Introducing Max

Quite possibly I have just now set myself to waste even more time blogging -- granted, it's not like I post all that often, but for all you know it takes me several hours or days even to finesse what I do post (yeah, I know. If you've read it, you suspect that it's definitely not days and probably are also fairly sure that it's short of even a single hour by about 45 minutes or more). But anyway... I digress. What I really want to talk about is Max.

Check him out. How adorable is he? You can feed him, if you like. Go on, you know you want to try it. You can get your own adorable small friend here.

Watchables

So the new Fall season is starting up (or just did) and I'm fumbling around to organize my DVR so that I don't have to watch anything live (because once you start watching shows with the ability to zip past the commercials, you really can't go back, can you? But since I don't watch many things live, I skip all the ads, I don't read any glossy mags, and I can't stand the entertainment mag TV programs (sorry, nothing against you if you can stomach them) I tend to miss some things. Like you know the kooky Christian Slater show where he plays a spy who doesn't know he's a spy because his brain was split or whatever it was, that show? it's apparently gone. How can it be gone? It was such a good time. And, you know, RIP BSG, which I am still kinda mourning, to be honest.

So here is what I still have to look forward to:

Project Runway
Oh, yes! It's finally back and it's already on and I still love it. I hate fashion, but I love this show. I don't really get it, except that it's a reality show, so you see people's craziness, but they're there to actually do something instead of just bicker or look pretty so it feels like there is more substance that some of the other reality shows. But maybe I am just justifying. At any rate, every week I think to myself "Wow, Heidi is stunning." Yep, somehow every week I am surprised by it all over again.

Fringe
It's kinda sci-fi meets cop/agent show, so what's not to love? OK, one thing not to love is the son, Peter, who always has the same exasperated irritation when dealing with his father. We get it. Your father's crazy and that's trying, but your repetitive acting is more annoying than he is. Soooo hoping the writers get a clue and realize this soon. Bc it's somehow super-annoying that the thing that is supposed to be aggravating is much less bothersome than having do listen to/watch the actor who plays Peter expressing that it's irritating.

Dexter
Maybe. I mean, I am totally behind anyway (I've watched four episodes from Season 1), and I don't know if it's going to hold my interest. Because Michael C Hall will always be the little brother on Six Feet Under. Anyway, I have to watch on DVD, so it doesn't really count towards my DVR quotas. One last thing about Dexter. I don't know what's up with his hair (plugs? a piece? what?), but it distracts me.

Biggest Loser
When I first heard about this show, I thought who in the hell would want to watch this? But here's the thing: it is sooooo strangely compelling. These people are amazing! And, you know, they're so dedicated that during the run of show, I find myself getting more exercise and eating healthier. It's like they're a good influence on me. I may be a bit of a softie, but I find it pretty heartening to watch them get their lives back on track. Of course I get really pissed off at anyone who whines or slacks, but the beauty is that they end up gone if they slack too much. In the end, I just feel so proud of them. And that's what we really like in TV shows, isn't it? We like either liking the people we watch--or hating them. I have loads of opportunity to find people to hate, so it's nice to actually feel like I want these guys to do well.

Heroes
Not as good as it once was ... but I will watch it again. At least initially. Some of the storylines are pretty grating (most of the shit with the cheerleader, tbh), but I still like Hiro and I need to watch just in case there is anything even remotely as good as the scene last season of Peter (Milo Ventimiglia) being hosed down. (Thanks again to Sus for giving me a heads-up to that fact last season. I haven't forgotten!)

Lost
Well, it's the last season and I feel like giving up now would be like quitting on mile 20 of a marathon. Yeah, it's bound to be mostly painful, but if I persevere I can get through it. I am almost there. That's what I will keep telling myself. I'm almost there! Plus, let's face it, that's the beauty of the DVR. I can FF through the really brutal parts.

What will you be watching? Anything I should add to my list?

Things on Sticks

So prompted by Stefanie (who implied that I have been sorely remiss in my blogging of late) and Jo who yesterday proclaimed (if one can ‘proclaim’ on twitter, rather than just resorting to the more pedestrian ‘tweet’) that “Other than a Magnum, the moon is [her] favourite thing to have on a stick.”

See when I think of things on sticks, I have to say that one glorious item fairly leaps to mind. I do love the moon, but there is one special golden object which might give the silvery moon a run for her money. That’s right: the corn dog. Star of the summer’s County Fair. A kid-tastic ketchup* vehicle. And so much more.

Corn dogs are such a necessity that you can even find vegetarian versions. Because even if one gives up meat, one cannot live without at least the occasional corn dog. You can also get a turkey corn dog around here (at our favorite little corn dog connection: Ben Franks –bit pricey perhaps, but they do a damn good dog).

