For some ungodly reason I’ve had three songs by Chicago stuck in my head for the past few days. This is a problem, as I don’t like Chicago (the band or the city).
Because the only other option for getting them out of my brain is to blow them out, with a bullet, I decided to download them and listen to them.
I think the bullet would have been preferable.
(For the record, I don’t have anything specific against the city of Chicago. I just know that when I’ve been there I’ve felt a vague, but powerful, sense of unease that just refused to go away until I was finally out of the city. There was also this chick that my friend Joel briefly dated who was this annoying “Chicago-phile” who insisted that it was the artistic and cultural center of the universe and would not stop talking about how wonderful it was and always steered the conversation back to Chicago. Plushhh ssshe talked like thishhh. You know, like Shelly on South Park. Ssshhut up, turd!)
The songs stuck in my head, for the record, are If You Leave Me Now, Saturday in the Park, and Beginnings.
(Speaking of South Park, at least If You Leave Me Now makes me chuckle a little, as I can imagine Butters singing it the way he did in that episode when Cartman convinced him that everyone had been turned into zombies. Imagine it for yourself: “Oooooooo no, baby please don’t go.” In Butters’ voice it’s hilarious, though Peter Cetera’s voice has a sort of cheesy amusement factor to it as well.)
God, this is dreadful (I’m listening to them now. “A man selling ice cream.” Aargh!).
Anyway, I did jack today.
My first morning after not wearing the lenses started out okay, but my vision rapidly faded.
(“A man playing guitar.” Shut up, shut up, shut up!)
Anyway, that was my Saturday not in the park.
(“Mostly I’m silent,” he says. If only that were true.)
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
On Bitching And Moaning Or My Dark Reflection
I don’t mean to complain too much about my job. After all, it’ll pay the bills, and it’s certainly better than a kick in the ass.
It actually pays slightly more than AOL did (about $.68 an hour), which means it’s decent money.
Having no benefits also means having less money taken out of each check, though the fact that I will have no pre-tax deductions will mean having more income to be taxed, so I’m not sure how that’ll work out.
My manager seems like a nice enough guy (he sounds kind of like Bill Paxton).
Ultimately, I suppose it’s not really that crappy, it’s just that as I sat there yesterday I soon came to realize that I just don’t want to do that kind of work anymore.
Part of that realization is due to the tantalizing prospect of a much more interesting job that’s been dangling in front of me for a while, but even before the layoff I was growing increasingly discontent with the nature of my job, and it was really only my complacency and my reluctance to give up my three day workweek that was keeping me there, so in one way, so while getting laid off was the aforementioned kick in the ass, in some ways a kick in the ass was what I needed.
Not that the kick did me any good, given where I landed after it sent me hurtling through the air.
Yesterday, as I looked at myself in a mirror, I realized for the first time that my hair is truly and completely gray. There’s not even the barest hint of my original hair color. Just dark gray and pure white.
Despite the fact that the grayness is rather premature, I’m clearly not a young man anymore, yet I still don’t seem to know what I want to be when I grow up.
Even so, the one thing that I am sure of is that I don’t want to work in a NOC. I’m willing to do it, if I have to, but I really, really don’t want to, so I am, perhaps, being unfairly harsh in my evaluation of my new (but not-so new) gig.
One major aspect of what makes it so annoying, though, is one of my fellow new employees, a guy who’s got a good ten years on me and who just grates on my nerves whenever he opens his mouth, which is often.
And by “often” I mean “always.” The inane prattle and pointless questions just keep gushing forth from his mouth like water down Niagara Falls.
But beyond being annoyed by who he is, I’m repulsed by what he is: a middle-aged man who’s bounced from contract job t contract job for most of his career, never developing any firm roots. I suppose that I see in him my own fears about what taking a job like this, at my age, could mean for me. I know that I’ll never become a garrulous, obnoxiously talkative buffoon (not as long as I stay sober, at any rate), but I could become like him in that other regard, and the thought of that is troubling, particularly given that I’ve just recently learned how important things like security and at least some amount of certainty are to me.
Still, the point is that, while I’m not promising anything, I’ll try to curb my desire to bitch and moan about how much I hate my job.
It actually pays slightly more than AOL did (about $.68 an hour), which means it’s decent money.
Having no benefits also means having less money taken out of each check, though the fact that I will have no pre-tax deductions will mean having more income to be taxed, so I’m not sure how that’ll work out.
