Well, fuck. It seems my digitally entropic touch isn't entirely in the past.
Bear with me here, for those that might not already know, I have, it appears, a knack for disabling, damaging, and occasionally killing, electronic things.
PS2? Crashed it.
XboX? Crashed it by pressing, it'd seem, two entirely wrong buttons at once, green-screening it.
PC? 3 Headcrashes, 1 erroneous partition deletion, hosed soundcard due to a misplaced foot, 1 CPU (from my second machine) with bent pins; I won't even go into what damage one can accidentally cause by shorting a USB port.
Now, to add to the list of victims of my thoughtlessness, clumsiness, and blind bad luck, the memory card for my PS2.
It'll seem silly of course, and I am aware of it; but anything you put time into, starts meaning something, if nothing else then the time put in it.
It appears that my memory card has begun acting up, and the result is that the data file containing the evidence of the hours I've poured into as mindless a game as Tekken 5, are gone. Corrupted, and thus not possible to save. I've had to overwrite it, and start from scratch.
Yes; I know that it's probably one of the least relevant things to anyone else, it's just...well, fuck. I don't think it's healthy to be reminded of the hours I've spent (I won't say wasted, since I have had a load of fun!) on it; bam! Gone.
It's still the first time I've heard of a memory card that selectively corrupted; everything else on the card seems to be working, except for the one data slot that held the most time invested.
Maybe I should start wearing anti-static gloves whenever handling electronic devices; just as Midas of the stories had to wear gloves. I just don't really have a gold touch; entropic touch does sound a lot more intimidating, and, well, me for that matter.
Now, to begin all over with Tekken. I foresee many a sore thumb and frustrated shouts when I lose matches.
It's going to take a while, and probably a lot of cigarettes and beer, too. Now, onwards!
Showing posts with label Moments in the everyday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moments in the everyday. Show all posts
Friday, July 20, 2007
Friday, July 6, 2007
Karma doesn't shield you from being punched in the face by an old friend
{Warning: Long post. Not entirely emo, though!}
So, a few days ago, a friend of mine held a birthday party in a park. I was invited, and although I was horribly tired due to too little sleep, too much drinking the night before, and an excrutiating day at work, I ended up showing up no less. After all, it was just supposed to be a relaxing evening.
Given my penchant for writing up long-winded recaps of my exhilerating life, you probably already have figured things might not have gone entirely as planned.
As it goes, I turned up alongside my flatmate; the party as such had been going on for a goodly few hours, so being sober set us apart from most others there.
I encountered an old flatmate, and while we certainly did not part on the best of terms back then, it was good to see him again, to find he was still alive, and the past got cleared up well enough. I can't say it's something that's taken a lot of space in my life, but even niggling things are good to put to rest.
Barring a mild worry that drunken people should not at all light up a fire in a park, in particular not without proper preparation and emergency fire-fighting equipment, the park party went without further problems, no dead, injured or arrested, which was good.
Eventually, the rain that seems to best define Danish weather these days returned, and we decided to pack up the gear and head back for the friend's apartment; hauling whatever alcohol left with us and contiuning the party there.
I also met another person at the party. An old friend I haden't spoken to for a goodly while. He and I went way back, from the early days of LAN-parties, later to expand on to roleplaying, both LARP and tabletop. Back in the days where things were late teenage-angsty and all;
I remember when he called me one day, as his mother's husband had trashed his room, and broken his guitar. My friend was completely in pieces, he treasured that guitar. I remember walking around for the remainder of the night, talking him out of various acts of violence, and trying to get his mind off the rather harsh things that had just happened.
As time went, we both got involved in the goth scene in Copenhagen - a 'scene', that one might point out had precious little substance, but plenty of make-believe, as any self-aggrandizing subculture really consists of. We got involved in different stratas there, though, and eventually, he became enamoured with philosophical satanism, under the influence of a rather bleak individual that I later crossed paths with as well.
I watched it, and didn't like it much, but in the end I figured it was his choice. Mathematical outlook on life, he often lived by the maxim of "life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think". Needless to say, we ended up on wildly different ends of the spectrum; I never did understand why people believe it's an either-or choice. Feeling does not exclude thought, nor should thinking deny one feelings.
Sadly, some things also happened that I was not at all happy with.
First off, while arguably fairly innocent, discovering that one's best friend was busy exchanging saliva with one's girlfriend is never a pleasant experience. Bear in mind, it was during my time of my first relationship, and god knows it was dysfuncitonal as hell. No less, while my girlfriend at least had the conviction to tell me it happened, and apologized, I almost had to drag his reaction out of him. It'd seem, that he was more bitter that he had lost control, than bothered by what he actually had done.
To make matters worse, it then happened again about a month later, during a new year's party; ironically enough held at the friend whose birthday party I went to this week.
Fool me once, fool me twice; it does become a bit hard to justify seeing anything friendly in a person who repeatedly gets somewhat too amiable with your significant other.
Bear in mind, that was around 5 years ago.
As things go, my first relationship eventually died a horrible wasting death, and I moved on. Somehow, it was a bit easier to not hate him after the immediate reason for why I'd want to punch his teeth in wasn't there anymore to remind me, and as time went, we started working on role playing scenarios again. He had become deeply entrenched in the "think, don't feel" mentality by then, and the main reason, really, I was working on scenarios with him was due to the fact that we worked well together.
Over time, we had created a scenario-arranging group alongside two of our old friends, called Procyon. It was never intended to be anything grander than to give us the chance to do some luxury live role playing scenarios for friends. We held a couple of sessions, complete with food, a good location, and characters written specifically for the players. It was close-knit, it was elitist, and it was good.
Then, one day, I recieved an invitation for a scenario. Arranged by the people in Procyon. On the arrangers' list, my name had vanished.
Contacting the three people in Procyon, I learned that by initiative of my old friend, I had been excluded, he had apparantly cited lack of commitment as the reason.
Suffice it to say, I had not been even heard on the subject, and the two other people had been highly suspicious of why I had not been present at the meeting where the decision had been made.
Hardly surprising, I might add someone had failed to invite me to said meeting.
On a perhaps vindictive note, I could point out that in the end, the regular players simply turned around and boycotted the scenario. It fell dead to the ground. And I decided that I had tried enough times to make things work with him. It didn't improve things of course that I learned he'd been busy contacting old mutual friends to inform of how I was squandering my life, my talents, and how I was a lost cause. I don't take well to that sort of stuff either. Fortunately, it appeared that most people he tried to sway, simply contacted me and informed me of what he had told them. I chose not to act on it, and decided to close the door.
Cut to tuesday evening, and I ran into him again. It'd been around two years since I last really talked to him, and in the mood of light intoxication, and an otherwise good evening, I decided to sit down and talk with him again. See if there was indeed anything left worth talking about.
So we began talking; and things didn't go as one could have hoped. Were this a Hollywood film, I suspect there'd been strings, choir and a tearful reconciliation. As this is reality, however, there was neither.
The talking deteriorated into him, once again, trying to analyze me, to point out chinks and cracks in the armor of emotions; but when he started patronizing me, I made it very clear that I, not in the past, nor certainly in the present, would let him speak down to me. Considering his rather significant fuckups in the past (some willfull, some simply from lack of a conscience), he was in no position do look down at me.
It was about at this time, that he extended his hand to me, and asked that we put the past behind us. And then he made his final fuckup; he told me to take his hand within 30 seconds.
I looked him dead in the eyes, and told him he had forgotten who had done what to whom, and told him that he was not the one to set ultimatums.
And then, I guess, something snapped for him. And he balled up his fingers into a fist, and punched me in the face. Followed up by grabbing my collar, and delivering a headbutt as well.
There have been things in my life I've done that I am not neccesarily proud of, moments where my resolve has faltered horribly. This time, though, I am in a quiet way proud that I kept my resolve completely.
