beancounters

Last-minute blasphemy

Dear Mrs. McMillan,

I am so very sorry that we tricked your son Jody into surrendering himself unto the bosom of Jesus Christ. Who knew he’d actually fall for it? I mean really.

black day for junk food

bitch coffee mug,
originally uploaded by second hand rose.

I can't score any junk food around here to save my life.

Heard there were cookies in a neighboring department, so I ambled over. Turns out the cookies were part of somebody's going away party, and were being jealously guarded by all the women there. I couldn't even remember the departing woman's name, so you know there was no way that the phalanx of defenders would ever relent. So pretended I was only there to gossip.

Then I went to the Candy Lady's cube - but it was filled with shrieking people. I thought about waiting them out but their stories were all too loud and long-winded. Pretty soon it just became awkward.

In the end, I snagged half a cup of coffee from Admin and called it good. "I'm doing work for Admin today, so I am taking some Admin coffee," I joked with the secretary. "Oh, help yourself," she replied, which was good because I already had. Heh.

On questions

42-15239555,
originally uploaded by calvinxia.

I lob these thoughts to you like scraps of wadded paper, coming over your cubicle wall to land in your cold coffee.

* When did this nation get into the habit of speaking every phrase as a question? This morning, I was on the phone with a client; an otherwise articulate person who had either a) one large question to ask me, or b) several dozen small ones.

"Now, on the last page? Where it talks about annual revenues? And the dates are January? Through December?"

[She paused. I nearly fell for it and said 'yes I know this page' but she rattled on.]

"Our company follows the fiscal year instead? So, um ... Would it be okay if we ...?"

[I swear she paused here again. I was smarter this time and waited patiently for the verb.]

"... submit our report? Following the fiscal year?"

Open note to the world:

KNOCK THAT SHIT OFF AT ONCE. Speak in complete sentences, and save your interrogatory inflections for *actual questions*, or get the hell off the phone and put it in an e-mail. You're giving me a headache.

* My coworkers and I have seen the layout of our new office suite, into which we will be shoe-horned next December. Holy frejoles, that place will be small. From the looks of it, Alien Secty., another analyst and I will be on a row of cubes that are across the hall from both a) a smelly alcoholic coworker, and b) the fridge/microwave, with their odiferous foods and burnt popcorn.

Question: if you had the choice to be across the hall from either a) or b), which would you pick and why?

Why men don't listen to women

I'm just throwing this out here to see if it floats. What do we think of this study? Do they have something here?

When men and women speak, the human brain processes the sounds of those voices differently, Britain's Mirror and Agence France Presse report of a new study from the U.K.'s University of Sheffield. While most of us actually hear female voices more clearly, men's brains hear women's voices first as music. But it's not music. It's someone giving them a honey-do list. So the brain goes into overdrive trying to analyze what is being said.

Bottom line: Men have to work harder deciphering what women are saying because they use the auditory part of the brain that processes music, not human voices. Men's brains are not designed to listen to women's voices.

I got a million of 'em!

Going to work now on five hours of sleep. Aaaaah! Yes! I feel refreshed!

I'm officially back in school, if I'm pulling this sort of crap again - procrastinating, panicking, spending long hours, carving more hours out of nowhere, and finally turning in the whole soggy mess just in time.

Actually, that sounds like my work life, too! ::rimshot::

order-challenged

Hello, how did I let the whole week go by, hardly touching a six page* assignment that's due tomorrow?

It's like, ooh, causal order rocks! And then I put the whole thing away with a big sigh of relief. Whew! Glad that's over! Honestly.

* also sight-challenged. It's only 3 pages. Duh!

Halloween fun

Kids! Learn to carve a Halloween pumpkin in the safest, sanest way.    [via my boss]

This guy is about to go through a heckuva lot of trouble - again - to set up a webcam for his Halloween decorations. Bookmark the page and go visit occasionally. [via Growabrain]

Skip-PUH!

My other website receives a modest 10 - 12 hits per day - usually just web searchers who get there by accident. Still, I faithfully keep up with my stats. There isn't a lot of call for opera parodies (try and contain your disbelief), but if there ever is, I'll be the first to know.

So it was odd to get somewhere close to 60 hits today. All Google searchers, most from Australia and the UK, all looking for two names - Gilligan's Island and Adam Sandler.

What up? It turns out there's a rumor circulating.

Well, I'd like to go on record: I thought of it first.

And if that movie ever gets made, and Gilligan calls Skipper "Supersize" just once, I'm so going to sue Mr. S. for royalties.

Then, I promise, I'll spring for a yacht and we'll all take a three hour tour.

Dateline: Party Central

Birthday candles,
originally uploaded by Elena777.

Me [appropos of nothing]: BB, what do you think of Rob K.?

BB: Well, his politics are a little conservative, but ...

Me: No, I mean, as a birthday guest!

BB: Oh! Sure! I like Rob. No problem.

Me: Good thing, because he was on the telephone list, and that's what I used to invite people to your birthday party.