My manager seems like a nice enough guy (he sounds kind of like Bill Paxton).
Ultimately, I suppose it’s not really that crappy, it’s just that as I sat there yesterday I soon came to realize that I just don’t want to do that kind of work anymore.
Part of that realization is due to the tantalizing prospect of a much more interesting job that’s been dangling in front of me for a while, but even before the layoff I was growing increasingly discontent with the nature of my job, and it was really only my complacency and my reluctance to give up my three day workweek that was keeping me there, so in one way, so while getting laid off was the aforementioned kick in the ass, in some ways a kick in the ass was what I needed.
Not that the kick did me any good, given where I landed after it sent me hurtling through the air.
Yesterday, as I looked at myself in a mirror, I realized for the first time that my hair is truly and completely gray. There’s not even the barest hint of my original hair color. Just dark gray and pure white.
Despite the fact that the grayness is rather premature, I’m clearly not a young man anymore, yet I still don’t seem to know what I want to be when I grow up.
Even so, the one thing that I am sure of is that I don’t want to work in a NOC. I’m willing to do it, if I have to, but I really, really don’t want to, so I am, perhaps, being unfairly harsh in my evaluation of my new (but not-so new) gig.
One major aspect of what makes it so annoying, though, is one of my fellow new employees, a guy who’s got a good ten years on me and who just grates on my nerves whenever he opens his mouth, which is often.
And by “often” I mean “always.” The inane prattle and pointless questions just keep gushing forth from his mouth like water down Niagara Falls.
But beyond being annoyed by who he is, I’m repulsed by what he is: a middle-aged man who’s bounced from contract job t contract job for most of his career, never developing any firm roots. I suppose that I see in him my own fears about what taking a job like this, at my age, could mean for me. I know that I’ll never become a garrulous, obnoxiously talkative buffoon (not as long as I stay sober, at any rate), but I could become like him in that other regard, and the thought of that is troubling, particularly given that I’ve just recently learned how important things like security and at least some amount of certainty are to me.
Still, the point is that, while I’m not promising anything, I’ll try to curb my desire to bitch and moan about how much I hate my job.
Shadow Boxing (Plus: Yay!)
My second day of work was a little more craptacular than the first, simply because it involved doing even more of what made yesterday so craptacular, namely “shadowing” some of the existing employees and watching them work.
Now, this is sort of standard for training, and would actually be useful if it weren’t for the fact that, having been provided with no basic explanation of exactly what the people we’re watching are doing, their actions are largely incomprehensible.
Sure, they try to explain as they’re doing it, but that’s not the same as getting an overview beforehand.
But that’s all we did today for the whole day, up until the last half hour when we were brought back into the training room to verify that the logins we had been given for some of the things we’ll need to be able to log in to were working (and to change our temporary passwords for said logins).
Still, the day ended on a bit of a high note. Before heading off to work this morning I sent an e-mail to my potential boss at the job I want to let him know where things stood with me and to ask where things stood with the job.
While I spent the whole day watching someone else use a computer, I had no access to one myself until the login thing at the end of the day, and I can’t get a signal on my cell phone there, so all day long I sat and wished I could check my mail.
Once I was finally able to do so at the end of the day, I found that I had a response to my e-mail. He said that he expects to have final approval before Wednesday of next week, and that once he does they will immediately make me an offer.
(And I will immediately accept.)
So that was cool, and gives me the hope I need to keep gritting my teeth and wading through the crappiness of my new job.
Next week we’ll be doing some actual training in the use of the tools and learning the processes and procedures – which is what we should have been doing this week – rather than just shadowing people, so that should be more tolerable.
The Best Thing Ever Department:
When I wake up in the morning I find myself feeling like Fry in the Slurm Factory on Futurama, croaking in a dry, hoarse whisper that I am, “so thirsty.”
Somewhere along the line I discovered that the greatest thing ever – at least in terms of combating that morning desiccation – is ice-cold, flat 7-Up.
It’s seriously like the nectar of the gods.
Punking Out On Christmas Department:
Last year, in an odd change of pace, I actually bought everyone on my list real, honest-to-goodness Christmas presents, rather than simply giving money.
This year? Not so much, as I mailed my mom a check yesterday with instructions on how and to whom to distribute it.
