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SIMS : ROCKS ARE FREE, AND SLINGSHOTS EASILY STOLEN.
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Thursday, November 04, 2010
Let It Burn

Got a hold of a phenomenal transcribed speech today, passed along via Twitter by Andy Richter, of all people. The speech was given by Bill Moyers at Boston University on October 29th, 2010. It's a long read, and even if you know a little something about how the owners of this country run things, you'll likely still pick up some interesting facts as you read it, and I hope you will.

The guts of it deal with the de-evolution of the United States into a plutocracy, or as Citigroup calls it, "plutonomy." The plan is to continue the 30-year shift of wealth from the working and middle classes to the very wealthy. None of this is being done in a particularly secretive fashion, but the vast majority of the ones catching hell don't seem to be able to form enough cohesion as a group to give a damn.

Well, you might want to consider what your passivity and fealty to wealth has gotten you. According to Moyers' speech:

I must invoke some statistics here, knowing that statistics can glaze the eyes; but if indeed it’s the mark of a truly educated person to be deeply moved by statistics, as I once read, surely this truly educated audience will be moved by the recent analysis of tax data by the economists Thomas Piketty and Emmanuel Saez. They found that from 1950 through 1980, the share of all income in America going to everyone but the rich increased from 64 percent to 65 percent. Because the nation’s economy was growing handsomely, the average income for 9 out of l0 Americans was growing, too – from $17,719 to $30,941. That’s a 75 percent increase in income in constant 2008 dollars.

But then it stopped. Since 1980 the economy has also continued to grow handsomely, but only a fraction at the top have benefited. The line flattens for the bottom 90% of Americans. Average income went from that $30,941 in 1980 to $31,244 in 2008. Think about that: the average income of Americans increased just $303 dollars in 28 years.

That’s wage repression.

This isn't just bad luck and poor career choices. There has been a highly concerted effort to roll back the gains made by the middle class during the post-war boom when unions were growing strong and creating a living wage for the majority of Americans. Since Reagan started busting unions in '81, your average income has increased about $11 a year, instead of almost $500 per.

You can't even support a starving African kid for $11 a year.

So, what are the remedies? Moyers continues:

Obviously Howard Zinn would not have us leave it there. Defeat was never his counsel. Look at this headline above one of his essays published posthumously this fall by the Progressive magazine: DON’T DESPAIR ABOUT THE SUPREME COURT. The Court was lost long ago, he said – don’t go there looking for justice. “The Constitution gave no rights to working people; no right to work less than 12 hours a day, no right to a living wage, no right to safe working conditions. Workers had to organize, go on strike, defy the law, the courts, the police, create a great movement which won the eight-hour day, and caused such commotion that Congress was forced to pass a minimum wage law, and Social Security, and unemployment insurance….Those rights only come alive when citizens organize, protest, demonstrate, strike, boycott, rebel and violate the law in order to uphold justice.”

Organize. Protest. Demonstrate. Strike. Boycott. Rebel. And violate the law in order to uphold justice.

Let me expound on that last one.

I grew up in the Midwest, close to a major GM assembly operation, and Delco labs, founded in 1909, which, in addition to building the only American-built plane to see action during World War I, invented the first dashboard-mounted car radios, and at one point employed 30,000 workers in the US. Union workers.

Even though no one in my family worked for GM or its subsidiaries, it was obvious the value that these jobs brought to the community. People who have good jobs and good wages spend money like no one else, including the rich. Their families go to the doctor and stay healthy, the kids go to college and get even better jobs, and the whole god damned country prospers.

Since the recession of the 70s & 80s, solid manufacturing jobs like these have disappeared. In fact, the assembly plant near where I grew up, after hemorrhaging jobs for 30 years, closed down this year. The city where I grew up, has largely dried up and blown away.

Sadly, I doubt that the information I've given about the town will help you narrow it down to less than a dozen possibilities. This story has happened thousands of times since 1980.

Getting back to it, the only union workers whom I actually know as neighbors today are police, fire fighters, prison guards and teachers. I know there are a lot of unions, but they have almost no power. However, they are certainly welcome to take part in what I'm suggesting.

Police, when a call comes in from a neighborhood of the sort where residents could afford private security, you should really take your time getting to those calls. Think about it! People of means can pay private guards to patrol their property and keep it safe from any type of intrusion. Even better, the wealthy are always well-insured, and can have any item replaced or reimbursed. Why hurry? Most of all, they really hate paying your salary, and in some regards, pay less of a share of it than working-class types, who do not have tax shelters, and cannot find the Cayman Islands on a map.

Fire fighters, same thing. Many of your nicer homes have state-of-the-art fire suppression systems that should be able to handle any manner of calamity. Why race out to some beautiful suburban estate to put out a fire and save a couple lives, when you just know that you're going to get an earful about water damage, tracking soot on the Italian marble, and trampling the rose garden? Heroes! Have some more chili, and go back to sleep.