I looked him dead in the eyes, and I saw him realizing what he had done. And then I quoted my first girlfriend, the one he'd been messing around with, and whom he later was not above socially sniping at;
"At the end of the day, you're the one that has to live with yourself."
He said nothing, and I don't know if he was in shock after what he'd done, or was waiting for me to punch him, or whatever, but he said nothing, didn't move at all.
Then I bid him my farewells for the good times in the past, and turned around and walked away.
There wasn't really much left to say, anyway, and although I certainly felt somewhat tempted to break his nose, this was supposed to have been a birthday party for a close friend of mine.
Having talked with my friends, I've been told he was approaching catatonia afterwards, and for some reason people keep telling me how bad he feels about it now. For some reason, I can't seem to muster up the grace to feel sorry for him.
"But, he really feels awful about it and doesn't know what to do!"
"Really? Let me see if I've got some caring left for him...Ah, damn, came up short. I've got some bile if that helps?"
I still can't figure out how people who saw it happen can claim he open-handed slapped me; last time I checked, fists and foreheads don't count as slaps, but maybe I'm just pedantic.
And to think that instead of doing the right thing, to say goodbye and leaving; in time I know I'll realize it was the right choice, but I can't help but to think what'd have happened if I had simply punched his clock instead. Broken his nose, and told him "That's how you throw a punch, you weak bitch. Now slither on home."
Immediate gratification has its place, I guess, and right now, I'd enjoy the boost of endorphines rather than waiting for karma to thank me. Maybe it'd also have nulled the point of people trying to tell me how bad he feels what he did. I guess if I'd broken his nose, I'd have made my feelings clear. But calm and composure prevails, or something.
Now to see what this'll end up meaning in the grand scheme of things; I just hope I'll keep to my ideals and; once again, be the better person...but damn it, some gratification would be welcome.
At least I can smile a bit after having written this. I still could use having karma on speed dial, though. Call fate up and say "Yo, I think some rewarding's due here?". Heh.
So, a few days ago, a friend of mine held a birthday party in a park. I was invited, and although I was horribly tired due to too little sleep, too much drinking the night before, and an excrutiating day at work, I ended up showing up no less. After all, it was just supposed to be a relaxing evening.
Given my penchant for writing up long-winded recaps of my exhilerating life, you probably already have figured things might not have gone entirely as planned.
As it goes, I turned up alongside my flatmate; the party as such had been going on for a goodly few hours, so being sober set us apart from most others there.
I encountered an old flatmate, and while we certainly did not part on the best of terms back then, it was good to see him again, to find he was still alive, and the past got cleared up well enough. I can't say it's something that's taken a lot of space in my life, but even niggling things are good to put to rest.
Barring a mild worry that drunken people should not at all light up a fire in a park, in particular not without proper preparation and emergency fire-fighting equipment, the park party went without further problems, no dead, injured or arrested, which was good.
Eventually, the rain that seems to best define Danish weather these days returned, and we decided to pack up the gear and head back for the friend's apartment; hauling whatever alcohol left with us and contiuning the party there.
I also met another person at the party. An old friend I haden't spoken to for a goodly while. He and I went way back, from the early days of LAN-parties, later to expand on to roleplaying, both LARP and tabletop. Back in the days where things were late teenage-angsty and all;
I remember when he called me one day, as his mother's husband had trashed his room, and broken his guitar. My friend was completely in pieces, he treasured that guitar. I remember walking around for the remainder of the night, talking him out of various acts of violence, and trying to get his mind off the rather harsh things that had just happened.
As time went, we both got involved in the goth scene in Copenhagen - a 'scene', that one might point out had precious little substance, but plenty of make-believe, as any self-aggrandizing subculture really consists of. We got involved in different stratas there, though, and eventually, he became enamoured with philosophical satanism, under the influence of a rather bleak individual that I later crossed paths with as well.
I watched it, and didn't like it much, but in the end I figured it was his choice. Mathematical outlook on life, he often lived by the maxim of "life is a tragedy for those who feel, and a comedy for those who think". Needless to say, we ended up on wildly different ends of the spectrum; I never did understand why people believe it's an either-or choice. Feeling does not exclude thought, nor should thinking deny one feelings.
Sadly, some things also happened that I was not at all happy with.
First off, while arguably fairly innocent, discovering that one's best friend was busy exchanging saliva with one's girlfriend is never a pleasant experience. Bear in mind, it was during my time of my first relationship, and god knows it was dysfuncitonal as hell. No less, while my girlfriend at least had the conviction to tell me it happened, and apologized, I almost had to drag his reaction out of him. It'd seem, that he was more bitter that he had lost control, than bothered by what he actually had done.
To make matters worse, it then happened again about a month later, during a new year's party; ironically enough held at the friend whose birthday party I went to this week.
Fool me once, fool me twice; it does become a bit hard to justify seeing anything friendly in a person who repeatedly gets somewhat too amiable with your significant other.
Bear in mind, that was around 5 years ago.
As things go, my first relationship eventually died a horrible wasting death, and I moved on. Somehow, it was a bit easier to not hate him after the immediate reason for why I'd want to punch his teeth in wasn't there anymore to remind me, and as time went, we started working on role playing scenarios again. He had become deeply entrenched in the "think, don't feel" mentality by then, and the main reason, really, I was working on scenarios with him was due to the fact that we worked well together.
Over time, we had created a scenario-arranging group alongside two of our old friends, called Procyon. It was never intended to be anything grander than to give us the chance to do some luxury live role playing scenarios for friends. We held a couple of sessions, complete with food, a good location, and characters written specifically for the players. It was close-knit, it was elitist, and it was good.
Then, one day, I recieved an invitation for a scenario. Arranged by the people in Procyon. On the arrangers' list, my name had vanished.
Contacting the three people in Procyon, I learned that by initiative of my old friend, I had been excluded, he had apparantly cited lack of commitment as the reason.
Suffice it to say, I had not been even heard on the subject, and the two other people had been highly suspicious of why I had not been present at the meeting where the decision had been made.
Hardly surprising, I might add someone had failed to invite me to said meeting.
On a perhaps vindictive note, I could point out that in the end, the regular players simply turned around and boycotted the scenario. It fell dead to the ground. And I decided that I had tried enough times to make things work with him. It didn't improve things of course that I learned he'd been busy contacting old mutual friends to inform of how I was squandering my life, my talents, and how I was a lost cause. I don't take well to that sort of stuff either. Fortunately, it appeared that most people he tried to sway, simply contacted me and informed me of what he had told them. I chose not to act on it, and decided to close the door.
Cut to tuesday evening, and I ran into him again. It'd been around two years since I last really talked to him, and in the mood of light intoxication, and an otherwise good evening, I decided to sit down and talk with him again. See if there was indeed anything left worth talking about.
So we began talking; and things didn't go as one could have hoped. Were this a Hollywood film, I suspect there'd been strings, choir and a tearful reconciliation. As this is reality, however, there was neither.
The talking deteriorated into him, once again, trying to analyze me, to point out chinks and cracks in the armor of emotions; but when he started patronizing me, I made it very clear that I, not in the past, nor certainly in the present, would let him speak down to me. Considering his rather significant fuckups in the past (some willfull, some simply from lack of a conscience), he was in no position do look down at me.
It was about at this time, that he extended his hand to me, and asked that we put the past behind us. And then he made his final fuckup; he told me to take his hand within 30 seconds.
I looked him dead in the eyes, and told him he had forgotten who had done what to whom, and told him that he was not the one to set ultimatums.
And then, I guess, something snapped for him. And he balled up his fingers into a fist, and punched me in the face. Followed up by grabbing my collar, and delivering a headbutt as well.
There have been things in my life I've done that I am not neccesarily proud of, moments where my resolve has faltered horribly. This time, though, I am in a quiet way proud that I kept my resolve completely.
I looked him dead in the eyes, and I saw him realizing what he had done. And then I quoted my first girlfriend, the one he'd been messing around with, and whom he later was not above socially sniping at;
"At the end of the day, you're the one that has to live with yourself."