I am probably not supposed to like them. But I do. Many things are like that though, right? It’s pretty innocent as far as guilty pleasures go, right? I'm sure some of your are much worse. Feel free to chime in with them ... or let me know what if you have a favorite thing on a stick.

* I enjoy mine with mustard only.

Sick Daze

The company I work for has a policy of no sick days. The way they do this is by amassing all of your allowed days off into one pile and calling them "personal time off" or PTO. So you can use this time for anything you like: vacation, appointments, mental health days, and ... sick days. But, as you may have guessed, very few people want to take one of these potential holidays to lie around feeling unwell. So they don't.

In some cases, where their job and level in the company allow, sick employees can work from home (to one degree or another, not necessarily any less productively than they would do while in the office). Most of the people in my department have this option. But some of them, and ironically the sickliest among us for the most part, don't in fact opt for it. That seems hard to fathom, doesn't it?

Well, mostly these ailing colleagues are parents (and thus sicker than average, what with their young blossoming petri dishes of infectious disease at home). So staying home in many of those cases is actually more tiring and trying than just hauling their coughing/sneezing/wheezing/snotty self into the office where they can prop themselves up in their cube and rest reasonably assured that no one will want to get very close to them, let alone demand their attention.

So they come in. With their assorted infectious germs. Along with the various co-workers who for whatever reason "cannot" work from home (some, it must be said, purely because they deem themselves too important to not grace us with their presence). The downside of this, of course, is that in my experience germs do not recognize cube boundaries. Or maybe they do but are simply not content to rule one small region, but feel compelled to claim their manifest destinies and reach out to inhabit new, unexplored realms.

The ill-conceived "logic" of this PTO arrangement has again become crystal clear to me. Because, that's right, it's flu season. This year, as you're no doubt aware, we even have an uber-flu lurking and waiting to take a foothold. I'm admonished every time I go to the bathroom to "help ensure a healthy work place by washing my hands with soap and water frequently." (as a side note, who are these women who think turning the tap on and rinsing their hands for half a second might actually constitute a wash?! and I am sure it's no better over in the Mens' only I don't have to witness their hygenic leaps of faith). But back to my point about the signs and notices. They're all over the company. We've got dispensers of waterless-disinfectant solutions near the kitchen, signs in the bathrooms, and periodic emails updating us about the "Swine Flu" situation and "precautions".

But no one seems to realize that maybe they need to actually tell people that they cannot come in. Presumably this is a legal issue because they don't offer "sick days" they aren't legally entitled to send workers home? But airplanes can keep you from boarding, right? so why can't an employer keep you from infecting the rest of the work force? It seems to me that instead of posting notices which clearly the hand-rinsers blatantly assume is not targetted at them, they ought to form a Health Brigade. They could do rounds of the buildings and when they spot some snotty one coughing up a lung or whatever, they can escort them right out of the building with a kind "hope you feel better soon."

Oops!

I've totally missed August. Must get straight on a September post before the month is out. and I guess this doesn't really count.

Dead or Canadian?

Perhaps they’re just a touch suicidal, but the flocks of Canadian geese who frequent the lagoons around Redwood Shores display a quite alarming disregard for cross traffic. If it’s time to cross the street, they’re prepared to do it regardless of how many cars may be advancing, at one speed or another, down said street.

But here is the interesting part.

These same drivers who aggressively and (it must be said) annoyingly dart around each other endlessly jockeying to get just one car length ahead of where they started show remarkable consideration where our feather friends are concerned. This morning a straggler ended up far behind the rest of his buddies and was torn between awkwardly lumbering across the street in spite of oncoming traffic or be further separated from his flock. He chose to risk the cars.

Let’s flash back to our impatient commuters who have to speed around anyone who isn’t going 30 mph over the speed limit . Let’s remember how rushed they are and willing to rudely cut off fellow travelers for the sake of what can really only be maybe 30 seconds to a (generous) minute gained.

Did Mr. Goose Canadian somehow intuit that the drivers would brake for him? Because brake they did. Traffic across both southbound lanes did not just slow, but stopped altogether to allow his safe passage. And seemed to all appearances to do so unbegrudgingly.

On your way bird brain.

Scout v Angie

It's a classic showdown. It's up there with chocolate versus vanilla and good versus evil. And while I do pick sides in both of the former, I am actually perhaps one of the few who don't have a preference when it comes to cats and dogs. I like them both, what's not to like? But this weekend at my place there is going to be a showdown of potentially epic proportions. Yes, friends, prepare yourself for Scout v Angie.