Teachers? Stay home, you don't feel well. You probably get more crap from the ignorant who think your jobs are sunshine and lollipops because you actually get due process should someone want to take your job from you. Prove them right. Refuse to babysit their idiot progeny, make them pay for day care, or skip work, assuming they still have a job to go to.

Of course, the wealthy often send their precious snowflakes to private schools, so wouldn't this only really hurt the people I'm claiming to want to help?

You bet.

As the Moyers speech details, you can't really hurt the rich through actions like the ones I've outlined, because they are attempting to construct a separate economy from the one the rest of us are living with, anyway.

You! Working class, middle class, unemployed, and everyone hanging on by their fingernails! You need to start feeling this in a way which doesn't just make you scared or frustrated. You need to be angry about this.

Your country and its promise is being stolen away from you, and stolen by people that could afford to pay for it if the law didn't make it so simple for them to just confiscate your dreams and hopes. Until you stop being subservient, stop showing up and making the shareholders wealthier as your wages and benefits shrink, this will not stop.

Organize. Protest. Demonstrate. Strike. Boycott. Rebel. And violate the law in order to uphold justice.

Nothing worthwhile ever comes easy. People are going to get beat over the head, thrown in jail, gassed, shot and killed. You can wait until you have nothing left to lose, but that day is closer than you think. Heroes act. The effort required is Herculean, and it will take all of us working together for what's good for all of us. Otherwise, to quote the late, great George Carlin:

"It's called the American Dream, because you have to be asleep to believe it."

Wake up.

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posted at 3:20 PM

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Monday, February 16, 2009

Actual letter to my co-workers

80 people received this last Wednesday:

Fellow Employees,

These are difficult times. The economic downturn has affected every business sector, and people of every income level are hurting. Bad times do not last forever, even if it sometimes feels like they will. The key to everything is commitment.

Commitment means a lot of different things. It can mean dedication, vowing to give our best efforts every day, both at work, and with our personal relationships. Commitment means doing what you say that you’re going to do.

To me, commitment is all about finishing what you’ve started.

We all have to multi-task, both at work and in our personal lives. It requires a great deal of effort and concentration to perform a task well while juggling a dozen other thoughts, issues and duties. Still, I maintain that in everything that we do, it is vital to give a laser-like focus, and ask yourself, “Am I truly serious about the task at hand? Am I committed?”

fail.jpg

I am, quite regretfully, forced to suggest that, given the above photographic evidence, there are people in our ranks who are not committed.

I enjoy a nice no-sugar-added hot chocolate as much as the next person. And before I tear the top from the envelope, I ask myself, “Do I really want this? Can I afford to ingest sixty calories all at once?”

If the answer is yes, congratulations! You have the kind of rugged determination that made America great, and will make it great again. Thank you, citizen!

To those of you who will not, or simply cannot say yes…

I am not going to suggest that you are directly aiding and abetting terrorists with your lack of commitment to not only no-sugar-added hot chocolate, but to, dare I say? America. I will offer that you may merely be a terrible human being, and I want to help you.

Some suggestions:

  • Live a little! Use the entire packet! When times are hard, you must take time to treat yourself. Go for the extra 27 calories of chocolate-like goodness that science has gone to great efforts to design for you. I’m not a religious man, but I feel comfortable suggesting that God would want you to have the whole packet.

  • If you just don’t really care about metaphysical matters, you could simply take your opened packet (and it is yours now) back to your desk or work area to use later. I can only assume that if you think someone else would be comfortable using your leftovers, it ought to be a slam dunk for you to break that packet out again when you feel the urge for some Sucralose.

I hope these tips will help those who would waver at indecisive moments to commit, completely and bravely.

Oh, and whoever is leaving an opened and half-empty creamer on the counter? You need a straitjacket.

Be well,

sims

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posted at 1:31 AM

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Thursday, July 26, 2007
Back-breaking labor

Today at work, just as I'm close to finishing up, I walk out of one room into a hallway where a co-worker of mine is just strolling up to talk to a few people. She works elsewhere in the building, but she's cool, and it's always good seeing her. She looks to be ready to leave, and is holding a cup of tea she made, presumably for the ride home. As she walks up, some of the tea sloshes out onto the floor.

She wanders away to go get some paper towels out of the kitchen area, and I go into an office nearby to sit around shooting the breeze. My co-worker comes back and starts pushing tea around on the floor with the paper towels, but they aren't exactly name brand, so not much progress is being made. I see that she's having problems, and walk to the kitchen, where I find exactly what I'm looking for:

A bottle of water.

As I walk back to the spill area, she is walking back toward the kitchen to get even more towels. I approach the spill, throw about one-third of the bottle of water onto the floor, and go sit down in the office again.

She gets back, and starts sopping up liquid off of the floor again. She is laughing because "it just seems like these things aren't helping at all." She turns around again to go after a small puddle and in the full view of five other people, I throw more water on the floor behind her, then sit back down. The light comes on for everyone.

