beancounters

What shall I write before housework calls?

Happy Saturday. This is my second start at writing. The first post was going to have kid pictures and a picture of a major tourist attraction. Really, it would have been great. Something for everybody. BUT ... [Insert rant about TypePad's new "insert image" format here, followed by a cutting remark about the seemingly nonexistent "insert a picture as a link" format, and end with a friendly call for advice.] instead, I'll catch up on my weekend so far.

It was great to spend a little time with my brother and my nephew. They stopped by in order to break up a long drive down to my mom's house. We ate too much pizza and homemade chocolate chip cookies (which I like to keep fresh at the grocery store until I need them, in a Ch1ps Ahoy wrapper, just like my mom taught me). Then we settled in for a viewing of Toy Story 2, which my brother hadn't seen before. Don't you hate it when you're the only one in the family who hasn't seen the movie they're about to show? You're always on guard against people blurting out spoilers. Especially if you have me as a big sister. :-)

Bro's crank call

A call came in that went to voice mail. I could barely understand the guy, what with the mobile phone, the radio, the almost unbelievable drawl ... I tried to write as he talked, but could only draw little question marks on my notepad, until he came to the point of the call: "I wanna open a business, an' I think I'll call it 'Beavis & Butthead International' ..." Waaa-aaait a minute. That was too ridiculous, even for this day of telephonic comedy. Then lo, his true identity was revealed unto me - my brother. Driving in from Idaho!Woot!

He & his li'l youngster are going to crash here for the night. Pizza party!

Thanks for calling. There WILL be a test.

After our long field trip yesterday, my boss offered to let me telecommute this morning. But our den at home is overstuffed with computers (two working ones, plus many random components). There’s not a single visible surface to be seen; everything is covered with machines or paperwork. On top of which, BB launched into a new computer project this morning, purging the hard drive of a CPU he is giving away. The last time I walked in there, he was tearing through a drawer of wires, surge protectors and interconnects, muttering to himself (at least I hope it was to himself). What if I’d gamely ignored the feverish activity and tried to set up to type a report in there? There is no earthly way I could have escaped with all arms and legs attached.

Anyway, I’m at work. And it’s a good thing, for the sake of the State. It turns out Alien Secretary has called in abducted or something, and on her voice mail, she appointed me the Go-To Bean. Today I am the first point of contact for would-be businesspeople, bored with unemployment and daytime TV, rarin’ to become captains of industry.

When people call for the first time, I’m very friendly and helpful. I explain the application process, and then I just refer them to California statute, which is accessible from our website. It effectively thins the herd; that pesky “reading comprehension” thing can be pretty discouraging. Does that sound mean? I look inward, toward the region where my heart used to be, and all of a sudden feel a twinge of guilt. But please believe me blindly, without true knowledge of which department I work for. You the taxpayer, parent, and/or consumer do not want an entrepreneur, without the first clue about the law, launching this particular kind of business. I’m not being heartless; by the virtue of a steep learning curve, I’m saving both you and them lots of grief.

What kind of coffee are you?

You Are a Plain Ole Cup of Joe But don't think plain - instead think, uncomplicated You're a low maintenance kind of girl... who can hang with the guys Down to earth, easy going, and fun! Yup, that's you: the friend everyone invites. And your dependable too. Both for a laugh and a sympathetic ear. What Kind Of Coffee Are You? Take This Quiz :-) Find the Love of Your Life (and More Love Quizzes) at Your New Romance.

I'll take that, as long as the "plain cup" is French Roast or something else with some care put into it. I think espresso is a cruel hoax perpetrated by the Europeans, and flavored coffees are, without a doubt, From The Devil. [Thanks Theresa and Alexia]

I never thought I'd say this, but I miss algebra

Three more class sessions including tonight's, before the final. There is no time for joking now in Stats class. We're too busy scribbling at top speed, while Meg extemporizes our written assignment at the whiteboard. Since we're at her mercy with regard to format, it's imperative to write her every detail. She herself scribbles as fast as she writes. Dictation is serious business, and if any of us misses a line we're doomed because she can't hear that well, and doesn't always stop if we squeak for a repeat.

Tonight the only sounds in the room were her voice and our pens scratching. As Meg talked, she slid one of the sectional whiteboards to one side. Underneath was an algebra equation, left over from the previous class.

Meg stopped dead. We all did. We just stared for a second at that calculation, then started chuckling, because holy shit, it just looked so damned easy.

Meg laughed hardest of all. "Wouldn't you like to go back there?"

Yeaaaaaaah ...

