I shouldn't bitch so much.

I seem to get a lot of blog mileage out of bitching about work. Back when I worked for Machinery, Inc., I didn't bitch enough. That place deserved my full wrath. But now that I'm back at my cool old job, I really don't have much room to complain. I've got a great boss, excellent cow-orkers, a flexible schedule, and free beer and gummi worms on Thursday afternoons in the summer. Hell, I even got a really nice raise on my birthday. We even have some great parties in the office from time to time, where stuff like this happens:What's not to love?

I think I figured out my problem; I need more of a challenge. I recently saw a blurb on TV where an expert claimed that adults who challenge themselves with new things like learning a new language have a lower incidence of dementia and Alzheimer's Disease. Exercise my brain at the same office where I can also feel free to pass out on the floor. Makes perfect sense to me.

Creative inspiration

For the last week or so, I've had this itch to do something creative. I can't seem to scratch the itch by writing, but I did hop on my bike and pedal around Santa Monica with my camera this evening.
It hasn't quite satisfied the itch, though - I feel like a lot of what I've been shooting lately is stuff I've shot before. Nothing new. I need to find something new to try, an idea that takes me in a new direction.I've been tempted to take a class on welding - I could see myself as one of those eccentric sculptors who welds giant piles of scrap metal into something hideous. I could use that as an excuse to surround myself with vast piles of junk. Wouldn't THAT be fun?

Tech support OCD

I was reading THIS, which reminded me of a bunch of little quirks and habits that I have when working with other people's computers.
- Messy desktops. If you've got a pile of files and folders all over your desktop, I have to restrain myself from cleaning up your mess. I don't understand how you can keep your shit straight when it's all over the place like that.
- Twisty phone cords. If your phone cord is all tangled up and twisty, I have to straighten it before I can leave your desk.
- Crud on the bottom of your mouse. If your mouse has dirt on the bottom of it that slows it down on the mousepad, I have to clean it off before I can leave your desk.
- Mac users with missing icons on their dock. If your Mac's dock has a bunch of question marks in it, I have to get rid of them before I can leave your desk.
- Windows users with a screwed up taskbar. If you've got your quick launch icons all covered up on the taskbar, and the task bar is three rows high when you never open more than one app at a time, I have to straighten that shit out before I can leave your desk.
- Open windows. If you've got three dozen Windows Explorer or Finder windows open, I have to minimize, hide, or close all that crap before I can leave your desk.

Those are my worst OCD pet peeves. I have more.

Oops.

I got a little out of control on my last post. "Washington Times" somehow registered as "Washington Post" in my addled brain. Obviously, the Times has about the same level of credibility as Fox News, so I shouldn't get too bent out of shape without some more research.

Sorry 'bout that. As you were.

"Want some torture with your peanuts?"

THIS just blows my fucking mind. When I first read that article, I did a goddamn spit-take to see if I was reading The Onion. Then I realized that The Onion couldn't even make shit like that up.
Seriously? Who the FUCK is running the show over at "Homeland Security"?

The Electronic ID Bracelet, as its referred to as, would be worn by every traveler "until they disembark the flight at their destination." Yes, you read that correctly. Every airline passenger would be tracked by a government-funded GPS, containing personal, private and confidential information, and that it would shock the customer worse than an electronic dog collar if he/she got out of line.

Un-fucking-believable. I'm || this close to bailing on this goddamn country and moving to Belize.

Various annoyances.

Not really a serious post, just a few things that have been getting under my skin as of late.

1. People who make a mad dive across six freeway lanes for the carpool lane entrance, then drive slower than traffic in the regular lanes. This one confounds me, and it seems to be perpetrated by hybrid drivers more than anyone else. If you're tryin' to hypermile, prove a point about the speed limit, or something equally retarded, do it in the slow lane, ya cocknocker.

2. Coupons and other time-consuming nonsense in the supermarket express line. If you've gotta get three cartons of smokes, a roll of quarters, and eight packs of 13 cent stamps with your fistful of coupons and your 11 other items in the 12-items-or-less line, get the hell out of the express.

3. Babysitting otherwise smart people. I know I've bitched about this here before, but there seems to be a rash of smart people calling the helpline at work for problems they could easily figure out their smart selves if they were to give it ten seconds of clear thought. But they'd rather call the helpline and make us walk to their desk and click the mouse for them instead. One helpline call I took last week didn't even require me to stop walking as I went by the user's desk, but she just wasn't havin' it when I tried to help her over the phone.

4. Beck. Am I the only one who doesn't like Beck? I get the feeling I am, since I've heard the phrase "I can't believe you don't like Beck!" about six times in the last couple months. That makes me despise his Scientologist ass even more.

5. Recent chick flicks. Normally, a chick flick now and then doesn't bother me and I'll happily watch if it has a good story. Lately, it seems like chick flicks have gone on estrogen overload. Made of Honor looks like it requires ovaries to enjoy, and Mamma Mia! might just give a guy menstrual cramps. I won't even mention Sex and the City. No mention whatsoever.