"How long have you been pouring water on the floor?"

"Since about thirty seconds after she spilled the tea."

I throw my water bottle into the corner of the office, because it's apparent that there is about twice the amount of liquid on the floor than could fit in her cup, but she's down there, pushing paper towels all over the place, while I stare at her blankly and everyone else hides their faces in their hands.

She gets wise to this scam a couple of minutes later, and has a good laugh about it, which is cool, since like I said, she's good people. This is just the latest in my formerly-but-no-longer-un-named series called "Random Spontaneous Dickery." I'd do this stuff at home, but I don't have enough people.

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posted at 6:13 PM

2 comments

Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Clear as a Bell

What would happen if you took a world-class musician, stuck him outside a busy Metro station in one of the world's capitals with his $3.5 million dollar instrument, let him try to make a few bucks from commuters, and videotaped the whole thing?

Well, the Washington Post asked, and the answers are really quite interesting. Take a few minutes, read, and watch.

Special thanks to my friend Sarah in the District who first told me about this.

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posted at 8:16 PM

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Thursday, March 30, 2006
Where Is My Mind?

I've let this thing go in a terrible way, and I won't make excuses. The past couple of weeks I've been busy with the new thing, but before that, I had time. I don't really know why I didn't write, except that I guess I didn't feel like it.

A lot of things going on in the world. Hurricane season starts up in two months, Iraq is worse than ever, Jack Abramoff is going to jail. There are a million things to write about, but I feel pretty fried. The new thing requires a lot more focus and effort, and I'm just kicking myself. Actually, it's a lot of fun, and I need a challenge like this. But it's draining, I have to admit.

I've not done a very good job staying in touch with people in my life, and that's been kind of an ongoing thing with me. Moving around a lot will do that to you, but with e-mail and free long distance, I really don't have any excuse. Most of the time, I don't even get far enough along in this particular thought to even bother promising that I'll do better, so at least I can say that "I'm going to try," and not have past failures haunting me. But, you know, I'll probably end up slacking on it. I just know myself too well. Just know that I am at least sincere, and decide for yourselves whether or not that counts for anything. And, you know, call me.

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posted at 7:48 PM

3 comments

Friday, March 03, 2006
I'm Flighty


I just can't seem to hold a job. Last June, I quit my full-time job as my part-time one became full-time. It's been a good switch for me, not just the working less, but working in a field that allows me to be creative. It's a definite plus, and it's the kind of work that is a hell of a lot better than most. I complain a lot, but I know I'm certainly lucky in regard to the job. I've certainly labored far harder for far less.

Now, I'm ditching that job for another, similar one. I think it's going to take a lot more effort, but I'll definitely be more engaged in what I do. Long term, it's probably the best move I can make. We shall see...

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posted at 11:54 PM

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Tuesday, February 14, 2006
How's it looking?

I sense waning enthusiasm.

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posted at 2:05 AM

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Monday, February 06, 2006
Business

Do I have any business telling other people what to think? Probably not, but I think I'll do it, anyway.


Things may be getting interesting again.

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posted at 10:19 PM

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Monday, December 05, 2005
Xmas party preview 2005

Well, it's that time of the year again, and the company party is set for next week. Last year, I was dreading it because I just didn't feel like taking my scarce free time to spend with a lot of people that I didn't know. Regular readers of this epic tome know that the resulting mayhem will be spoken about deep into the future. It was truly a spectacular fiasco.

The event will be held at the same venue as last year, and the menu once again promises to be fantastic. We will be seated again at eight-person tables. Of the eight people I sat with last year, I am the only one left who hasn't been fired, or left on my own. My department was gutted last spring, and most of the faces are new. The new bunch is populated with nice people, but I don't have the kind of history with them that I did with the old gang. And it's not as if I'm out there trying to make friends, it just isn't me.

When I started working for this company in 2001, it was an independent operation. We were set up on our own floor of a skyscraper, and we were basically running around unsupervised, and having a ball. There were only about ten employees in the company, and we were all grossly underpaid, without health insurance, and battling other companies with huge budgets that were trying to crush us. It made us into a tight group, and in spite of the obstacles, we were very successful.

The people I worked with at that point were very talented, and very odd for the most part.
We didn't have any need to engage in office politics, so we worked, bounced off of one another, and trudged on against a world trying to kill us. We rarely hung out as a group, although there were occasional times where most of us might be in the same place at the same time. We enjoyed one another's company, but there was never any forced camaraderie. It was very much like a family, and we argued, fought and laughed together, but it was always a united group.

In 2003, we were bought by one of our competitors, and most of us went to work for the new company with over 100 people in a new building. Some of our friends, mainly the office staff and sales people were not kept on. That is always a hard thing, and it happens. You try to stay in touch, but you don't, because even though you like one another, the main thing you have in common is work. The rest of us stayed, because after all, we were very successful, and that's why they spent millions of dollars to buy us.