Escape from the office

Looking forward to tomorrow. I'm heading out with a team to conduct a compliance visit on a business down in Orange County. Though it will be a long day, I'm looking forward to it. I hardly ever get to travel for the office.

Today has been eventful in and of itself, as we pack and prepare for this visit. Make copies of the webpages! Pack the application! Bend, spindle, mutilate! My boss calls me every few minutes with tidbits of gossip she's pulling off of search engines. Too much fun.

Spelling bee challenge

Could you win the National Spelling Bee?

No, darn it. Spell-check on my word processor has made me lose my edge.

[via]

And none of yer fancy electricity, neither

It begins ... the college has begun to send me those little puzzle pieces of information, seemingly random, that will eventually come together as my full enrollment in the College Experience. Today they sent me instructions on how to create a student e-mail account and user ID to access the school's system. I have my own school e-mail account! It's so pretty! And so much more efficient than message delivery used to be when I was last in school ... cryptic runes tapped into rocks or the bark of trees.

Oh, I don't know. I'm not that old, just that confused and nervous. Bear with me please as I endure the culture shock of college in the 21st century. It'll pass. Until then, I must steel myself against babbling in my confusion and nervousness to my new classmates. "When I was your age, this classroom wasn't even built yet! In fact, this was all open field! All field! Field here, field there! As fur as the eye kin see!" People might shun me like the Amish, and couldn't rightly blame 'em if they did.

Another novel quiz

I believe you belong in Pride and Prejudice; a world of satire and true love. A world where everything is crystal clear to the reader, and yet where new things seem to be happening all the time. You belong in a world where your free-thought puts you above the silly masses, and where bright eyes and intelligence are enough to attract the arrogant millionaire/prejudiced young woman of your choice.


Which Classic Novel do You Belong In?
brought to you by Quizilla

I'm feeling quite intellectually sardonic and superior today, and my dear, it shows!

[Via Purlingswine]

Tonight's batch of email sp@mmerz

... call themselves:

Preserves D. Diffusion
Incredulously J. Present
Dauntlessness D. Turntable

I've mentioned interesting sp@m names before - y'all brushed me aside with callous indifference. Not that I'm bitter.

Am I the only one who thinks those are wickedly great? All I'm saying is, they sound like minor characters in a Harry Potter book. Picture them sitting together, perhaps at a dark table in the seedy Hog's Head Tavern, pretending to be drunk while eavesdropping on the other patrons. They listen to Harry and his schoolmates forming a secret plan to practice their dark arts defense skills. Cold-hearted professionals in a shifty business, the three of them ruminate in low whispers how best to trick the young witches and wizards into buying cheap computer software and boner pills. Er, make that cheap wand upgrades and dragon gonads. With me?

Rachel Lucas

She's a gun-toting conservative who respects Bush and hates Michael Moore, but gosh I do like Rachel Lucas anyway. She's the blogger who got me interested in blogs.

Rachel took a break for a few months, but it seems she's back with a full-fledged rant about current events. I'm glad to be able to put her link back on my page today.

Psychedelic mouse

Crikey! Click here and watch your cursor have an acid trip.

Doughnut trap

Working in my office is like living with a dysfunctional family. We know some very disgusting and intimate things about each other, yet there’s none of the love between us that keeps proper families from engaging in constant psychological torment. With only the vaguest sense of workplace civility to keep us in check, we feel free to rip on each other almost anytime we want.

I’m convinced my boss likes to bring in doughnuts just so she can tease us about how many each of us eats throughout the day. She has it down to a science. First, she buys a dozen doughnuts, including varieties each of us likes best. (Mine: those puffy, cruller-looking doughnuts, with maple or chocolate frosting.) She puts them in an empty cubicle that holds our mini-fridge and microwave. “Help yourselves!” she calls. But later she comes back to take a doughnut count and ask loudly how many each of us has eaten. “Look! There are only four left! Hmm … how can that be? Now, I’ve had only one … Token Male, how many have you had? One? OK, LC, you said you’ve had two … Pam, that means you ate four!” And of course, I have not had four doughnuts, but my protests fall on seemingly deaf ears. “Really, just do the math. That’s a lot! You’ll have to walk a few miles to work off four doughnuts! …” etc.

My boss is getting real entertainment value for her dollar with these doughnut trips. This morning, yet another dozen appeared. Laughing that we are being set up again, LC the Alien Secretary just cut to the chase and posted a tally sheet.

Coping with gas prices

Gasoline prices set new records across California on Monday as jittery markets struggled to absorb news of ruptured pipelines, Mideast turmoil and other woes. Pump prices hit all-time highs in 21 different California markets, led by a worst-in-the-state average of $2.35 a gallon for self-serve regular in Santa Barbara. The statewide average itself was a record $2.24, according to figures compiled by AAA.