I just couldn’t come up with any gift ideas for anyone (except my nephew Jeremy, but I thought it would be weird to single him out for a real present, so he’s just getting money like everyone else) this year, so it was just easier to whip out the checkbook. There are a couple of people around here who will probably get actual gifts, though.
The Clear Vision Bubble:
After I managed to kajigger the lenses out of my eyes this morning, my vision was even clearer than it has been. It’s still not at the level that my glasses or regular contacts brought it to, but I can definitely make my way through the world with ease with my reshaped corneas.
It’s kind of like I have this bubble of clear vision around me, the range of which falls just short of what I was able to achieve with wearing corrective lenses. I’m also finding that the bubble doesn’t really shrink throughout the course of the day anymore, and I’m always able to see near objects with a heretofore unseen (no pun intended) clarity.
One of the obstacles to seeing things at a greater distance as clearly sans glasses or contacts is the that I tend to see “halos” around illuminated objects that obscure them slightly, though this is apparently normal, and seems to be lessening.
Tonight will be the first night I sleep without the lenses in, then I wear them again for three nights starting tomorrow, and then I go to the eye doctor’s to get checked out after work on Wednesday.
Now, this is sort of standard for training, and would actually be useful if it weren’t for the fact that, having been provided with no basic explanation of exactly what the people we’re watching are doing, their actions are largely incomprehensible.
Sure, they try to explain as they’re doing it, but that’s not the same as getting an overview beforehand.
But that’s all we did today for the whole day, up until the last half hour when we were brought back into the training room to verify that the logins we had been given for some of the things we’ll need to be able to log in to were working (and to change our temporary passwords for said logins).
Still, the day ended on a bit of a high note. Before heading off to work this morning I sent an e-mail to my potential boss at the job I want to let him know where things stood with me and to ask where things stood with the job.
While I spent the whole day watching someone else use a computer, I had no access to one myself until the login thing at the end of the day, and I can’t get a signal on my cell phone there, so all day long I sat and wished I could check my mail.
Once I was finally able to do so at the end of the day, I found that I had a response to my e-mail. He said that he expects to have final approval before Wednesday of next week, and that once he does they will immediately make me an offer.
(And I will immediately accept.)
So that was cool, and gives me the hope I need to keep gritting my teeth and wading through the crappiness of my new job.
Next week we’ll be doing some actual training in the use of the tools and learning the processes and procedures – which is what we should have been doing this week – rather than just shadowing people, so that should be more tolerable.
The Best Thing Ever Department:
When I wake up in the morning I find myself feeling like Fry in the Slurm Factory on Futurama, croaking in a dry, hoarse whisper that I am, “so thirsty.”
Somewhere along the line I discovered that the greatest thing ever – at least in terms of combating that morning desiccation – is ice-cold, flat 7-Up.
It’s seriously like the nectar of the gods.
Punking Out On Christmas Department:
Last year, in an odd change of pace, I actually bought everyone on my list real, honest-to-goodness Christmas presents, rather than simply giving money.
This year? Not so much, as I mailed my mom a check yesterday with instructions on how and to whom to distribute it.
I just couldn’t come up with any gift ideas for anyone (except my nephew Jeremy, but I thought it would be weird to single him out for a real present, so he’s just getting money like everyone else) this year, so it was just easier to whip out the checkbook. There are a couple of people around here who will probably get actual gifts, though.
The Clear Vision Bubble:
After I managed to kajigger the lenses out of my eyes this morning, my vision was even clearer than it has been. It’s still not at the level that my glasses or regular contacts brought it to, but I can definitely make my way through the world with ease with my reshaped corneas.
It’s kind of like I have this bubble of clear vision around me, the range of which falls just short of what I was able to achieve with wearing corrective lenses. I’m also finding that the bubble doesn’t really shrink throughout the course of the day anymore, and I’m always able to see near objects with a heretofore unseen (no pun intended) clarity.
One of the obstacles to seeing things at a greater distance as clearly sans glasses or contacts is the that I tend to see “halos” around illuminated objects that obscure them slightly, though this is apparently normal, and seems to be lessening.
Tonight will be the first night I sleep without the lenses in, then I wear them again for three nights starting tomorrow, and then I go to the eye doctor’s to get checked out after work on Wednesday.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
That Was Fun. No, Wait, It Was The OPPOSITE Of That
Too fried for a real entry. It was a long, boring day. The job looks at though it will be thoroughly unfulfilling, which bothers me more now when I’ve had the opportunity to find a fulfilling job than it did when I was working in an unfulfilling job. I’m just so over the whole NOC environment.