But this past March, the rest of them got fired, and an entirely new group was put together. It is, predictably, not the same. Previously, even after I was done with my work, I would often just hang out, often times when I actually had other things to do. It was a lot of fun, more like a clubhouse full of idiots than a workplace. Nowadays, I finish up my work, and I get the hell out of there. Again, it isn't that I don't like the new people, but I just have no desire to spend my free time with them. And now it's time for the party.

Now what's funny is, the old group was exceptionally creative, but was for the most part very introverted. The new gang is more extroverted, and to my mind, more needy, in a "look-at-me" kind of way. I expect a lot of showing off and forced wit at the party this time around, and I hate that. Now, considering what a debacle last year was, you might say, "Wait. Last time, there was thrown food, screaming, mousse-painting and loud drunkenness." All of that is true. The thing you must bear in mind though is that all of that came as a result of sheer recklessness, and the rest of the party be damned. It was an drunken get-together of eight, which unfortunately was surrounded and witnessed by an office party of over one hundred. Maybe it's a subtlety that I can't adequately explain, but I know it's going to be vastly different this time, and it's going to be boring.

I doubt I'll bother writing about it.

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posted at 6:39 PM



Friday, May 13, 2005
I'll be damned

My life is going to get simpler in a way. And probably more complicated in other ways. I don't care.

The deal is, for the past two years, I've had two jobs, one full time, and the other part time. The full time one is a pretty good gig, I like the work, there are still a lot of things to learn, and I have a really good boss. I don't get bothered with a lot of supervision or petty crap, and as long as my work gets done, I'm golden. As a bonus, the other supervisors and even their bosses are a little afraid of me. That came about as a result of them discovering all at once that I'm not a complete fucking moron. It's a fun story, and maybe I'll tell it someday.

There are a couple of negatives, like with anything. First of all, it's an industry that goes through cycles of boom and bust, and I'm always under the impression that layoffs are imminent. The other, and ultimately larger factor is that, no matter how long I work there, I'll never make decent money. And that sucks, because I would work there until I was 70 if I was making some money. The work is satisfying, although I have no idea why.

My part time job is another pretty good job, although because I value my free time, I don't know if I'd have kept it if it wasn't vital to making the rent. But my boss was pretty flexible about my hours, and there were many days where I worked both jobs to help out. It added up most times to only having one day off every two weeks, and I'm sure most of you know what kind of a grind that gets to be, even if you like your work. The body gets worn down.

About 6 weeks ago, everyone at my second job, including my boss, got fired. It isn't an uncommon thing in this business, and is part of the reason for my ambivalence toward it. I'm friends with the people there, and it's frustrating when it happens. The honchos pulled me aside and let me know that they wanted me to stick around, and that they would explain later.

For the past six weeks, I've still been going in on my days off, and doing various odd jobs around the office, in order to get some hours. I told them that not working was kind of a problem money-wise, so they found some stuff for me to do. I'm grateful for that. You know how it is when you live near the precipice.

The upshot is, this week, they finally revealed their plans, and what they have in mind for me, and it's going to be pretty good. The offer they made me will allow me to quit my other job, and still come out better financially. It'll be a lot of work, but it'll still allow a lot more free time, and a more regular schedule. But, hopefully, maybe, I'll finally be able to buy a house.

I'm a simple person. I don't want things really. As I've said before, I can look at a nice car, or other things, and appreciate the quality or beauty. I just don't need stuff. A house is different. I want to buy one, and it's mine. If I want to knock out walls, or paint it, or sell the damn thing, I can do it. With any luck, I should be able to buy one soon. And that makes me uncharacteristically upbeat. I'm sure it will pass, and I'll get back to the shittiness that you've come to expect out of this fine blog.

In the meantime, I have to give my two weeks notice, and I'm a bit sad about that. Like I said, I like everything about the job except that it won't allow me to attain the one goal I've set for myself. It really is unfortunate. I'm going to miss some of the people I work with, and frankly, I do a horrible job staying in touch with people. I'm just bad at it. I will try to do better this time, but I know how I am. Well, maybe I can have some of them over when I buy my home. It's a truly great way to squeeze gifts out of your friends.

I may write more about some of the more interesting people I've met there, perhaps soon.

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posted at 10:15 PM

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Friday, April 22, 2005
Pharmacist, Go Phuck Thyselph

Here in the US, everyone's opinion is important. It's the basis of democracy. The problem in 2005 is, that everyone's opinion is more important than everyone else's.

This is my blog, so I'll say whatever I want. If you disagree, let me have it. I've had negative responses, and I leave them. To this point, they have been reasonable. I'm not afraid of dissent.

You know who has a tough job? Cops, that's who. These men and women deal, very often, with the scum of society, who, like you and I, have rights. I'm sure when these guys grab up a child molester, they would like to beat him to death, but they don't. That's a tough thing, but upholding the law is their job. The vast majority do it well.