He said nothing, and I don't know if he was in shock after what he'd done, or was waiting for me to punch him, or whatever, but he said nothing, didn't move at all.
Then I bid him my farewells for the good times in the past, and turned around and walked away.
There wasn't really much left to say, anyway, and although I certainly felt somewhat tempted to break his nose, this was supposed to have been a birthday party for a close friend of mine.
Having talked with my friends, I've been told he was approaching catatonia afterwards, and for some reason people keep telling me how bad he feels about it now. For some reason, I can't seem to muster up the grace to feel sorry for him.
"But, he really feels awful about it and doesn't know what to do!"
"Really? Let me see if I've got some caring left for him...Ah, damn, came up short. I've got some bile if that helps?"
I still can't figure out how people who saw it happen can claim he open-handed slapped me; last time I checked, fists and foreheads don't count as slaps, but maybe I'm just pedantic.
And to think that instead of doing the right thing, to say goodbye and leaving; in time I know I'll realize it was the right choice, but I can't help but to think what'd have happened if I had simply punched his clock instead. Broken his nose, and told him "That's how you throw a punch, you weak bitch. Now slither on home."
Immediate gratification has its place, I guess, and right now, I'd enjoy the boost of endorphines rather than waiting for karma to thank me. Maybe it'd also have nulled the point of people trying to tell me how bad he feels what he did. I guess if I'd broken his nose, I'd have made my feelings clear. But calm and composure prevails, or something.
Now to see what this'll end up meaning in the grand scheme of things; I just hope I'll keep to my ideals and; once again, be the better person...but damn it, some gratification would be welcome.
At least I can smile a bit after having written this. I still could use having karma on speed dial, though. Call fate up and say "Yo, I think some rewarding's due here?". Heh.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Long way to fall from the skies
{melodramatic}
The past week has seen me at both ends of the spectrum; from the brief, dizzying heights of elation, to the proverbial gravel pits of frustration, ending back at the bland realities of normalcy. {/melodramatic}
While I've now been staring, spitefully at the above sentence for the better part of ten minutes, trying to find some marginally more elegant way of saying it, I've failed gruesomly at that; and in protest, I've taken to capping it with the {melodramatic} tags. Take that.
As you're no doubt aware, I work for an ISP, doing technical support. Well, not entirely, as it is; I work for a company who handles outsourcing for other companies. How it becomes economically viable, I have no idea, but apparantly it works. The reason I say I work for an ISP, is because I feel more connected to that, than the company that actually pays me - it's a lot easier to identify with an employer whose company name hasen't changed 4 times inside 18 months. No, I am not kidding.
From Excellent, to Excellent-Tradimus, to Tradimus, and now to Aditro. Fuck's sake. Fusions may look good on paper, and probably on the stock exchange as well, but for the average working joe, it does fuck all apart from the technical difficulties of redoing mailsignatures and addresses.
Anyways;
About a month ago, our Operations Manager forwarded a mail to me; he had suggested me as a candidate for the employee of the quarter. That is, quarter of a year. Quarterly employee? Whatever.
I had pretty much forgotten all about it, largely as I didn't really see it happening. Doesn't matter that I do acknowledge I've done some passably well-performed work, but crux is that I have long hair, wear black clothes, and generally make the higher-ups look weirdly at me whenever fate leads them through our department.
So, waking up monday, and realizing that I had grossly overslept, didn't bode well for the 3rd out of 7 workdays in a row. 14.25 read the alarm clock, and apart from me having trouble catching my breath (yet another riveting dream), I held no concept of a day worth writing home about.
Called in, apologized for being late, and promised them I'd be over as soon as possible.
At 15.05, I clocked in.
At 15.10, one of out TeamLeaders walked over and told me we'd be having a kickoff shortly. A kickoff is basically a 5 minute heads up on the situation at work, usually in the case of focus subjects or specific challenges (I guess I should love the fact that 'challenges' is the positive form of "oh fuck, we're half-staffed all week, and all gateways have just choked!", but I digress);
Well.
In walks the HR-director, a kindly, but strict man with protruding ears and a red tie. Smiling.
This can't be good...
But it was.
After a few minutes of introductionary speech, he proceeded to tell the gathered department that the quarterly employee was indeed to be found amongst us. And that someone was me.
Out of the ~500 people in the building, 400 are neither staff, HR or teamleaders. Out of 400 employees, I appeared to be the chosen one. Go me. Having all your colleagues clap, as you're being praised is definately one of the more memorable things.
Of course, the irony is, that on that very day, they had planned for the award-thing for just after 14, where I was indeed expected to meet. I managed to, unintentionally, oversleep my own award; and thereby forcing our HR-director to go on standby for a bit over an hour.
I told you, I'm the resident rockstar of the support. Hardcore to the bone. Etc etc.
So, what's in it for me?
First off, glory everlasting, and whatnot. And a paid day off, which is nice. Couple of cinema tickets with soda, popcorn and whatnot tossed in as well. A basket filled with weird stuff, ranging from some obscure wine, balsamico, and mustard of some exotic origin that I can't place; as well as a plethora of other strange things.
And a trophy.
Before I get all misty-eyed and start thanking my colleagues and stuff, I could, with usual flair and panache, point out that Balsamico holds no interest to me, mustard I care little for, and the trophy's base was splintered to a degree where I could hardly lug it back to my seat.
Story of my life, I guess; "Here, have a trophy to show how awesome you are. Oh yah, be careful with it, the base is broken."
But well, it did make the day quite a bit different than I had expected.
And from the dizzying heights...
You see, I had forgotten my cell phone at home that morning. After work, unsurprisingly, I ended up drinking to celebrate my new title. Came home moderately intoxicated, and forgot all about my cellphone. Next day, I failed to find it before heading to work. After work, I could find it. Even better, the net at home died. With no cellphone, and no internet, one suddenly feels very cut off from reality. The neccesity of communication is evident at such times. You don't need to use it, but you need to have it.
Luckily, a few days later, my flatmate, when asked if he had seen my cellphone, told me he had found it in the bathroom a few days earlier, and had put it next to his computer in his room. No frickin' wonder I didn't find it - I did manage to completely overturn my room (compounding the mess), and sweep through the living room, which was at the time only lighted by a lava lamp, a TV and my two monitors, as the lightbulb in the living room, when last attempted switched on, knocked the power in the apartment. Not as much fun as it sounds, and reading it, it doesn't even sound that much fun.
Well, coming to a grinding halt here at the last moments of the weekend, the net is back, light is on in the living room again, and I have my cellphone. A return to normalcy, in all its bland lack of glory.
Tomorrow starts a new week for me, although it's only three days of work before two days off again; and the cycle begins anew.
Something's got to give. And something's got to change. This everyday doesn't really do it for me...Although I could reason that it's preferrable to being offline, lost in the darkness of a living room with no lighting, and lacking both cigarettes and a cellphone. Some existential gratitude might serve me well, alongside a slice of the ol' humble pie. Until then, though, I'll remain defiant. Hah.
The past week has seen me at both ends of the spectrum; from the brief, dizzying heights of elation, to the proverbial gravel pits of frustration, ending back at the bland realities of normalcy. {/melodramatic}
While I've now been staring, spitefully at the above sentence for the better part of ten minutes, trying to find some marginally more elegant way of saying it, I've failed gruesomly at that; and in protest, I've taken to capping it with the {melodramatic} tags. Take that.
As you're no doubt aware, I work for an ISP, doing technical support. Well, not entirely, as it is; I work for a company who handles outsourcing for other companies. How it becomes economically viable, I have no idea, but apparantly it works. The reason I say I work for an ISP, is because I feel more connected to that, than the company that actually pays me - it's a lot easier to identify with an employer whose company name hasen't changed 4 times inside 18 months. No, I am not kidding.