BB: To tell you the truth, I'm a little embarrassed about this party business. Like I don't deserve all the fuss.

Me: You DO deserve it. But I understand how you feel. I'm embarrassed to be putting this together. Like I'm too uncoordinated to pull off a full-blown party.

BB: Kindred spirits! Put 'er there! [We sardonically high-five each other]

I feel so used

LONDON (Reuters) - Sooty has set a new world record for the most valentine cards sent to a guinea pig.

The three-year-old guinea pig from Wales received 206 cards from as far away as New Zealand to gain a bizarre entry in the latest edition of Guinness World Records published Thursday.

Sooty? After everything we meant to one another? After all the valentine's cards I sent you, expressing my longing for you, baring my soul? It was all just for one stupid entry in Guiness? Oh, the agony ...

The playdate lottery

The other day, Karen talked about the playdate lottery - that unique feeling of apprehension that we parents get when our schoolaged children arrange their own playdates with people we don't know. Question marks pop up over our heads. Will it all work out? Will it suck royally for all concerned? Or will actual, physical danger occur? I mean, that's a real outlying probability, but tell that to a parent with an active imagination. ::cough::

Why do we hem and haw when we are asked if a playdate is okay - or worse, when we are cheerfully informed that somebody named Meaghan or Rylie or Siennah is on the phone, and she's dying to play computer games this afternoon, and it's already magically okay with every other person involved, and oh, she lives 15 miles away, and it'd be so great if we could kindly hurry up and get with the program?

Well, we are hurrying, kid. Hurrying as fast as we can. You have no idea. Only there's a problem, see? We haven't changed one bit in eight years, but you are moving at light-speed.

Did I ever tell you about the sleepover from hell? No; it probably happened before I started blogging. Maybe I did, though. Hmm. Let's just say that I went to pick up Bunny the day after and found the situation had changed radically from what it had been the night before. We went from two responsible adults and six children, to one (debatably) responsible adult, fourteen children (yes!), videos running the gamut of MPAA ratings, cereal for dinner and breakfast, thank you, and the oddest thing of all, mandatory showers but with sopping wet towels (as would be the case after fourteen children used them). It was something out of Lemony Snicket.

Friday morning? Another chance to play the lottery. Bunnylou told me she'd been invited to a sleepover birthday party - for Saturday night. It was issued by a girl I've not only never met, I've never even heard of. (Bunny says I certainly have - and solicitously implied that I might want to see a doctor about my failing memory.)

In the evening, I telephoned the number on the invitation. I spoke to a man who could have been the father of the house. (Who knows?) And I'm all trying to fish for impressions that you would normally gain from a long, leisurely personal visit, perhaps over iced tea and Pepperidge Farm cookies, during one brief telephone conversation.

The dad seemed all right. At the minimum, I learned that both parents would be home, there would be four little girls, plus two annoying (Bunny's word) baby brothers. I learned that the dad had a sense of humor; he also demonstrated that easy, detached tolerance for other people's kids - a trait so crucial for keeping one's cool when said kids invade one's house. (Something I clearly need to cultivate in myself.)

When I took her over, birthday present and sleeping bag in hand, the mom impressed me, too. We had our tea and cookie meeting. As I left, I asked if I could give her our home number. The mom got a politely quizzical look on her face and asked, "Does Bunny know her own number?" And I thought, sheesh! Of course she does! I am still thinking of my daughter as a toddler. I have got to catch up to light-speed someday.

In the end, everyone had a great time. And they fed her all the good foods. And the house was clean and perfect for children. And the parents are so cool, I want to live there myself. Much friendly discussion ensued about future playdates. We won.

Road Tripping

It's Saturday, so you have time to browse through Road Tripping. A couple decided to travel the U.S. and Canada with no deadlines and no agenda. They started last April on the West Coast, and now they're in Boston. I'd be jealous, but they're just as cute as can be and are being very generous about sharing all their photos on Flickr.

How to burn a CD

BB will attest to the fact that, no matter how many times he teaches me, I can't learn to burn my own CDs. Now there's this handy photo guide.

Friday dog-blogging: hypnosis by Daisy

Look into my eyes. Deeeep into my eyes. You are getting verrrry sleepy ...

Verrrry sleepy ...

Your eyelids are getting verrry heavy ...

Verrrry heavy ...

On the count of three, you will fall into a deeep, doggie trance. One ... twelve ... sixty-eight ... nineteen ... three.

Can you hear me? Good. Now. You will listen to the sound of my voice, and memorize this song. You will sing it all the rest of the day.

My Milkbones bring all the dogs to the yard

And they're like, arf-arf-arf-arf

Damn right, arf-arf-arf-arf

I could teach you, but you can't learn tricks

Good. Now, at the count of three, you will awaken refreshed. One ... eight ... eleventy-seven ... three.

Après research class

The logic of causal order ROCKS! So interesting! I'll explain it later. Right now, must collapse. Weary from thinking.

