Saturday, May 26, 2007
Newness
The more I considered it, the more I realized that the trees were right. The Marketing of products that we think we need but really do not is ultimately what is causing the destruction of the planet. And you can't be an effective player if you play for two opposing teams. What I finally saw was that Marketers and Environmentalists are on opposing teams, and to play for both is counterproductive.
So, there was me looking for something new, something different, and something that helped the world, really helped the world, rather than just making life a little more convenient for a chosen few. And there was J, telling me about a chance to do so, and how! In a manner that would take me to a part of the world I couldn't even fathom, to a place so new I wouldn't recognize a soul, and none would recognize me, a place where everything was new, dazzling and breathtaking, simply because I would be seeing it through a child's eyes, for the very first time. It was a lifelong dream, to travel, explore, and there had always been something in me that craved adventure, action, newness. A calling from someplace else, not the netherworld, but this one, so big and yet so small, and yet so unexplored by me. I had to learn more about this program.
I called the Department of Affiliations (DOA), and spoke with McC for the first time. She seemed a very pleasant woman, and answered my questions well. I had to get back to work, my productivity was already slipping as my boredom and disdain for my work increased. But when the deadline for application came, I wrote the best covering letter of my life and applied.
So, there was me looking for something new, something different, and something that helped the world, really helped the world, rather than just making life a little more convenient for a chosen few. And there was J, telling me about a chance to do so, and how! In a manner that would take me to a part of the world I couldn't even fathom, to a place so new I wouldn't recognize a soul, and none would recognize me, a place where everything was new, dazzling and breathtaking, simply because I would be seeing it through a child's eyes, for the very first time. It was a lifelong dream, to travel, explore, and there had always been something in me that craved adventure, action, newness. A calling from someplace else, not the netherworld, but this one, so big and yet so small, and yet so unexplored by me. I had to learn more about this program.
I called the Department of Affiliations (DOA), and spoke with McC for the first time. She seemed a very pleasant woman, and answered my questions well. I had to get back to work, my productivity was already slipping as my boredom and disdain for my work increased. But when the deadline for application came, I wrote the best covering letter of my life and applied.
Labels: 1998, Canada, non-fiction, Workplace Boredom
Friday, March 23, 2007
The Sting
The megalomaniacal managing editor gave more than the obligitory second chances to the blind proofreader, but the latter simply couldn't kick his habit.
Perhaps the final straw should have been when the editor sent his proofreader on a drug buy/sting, a high-level high-risk expose to show how high on the hierarchy the dealer resides. It made so much sense to the editor to send a drug addict on this errand that he sent two: the proofreader and a reporter, both of whom had recently kicked.
"It gave the operation more authenticity," the editor would later bemoan. "We figured that they would know how to make a buy."
Perhaps they knew all too well; they came home in a profusely sweating mess two weeks later with no money, no drugs, and no story.
But that wasn't the final straw; the blind proofreader still rambles through the hallowed halls of nationalist journalism spewing one-liners at a mile-a-minute, sweating like banshees had ransacked his pituitary glands all night, cracking up the graffic designers.
"Do you still work for me?" the editor sometimes asks. "I haven't seen you and I never know where you are. Are you sure you work for me?"
The proofreader smiles and reassures him,"Yes yes Sir, I've been recovering from illness but I am still at your service, one hundred percent ready to follow all orders and reflect your own opinions back to you."
Perhaps the final straw should have been when the editor sent his proofreader on a drug buy/sting, a high-level high-risk expose to show how high on the hierarchy the dealer resides. It made so much sense to the editor to send a drug addict on this errand that he sent two: the proofreader and a reporter, both of whom had recently kicked.
"It gave the operation more authenticity," the editor would later bemoan. "We figured that they would know how to make a buy."
Perhaps they knew all too well; they came home in a profusely sweating mess two weeks later with no money, no drugs, and no story.
But that wasn't the final straw; the blind proofreader still rambles through the hallowed halls of nationalist journalism spewing one-liners at a mile-a-minute, sweating like banshees had ransacked his pituitary glands all night, cracking up the graffic designers.
"Do you still work for me?" the editor sometimes asks. "I haven't seen you and I never know where you are. Are you sure you work for me?"
The proofreader smiles and reassures him,"Yes yes Sir, I've been recovering from illness but I am still at your service, one hundred percent ready to follow all orders and reflect your own opinions back to you."
Labels: 2007, Africa, non-fiction, Workplace Boredom
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Disconnect
When your first comment on my work involves questioning how I do my job the one that won you multiple national awards there is a disconnect between my success and your need for control.
When the asbestos clearing house you boxed me in has a power failure and you tell me 'you can't work like this', there's a disconnect like maybe the whole joint is wired through your head which happened to have a meltdown today, or maybe you're just bitchy and feel like bashing someone with less power, the way landed immigrants sometimes bash welfare recipients and refugees.