Survey: What will you do without this summer in order to afford gasoline?

a) Carbs
b) Toilet landing lights
c) Supplies to make my Borg costume
d) I’m just going to put my minivan up on blocks and use it as a guest bedroom.

Busy-ness

It's shaping up to be an unusually busy day. I've arranged all the interviews for one position with my little department, so I have reserved conference rooms to defend from interlopers, and besuited bodies to shuffle hither and yon. Then, it seems I had committed to a letter-writing project a week ago, but promptly developed a case of selective amnesia and utterly forgot about until this morning, when I forwarded a phone call to the secretary. She came back to me just now.

"That's one of the businesses that needs a Letter," she told me. "Weren't you going to write them?"

"Oh hell's bells," I succinctly replied.

"Do you want me to take over the project? Because honestly, I can."

"NO." It's bad enough I forgot the project; if I let her take it over I look forgetful and lazy. I can't let her know too much about my psyche. She's already on my list of Possible Space-Aliens Passing As Civil Servants, as she remembers everything, and never seems to be stricken with work-related amnesia. Now if only I could remember where I put the letter list.

This is pathetic. Mondays utterly suck. And the thing is, most of the sheer suckage originates out of that amnesia one develops from having been away all weekend. If somehow that forgetfulness didn't take hold, Mondays could be better borne, I think. Sometimes when I am with-it and together on Friday afternoons, I make myself a detailed To Do list for Mondays, annotated and sub-headed, with stars, arrows, and occasional smiley faces (to bolster me for the particularly burdensome tasks ahead). My Monday self, cloudy and depressed, appreciates these lists so much. It's a shame I don't do them more often.

But last Friday, I seem to have trusted that a series of bright red folders laid about in order on my desk would trigger my memory and provide valuable clues. Ha! No go! Friday-pam will have to do better than that to penetrate my Monday-pam morning fog of confusion and despair.

To all the bloggin' mommies

Thanks for writing about your daily experiences, strengths, crises, moments of doubt and of triumph. Thanks for sharing the things your kids do or say, whether funny or sad. Whenever you do, I learn a little more about this heavy responsibility called parenting.

And a special shout-out to my mom - teacher, bargain-hunter, gardener, mystery-reader, and maker of "homemade" cookies still warm in their blue Chips Ahoy wrapper. The lady who taught me how to make clover chains, how to pronounce "Proust", how to cook on a camp stove in the pouring rain, how to quilt and how to hold a baby. You're terrific, and I love you so much.

A toddler in an "Anarchy" shirt is just redundant

These are just so wrong, on so many levels! That's probably why I'm laughing my ass off. I'm imagining the phone call I'd have gotten from the snooty daycare director, if my baby Bunny had shown up in one of these.

Check Snot Nose Brats for punk toddler clothes. Then, when you're sufficiently inured, take a deep breath and click here.

Namaste, y'all

Tired after a long day of strong-arming Congress for yet another $25 billion to fund your holy crusade against the Axis of Evil? Relax with us, let your tensions melt out of your body. Learn the ancient art of yoga from the master: Dubya.

Update: As Lee pointed out, there's a very funny State of the Union address there, too.

FWIW: 40K

It looks as if I'll hit 40,000 on my stats and referrers today, while I'm commuting home. Granted, most hits are from Google, and have to do with a certain freaky-ass pop singer currently in trouble with the law over his alleged predilections, or else some damned quiz or other. So you have to take this milestone with a grain of salt. But still. Kinda cool. All visits are welcome, and most are scrutinized by me when I'm bored at work.

Blog is Good!

Update: And my 40,000th visitor i-i-i-is [drumroll, please] ... Ricky!

Take a bow, Ricky. Nice of you to model the Speedo for us!

A new guilty pleasure

From the guy who brought us Gawker, a Hollywood gossip blog called Defamer. I'm sorry I found this a day too late; he posted lots of warring "Friends" spoilers this week.

By the way, I've been reading blogs and news sites since last night, and it sounds as if everybody was just too-too to deign to watch the "Friends" finale. Well, all I have to say is, that's gratitude for ya! Think of everything that show did for you! For example, "Friends" is what made coffee shops so popular. It's true. Now you can't walk three consecutive blocks in any city in America without spying a coffee shop. That's a good thing right there.

I'd like to go on record as saying I liked "Friends", I sought out the finale, watched it, and enjoyed it.

Further, the Emperor darn well looks like he's wearing clothes to me.