Pharmacists, on the other hand have a relatively simple job. Read the prescription, get the right medicine, and sell it to the patients. But now, increasingly, pharmacists are also moral arbiters.

There is a drug, legal all over the world, and ruled safe here in the US called Plan B. It is also known as the morning after pill. It is essentially the same medicine as birth control pills, just at a much higher dose, in case of a condom break, or just your stupid ass having unprotected sex. It will not prevent sexually transmitted diseases, and most importantly, it is not an abortion pill. It prevents fertilization of the egg in most cases, if taken within 48 hours of WA-HEY.

Some pharmacists are now refusing to distribute this legal drug to people holding prescriptions, because it violates their moral standards. By the way, yeah, these are "Christians." You know, the "judge not lest ye be judged" people. But here they are not only denying other humans legal drugs, but in some cases confiscating the prescription paper from the patient so that she may not be permitted to get her (again LEGAL) drug at some pharmacy where the help isn't American Taliban douchebags.

These people should be decertified, or whatever in the hell you do to pharmacists that break the law. How dare these people! I thought this had to be some sort of sick joke when I started reading about this stuff a couple of months ago, but once again, here in the Devolving States of Americorporate, the Values People are claiming a mandate.

Fuck your values. Leave your warped point of view at home, and do your fucking job. American workers still build cars. Some of them are used to drive women to abortion clinics. Better quit your job, rivethead. You're complicit in a moral breach. "Let those harlots walk to the clinic!"

Mister or Miss Moral Pill Pusher? Are you still distributing on demand Viagra? Cialis? I personally don't see immorality in a hardon that lasts four hours, although I sure wouldn't want one. What do you think these fellows are using these drugs for? Procreation? "I use Cialis, because I like to fuck my wife and girlfriend. I like fucking them a lot. It's fun."

We all have jobs to do. Most of us aren't really in a position to cast moral judgment in the course of our work, but some are. I'm no Christian, but I'd like to think if I was, I'd be more interested in doing concrete things to help people who need it, rather than moralizing and being holier than thou. If you don't want to help others, I suppose that's ok. Life is hard, and sometimes it's tough enough to keep your own life together. But stop judging people based on your own values. I have news for you: Your values, like mine, are worthless. If they keep you from randomly killing passerby or robbing old people, great. What you need to respect, is the law. And if you don't like a law, protest it in a legal fashion. As of this writing, you may still protest what you consider unjust. Come down off the mountain, you self-righteous dickwad. Stop judging. Christ, even a heathen like me can find that one in the Bible.

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posted at 9:35 PM

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Saturday, February 26, 2005
Crime Report

Here's something stupid that has been occupying my life in a small way for the past few weeks...

One of my jobs is at a place that operates 24 hours a day, and has four separate shifts. My group shares a workspace with the other three shifts, which is fine since there is very little overlap. Now, one of the workers on another shift had brought in a very nice Dilbert calendar at the start of the year, and hung it up. That's fine by me, I think Dilbert tends to be pretty funny.

The guy who brought in the calendar is not a guy I know very well. But since we work in the same area, I get a number of e-mails from him over the course of a week. These e-mails are invariably stunning from a visual standpoint. They have screenshots, and feature added circles and arrows to highlight whatever information the e-mail is referring to. I won't lie to you, I have no idea how to send an e-mail of this quality, and generally, I have no reason to. It's just as well, since I am easily the least qualified member of my team. Don't tell anyone.

As you might have guessed, e-mails of this type take awhile to put together, and the consensus among people in our area who know this guy better, is that this is what he does instead of actual work. So, while nobody wishes him dead, many of the women have nasty things to say about him. The men seem to mostly roll their eyes. So, my impression of this guy is somewhat skewed, but from other stories I hear, he's just kind of a needy dweeb. This is the kind of person whom I have a difficult time being congenial to. I'm kind of blunt, apparently.

So, about six weeks ago, I got one of these gorgeous e-mails. I sent it to the color printer, hung it up on the wall with the following note attached:

"Dear ___. We are planning to have this e-mail framed and matted, and we would appreciate it if you would please autograph it for us, to better serve as an inspiration toward excellence for us, your awed co-workers. We promise that it will not end up on E-Bay."

It went over pretty well with the people on my shift, but my supervisor, who is a good guy, took it down at the end of the week, because apparently, the target of my jab would have been shattered by my effrontery. I don't complain about it, since it was mainly for my own amusement anyhow.

Then, at the beginning of this month, the Dilbert calendar vanished. My initial thought was that a manager had seen it, found it contrary to the indomitable uplifting spirit of the many "Just Hang In There, Baby" cat poster variants you see in corporate boxopolises, and had taken it down. But realistically, said humorless manager would have asked a supervisor whose calendar it was and then sent a very bland e-mail to this guy asking him to remove it. That's how things work, I'm sure you've seen it in your workplace.