But I have to pay the bills somehow.
I’d hoped to come home and find a message from the job I want, but alas, there was no such message. There was, however, a message from Kathleen, who sang, to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” “Happy first day of your crappy new job, happy first day of your crappy new job to you,” which did at least make me smile.
I’m on a Monday-Friday, 8-5 shift until sometime in January, at which point I go to my regular shift, which is Friday-Monday, 6-5. It’s like my original shift at AOL plus one more day. It was the only shift available that would give me three days off and not be swing or midnight shift.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got.
But I have to pay the bills somehow.
I’d hoped to come home and find a message from the job I want, but alas, there was no such message. There was, however, a message from Kathleen, who sang, to the tune of “Happy Birthday,” “Happy first day of your crappy new job, happy first day of your crappy new job to you,” which did at least make me smile.
I’m on a Monday-Friday, 8-5 shift until sometime in January, at which point I go to my regular shift, which is Friday-Monday, 6-5. It’s like my original shift at AOL plus one more day. It was the only shift available that would give me three days off and not be swing or midnight shift.
Okay, that’s all I’ve got.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
New Eyes Or New Techniques?
I don't know if it's the result of my "new eyes" or the new techniques I tried out, but I have to say that - at the risk of sounding immodest - I'm pretty well blown away by this picture I did of Danielle Panabaker:
Made Of Fail Part Three: I'm Too Picky
The most common assessment of why, when it comes to women, I am made of fail that I’ve heard from friends and family throughout the years of my singlehood is that I am “too picky.”
I’ve never been certain as to the basis for this claim, nor have I ever been entirely clear on what its implications are.
Such a claim would seem to suggest that the world around me is literally teeming with available women with whom I could couple if only I were less finicky and more willing to simply reach out and pluck one at random.
If it is indeed the case that there are available women everywhere I look, the real issue isn’t that I’m fussy, it’s that I’m blind (even with the Gentle Molding), as I sure as hell don’t see them.
What I do see when I look around are married women pushing strollers, immigrant workers who barely speak English (and are probably married), and men. Lots and lots of men.
And I’m pretty sure that most of the people who say I’m too picky aren’t finding fault with the fact that I’m staying within the boundaries of my heterosexuality, so the men aren’t worth consideration.
The total number of available women with whom I have consistent contact can be counted on zero fingers. It leads me to wonder, then, if choosing not to hit on married women – in particular women who are married to friends of mine – counts as being too picky.
Of course, someone could easily jump on the qualifier “consistent contact.” What makes me too picky, it could be argued, is that I’m too particular in determining who I should hit on. I should instead simply take a “shoot at everything that moves” approach and indiscriminately ask out every woman I encounter, however briefly. Bank tellers, cashiers, salespeople, fast food workers, women shopping, 911 operators – anything with a pulse should be considered fair game.
Of course, one problem with that approach is that I usually avoid human contact whenever possible (which, I think, is probably a more relevant issue than my perceived pickiness). Then again, the self-checkout at the grocery store does have a female voice, so is a pulse really a requirement?
I suppose that my unwillingness to simply throw myself at every woman I see can legitimately be regarded as being too picky. After all, should I really be dissuaded by something as trivial as a nun’s habit? After all, women simply love desperation, and it makes them feel special to the 100th living body that some guy has hit on in the past hour. How could a girl do anything but give me her number under those circumstances?
Honestly, though, it’s more of in the way of reluctance rather than pickiness that prevents me from taking the shotgun approach to dating. There are only so many times in the course of a day that I’d be able to withstand hearing, “Eww, no. Get away from me.”
So maybe the solution is to avoid the personal approach and do some sort of mass-mailing. I could cover more ground and avoid the immediate and personal rejection if I sent out some kind of flyer similar to those “Have you seen me?” things that you get in the mail with pictures of missing children.
(The above is in no way intended to trivialize the issue of missing and exploited children)
Getting back to the implications of accusing me of being too picky, I can’t help but wonder what’s really being said.