In one corner, we have Scout. With the at-home advantage, Scout promises to be a strong contender, possibly even the favorite. Weighing in at an estimated 25+ pounds of solid feline flab, his primary strategy involves looking as B-I-G as possible (enhanced by his enormously fluffy Ragdoll coat and bigger-than-life bad attitude) and utilizing his low, throaty growl to intimidate his opponent. His signature move is flopping over on one side and flicking his tail in an overt "don't F with me" gesture, all while apparently disdaining to even notice that his rival is in the house. Watch for him to move slowly, and only as a last resort. Hampered by his less-than-svelte physique and an old kitten injury to one of his paws, he is unable to perform eveb the most basic defensive maneuvers, namely jumping onto countertops (in fact, he can barely make it as high as the ottoman, and only achieves that lofty purchase by sinking his sharp claws into the leather and limping his ample back half on board).

Scout, in slimmer days, hiding in the blinds.

In the opposite corner we have Angie. This visiting young contender from Julie-Anne's condo in San Mateo is small and agile, but seriously outweighed by her opponent. Angie's game is more jaunty finesse than fight, and we can look for her to employ tactics that play on her cuteness: wagging her long, feathery tail, prancing on her out-turned ballerina/pigeon-toed paws, and emitting a high-pitched whine that promises no resistance and begs for mercy. With a fierce under bite, a penchant for playing with her food, and a nasty habit of peeing when she gets over-excited, Angie is sure to bring an entertaining aspect to the matchup, whatever the outcome. Some have said that Angie is not a "real" dog, but this weekend will be her opportunity to play out that quintessential dog versus cat faceoff and make a stand of which all of her fellow canines can be proud.

Angie, camouflaged in Autumn

Stick around to see how the animal antics play out! Or let me know where you fall in the dog versus cat debate...

Thanks for asking

It’s like this. I work with this guy. He’s probably a nice guy. But he’s a bit (ahem) tedious. Not a bad guy, but just a bit boring. I can usually muster up some fake extrovertish qualities and make conversation for a certain amount of time without much fuss… But I can only really do that for so long before I start contemplating all of the ways that I can potentially avoid continuing the conversation or, god forbid, ever having to repeat it again. But as I said, I work with this guy. And he had a project that I offered to help on. I would have been happy to help on. But really he didn’t want my help. He just wanted me to go to lunch. Again and again and again.

Lunch would have been okay, if we were just there to discuss the project and get on with the work and cordially ingest some food. But really we didn’t talk about the project at all. In actuality we had rather stilted conversations about “what I like to do in my spare time” and other blind-date-like questions of that sort. Pain. Full. (not to mention not a great digestive aid!)

So what do you do when trying to duck someone’s advances? I’ve decided to start thinking creatively about it after Jo offered this helpful advice today:

“Set up a rule in Outlook. When he mails you, he gets an auto-response: Sorry, Jessica has died…”

Needless to say this is brilliant. I may not do it, but just thinking about it somehow makes my day feel a bit brighter.

Unfortunately, Jessica contracted swine flu and has died. While she would undoubtedly have loved to join you for lunch/edit your copy/grab a coffee/etc., regrettably she is now unable to accept your generous invitation. Thank you for your email and have a nice day.

Mud in My Veins

This week has been absurdly tiring. It seems like no matter what I do, I cannot get enough sleep. I went to bed on Wednesday night at 8:30pm. I slept until about 6:45. I was still tired all day. Last night I managed to stay awake til 9:30. But today I am walking around as if there is a disconnect between me and the world. I feel so tired that I feel almost numb.

This feeling of not being able to summon any get-up-and-go is something that I like to call “mud in my veins.” That’s what it feels like. Instead of blood, I’ve got mud and it isn’t exactly energizing. Maybe it’s because of the image of slogging through mud. How it sucks onto your shoes and slows you down. Or maybe it’s something to do with making mud pies and how heavy they are—a big damp, solid heaviness in your hands.

Earlier in the week I blamed it on the weather. I figured that the heat was waking me up. Or maybe it was making Scout think that he needed to be outside doing hot weather cat things and he was waking me up. But the weather has turned much milder and my sleepiness hasn’t abated. So it may be time to start considering more hypochondriacal causes. Or more coffee.

Sunny Outlook

The best part of living in California has to be the weather. As a native, I used to mostly take it for granted and even whined about the coastal fog, the less-than-balmy climate of SF in Summer, and the occasional (not frequent enough actually) downpour. 2 and a half years in pretty, lush, green (if you can’t read between the lines here, all of this spells R-A-I-N-Y) England washed away those thoughts. For now.

I’ve always thought it was an interesting convention when a writer used the weather as an overlay for the general mood/tone of a storyline too. Overcast, grey skies seem to always signify a less than happy fortune, while clear skies or even fluffy-white-cloud be-speckled blue suggest every little thing is going to be all right.

"All the preceding afternoon and night heavy thunderstorms had hissed down upon the meads, and washed some of the hay into the river; but this morning the sun shone out all the more brilliantly for the deluge, and the air was balmy and clear."