So, since a manager probably didn't take it down, the only other conclusion is that someone swiped it.

Again, people like the fuck with this guy, so the list of suspects is huge. And that's just within our work area. My guess is that others outside the group who have interacted with him probably are amused at the idea of sticking pins in this guy. Naturally, an e-mail ensues.

And it's so sad! No graphics, no bubbles, no arrows, not even his queer computer-generated cursive signature! Just, "if any one has seen my Dilbert calendar, please return it to a supervisor. Thank you." Naturally, we are in hysterics.

"Did you steal it?"
"No! Did you?"
"Don't be stupid. Maybe Kris took it."
"She says she didn't."
"Pretty fucking funny though."

So me, being helpful, I print out this very despondent e-mail, use a pen to draw up a very rudimentary February calendar in the space at the bottom, and hang it up where the calendar used to be. Problem solved!

From here, things actually improve. One of the women has a Marilyn Monroe calendar with some very nice black & white photos on it, and this month's shot is Marilyn holding a small dog. It's a lovely shot. My dear colleague Trina grabs the Sunday comics, cuts out the Dogbert character from the strip, and copies it on top of the Marilyn shot. The result is fucking hilarious, as she is now holding this cartoon dog. We hang it up where the Dilbert calendar used to be. I should take my digital camera to work so I can post a shot of it. It's just so damned stupid, but it's beyond funny.

From there, newspaper articles are altered to reflect the calendar theft, milk cartons are disfigured to show Dilbert on the side. It's rudimentary stuff, but as always, it beats the hell out of working. We don't get a lot of room for creativity at this place, although I work with some exceptionally smart and creative people. I'm not sure if they went wrong in the same way I did, but I'm still kind of new to the place. This is good for us, though, and I look forward to seeing what silliness the other shifts have wrought in my absence. They are a clever bunch mostly, although I'm not sure they have my taste for the jugular. But hell, nobody is perfect.

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posted at 9:51 PM

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Friday, February 04, 2005
Petty & Vindictive Inc.

I don't have many redeeming qualities, but if there is one thing I can say in my defense, it's that I am not afraid to piss people off, or be unpopular. Sometimes you have to say things that no one wants to hear.

For the past ten days or so, I've been getting a fairly constant stream of e-mails from some clown at one of my jobs who has set up his yearly Superbowl gambling pool. It's one of those deals where people buy squares, and people win based on the score at the end of each quarter, plus the final score. I like gambling now and then, but I don't participate in this sort of thing usually. I'd rather spend twenty dollars on food, to be honest.

Now, the industry I work in happens to have found itself under increased scrutiny in the past twelve months. I mean a lot of newly enforced regulations and other crap. Now, this will come as no surprise, but I am all for increased regulation all across the business community. After Enron, Worldcom etc, it's obvious corporate America is completely immoral. The regulation involving this particular industry isn't about accounting issues, or anything where people's livelihoods are at stake. The increased scrutiny I speak of has to do with free speech. But I don't want to go on and on about that issue. I just wanted to explain the climate I'm laboring under.

Now just this morning, I've already gotten three company-wide e-mails from this jackass about his Superbowl pool. I won't give you this guy's real name, but for sake of understanding, I'm going to call him James O'Brien. That is NOT his name, but we'll say it's ethnically similar.

Now, I suppose that people like a good Superbowl pool, but I don't live in Nevada, so I'll just have to take it on good faith that this falls under the auspices of illegal activity. It's no big deal, at least not to me, but again, being generally irritated, I have to be a cunt about it. So I reply company-wide with the following:

"I hate to be a wet blanket, but why is it my language in the workplace is under constant review, and yet we are allowed to use company e-mail to set up and run an illegal football pool? Unless O'Brien is a Native American name, I can only assume that we are treading on the ground of any number of federal regulatory bodies. My apologies for the ham-handed nature of this note, but I am unaccustomed to being the voice of reason."

Again, I send this out to everyone, because I don't give a fuck. I haven't gotten any replies yet, but since I work with people that are even bigger assholes than me, I'm sure I'll hear a number of things after lunch.

"You want the TRUTH? You can't handle the truth!"

My apologies to Jack Nicholson, but since he's a Lakers fan, fuck him too.

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posted at 11:13 AM

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Sunday, January 02, 2005
2005

I have made no plans to speak of. I would like to finally buy a house, but that seems increasingly unlikely. I may move to another part of the country, but I like where I live now. I'm not planning to buy a car, even though I can do so with no money down and zero percent interest until 2007. I probably won't buy another suit this year. I may finally burn a (metaphorical) bridge that is just screaming out for a kerosene shower. The possibility of being arrested for sedition or assault is on the rise. I may see a doctor about my sore shoulder. I'm too young to work myself to death, but that won't stop me from trying.