Is it being suggested that I have some impossibly high standards that no ordinary woman could hope to live up to, as though I’m sitting around waiting for Scarlett Johansson or some Victoria’s Secret model to just show up at my door and pledge her undying love to me? Sure, that would be cool, and the idea can rest safely on the “When pigs fly” pile of life’s hopes, but it’s clearly not the case that I’m holding out for something like that to actually happen, or that I’m turning women away because they’ve failed the Scarlett Johansson/Victoria’s Secret pre-screening.
When you consider that you’re talking about someone who married the first girl he ever dated and who once asked out – and was shot down by – a woman who was, at the time, at only 19 years old, pregnant with her third child, the issue of “impossibly high standards” kind of gets thrown out the window.
Another possible implication is that I have no business having any standards at all and that I should settle for whatever swamp-beast is willing to lower herself to my level.
I don’t think that’s what’s being implied, but it’s possible that a case could be made for that interpretation.
But that does bring up the issue of settling. Some of the people who have called me too picky are themselves married. Did they settle? It seems to me that you’re unlikely to have a terribly fulfilling relationship if you’re looking at your significant other and thinking, “Yep, she’s what I could get.”
To further complicate matters, many of the people who would argue that I’m too picky would be the same people who would tell me not to settle for just anyone.
So which is it? Settle for just any random woman who seems like she might be willing to rut with me, or hold out for the “right” one? How do you go about finding the person who’s right for you without having standards or exercising any kind of discernment in the pursuit thereof?
I suppose the response is that you still have to be “kind of” picky. You just have to avoid going to extremes.
Ultimately, despite what anyone else may say, I don’t think that I’ve gone to an extreme level of pickiness. If anything, the real problem is that, for a variety of reasons, I’m not even bothering to try picking, though how much of an issue can that be when there’s nothing to pick from?
I’ve never been certain as to the basis for this claim, nor have I ever been entirely clear on what its implications are.
Such a claim would seem to suggest that the world around me is literally teeming with available women with whom I could couple if only I were less finicky and more willing to simply reach out and pluck one at random.
If it is indeed the case that there are available women everywhere I look, the real issue isn’t that I’m fussy, it’s that I’m blind (even with the Gentle Molding), as I sure as hell don’t see them.
What I do see when I look around are married women pushing strollers, immigrant workers who barely speak English (and are probably married), and men. Lots and lots of men.
And I’m pretty sure that most of the people who say I’m too picky aren’t finding fault with the fact that I’m staying within the boundaries of my heterosexuality, so the men aren’t worth consideration.
The total number of available women with whom I have consistent contact can be counted on zero fingers. It leads me to wonder, then, if choosing not to hit on married women – in particular women who are married to friends of mine – counts as being too picky.
Of course, someone could easily jump on the qualifier “consistent contact.” What makes me too picky, it could be argued, is that I’m too particular in determining who I should hit on. I should instead simply take a “shoot at everything that moves” approach and indiscriminately ask out every woman I encounter, however briefly. Bank tellers, cashiers, salespeople, fast food workers, women shopping, 911 operators – anything with a pulse should be considered fair game.
Of course, one problem with that approach is that I usually avoid human contact whenever possible (which, I think, is probably a more relevant issue than my perceived pickiness). Then again, the self-checkout at the grocery store does have a female voice, so is a pulse really a requirement?
I suppose that my unwillingness to simply throw myself at every woman I see can legitimately be regarded as being too picky. After all, should I really be dissuaded by something as trivial as a nun’s habit? After all, women simply love desperation, and it makes them feel special to the 100th living body that some guy has hit on in the past hour. How could a girl do anything but give me her number under those circumstances?
Honestly, though, it’s more of in the way of reluctance rather than pickiness that prevents me from taking the shotgun approach to dating. There are only so many times in the course of a day that I’d be able to withstand hearing, “Eww, no. Get away from me.”
So maybe the solution is to avoid the personal approach and do some sort of mass-mailing. I could cover more ground and avoid the immediate and personal rejection if I sent out some kind of flyer similar to those “Have you seen me?” things that you get in the mail with pictures of missing children.
(The above is in no way intended to trivialize the issue of missing and exploited children)
Getting back to the implications of accusing me of being too picky, I can’t help but wonder what’s really being said.