From Excellent, to Excellent-Tradimus, to Tradimus, and now to Aditro. Fuck's sake. Fusions may look good on paper, and probably on the stock exchange as well, but for the average working joe, it does fuck all apart from the technical difficulties of redoing mailsignatures and addresses.
Anyways;
About a month ago, our Operations Manager forwarded a mail to me; he had suggested me as a candidate for the employee of the quarter. That is, quarter of a year. Quarterly employee? Whatever.
I had pretty much forgotten all about it, largely as I didn't really see it happening. Doesn't matter that I do acknowledge I've done some passably well-performed work, but crux is that I have long hair, wear black clothes, and generally make the higher-ups look weirdly at me whenever fate leads them through our department.
So, waking up monday, and realizing that I had grossly overslept, didn't bode well for the 3rd out of 7 workdays in a row. 14.25 read the alarm clock, and apart from me having trouble catching my breath (yet another riveting dream), I held no concept of a day worth writing home about.
Called in, apologized for being late, and promised them I'd be over as soon as possible.
At 15.05, I clocked in.
At 15.10, one of out TeamLeaders walked over and told me we'd be having a kickoff shortly. A kickoff is basically a 5 minute heads up on the situation at work, usually in the case of focus subjects or specific challenges (I guess I should love the fact that 'challenges' is the positive form of "oh fuck, we're half-staffed all week, and all gateways have just choked!", but I digress);
Well.
In walks the HR-director, a kindly, but strict man with protruding ears and a red tie. Smiling.
This can't be good...
But it was.
After a few minutes of introductionary speech, he proceeded to tell the gathered department that the quarterly employee was indeed to be found amongst us. And that someone was me.
Out of the ~500 people in the building, 400 are neither staff, HR or teamleaders. Out of 400 employees, I appeared to be the chosen one. Go me. Having all your colleagues clap, as you're being praised is definately one of the more memorable things.
Of course, the irony is, that on that very day, they had planned for the award-thing for just after 14, where I was indeed expected to meet. I managed to, unintentionally, oversleep my own award; and thereby forcing our HR-director to go on standby for a bit over an hour.
I told you, I'm the resident rockstar of the support. Hardcore to the bone. Etc etc.
So, what's in it for me?
First off, glory everlasting, and whatnot. And a paid day off, which is nice. Couple of cinema tickets with soda, popcorn and whatnot tossed in as well. A basket filled with weird stuff, ranging from some obscure wine, balsamico, and mustard of some exotic origin that I can't place; as well as a plethora of other strange things.
And a trophy.
Before I get all misty-eyed and start thanking my colleagues and stuff, I could, with usual flair and panache, point out that Balsamico holds no interest to me, mustard I care little for, and the trophy's base was splintered to a degree where I could hardly lug it back to my seat.
Story of my life, I guess; "Here, have a trophy to show how awesome you are. Oh yah, be careful with it, the base is broken."
But well, it did make the day quite a bit different than I had expected.
And from the dizzying heights...
You see, I had forgotten my cell phone at home that morning. After work, unsurprisingly, I ended up drinking to celebrate my new title. Came home moderately intoxicated, and forgot all about my cellphone. Next day, I failed to find it before heading to work. After work, I could find it. Even better, the net at home died. With no cellphone, and no internet, one suddenly feels very cut off from reality. The neccesity of communication is evident at such times. You don't need to use it, but you need to have it.
Luckily, a few days later, my flatmate, when asked if he had seen my cellphone, told me he had found it in the bathroom a few days earlier, and had put it next to his computer in his room. No frickin' wonder I didn't find it - I did manage to completely overturn my room (compounding the mess), and sweep through the living room, which was at the time only lighted by a lava lamp, a TV and my two monitors, as the lightbulb in the living room, when last attempted switched on, knocked the power in the apartment. Not as much fun as it sounds, and reading it, it doesn't even sound that much fun.
Well, coming to a grinding halt here at the last moments of the weekend, the net is back, light is on in the living room again, and I have my cellphone. A return to normalcy, in all its bland lack of glory.
Tomorrow starts a new week for me, although it's only three days of work before two days off again; and the cycle begins anew.
Something's got to give. And something's got to change. This everyday doesn't really do it for me...Although I could reason that it's preferrable to being offline, lost in the darkness of a living room with no lighting, and lacking both cigarettes and a cellphone. Some existential gratitude might serve me well, alongside a slice of the ol' humble pie. Until then, though, I'll remain defiant. Hah.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Good karma comes to those who...drink?
Indeed. I seem to have that perverse craving to redeem myself, from time to time; you know, to be the good guy I want to be, to do the right thing. Lucky for me, as fate would have it, I did get a chance the other day.
I had visited my father, and as those visits go, they tend to leave me pleasantly inebriated, glowing with conviction and a desire to justify my fortune in life (the fortune that is an operational body, a good intellect and the emotional intelligence to be able to know right from wrong) by helping others.
I had wlaked to my father's place without a coat, given the sun threatening to scorch me seven ways from sunday, and no dark skies on the horizon. Well, at least none I'd managed to see.
So, walking on from there, the rain was of course coming down in spades. Folk, let me be the first to drop this gem of wisdom, a t-shirt and a 1 mm thick black shirt does *not* repel rain all that well at all. But then, quoting Sin City; "There's an old Samurai saying: Rain is only a problem if you don't want to get wet."
So, I was ambling along, ablaze with purpose and zest; when I realised someone was lying on the pavement about ten meters in front of me. Halfway on the sidewalk, halfway on the street.
Not particularly clever, by my standards. But then, it did indeed appear he wasn't really in a state to realize it himself.
Given my state of mind, the path was pretty damn obvious. Help the man out. Two random passerbys were milling about, apparantly trying to find out whether to do something or ignore it - a few choice suggestions had them helping me dragging the poor unfortunate off the street, and into a doorway. Part shield from rain, part shield from him toppling onto the road again.
Next step; making sure someone had called an ambulance, while trying to find out whether the guy was actually mentally present.
Once all the immediates were taken care of, and the other passerbys sent onwards into the evening and the rain, I tried to get the man back to lucid form. He was able to speak, but not to make a whole lot of sense. When he did speak, it was in a broken strand of danish, mumbling to himself in what I suspect was indian. Weird stuff.
He mumbled about needing help, in between lolling back and forth, smacking himself against the door a few times, fortunately without any visible effect; and slowly, he became more coherent. Well, as coherent as someone who's drunk enough to pass out on the road can be, I guess.
Funny thing was, apart from him every now and then looking at me, telling me that I was almost like John Lennon, he talked about that I'd saved him, and he told me about good karma, and how my future was going to be better than it would have otherwise been.
Ironically, I'd say the present then was actually good enough. When the ambulance finally came, and took him along, I felt positively radiant. Doing a good deed rarely feels worth it once done, but I might as well have walked on air for the rest of the journey. The rain felt warmer, and I couldn't stop smiling.
Cheap thrills, I'd assume, but it's damn good when, for once, doing the right thing is enough. No broken bottles and broken heads, no 5 seconds too late.
Obscenely naive I know, but I felt grateful for that I got the chance, and that I did it right.
And to think, it wouldn't have been possible, if I had not stayed to drink at my father's place.
"Thanks to beer, my good karma has increased!"
I am now Captain Awesome...at least until the next time, I almost pull off an incredible stunt, and once again my amazing story ends with "and then I stumbled, and fell over".
I had visited my father, and as those visits go, they tend to leave me pleasantly inebriated, glowing with conviction and a desire to justify my fortune in life (the fortune that is an operational body, a good intellect and the emotional intelligence to be able to know right from wrong) by helping others.
I had wlaked to my father's place without a coat, given the sun threatening to scorch me seven ways from sunday, and no dark skies on the horizon. Well, at least none I'd managed to see.