When you fail to have a conversation without coming off as an inquisition and then express explicitly that those adjusting to new cultural norms must learn a hard lesson so you can leave your mark where it doesn't belong anyway and save the face of being irrelevant to such a large population someone must have tripped the fusebox to your brain.
When you are completely unaware of how poorly you're perceived among your own community let alone those having trouble accessing that neighbourhood and the one person trying to save your reputation and improve your performance is a random target of your corrective condescending lectures because he happens to be the last one left in the building that caused a situation beyond any of our control there is a systemic diconnect and you are the one in charge of the system.
When the asbestos clearing house you boxed me in has a power failure and you tell me 'you can't work like this', there's a disconnect like maybe the whole joint is wired through your head which happened to have a meltdown today, or maybe you're just bitchy and feel like bashing someone with less power, the way landed immigrants sometimes bash welfare recipients and refugees.
When you fail to have a conversation without coming off as an inquisition and then express explicitly that those adjusting to new cultural norms must learn a hard lesson so you can leave your mark where it doesn't belong anyway and save the face of being irrelevant to such a large population someone must have tripped the fusebox to your brain.
When you are completely unaware of how poorly you're perceived among your own community let alone those having trouble accessing that neighbourhood and the one person trying to save your reputation and improve your performance is a random target of your corrective condescending lectures because he happens to be the last one left in the building that caused a situation beyond any of our control there is a systemic diconnect and you are the one in charge of the system.
Labels: 2005, non-fiction, Toronto, Workplace Boredom
Friday, November 25, 2005
Beethoven's 5th - Lyrics
Most people don't realize that Beethoven actually wrote lyrics to accompany his fifth symphony. The reason for this mass ignorance is that his manager, George, consistently sabatoged the larnyx of every singer the composer hired to put voice to the words. Was he sadistic and evil? Perhaps, but also smart. You'll understand when you see the lyrics. Here they are:
I'm Beethoven
And you are not
I can barely hear and yet I can compose an entire symphony
What can you do?
You are not me
I was better than my father by the time I was a teenager
And he was a pro
Not as good as me
So what may I ask if I could just ask does that make you?
It makes you not me
You're no Beethoven
It goes on like that for some pages. Yeesh, what a Narcissist!
I'm Beethoven
And you are not
I can barely hear and yet I can compose an entire symphony
What can you do?
You are not me
I was better than my father by the time I was a teenager
And he was a pro
Not as good as me
So what may I ask if I could just ask does that make you?
It makes you not me
You're no Beethoven
It goes on like that for some pages. Yeesh, what a Narcissist!
Labels: 2005, Poetry, Toronto, Workplace Boredom
Monday, February 28, 2005
I Should Do Some Work
The above subject is my new mantra.
My stress level is a bit out of control. I'm gritting my teeth a lot, which is in turn giving me more headaches than usual.
Reading James Joyce seems to help for some reason. I'm reading 'portrait of the artist...' - apparently his most accessible work. It is easy enough to read, after the babytalk start. The writing is really beautiful.
I finally finished clash of fundamentalisms, the sixth book I've completed this year. [My propensity for listmaking is perhaps one source of stress. I'm a little obsessed with accomplishment - been an overachiever ever since I almost failed my maroon level swimming class in 1983. I have a memory for statistics like Chris Bosh has rebounding skills - 8.3 per game at age 20 years and 300 days, not bad Boshie, not bad.]
My current obsessions are:
1. my wedding
2. my job
3. the enviro. org. i'm on the board of
4. basketball (my own team and the Raptors - yes I'm a raptors fan, never let it be said that i don't have a sense of humour)
5. writing a novella pitch and a novel
6. reading books
Not likely in that order though. But the first 4 more than the last 2, unfortunately. [I'm excited about the wedding, but planning it is a pain, even though we're keeping it bonehead simple.]
February blues, only one day left.
-Bopper
My stress level is a bit out of control. I'm gritting my teeth a lot, which is in turn giving me more headaches than usual.
Reading James Joyce seems to help for some reason. I'm reading 'portrait of the artist...' - apparently his most accessible work. It is easy enough to read, after the babytalk start. The writing is really beautiful.
I finally finished clash of fundamentalisms, the sixth book I've completed this year. [My propensity for listmaking is perhaps one source of stress. I'm a little obsessed with accomplishment - been an overachiever ever since I almost failed my maroon level swimming class in 1983. I have a memory for statistics like Chris Bosh has rebounding skills - 8.3 per game at age 20 years and 300 days, not bad Boshie, not bad.]
My current obsessions are:
1. my wedding
2. my job
3. the enviro. org. i'm on the board of
4. basketball (my own team and the Raptors - yes I'm a raptors fan, never let it be said that i don't have a sense of humour)
5. writing a novella pitch and a novel
6. reading books
Not likely in that order though. But the first 4 more than the last 2, unfortunately. [I'm excited about the wedding, but planning it is a pain, even though we're keeping it bonehead simple.]
February blues, only one day left.
-Bopper
Labels: 2005, non-fiction, Toronto, Workplace Boredom