Is it being suggested that I have some impossibly high standards that no ordinary woman could hope to live up to, as though I’m sitting around waiting for Scarlett Johansson or some Victoria’s Secret model to just show up at my door and pledge her undying love to me? Sure, that would be cool, and the idea can rest safely on the “When pigs fly” pile of life’s hopes, but it’s clearly not the case that I’m holding out for something like that to actually happen, or that I’m turning women away because they’ve failed the Scarlett Johansson/Victoria’s Secret pre-screening.
When you consider that you’re talking about someone who married the first girl he ever dated and who once asked out – and was shot down by – a woman who was, at the time, at only 19 years old, pregnant with her third child, the issue of “impossibly high standards” kind of gets thrown out the window.
Another possible implication is that I have no business having any standards at all and that I should settle for whatever swamp-beast is willing to lower herself to my level.
I don’t think that’s what’s being implied, but it’s possible that a case could be made for that interpretation.
But that does bring up the issue of settling. Some of the people who have called me too picky are themselves married. Did they settle? It seems to me that you’re unlikely to have a terribly fulfilling relationship if you’re looking at your significant other and thinking, “Yep, she’s what I could get.”
To further complicate matters, many of the people who would argue that I’m too picky would be the same people who would tell me not to settle for just anyone.
So which is it? Settle for just any random woman who seems like she might be willing to rut with me, or hold out for the “right” one? How do you go about finding the person who’s right for you without having standards or exercising any kind of discernment in the pursuit thereof?
I suppose the response is that you still have to be “kind of” picky. You just have to avoid going to extremes.
Ultimately, despite what anyone else may say, I don’t think that I’ve gone to an extreme level of pickiness. If anything, the real problem is that, for a variety of reasons, I’m not even bothering to try picking, though how much of an issue can that be when there’s nothing to pick from?
I Once Was Blind But Now I See
After just one night’s use of the lenses, my vision in my right eye was 20/20 this morning, much to the eye doctor’s amazement. While there was considerable improvement in my left eye, it wasn’t quite as dramatic, though that’s only to be expected, given that it’s the eye in which I have an astigmatism, and that even with glasses I was only ever able to get it to 20/25.
The improvement will wear off in the course of the day, but eventually it will last longer, and it was sufficient that I felt confident to drive without wearing my glasses, something I never would have dared to do just a day ago.
Because my eyes responded so well, I only have to wear the lenses in a 3 on, 1 off pattern, as opposed to the usual 5 on, 1 off.
I’m having a little bit of difficulty adjusting to actually being able to see. It’s as though my brain can’t accept the fact that my eyes are able to see without glasses. It’s similar to what I went through when I first got contacts.
The lenses didn’t bother me at all while I was sleeping, but they do require a little bit more finagling to take out than my regular contacts, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.
The improvement will wear off in the course of the day, but eventually it will last longer, and it was sufficient that I felt confident to drive without wearing my glasses, something I never would have dared to do just a day ago.
Because my eyes responded so well, I only have to wear the lenses in a 3 on, 1 off pattern, as opposed to the usual 5 on, 1 off.
I’m having a little bit of difficulty adjusting to actually being able to see. It’s as though my brain can’t accept the fact that my eyes are able to see without glasses. It’s similar to what I went through when I first got contacts.
The lenses didn’t bother me at all while I was sleeping, but they do require a little bit more finagling to take out than my regular contacts, but I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
This Is Weird (But Cool)
So I went to the eye doctor to put in my lenses. They'd told me that I'd need to sit with them in and my eyes closed for an hour. Kathleen said that it would be longer than that.
It actually ended up being more like a half an hour.
I need to have my eyes checked the morning after I wear them overnight for the first time, so that meant I wouldn't be able to wear them overnight until Friday, as I didn't think I'd be free in the morning before Saturday.
When I got home I found out that my first day of work has been pushed to Thursday, so I called the eye doctor to reschedule for tomorrow and will be able to wear the lenses tonight.
Here's the thing that's weird. I only had the lenses in for about an hour total, as I didn't take them out right away when I got home, and already I'm in this slightly blurry middleground in which I can't see quite as well as I could if I had my regular contacts in, but I can see well enough to be able to type this without the aid of my glasses, and if I do put my glasses on, things get blurry.
So I'm thinking that's a very good sign.
It's also very cool (and weird) to be able to see as clearly as I can right now without any assistance.
It actually ended up being more like a half an hour.
I need to have my eyes checked the morning after I wear them overnight for the first time, so that meant I wouldn't be able to wear them overnight until Friday, as I didn't think I'd be free in the morning before Saturday.