So, walking on from there, the rain was of course coming down in spades. Folk, let me be the first to drop this gem of wisdom, a t-shirt and a 1 mm thick black shirt does *not* repel rain all that well at all. But then, quoting Sin City; "There's an old Samurai saying: Rain is only a problem if you don't want to get wet."
So, I was ambling along, ablaze with purpose and zest; when I realised someone was lying on the pavement about ten meters in front of me. Halfway on the sidewalk, halfway on the street.
Not particularly clever, by my standards. But then, it did indeed appear he wasn't really in a state to realize it himself.
Given my state of mind, the path was pretty damn obvious. Help the man out. Two random passerbys were milling about, apparantly trying to find out whether to do something or ignore it - a few choice suggestions had them helping me dragging the poor unfortunate off the street, and into a doorway. Part shield from rain, part shield from him toppling onto the road again.
Next step; making sure someone had called an ambulance, while trying to find out whether the guy was actually mentally present.
Once all the immediates were taken care of, and the other passerbys sent onwards into the evening and the rain, I tried to get the man back to lucid form. He was able to speak, but not to make a whole lot of sense. When he did speak, it was in a broken strand of danish, mumbling to himself in what I suspect was indian. Weird stuff.
He mumbled about needing help, in between lolling back and forth, smacking himself against the door a few times, fortunately without any visible effect; and slowly, he became more coherent. Well, as coherent as someone who's drunk enough to pass out on the road can be, I guess.
Funny thing was, apart from him every now and then looking at me, telling me that I was almost like John Lennon, he talked about that I'd saved him, and he told me about good karma, and how my future was going to be better than it would have otherwise been.
Ironically, I'd say the present then was actually good enough. When the ambulance finally came, and took him along, I felt positively radiant. Doing a good deed rarely feels worth it once done, but I might as well have walked on air for the rest of the journey. The rain felt warmer, and I couldn't stop smiling.
Cheap thrills, I'd assume, but it's damn good when, for once, doing the right thing is enough. No broken bottles and broken heads, no 5 seconds too late.
Obscenely naive I know, but I felt grateful for that I got the chance, and that I did it right.
And to think, it wouldn't have been possible, if I had not stayed to drink at my father's place.
"Thanks to beer, my good karma has increased!"
I am now Captain Awesome...at least until the next time, I almost pull off an incredible stunt, and once again my amazing story ends with "and then I stumbled, and fell over".
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Grey dawn, sparkling dreams, and the beginning of a goodbye?
So, yeah. Life's looking to do the good old curveball once again.
Work looks stranger than ever, with teamleaders being hot-swapped like, well, something that gets hotswapped a lot. Feel free to supply your own metaphor for it. It leaves very little room for stability, and it looks like two departments will be merged together, due to the departing of our departments' Operations Manager. In short, it means that the plans, sketches and projects I've had underway with the current OM are pretty much dead in the water; given that our soon-to-be OM alledgedly is a corporate hardliner with little time and inclination for creative, efficiency-improving ideas. Scrapping over 10 hours total of various projects isn't something I'm particularly fond of, not to mention that I have particularly little faith in the merger. That, and not to forget that the company's just changed name *again*. This brings it up to, by my count, the 4th time since I started in march last year. Ugh.
Well, that's what that is. Work's work, and while it's easy to wish for different circumstances, I don't have the influence to affect the outcome...yet, anyway. Here's to hoping it'll pan out reasonably.
More influential on my sleep and waking hours, though, is a long talk I had with my girlfriend recently. I've, for a while, had my thoughts on what the deal really was on the emotions involved. It didn't really fit inside any of the known boxes, which has been gnawing somewhat at me. I'm pretty good at thinking myself into deadends, so often I deliberately try to stop thinking, because I might end up creating entirely unrealistic situations. Well, I had decided to get the thoughts out of my head and on to the table - and so it happened, although not at all in the manner I had expected.
We were talking, one evening, and the topic came to fall on the future. Not ours in particular, but more of a generic discussion. That's when she said something I haden't seen coming.
She told me, half-way jokingly, that in the future, that she saw me living in a glass-and-steel, high-tech apartment, with a bisexual, industrial/gabber listening, EVE-playing girlfriend.
From the outside, it sounds like a fairly innocent comment, highlighting the things I enjoy in life - said in jest, except that she's neither bisexual, nor does she listen to gabber and industrial, nor does she play EVE. Nor is any of those things likely to change.
She asked me where I saw her in the future, and I answered her truthfully. I saw her living in a cottage, or a farm, with her children, in the neck of the woods, waiting for her viking-looking, neofolk listening husband to return home.
Suffice it to say, I may be a good deal of things, but I'm neither viking, into neofolk, nor am I likely to wish to be a father in any foreseeable future, if ever.
After we'd both said our piece, the joke, if there was really one to begin with, had stifled the smiles. Then followed a minute or so, of us just sitting there, looking at each other with new eyes.
...And that's how it began. We talked for the better part of the night, talked about what we actually felt, not that we haden't done so before - in fact, we have always been very open in our communications, but there's always seemed to be some things that just didn't come up naturally. I once told her that I was a little worried that she might become dependant on me, in that while I might be occasionally bleak and weary, she takes medication to help safeguard her against panic anxiety. That I was worried that she'd place too much faith in me and see me as a saviour, rather than her boyfriend. Dependance in a relationship can ever so easily kill the emotions that set romantic love apart from its more platonic form.
I told her how deeply I cared for her, which is true. I told her about all I've been thinking about, wondering and doubting and worrying about. And she looked me straight in the eye, and told her about her own thoughts. And her story was surprisingly similar to mine.
I felt odd, at the time. Anxious to finally set words to the feelings, uncertain as where this would end up. I felt like standing on a theatre stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. Just on the brink of seeing something entirely new. I felt melancholy, as if the words were the beginning of a goodbye, a mild pang of sadness inside for the good times. And I felt ready to face it. Honestly admitting that one's feelings aren't entirely befitting neither friendship nor a relationship is upsetting in a way, but I was able to look her in the eyes and say it, and feeling the elation of finally putting words to the thoughts that had been clouding my head.
Nothing was definitively ended, no doors were shut closed, but the emotions were set into action.
Horrible clichés were said, but in the first light of the sunrise outside, they didn't feel like clichés at all. There's a reason, after all, that clichés become just that; it's because so many say them, meaning them as they say it.
I told her about the devotion I felt, something I once thought was inexorably bound to the caring you'd only feel in a relationship. I told her of how I, a few years back, learned that one can indeed care that much for someone without being in a relationship with them. I told her of one of my closest friends, who once pulled me, all the way back from the bottom, with a dedication that I thought a friend could not possess.
There was a significant amount of tears that night and morning, but they weren't heart-wracking sobs and wails. They just flowed, quietly, constantly, caused by the gravity of emotions worded. Like some people sometimes wake up, tearful after dreaming, not of something immensely sad or frightening, but simply because what you dreamt was so beautiful, so serene and perfect, that you can't react any other way.
I've felt strange since then. Not bad, but restless. I find that I wake many times each night, but it's not nightmares. But I wake up feeling the same melancholy I felt that night. It feels as if I, every night, say goodbye.
But for the first time since I can remember, I wake up knowing that the words aren't just in my head. I've said them, given them life and reality.
Time will give me answers and serenity; and while I might not fully understand my emotions, or what form they take, and what direction they are going, I am glad that I had the courage to say them to one I claim to care deeply for.
All relations are temporary correlation of life paths. You meet, you find that, for an indefinate amount of time, your paths in life go parralel, so you walk a path seemingly made just for you, alongside someone else. But one day, you find that your paths part, and if you want to follow your own way, you may have to say goodbye to the one you've been walking through life next to.
Maybe one day, you'll find you're walking the same way again, meeting someone you once shared life with. Maybe you won't. Maybe you'll meet again, and remember the good things you had. Maybe you'll only remember the bad.