It’s an easy and possibly even an instinctively recognizable symbolism. But more than just the idea that fair weather means a chance for an easier, more comfortable existence, sunshine also boosts our moods. Nothing is quite as cheering as sunshine, warm breezes, and clear skies.

And, of course. thought of clear skies and sunshine always lead me to think of

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!"

I’ve been (not surprisingly, I suppose) thinking a bit about Eternal Sunshine… and I wonder if we really did have access to such a procedure, how many memories would we be left with at the end of our lives. Because I suspect the temptation to eradicate a fair few of them might be too great.

But for now, I’ll just enjoy the weather.

Courtesy of Jo

Jo sent this to me yesterday and it seemed so appropriate, I had to share.

Togetherness

I’ve never had my own office. I did once, however, have a desk situated all by itself out on the bustling floor of a MACY’s warehouse thanks to a demented boss. But mostly I have worked in shared environments. Yes, most of my work life has been spent in the ubiquitous cubical “office”.

This open plan is meant (I think) to harbor equality and team spirit and to promote creativity and collaboration. I guess I can admit to that being sometimes the case. At its best anyway. But what it also seems to do, or at least for some of us, is to foster murderous and sadistic thoughts about at least a few of our co-workers. You know the ones.

The Loud Mouth
Everything she has to say is to interesting that she is absolutely 100% positive that everyone in the office wants to hear it. Even if it’s just rehashing last night’s really bad TV program. Or scheduled workout regimen. Anytime she joins the conversation the volume increases about 10-fold because anyone talking with her has to be just as loud to be heard over her. When she really gets going you can’t help but imagine quietly covering her face with a pillow until it all stops.

The Giggler
Typically there are more than one of these. And their laughs all sound slightly different—a girlish giggle (common among more males than you’d care to know), a buffoonish chortle which screams stupidity and is a fake or forced laugh half the time anyway (“No, really! My sense of humor is great! Look everyone, I get it!”), and the incessant chuckler (this is the guy who is pretty much always doing something other than work and seems to want to advertise the fact by his constant mirth. Trust me, the thoughts that occur when the laughter is rampant are not funny at all.

The Very Important Conference Caller
He’s always on the phone, that goes without saying. But what you may be surprised by is the fact that he can’t just pick up the handset like a normal person. He needs to put every call on speakerphone. Which consequently means that he needs to shout at the phone because of course the person on the other end can’t hear or understand him unless he does. Cram his handset right down his craw and end the call.

Miss Ringtone
There is a very special ring of hell for her. Where she must sit and listen to very insipid ringtones for all eternity. Oh sure, it’s funny or cute the first time isn’t it. But let’s see what she is saying when it goes on and on and on forever. If she’d only enabled the vibrate-only feature, she’d probably be supping mai tais in heaven.

The Mellow Listener
No one incites as much animosity as this co-worker. Which is ironic since she thinks she’s adding such a nice, pleasant, soothing touch to the office. The Mellow Listener likes to play the smoothest jazz at barely audible levels. She can’t use headphones because then she wouldn’t be able to impose her really crap musical taste on everyone else. And she’s certain that everyone benefits from the soft strains of schmaltz. Thinking of strangling her with the cord from the headphones that you’re forced to wear just to escape her tedious tunes strikes just the right chord.

But, it's Friday ... so at least I can go home to my apartment ... which is, essentially just a slightly bigger cube, isn't it.

8 things about me ... with a few extras thrown in because I can't help my parentheticalness

1. I hate raisins and I am afraid of spiders. Curiously, I think part of what I hate about raisins is the fear that they might actually be small, dead insects in my food. I love crème brulée and most critters (see first statement).
2. I met the California governor when I was a child after being featured in a school children safety video. I also met Jesse Jackson at my cousin’s law school graduation. He kissed my nephew’s head, but not mine. Chris Isaac, however, once kissed my cheek.
3. I once played The White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland and played other various characters in other various plays. But TWR in Alice was my favorite role ever.
4. Contrary to what some people think, I do not play video games for a living. Not even close.
5. I have lived in both England and Hong Kong, but have never once lived in a state other than California.
6. My birthday is halfway between Christmas and New Year’s Eve. And while this makes it in theory a part of the whole holiday season, it actually kind of sucks. Mostly I am over the fact that it sucks, but sometimes it still catches me off guard and it sucks again.
7. When I was 10, my best friend Kerri and I used to lug “portable” typewriters back and forth between our houses so that we could work on our novels together. As I recall, mine had about 30 “main” characters. Neither of our novels has been published to date.
8. I like lists. Sometimes I make a list after the fact, just so I can cross stuff off. I might make a list that includes “write a new blog posting for Fin.”

Applying makeup as The White Rabbit. Nice hair clips, huh?