When I got home I found out that my first day of work has been pushed to Thursday, so I called the eye doctor to reschedule for tomorrow and will be able to wear the lenses tonight.
Here's the thing that's weird. I only had the lenses in for about an hour total, as I didn't take them out right away when I got home, and already I'm in this slightly blurry middleground in which I can't see quite as well as I could if I had my regular contacts in, but I can see well enough to be able to type this without the aid of my glasses, and if I do put my glasses on, things get blurry.
So I'm thinking that's a very good sign.
It's also very cool (and weird) to be able to see as clearly as I can right now without any assistance.
Back To The Salt Mines
Today is my brother Stuart’s birthday.
It’s also the last day of the carefree life of luxurious indolence that I’ve been living for the past two months.
(By “carefree life of luxurious indolence” I mean to say “stomach-churningly panic-inducing period of financial uncertainty.”)
Yes, tomorrow morning I once more join the ranks of the gainfully employed. Well, “employed” at any rate. Not sure about the “gainfully” part.
Despite all of my complaints, this is actually a good thing, but it is going to be hard to get back into the grind.
It also means that I can afford to give Christmas presents without having to do too much cringing about all the money I’m spending that I should instead be saving to pay bills and buy groceries.
So, even though the job is less than ideal, and it’s going to be hard to get used to not having all of my days free to do whatever I want to with (just because I didn’t do anything with my days doesn’t mean that I didn’t like the idea that I could do whatever I wanted), I guess that, grudgingly, I’m pleased that I’ve reached the end of the tunnel.
I just wish that I’d reached my actual destination.
It’s also the last day of the carefree life of luxurious indolence that I’ve been living for the past two months.
(By “carefree life of luxurious indolence” I mean to say “stomach-churningly panic-inducing period of financial uncertainty.”)
Yes, tomorrow morning I once more join the ranks of the gainfully employed. Well, “employed” at any rate. Not sure about the “gainfully” part.
Despite all of my complaints, this is actually a good thing, but it is going to be hard to get back into the grind.
It also means that I can afford to give Christmas presents without having to do too much cringing about all the money I’m spending that I should instead be saving to pay bills and buy groceries.
So, even though the job is less than ideal, and it’s going to be hard to get used to not having all of my days free to do whatever I want to with (just because I didn’t do anything with my days doesn’t mean that I didn’t like the idea that I could do whatever I wanted), I guess that, grudgingly, I’m pleased that I’ve reached the end of the tunnel.
I just wish that I’d reached my actual destination.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Bird In Hand (Plus: Fangirls Attack!)
So the job that I don’t want is now officially the job that I have, as I went in and did all of the paperwork this morning.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but given that the status of the job that I do want is still up in the air, and said job is so much better than this one, it’s just kind of annoying, even though it is good to know that I will continue to have a regular income.
The job I took has a lot of drawbacks, though. There are no benefits, so that means no sick days, no vacation time, and no insurance – unless I elect to take the optional ridiculously expensive insurance benefits they offer.
I’ll actually be on the payroll of the contracting company and not the company that I’ll actually be working for.
The one good thing is that I’m not locked in, so if the job I want does materialize, I’m free to bail.
On the way back from signing the papers I swung up 28 and stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up a few things, then gave Scott a call at work, since I was in the area, to see if he wanted to meet for lunch. I got his voicemail and decided that I’d just head back to Leesburg and do my grocery shopping.
And now I’m home.
A blog titled When Fangirls Attack has linked to my entry about fan service, so I’ve been getting a lot of hits from that. Unsurprisingly, no one seems to be sticking around, but I figured I should provide a link back anyway.
And that’s pretty much been my day.
I suppose I shouldn’t complain, but given that the status of the job that I do want is still up in the air, and said job is so much better than this one, it’s just kind of annoying, even though it is good to know that I will continue to have a regular income.
The job I took has a lot of drawbacks, though. There are no benefits, so that means no sick days, no vacation time, and no insurance – unless I elect to take the optional ridiculously expensive insurance benefits they offer.
I’ll actually be on the payroll of the contracting company and not the company that I’ll actually be working for.
The one good thing is that I’m not locked in, so if the job I want does materialize, I’m free to bail.