The only thing certain is that if you stop on the path, you'll never know if you one day were to meet them again, further down the road. That's why we go on...to see whose paths we'll cross one day.
Work looks stranger than ever, with teamleaders being hot-swapped like, well, something that gets hotswapped a lot. Feel free to supply your own metaphor for it. It leaves very little room for stability, and it looks like two departments will be merged together, due to the departing of our departments' Operations Manager. In short, it means that the plans, sketches and projects I've had underway with the current OM are pretty much dead in the water; given that our soon-to-be OM alledgedly is a corporate hardliner with little time and inclination for creative, efficiency-improving ideas. Scrapping over 10 hours total of various projects isn't something I'm particularly fond of, not to mention that I have particularly little faith in the merger. That, and not to forget that the company's just changed name *again*. This brings it up to, by my count, the 4th time since I started in march last year. Ugh.
Well, that's what that is. Work's work, and while it's easy to wish for different circumstances, I don't have the influence to affect the outcome...yet, anyway. Here's to hoping it'll pan out reasonably.
More influential on my sleep and waking hours, though, is a long talk I had with my girlfriend recently. I've, for a while, had my thoughts on what the deal really was on the emotions involved. It didn't really fit inside any of the known boxes, which has been gnawing somewhat at me. I'm pretty good at thinking myself into deadends, so often I deliberately try to stop thinking, because I might end up creating entirely unrealistic situations. Well, I had decided to get the thoughts out of my head and on to the table - and so it happened, although not at all in the manner I had expected.
We were talking, one evening, and the topic came to fall on the future. Not ours in particular, but more of a generic discussion. That's when she said something I haden't seen coming.
She told me, half-way jokingly, that in the future, that she saw me living in a glass-and-steel, high-tech apartment, with a bisexual, industrial/gabber listening, EVE-playing girlfriend.
From the outside, it sounds like a fairly innocent comment, highlighting the things I enjoy in life - said in jest, except that she's neither bisexual, nor does she listen to gabber and industrial, nor does she play EVE. Nor is any of those things likely to change.
She asked me where I saw her in the future, and I answered her truthfully. I saw her living in a cottage, or a farm, with her children, in the neck of the woods, waiting for her viking-looking, neofolk listening husband to return home.
Suffice it to say, I may be a good deal of things, but I'm neither viking, into neofolk, nor am I likely to wish to be a father in any foreseeable future, if ever.
After we'd both said our piece, the joke, if there was really one to begin with, had stifled the smiles. Then followed a minute or so, of us just sitting there, looking at each other with new eyes.
...And that's how it began. We talked for the better part of the night, talked about what we actually felt, not that we haden't done so before - in fact, we have always been very open in our communications, but there's always seemed to be some things that just didn't come up naturally. I once told her that I was a little worried that she might become dependant on me, in that while I might be occasionally bleak and weary, she takes medication to help safeguard her against panic anxiety. That I was worried that she'd place too much faith in me and see me as a saviour, rather than her boyfriend. Dependance in a relationship can ever so easily kill the emotions that set romantic love apart from its more platonic form.
I told her how deeply I cared for her, which is true. I told her about all I've been thinking about, wondering and doubting and worrying about. And she looked me straight in the eye, and told her about her own thoughts. And her story was surprisingly similar to mine.
I felt odd, at the time. Anxious to finally set words to the feelings, uncertain as where this would end up. I felt like standing on a theatre stage, waiting for the curtain to rise. Just on the brink of seeing something entirely new. I felt melancholy, as if the words were the beginning of a goodbye, a mild pang of sadness inside for the good times. And I felt ready to face it. Honestly admitting that one's feelings aren't entirely befitting neither friendship nor a relationship is upsetting in a way, but I was able to look her in the eyes and say it, and feeling the elation of finally putting words to the thoughts that had been clouding my head.
Nothing was definitively ended, no doors were shut closed, but the emotions were set into action.
Horrible clichés were said, but in the first light of the sunrise outside, they didn't feel like clichés at all. There's a reason, after all, that clichés become just that; it's because so many say them, meaning them as they say it.
I told her about the devotion I felt, something I once thought was inexorably bound to the caring you'd only feel in a relationship. I told her of how I, a few years back, learned that one can indeed care that much for someone without being in a relationship with them. I told her of one of my closest friends, who once pulled me, all the way back from the bottom, with a dedication that I thought a friend could not possess.
There was a significant amount of tears that night and morning, but they weren't heart-wracking sobs and wails. They just flowed, quietly, constantly, caused by the gravity of emotions worded. Like some people sometimes wake up, tearful after dreaming, not of something immensely sad or frightening, but simply because what you dreamt was so beautiful, so serene and perfect, that you can't react any other way.
I've felt strange since then. Not bad, but restless. I find that I wake many times each night, but it's not nightmares. But I wake up feeling the same melancholy I felt that night. It feels as if I, every night, say goodbye.
But for the first time since I can remember, I wake up knowing that the words aren't just in my head. I've said them, given them life and reality.
Time will give me answers and serenity; and while I might not fully understand my emotions, or what form they take, and what direction they are going, I am glad that I had the courage to say them to one I claim to care deeply for.
All relations are temporary correlation of life paths. You meet, you find that, for an indefinate amount of time, your paths in life go parralel, so you walk a path seemingly made just for you, alongside someone else. But one day, you find that your paths part, and if you want to follow your own way, you may have to say goodbye to the one you've been walking through life next to.
Maybe one day, you'll find you're walking the same way again, meeting someone you once shared life with. Maybe you won't. Maybe you'll meet again, and remember the good things you had. Maybe you'll only remember the bad.
The only thing certain is that if you stop on the path, you'll never know if you one day were to meet them again, further down the road. That's why we go on...to see whose paths we'll cross one day.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Retrogradation 1/2
ret·ro·gra·da·tion Pronunciation[re-troh-grey-dey-shuhn] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation
–noun
1.
backward movement.
2.
decline or deterioration.
Well, it's been a while since I've put to word my life here.
I'm sure it'll enjoy some of my beloved readers to know that I've been away longer than I probably should have, things have tended to whisker me away from the world of electronicae, unfortunately.
As it goes; we need to look back a few weeks, to when what I by now regard as a new chapter in my life started.
It all started with a hard disk head crash. By now, I've realized that apparantly I have a borderline unearthly ability to force my hard drives to die on me; I'm sure there could be written and wrought much speculation on these apparant powers; sadly I can't will them into existance, they apparantly only manifest themselves when physically most inconvenient, and moreover, only in a degree where complete hard drive death is certain.
It all started with the death of a hard drive that I of course had no fucking backup from - being this, the fourth headcrash I've had, one'd have fucking thought I'd have the care to make backups in due time. Not so, not least from my physical inability to do so. No secondary hard drive, no DVD burner. No easy out, and no solution. And obviously, no happy ending.
Well, so the disk died on me, which is, what, a week and a half ago. The first day was spent trying to ascertain the problem's extent, was it a fan making that weird noise? Nope. Smothered them, one by one, didn't stop the noise, and obviously the fact that my PC wasn't booting.
Loose S-ATA cable? Nope. Swapped that one for a new, no difference.
Ah! Unplugging the hard disk made the weird noise stop.
Oh, fuck.
From there on, it went downhill, as you may be able to tell.
That week was intended to be my week off from work (which it was), and a week of relaxation and gathering my senses (which it wasn't). The same evening (wednesday), I had a friend order 2 x 320 gig disks, to run in RAID-1 subsequently. For those not technologically inclined, it just means that one disk will constantly mirror the primary disk's data, meaning that in the case of a disk death (again), I should still have a backup disk...that I'd then swap for the primary disk, hoping that a replacement disk would get there in time to backup the backup.
Order goes out; 2 x 320 gig disks, a fan for the disks (to lower the temperature, hopefully extending their apparantly all too fragile lease on life in my hands), a DVD writer, and a proper headset (because god knows, I need proper sound...and fucking loud, too).