I'm in a good place when it comes to work, in that I kind of like my job. I don't love it, but at least it allows me to learn some new stuff, and it's not always the same every day. Additionally, management is currently somewhat afraid of me, which I have to tell you, is a lot of fun, and tough for me not to abuse. I can't get by on what they pay me, and that's a drawback. Maybe that will motivate me to move. Of course, it'd be nice if you bastards would send money once in awhile, but I'm not going to beg.

I hope your holidays were decent, and that 2005 works out nicely for you. If I can manage to keep a thought in my head, I will blog as often as possible.

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posted at 2:46 AM

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Friday, December 17, 2004
Company Xmas Party (After)

Well, hard as this may be to believe, it was even worse than I thought it would be. Which is not to say it wasn't tremendously entertaining. I can't believe how prescient I was.

I arrive at work at 10am sharp, dressed very nicely, and this confuses people, but that's alright. I am carrying a pint of Jim Beam which I have just purchased with my bank card. I sit down in my boss' office, and essentially force him to give me a ride over to the party. He's a good guy, but can be sort of a hardon when he's in the mood, so it's fun for me to impose myself on him. But he's in a decent mood, so at 11 we head out.

It's about a 15 minute drive, so we shoot the breeze about something or other, and soon we're there. The place is very nice, sort of an Italian villa type of building, and classy. Wine and beer are being served, along with yummy hors d'oveurs, and I grab a glass of Coke and Irish it up. The party has begun.

There are many round tables with room for eight at each, and my boss and I stake one out. We save room for one colleague who is a legendary drunk, and the rest for other people who work in our department that we don't hate. It's promises to be a lively bunch.

My boss is seated to my right, and to my immediate left is a woman who is very funny and outgoing, and to make things even better, she's been up since 3am. She starts drinking wine, as does my boss. The table seems to be accumulating an inordinate number of empty bottles. I continue to sip my Beam & Coke.

Soon, the line forms for the buffet-style luncheon, and it's grand, to be sure. A very nice spinach and other greens salad, green beans, some kind of fresh pasta salad, fresh bread, roasted garlic red potatoes, a very tasty sea bass, and prime rib. I'm pretty pleased, to be honest. I hit the table, and begin to chow.

The table continues to drink, and soon lunch is over. Now, there is just drinking. One of the salespeople gives each of the ladies at our table a box of candy. They are sort of like miniature heath bars about an inch and a half long. So, yes, nearly ideal projectiles.

The general manager steps up to the microphone and begins giving his year in review shtick, which is meant to be light and amusing, and it is. It's a bit of a roast, and he has photos of people doing stupid things and dumbass e-mails that people have sent out during the past twelve months. It's fun. But the alcohol has kicked in. Also, chocolate mousse has been served. Yes, exactly.

I devour the mousse, which is delicious. The loud woman to my left is heckling the GM, and my boss starts painting the head of the drunk to his right with chocolate. He's bald fortunately, but the table begins to fall apart in a way that becomes obvious to the rest of the gathering. The woman to my left begins chucking spoonfuls of mousse over my plate in the general direction of my boss, and there a brown blobs and smears all over the place. It looks like the testing room at Depends Inc on burrito night. Soon the mousse supply is exhausted, so she grabs a hunk of chicken and slams it into the floating candle on our table. We now have the most interesting centerpiece at the party.

The GM pauses in the flashback to hand out prizes by drawing names out of a hat, and this literally goes on for about 40 minutes, but that's cool, because lots of people got stuff. Not me, but I'm having a fantastic time, as I stopped drinking for the most part after my one cocktail. The aforementioned chocolate candies begin to be chucked at a rival table. Now something I have not mentioned is that this company has an inordinate number of very attractive women working for it. I mean honestly, it's just stupid. One of them is seated about 35 feet away from us, and in no uncertain terms, she is built like a brick shithouse. She's just lovely. Anyway, my boss inadvertently manages to lob one of these candies down the front of her top. I've never been so jealous of a piece of candy in my life. She's cool and all, but people have begun to get really irritated with the table. This slows our momentum not one bit.

By this point, wine is being consumed straight from bottles, and fists are being slammed on the table to punctuate cogent points being made by the increasingly loud people of my department. Now the really funny thing is, our area is a bit renowned for being ah, unruly, and people pretty much expect inappropriate behavior from us. Even with that disclaimer, people are shooting us nasty looks, even from the front of the room. By now, it's about 2:15.

My boss turns to me and asks, "Can you drive a Beemel Dubba U?" I grab his keys and hide them.

In the next twenty minutes, the drunk woman to my left disappears, the majority of the remainder of the table is completely beyond help, and utterly disinterested in the fact that this is apparently a work-related event. My boss stands up to yell something crude at someone, and just as he is collapsing back to his chair, I move it back about a foot. He manages to catch himself on the table, but he knocks a bunch of glasses over and makes a lot of noise. Everyone looks at us. Again. He turns to me, pupils dilated.

"Dick."