M.Diddy kicks ya to the curb

Well, I told myself I would only watch the first episode of Martha's "Apprentice", which started last night. But it was a better show than I expected. I will definitely have to check in as the series goes on. Well, you know. I'm a public management student now. This is a learning experience!

A few observations:

* Martha's business practices appear to be very distinctive. She spoke of her company as a place where they handle intense circumstances every day, and they do it is by coming together in an organic, non-chain of command sort of way. Also by keeping a focus on what the customer wants.

* The team that won their challenge didn't think like stereotypical "creative geniuses", but like trained businesspeople - they recruited a focus group (in this case, of first graders) to see if their draft project would even fly. And their team leader put the other contestants' strengths to good use. Smart.

* Meanwhile, the team that ultimately lost had a team leader that was more like a dictator. Jeff dictated every detail of the project - he almost went so far as to select one woman's wardrobe; I really thought he would do that for a second there. He transmitted his hyper-nervousness to the whole group. He was abrasive, obnoxious, pushy, and petty.

And unlike a reality show like "Survivor", where the abrasive, obnoxious, pushy and petty Richard Hatch was allowed to outlast everybody, Martha zeroed in on Jeff right away and bade him a regal goodbye.

* I could have done without the last bit: she penned a farewell note to Jeff - it felt both embarrassingly contrived and Classic Martha. She didn't use any prison slang either, dammit. In future viewings I'll just shut off the TV a few minutes early.

The welcome mat

I can't wait to see this at the airport. Maybe the next business trip ...

This project consists of an aerial view of the Sacramento River that is woven into a carpet for the floor of a pedestrian bridge connecting the terminal to the parking garage.

In addition to recalling the experience of flight and flying, this piece, by depicting the larger geographical area, also helps to reinforce a sense of belonging and/or connection for the traveler.

[Hat-tip to Minnie]

Tourguide fever

No tears, except I nearly wept tears of frustration, thinking that there was a conspiracy to keep my father from meeting his train at 11:15 a.m. We hit the freeway at 10:15, with plenty of time to get to downtown Sacramento. Except that traffic stopped dead at Watt Avenue. One flashing sign warned us to slow down and expect to stop - that was all we knew about the unexpected delay. Grr. It took an entire 20 minutes to get from that exit to the next one. There seemed to be no letup in sight, so I lurched off the freeway so we could finish the trip on the surface streets.

It was still slow going, but we comforted ourselves that it was still faster than what we had just left. On Fair Oaks, which turns to J Street, we passed the college, then the 'Lair. "This is my friend's favorite pub. We meet here sometimes after class," I remarked, ever the perky tour guide even during a time-crunch. "Alhambra Street is in the heart of our downtown. A-a-and directly ahead, you can see another road delay. Sacramento's busy surface streets require constant maintenance. We'll pause now, for this colorful photo opportunity!"

It was 10:50. We wasted five minutes letting the traffic light cycle three times with virtually no movement from backed-up traffic. I saw an opening and zoomed onto Alhambra. Turn left on I Street here - no! It doesn't go through! Just in time, I regained my lane and then turned left on H Street. Under the Hwy 80 overpass and then ... reality warped, and suddenly we were in a bucolic, tree-lined Burmuda Triangle. Dang, isn't H Street a major thoroughfare? Not in the area of the 20's, it seems.

H Street abruptly stopped at a dead end. A dead end! Of course it's a dead end! Chah! I turned left, then right. Now I was somewhere around I and 25th Streets. This was good. The train station is on 5th and I. We were in the home stretch. But gah - the SUV ahead of us was tip-toeing through some obstacle on the street - I blinked but the spectre didn't disappear - it was a roundabout.

It was 11:07. Tourguide Barbie hereby started to Lose It. "What the fuck are roundabouts doing in the street? Have I gone mad? Is this England or something? Uh, sorry about the f-bomb, Dad," I added. He didn't reply. Presumably, he was wondering the same thing about these transplanted roundabouts. Or he felt I really had gone mad, and thought silence was safest.

Did you know that it's possible to travel for blocks and blocks with your tires straddling two lanes of traffic? In the end, I discovered that this was the fastest and most efficient means of navigating busy one-way streets.

Sacramento PD may take issue with me one day. But! It is not this day!

Anyway, we finally got to the train station, with three minutes to spare. Dad kissed me goodbye, advised me to buy myself a beer, hoisted his backpack and his two suitcases, and disappeared into the station on wobbly legs.

(Now, if I tell you that the train hadn't even made it to Sacramento yet when we pulled up, will it make the story ironic, or just plain ridiculous?)

Almost back to normal

... as soon as I take my father to the train station this morning, then do a little tearing up at the fact that he's gone.

Arrrrr

National Talk like a Pirate Day,
originally uploaded by Rancho2OakPark.

D'you know what today is, me hearties? I wouldn't've mentioned it had Rancho2OakPark not posted this scurvy illustration.