Final order comes down to;
320 gig disk x2
Disk fan x1
DVD writer x 1
Medusa 5.1 ProGamer USB headset x 1 (yeah, programer, cos I...like, uh, live off off internet gaming)
Ordered wednesday. ordered in time for them to ship it for the next day, so my hopes as high as my naïvety figured that I should have my box back up in 2 days, tops.
You know me well enough already, and given that I'm writing this, now, that obviously did not happen.
The next 6 days were spent trying to reach the sender, the danish postal service, blowing money on internet cafés, and alcohol when the burden of offline-ness became too strong. I managed to meet up with aquaintances and friends, loved ones and whatnot in the meanwhile. Outsiders might say it was good for me. Fuck them. I needed to be online, and no amount of enjoyable socializing would in the end substitute for it. Well, admitted, it did for periods of time, but getting home reminded me of what needed to be done. In particular due to my TV and PS2.
I don't think I've mentioned the special relationship I share with my TV and PS2.
No, it's nothing physical, you perverse bastards.
In short, about half a year ago, my TV started dieing on me. As death comes, it comes slowly and unobtrusively, letting you get used to the signs of its coming without noticing it.
First, the colors die, bit by bit. That is, periodically, my TV insists that it is indeed a black and white TV. It'll revert itself after some time, cursing, and complimentary baby offerings. Like I said, the passing of a venerable, but malevolent being. It demands sacrifices and frustration before it is sated to a level where it'll bestow upon me colors. Heretic motherfucker, one day that TV will end its days with a stake through its blackened&whitened heart. And I shall laugh. Until I recall that means no TV, no PS2.
PS2? Well, I might not have that one with me for as long as I would have liked. It's dieing. Like the TV. Like a fucking emo kid on livejournal. Bit by bit. Load time is exploding, disks accepted are dwindling. I won't get into why I actually care for the PS2, but leave it, I'd prefer it wasn't like this. Wishing for things being different, however, is the epitome of futility. It's slipping through my fingers, and no amount of neither screaming, beseeching or violence will turn it around. Fucking dieing on me.
So, I had a PC that was. I have a TV that's slipping away. And a PS2 that, irrespectively of the TV, may or may not work. I am, beyond doubt, displaying my powers of the entropy touch. Just a fucking pity I only can do it on inanimate objects...of own possession. Fucking superpowers, never work entirely like intended.
Short of the long, or long of the short, whichever you prefer, in the end I got things reinstated, working, and now I'm just waiting for something else to die, that's within my reach. I thank whatever god may or may not be listening for the fact that this power only extends to inanimage objects, and myself. Least, that way, I'll be able to keep it inside. Just like the rest.
So yah. I'm online from home, music playing (suitably loud), beer at ready (suitably cold), cigarettes inside reach (suitable...cigarette'ish?). And writing. Suitably...moody?
This was part one. All the technicals. I think I, mostly, managed to keep emotions out of this. I'll amend for that in what is to follow.
–noun
1.
backward movement.
2.
decline or deterioration.
Well, it's been a while since I've put to word my life here.
I'm sure it'll enjoy some of my beloved readers to know that I've been away longer than I probably should have, things have tended to whisker me away from the world of electronicae, unfortunately.
As it goes; we need to look back a few weeks, to when what I by now regard as a new chapter in my life started.
It all started with a hard disk head crash. By now, I've realized that apparantly I have a borderline unearthly ability to force my hard drives to die on me; I'm sure there could be written and wrought much speculation on these apparant powers; sadly I can't will them into existance, they apparantly only manifest themselves when physically most inconvenient, and moreover, only in a degree where complete hard drive death is certain.
It all started with the death of a hard drive that I of course had no fucking backup from - being this, the fourth headcrash I've had, one'd have fucking thought I'd have the care to make backups in due time. Not so, not least from my physical inability to do so. No secondary hard drive, no DVD burner. No easy out, and no solution. And obviously, no happy ending.
Well, so the disk died on me, which is, what, a week and a half ago. The first day was spent trying to ascertain the problem's extent, was it a fan making that weird noise? Nope. Smothered them, one by one, didn't stop the noise, and obviously the fact that my PC wasn't booting.
Loose S-ATA cable? Nope. Swapped that one for a new, no difference.
Ah! Unplugging the hard disk made the weird noise stop.
Oh, fuck.
From there on, it went downhill, as you may be able to tell.
That week was intended to be my week off from work (which it was), and a week of relaxation and gathering my senses (which it wasn't). The same evening (wednesday), I had a friend order 2 x 320 gig disks, to run in RAID-1 subsequently. For those not technologically inclined, it just means that one disk will constantly mirror the primary disk's data, meaning that in the case of a disk death (again), I should still have a backup disk...that I'd then swap for the primary disk, hoping that a replacement disk would get there in time to backup the backup.
Order goes out; 2 x 320 gig disks, a fan for the disks (to lower the temperature, hopefully extending their apparantly all too fragile lease on life in my hands), a DVD writer, and a proper headset (because god knows, I need proper sound...and fucking loud, too).
Final order comes down to;
320 gig disk x2
Disk fan x1
DVD writer x 1
Medusa 5.1 ProGamer USB headset x 1 (yeah, programer, cos I...like, uh, live off off internet gaming)
Ordered wednesday. ordered in time for them to ship it for the next day, so my hopes as high as my naïvety figured that I should have my box back up in 2 days, tops.
You know me well enough already, and given that I'm writing this, now, that obviously did not happen.
The next 6 days were spent trying to reach the sender, the danish postal service, blowing money on internet cafés, and alcohol when the burden of offline-ness became too strong. I managed to meet up with aquaintances and friends, loved ones and whatnot in the meanwhile. Outsiders might say it was good for me. Fuck them. I needed to be online, and no amount of enjoyable socializing would in the end substitute for it. Well, admitted, it did for periods of time, but getting home reminded me of what needed to be done. In particular due to my TV and PS2.
I don't think I've mentioned the special relationship I share with my TV and PS2.
No, it's nothing physical, you perverse bastards.
In short, about half a year ago, my TV started dieing on me. As death comes, it comes slowly and unobtrusively, letting you get used to the signs of its coming without noticing it.
First, the colors die, bit by bit. That is, periodically, my TV insists that it is indeed a black and white TV. It'll revert itself after some time, cursing, and complimentary baby offerings. Like I said, the passing of a venerable, but malevolent being. It demands sacrifices and frustration before it is sated to a level where it'll bestow upon me colors. Heretic motherfucker, one day that TV will end its days with a stake through its blackened&whitened heart. And I shall laugh. Until I recall that means no TV, no PS2.
PS2? Well, I might not have that one with me for as long as I would have liked. It's dieing. Like the TV. Like a fucking emo kid on livejournal. Bit by bit. Load time is exploding, disks accepted are dwindling. I won't get into why I actually care for the PS2, but leave it, I'd prefer it wasn't like this. Wishing for things being different, however, is the epitome of futility. It's slipping through my fingers, and no amount of neither screaming, beseeching or violence will turn it around. Fucking dieing on me.
So, I had a PC that was. I have a TV that's slipping away. And a PS2 that, irrespectively of the TV, may or may not work. I am, beyond doubt, displaying my powers of the entropy touch. Just a fucking pity I only can do it on inanimate objects...of own possession. Fucking superpowers, never work entirely like intended.
Short of the long, or long of the short, whichever you prefer, in the end I got things reinstated, working, and now I'm just waiting for something else to die, that's within my reach. I thank whatever god may or may not be listening for the fact that this power only extends to inanimage objects, and myself. Least, that way, I'll be able to keep it inside. Just like the rest.
So yah. I'm online from home, music playing (suitably loud), beer at ready (suitably cold), cigarettes inside reach (suitable...cigarette'ish?). And writing. Suitably...moody?
This was part one. All the technicals. I think I, mostly, managed to keep emotions out of this. I'll amend for that in what is to follow.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Beaten to death with CAT-5
Or so I fantasize.