I laugh uproariously. The presentation draws to a close, and the crowd begins to break up, and people begin mentioning to some of us that the table was a bit out of control. Eh, like I care. I was a model of decorum compared to the rest of the table. I head up front to thank the general manager for the fine meal, and this was one of those times where having a really expensive suit on really bought me a lot of leeway, because he didn't seem pissed off at me at all. My boss asked him repeatedly for a hug, as he had threatened to do over the previous few days, but all the GM wanted to talk about was how obnoxious some of the women at our table were.

"I'm not upset, I can take it, but a lot of people were getting pissed off."

So, I drag my boss out to his car, and it's a BMW X5. It's really a minivan, but no one calls it that except me, because I'm impolitic. He gets in, and we're driving around downtown, and we're joking around and he keeps telling me I don't know what I'm doing, and we're having a fine time. I jump on the expressway, and hit traffic. It's a little after three.

So I'm driving, and after a few minutes, I realize it's pretty quiet in the car, and I look over, and he's sitting there, eyes half-closed, looking vaguely unhappy.

"How ya doing?"
"Trying to decide if I wanna throw up or not."
"Well, it's your car, but I'd wait."

I step on it, but we're still a good ten minutes away from the office. I put his window down. Our building is on a busy street, and there aren't enough spaces, so the church across the street lets us park in their lot. He tells me to just pull into that lot when we get there. I know there's going to be fireworks soon. He drank a LOT, and was putting away sea bass like a fucking killer whale. The thought occurs to me to say, "Was that sea bass or salmon? Because I think it's swimming upstream!" But I don't, because in spite of myself, I like the guy.

We're in traffic about a mile from work, and he leans out. A couple of dry heaves, and then it's like a fish volcano. It's a hard thing to drive and be disgusted and amused all at once, but it happened to me. I apologize for not making it back in time as he nods and continues to spew bass. Some of it doesn't quite make it out the window, and seems to me a bit of the goo probably went down the window groove thing. That should allow him to savor the memory for awhile after.

I finally pull into the lot and stop the car. He continues to spray his lunch, although truthfully, it's more of a chunky dribble than a spray. I tell him I'm going in, and he says he's going to sit out here for awhile, which probably isn't a terrible idea. As I walk away from the truck, he steps out into the church parking lot to take a whiz. I wave as I cross the street.

I had a little bit of work to do, so I go into the building, and people seem to be giving me a wider berth than normal. That's fine. I get to work, occasionally stepping outside to see if my boss' truck is still there. It is. I don't mention any of the hilarious vomiting to anyone.

Around 4:40, I finish up and walk back across the street to see about my boss. I start to walk up to the passenger window, but there is a very thick stream of chunky fish paste leading from the window all the way down the door to a puddle on the ground. Again, disgusted and amused. I look in the other window, and he's sprawled out in the back, with a very joyous, peaceful look on his face. Still, I can't assume he hasn't choked to death on his vomit, so I bang on the window. His eyes open and he starts talking to me, but I can't hear him, so he rolls the driver-side window down.

"What?"
"Just making sure you aren't dead. Are you going in?"
"No, I'm gonna crash out here for awhile then go home."
"Yeah, you do that."

As I'm walking to my car I yell at him, "Don't do anything stupid!" by which I mean drive home. Around 6:30 he calls me from his car on his way back to his house, and starts recounting the events of recent hours, trying to get my take on it. I summarized it this way: I don't think anyone is going to get fired over anything that happened today, but I guarantee when the people involved do get fired, today will be mentioned. Happy holidays!

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posted at 10:29 PM

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Company Xmas Party (Before)

Well, one of my jobs is having it's big holiday shebang today, and I am sicker than hell. Snotty nose, sore throat, and all that. But apparently, you have to go, so I'm going to shower and everything. I skipped it last year, but they have it at a very nice restaurant, so I'll get a good meal out of it. The funny part is, it starts at 11:30am. Apparently, in an attempt to cut prevent people from getting smashed and getting on the highway at midnight, they now have the party in the middle of the day. This, naturally, allows you to get smashed and then drive home during rush hour, or just head back to work to sour professional relationships, and befoul any number of potted plants.

But don't let me give the impression that this company is encouraging irresponsibility. They used to serve beer, wine, and liquor, but they've cut out the hard stuff. This is disappointing, because I don't drink beer or wine, so I ask one of the managers about bringing in a bottle of whatever. He says, "Bring whatever you want in a flask." Now, I'm not some fucking 13th century rogue, so I am sadly sans flask.

"Can I just bring a bottle of something with the label torn off of it?"
"Yeah, that's fine."

So, with that, I'm off to the shower, and hopefully a full unproductive day. If I am not killed in the resulting festivities, I will try to share some funny or terrifying stories later on.

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posted at 8:06 AM

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Sunday, August 29, 2004
I blew off work today

I was kinda tired, so I bagged the whole work thing. I was concerned I might really fuck something up in a large way. The blog is screwed up by design, so I have no fears about ruining it.

Then again...

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posted at 10:27 PM

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