On the way back from signing the papers I swung up 28 and stopped at Wal-Mart to pick up a few things, then gave Scott a call at work, since I was in the area, to see if he wanted to meet for lunch. I got his voicemail and decided that I’d just head back to Leesburg and do my grocery shopping.
And now I’m home.
A blog titled When Fangirls Attack has linked to my entry about fan service, so I’ve been getting a lot of hits from that. Unsurprisingly, no one seems to be sticking around, but I figured I should provide a link back anyway.
And that’s pretty much been my day.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
If Only New Episodes Of The Closer Were Closer
Barring any last-minute reprieve before I make the drive to Tyson’s Corner tomorrow morning, it looks as though I’ll definitely be accepting the job I don’t want. I’m still hopeful that I’ll get a call about the job I do want and will be able to say “Sorry, but I’m out of here” and bail on the job I don’t want.
Even though I’ve been bored shitless and haven’t done anything productive with my time, I have to say that the prospect of bringing my two month “vacation” to an end is sort of bothersome, and even though I’ve been concerned about how I’ll manage to pay bills and that sort of thing, I’d hoped that I’d be able to extend it at least a little longer.
Oh well.
On Tuesday I go to the eye doctor to get my first pair of Gentle Molding lenses. I guess I have to sit there with them in – and my eyes closed – for an hour to try them out. Should be a blast.
I’m eager to see how well they’ll work, as it will be an incredible change to be able to see clearly without wearing glasses or contacts.
Giving Us A Taste Department:
If you were to take Batman and strip him of his tragic origin, the whole “bat” motif, his incredible wealth, all of his gadgets, his fighting skills, and transform him into a dainty southern belle, you would have one of two things.
One of them would be the central concept for some surreal Grant Morrison comic that, while interesting and cool as hell, would make absolutely no sense whatsoever for the first seven or so issues before finally pulling together in such a way that you say, “Oh, I get it!” and which you would really enjoy, but afterwards you would find yourself wondering if you really did get it and appreciate it fully because you’re just not smart enough/taking the right drugs to be able to appreciate Morrison’s genius properly.
The alternative result of this speculative paring down of Batman is the character of Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson (Kyra Sedgwick) of TNT’s original series The Closer.
Last Monday, as has apparently become an annual tradition, TNT gave Closer fans like me (and my mom) a Christmas present in the form of a special two-hour episode. The episode was awesome, as all of them are, and was much-appreciated, given that the it’s been months since we last had a new episode.
The downside is that it will be months and months before we get to see another, as new episodes only run in the summer.
I can appreciate that the producers take a quality over quantity approach, but I still think it would be cool if they peppered the year with a couple more special episodes.
Even though I’ve been bored shitless and haven’t done anything productive with my time, I have to say that the prospect of bringing my two month “vacation” to an end is sort of bothersome, and even though I’ve been concerned about how I’ll manage to pay bills and that sort of thing, I’d hoped that I’d be able to extend it at least a little longer.
Oh well.
On Tuesday I go to the eye doctor to get my first pair of Gentle Molding lenses. I guess I have to sit there with them in – and my eyes closed – for an hour to try them out. Should be a blast.
I’m eager to see how well they’ll work, as it will be an incredible change to be able to see clearly without wearing glasses or contacts.
Giving Us A Taste Department:
If you were to take Batman and strip him of his tragic origin, the whole “bat” motif, his incredible wealth, all of his gadgets, his fighting skills, and transform him into a dainty southern belle, you would have one of two things.
One of them would be the central concept for some surreal Grant Morrison comic that, while interesting and cool as hell, would make absolutely no sense whatsoever for the first seven or so issues before finally pulling together in such a way that you say, “Oh, I get it!” and which you would really enjoy, but afterwards you would find yourself wondering if you really did get it and appreciate it fully because you’re just not smart enough/taking the right drugs to be able to appreciate Morrison’s genius properly.
The alternative result of this speculative paring down of Batman is the character of Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson (Kyra Sedgwick) of TNT’s original series The Closer.
Last Monday, as has apparently become an annual tradition, TNT gave Closer fans like me (and my mom) a Christmas present in the form of a special two-hour episode. The episode was awesome, as all of them are, and was much-appreciated, given that the it’s been months since we last had a new episode.
The downside is that it will be months and months before we get to see another, as new episodes only run in the summer.
I can appreciate that the producers take a quality over quantity approach, but I still think it would be cool if they peppered the year with a couple more special episodes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