6. My own fat gut. I'm really sick of the beer gut I've got going, and I'm tired of my lack of motivation to get rid of it. I turn 37 in a few days, and I really just don't want to have this spare tire anymore. It's not like I even drink all that much beer, or eat all that much junk food. If I were to track calories, I'm sure I'd discover that I just eat portions that are too large. I'd love to blame it on the restaurant culture of huge plates of food, but really - it's just my gluttony.

7. Bashing the gear. My cow-orkers and I work pretty hard to give our users good computers and a solid network to make their jobs as easy as possible. When you do nothing but bitch about how shitty your computer is, but fall silent when I press you for specific examples of errors, I take that as a slam on me and the job I do. I don't wander around the interactive department yelling about how much the website sucks. Show me the same courtesy, fucktard. I know it's cool and/or hip to complain about how your computer blows, but unless you've got something tangible for me to work with to fix it for you, shut the hell up.

8. Ingrown hairs. My follicles have been rebelling against me lately. I've had two ingrown nostril hairs in the last month. Damn things hurt like a beyotch, besides making my nose look disfigured.

I sometimes work with children. Petty children.

A big project I'm participating in at work is a move of about 30 people from our main building to a new space in another building just across the sidewalk. The move is to accommodate growth, and the new space is quite nice. I would be happy to move over there myself - it's a pretty cool setup, designed by a talented architect.

One of the higher-level people moving is a person who has worked at the company for quite a long time and has since gone pretty much batshit insane with office politics and who slots where in the office pecking order. Ever since this person found out that they would be moving, they've nit-picked every last ridiculous detail of the construction of the space, to the extent of hassling the project managers on a daily basis.

Over the last few days, I've been stopped in the hallways repeatedly by various people, all of whom work under batshit insane person, and they've all asked me the same question: "Where will my office be in the new space?" Since I haven't yet committed the 3rd grade seating chart to memory, I've only been able to give out vague info to those who have asked, and I've been starting to wonder where all the questions are coming from.

Until tonight, when this email from the nit-picker hit my inbox:

Currently there are only a few people who are aware of where they are sitting in the new building. We have a lot of inquiring minds right now so please do not share the chart you have with anyone.

Thanks

Q.

What the fuck? I can't think of ANY valid reason for keeping this information secret. Maybe if we worked for the CIA, but for fuck's sake, we make ads selling cars, recliners, cameras and un-tasty energy bars. What are we worried about? Ze Germans?

Why not come out and just admit that you can't manage your department, and that you've let the situation devolve to the point where you're unable to wrangle a bunch of screaming ten year olds?

*snif*

Y'all probably know that I'm just a big 'ol softie, but reading THIS story made me all happy/weepy awesome.

Go read it. I dare you to read that and not feel better for it.

Did I mention that Wall•E is awesome? It is. Go see it.

Meme? Nono. JonJon!

I ran across a meme called "8 Random Facts About Me" where you're supposed to list eight facts about yourself. Blech. I'm vain and plenty narcissistic, but I have a better idea; I'm gonna write eight random facts about my very good friend, Jon Miller. Hopefully none of them will have anything to do with me, but I make no promises.

Eight Random Facts About Jon Miller:

1. His middle name: Lee. His dad's middle name: Emil.
2. He and his lovely wife just bought a new Honda Accord. They fight about who gets to drive it.
3. He used to be a kickass drummer. I don't think he's played since high school, but for all I know, he may still be a kickass drummer.
4. He used to have this small animal trap that he'd bait with peanut butter. He took glee from poking the critters with sticks, but he always let them go, unhurt.
5. He's pretty damn good at baseball. Not bad at kickball, too.
6. It's so damn fun to razz him about stuff - he gets so amusingly bent out of shape if you push the right buttons. But he always snaps right back to happy.
7. He's incredibly good at hamming it up in front of a camera.
8. He's one of the most optimistic, happy-go-lucky people I know. And he's an excellent friend.

Badger?

I was at work today, having a perfectly civil conversation with my boss in his office, when a woman I work with barged in and told me I have hair like a badger.I was caught too off-guard by this to come back with a witty retort; all I managed was a "Gee, thanks. I think." She tried to laugh it off, but it got all awkward for a moment before she asked my boss a question about something unrelated to what *I* was discussing with him before she bulldozed in.

How fast would I get punted in the nuts by women if I went around comparing their hair to that of small ugly creatures? "Hey there, nice innocent lady - your hair looks like an otter." *PUNT*

Even if my hair DOES look like a badger, I don't think I want people telling me so.

Creativity.

To the two or three of you out there still keeping up on this sad excuse for a blog, I apologize. I'm not sure what's wrong with me - I've had plenty of interesting things to write about, but no more than a thin fog of words to commit to electrons. I've got four drafts started, none with more than a sentence or two and nowhere to go.

I'm guarded with my thoughts and feelings right now, like they're a nut I need to stash away in order to survive. I've been wanting to vent, but the time or circumstances just never feel right.

Is it bad that I'm just now mixing my first drink of the evening, at nine minutes after midnight on a Tuesday? Is it worse that I'm drinking a White Russian out of a frosty beer mug because I'm too lazy to go get some ice? Hmm. If I did this more often, I might resemble a drinking problem.

Photographer Robert Capa once said: "If your pictures aren't good enough, you're not close enough." I suspect that can apply to me and this blog, too. The writing here is not good enough because I'm not letting myself get close enough.