every so often, and I think it improves everyone's mood. I know it helps my outlook.
Speaking of little ladies, and little old ones in partic, a dear friend's Grams is in hospital and I want him and his lovely family to know they are ever in my thoughts at this time. Sounds like there's good reason to feel hopeful, but I'm throwing in my own prayers.
I pretty much don't buy shoes that don't put me closer to lip-striking distance to the 10" taller Himself, but in this case, I may have to make an exception. OOBER-cute. He'll just have to swoop in for a kiss.
This is a very impressive little dog. I have to say that the terrier is not a fit with most households, but given proper care and attention, it's amazing what snuggly, fun-loving little beasts they can be.
If you ever get a chance to see a terrier steeplechase, though, don't miss it. Super cute. Crossing the finish line can be a secondary concern.
On Sunday night, 3 others of our regular 6 came over to play Munchkin. There was a scarcity of augmenting decks in the local stores, but we did manage to pick up a small pack of Munchkin Fairy Dust, Clerical Errors and More Good Cards, all of which added new dimensions of suck and swell to the game. I'm especially loving the pink Fairy Dust cards.
Wing particularly recommended the Unnatural Axe supplemental cards, but we didn't find them in the stores today. At least we'll have that to look forward to.
Anyhoo, I totally got dogpiled tonight and ended up winning in spite of the spite of everyone at the table. It was plenty late and plenty time for the game to end, anyway, but I reserve the right to hold a bitter, nasty grudge. I'm talking about you, Daniel, Chris and LD. You will know my wrath. I'm serious. You're going to pee your pants and cry like little girls and then I will know vengeance. After all, I have the Sandals of Protection. I'd rather have the Boots of Buttkicking, but I'll settle for the sandals for now.
So with my job, I was sort of thrown into the deep end during the start of the busiest season of the year, and I've just completed my 6th week. It's been a little tough at times, but I've actually enjoyed it. I've sort of messed a few things up, but my boss has shrugged that off and said that I'm still in the learning curve and that I'm actually doing quite well. She's supportive and that makes a huge difference.
This job is a complete break from all of my previous customer service experience. This is one where nothing is soft-pedaled-- we try to accommodate customers, but we are an industry with some cold, hard realities and sometimes we just have to tell people they'll have to deal with it. Tough love, I suppose. I like it. It's refreshing to know there's some place left where a company will not try to appease unreasonable people with unrealistic expectations. My previous customer service work experience has been cast in the tone of we know you're upset, and please don't hate us and how can we make you less mad at us. Grow up.
One nice thing, though, is that the relationship with the customer from beginning to end of the transaction can be anywhere from a couple weeks to a span of a few months, so even the supremely unpleasant ones are short-lived. In that time, their order is set up with someone else and soon after I make an introduction call wherein I review the fine points and make sure the vendors they'll work with can meet their needs. In most cases, it's actually rather pleasant, but inevitably, there will be those who decide they'd prefer a more complicated process, and then it becomes a herding-cats proposition. In such cases, the best thing is to say as little as possible, to deliver what was offered, and to keep communication brief.
What's wild is that if I go in and work as hard as I can for a full 8 hours and don't take breaks, I'll be behind. What's wilder is that I don't mind working this overtime-- it's very busy and I love the manic pace of it-- it's energizing. Monday I'm going in 3 hours early to make sure the East coasters are taken care of. This is fun. :) It's nice to wake up and not dread the tasks ahead of me at work every day, for a change.
In what promises to be a perfect storm of midgets and titties, my dear friend Steff66 informed me that MiniKiss will be performing at Jaguar's, a gentleman's entertainment club in Dallas and in Fort Worth this weekend.
Did you know there's an all-girl tribute band to Bon Scott-era AC/DC?
Anyhoo, here's their MYSpace page and they are coming to Dallas at the end of August to House Of Blues. I just may have to go catch that show with my posse of lesbian biker chicks. It's only fitting, right?
Iron Maidens will be opening, and I'm just hoping that's a chick Iron Maiden band. Yup. Gonna have to go to Dallas...
I'm happy to report that my computer is functional again. Just the same, I was thrilled I'd downloaded the Blogger app on my Iphone - that made the deprivation slightly less annoying.
Today I go to a 10-7 shift on my job, and I'm not thrilled about that. They hired a few new people this past week, so hopefully they'll be on that shift soon and I'll be able to go back to something more workaday.
Had a grand weekend with some very special visitors and I'll try to blog that later. We didn't get to set off fireworks, but I did have some time to think about the importance of the occasion and to celebrate that with dear friends. I hope your July 4th celebration was special and wonderfully meaningful.
Friday at work is pie versus cake in the world series of baked goods. There's this one cake I make from scratch. Got the recipe from me Ma, and it is toe-curlingly good, if I may say so. It's one of those recipes that helps you understand what an exact science baking can be. Baking soda. Baking powder. Ingredients blended in stages an in just a certain order. At the end, stiff-peaked egg whites are folded in, and this effects a magical texture in the finished product.
When I heard of the contest last week, I confess an animal thrill rushed through me as I realized I at last had the perfect occasion to liberate my big kitchen aid mixer from the storage unit. I haven't baked since I left my loft in spring of last year. Perhaps it is cliched, but it seems quite natural to me to love making lovely things for other people to eat. When making those things involves using a brilliantly engineered favorite tool like my mixer, the joy is compounded.
I admit I'd love to win the contest tomorrow, but I think I had the real prize when I got to see liquid and powder and eggs and extracts transform into a little loaf of delightments.