This'll be reasonably brief, since I am still at work.
The stream of calls, the lamenting wails of despair, have calmed down for now.
I'm left hating not my job, but the inevitable stupidity that invariably follows.
I know I'm arrogant about a lot of things, and I most definately know that I am arrogant in dealing with customers, at least when they insist that they know better than I do; but even in spite of my instinctive distance to any customer leaves me, occasionally, stumped, and in abject disbelief.
Just when you think you've seen it all. The best part is almost how people take internet access for granted, and assume that unless their house is on fire...
**1 hour later**
Well, fuck. Did I say the stream of calls had slowed down?
Guess what. It picked up again.
I'm considering homicide by flogging. Multiple homicide. As per the title of this entry.
*sighs*
Time to go home, now. Time for some fresh air, a cigarette, and something less mollifyingly retarded.
This'll be reasonably brief, since I am still at work.
The stream of calls, the lamenting wails of despair, have calmed down for now.
I'm left hating not my job, but the inevitable stupidity that invariably follows.
I know I'm arrogant about a lot of things, and I most definately know that I am arrogant in dealing with customers, at least when they insist that they know better than I do; but even in spite of my instinctive distance to any customer leaves me, occasionally, stumped, and in abject disbelief.
Just when you think you've seen it all. The best part is almost how people take internet access for granted, and assume that unless their house is on fire...
**1 hour later**
Well, fuck. Did I say the stream of calls had slowed down?
Guess what. It picked up again.
I'm considering homicide by flogging. Multiple homicide. As per the title of this entry.
*sighs*
Time to go home, now. Time for some fresh air, a cigarette, and something less mollifyingly retarded.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Human stupidity displayed
Nothing much, just a few (marginally) humorous situations from work.
(In case you've just tuned in, I work as tech support for an ISP)
A kindly, but not overly computer-minded middle-aged woman who called in; she had just upgraded to IExplore 7, and with that, a few things had changed.
Largely, the page our customers need to sign in via gets overwritten by IExplore itself, and hijacked to http://go.microsoft.com ...and naturally, remembering a sign-on page is pretty difficult. So far, so good, got her online.
Next problem, her homebanking had changed a bit, because apparantly a padlock icon was no longer there, so she was uncertain as to whether it was still as safe as before. I assured her it was.
Best part? IExplore 7 comes with a phishing filter. How it works, I honestly don't know, and considering IExplore itself is arguably the biggest security liability you can find onboard a Windows machine. Naturally, the customer was asking about this 'phishing filter'...except, the conversation went a bit for the worse, as she wasn't overly good with english.
I don't know about you people, but I had to bite my lip and turn off my microphone for a moment when she asked me whether or not it was a good idea to have a pissing filter on.
A few moments later, I was able to reply that I considered it a generally very sensible notion to have a pissing filter on, since you never know when you might need it.
Now you know, people. Always wear a pissing filter, in case someone tries to take advantage of you not having it. What exactly it does, I still have no idea on, but at least now I have one more theory.
Other situation; Customer insists that "your internet isn't working". Ever noticed how it's always someone else's stuff that doesn't work?
Of course, there was no problem on the line itself, modem was responding just fine...
Except for one thing;
Customer had connected, to his cable modem, first a switch (that apparantly acted as an extension cord), an IP-router, and hooked up to that was another router, which was turned off.
For some odd reason he couldn't get online; which might even have been attributed to the fact that his wireless netcard wasn't installed, his CAT-5 cable wasn't plugged in, and even as I was about to do humanity a favor and ask him to electrocute himself, discovered that he had also set his ZoneAlarm firewall to "block all traffic".
And of course, had a hijacked IExplore set to go to russian pornsites. Go fucking figure.
Best part? He demanded that this should work immediately, as it was a home office computer he had gotten from his company, and 'it had been set up by professionals'. I was tempted to ask what exactly their profession was, but since the man was so irate anyway, it seemed a moot point.
In itself, it's funny. Being confronted with it is less so, but it's worth a mention none the less;
Housewife calls in, can't get online. Line is registered to what I assume to be her husband.
Shuffling through her computer (asking her what various sections of the IExplore window reads), we come upon the fact that it attempts to hijack the starting page to something dubious. This is going to be good, I think to myself.
I ask her to check the page history.
"Uh..."
...Yes?
"There's a lot of pages here that have a lot of X'es in them..."
...Aha. Please read a few of them up, I need to check if it's the likely cause of the hijacking.
"Leatherfetish.com, Bondagesluts.com...What ARE these pages?!"
Uh, ma'am, it would appear to be pornographic material...
"Well, I haven't visited these pages!"
Well, someone has...
"..."
"...Oh."
"...Ooh..."
*click*
And then she hung up.
I figure the man of the house was in for a warm welcome when he got home.
Final note;
I also handle copyright cases for the ISP. This more or less means that we get forwarded pre-generated mails from various agencies and lawfirms representing record companies, film companies, the works really. The mails are of a nature that roughly say "we know that this IP address tried to download/upload [some material whose publishers we represent], but since we can't do a case on it, see to it that it doens't happen again."
99% of the time, it's uninteresting stuff, you get fairly jaded quickly, and just see blonde, brunette, redhead...Uh, music, apps, movies actually, but the other sounds cooler. The last 1% is the fun part. Apparantly, porn's less copyright protected, and while I can imagine how it might be a bit more awkward to try and claim the intellectual rights for "Interracial Ass Blasters, vol 4 - Return of Dick Black" as the pinnacle of creativity, it's still surprising how few cases we get on it.
Well, as it goes, procedure is that we send it out to the customer's primary mail address at us, and while this isn't always neither active, nor has an alias bound to it, it's procedure.
So, imagine my surprise when I found a case for "Chocolate Vanilla Cum Eaters" among the cases of various just-released box-office hits.
Now, as I mentioned, usually, the customers that do the massive downloading don't even bother with an assigned email. I don't blame them, really.
This customer, however, had 3 different mailboxes, and upon inspection, all were active.
One was a guy's first name, second was (presumably) his significant other, the third one was, if the alias was to be trusted, their entire family's mail.
Being the kind person I am, I sent the mail containing the copyright infringement (with the infringed work's name in it) to all three.
See, the thing is, I don't have anything against people downloading stuff illegally. It honestly does not bother me. I just feel no obligation to help the person doing so hiding it from his wife and children. Also, who the fuck downloads interracial cumplay videos anyway?
...Family fathers, apparantly.
(In case you've just tuned in, I work as tech support for an ISP)
A kindly, but not overly computer-minded middle-aged woman who called in; she had just upgraded to IExplore 7, and with that, a few things had changed.
Largely, the page our customers need to sign in via gets overwritten by IExplore itself, and hijacked to http://go.microsoft.com ...and naturally, remembering a sign-on page is pretty difficult. So far, so good, got her online.
Next problem, her homebanking had changed a bit, because apparantly a padlock icon was no longer there, so she was uncertain as to whether it was still as safe as before. I assured her it was.
Best part? IExplore 7 comes with a phishing filter. How it works, I honestly don't know, and considering IExplore itself is arguably the biggest security liability you can find onboard a Windows machine. Naturally, the customer was asking about this 'phishing filter'...except, the conversation went a bit for the worse, as she wasn't overly good with english.
I don't know about you people, but I had to bite my lip and turn off my microphone for a moment when she asked me whether or not it was a good idea to have a pissing filter on.
A few moments later, I was able to reply that I considered it a generally very sensible notion to have a pissing filter on, since you never know when you might need it.
Now you know, people. Always wear a pissing filter, in case someone tries to take advantage of you not having it. What exactly it does, I still have no idea on, but at least now I have one more theory.
Other situation; Customer insists that "your internet isn't working". Ever noticed how it's always someone else's stuff that doesn't work?
Of course, there was no problem on the line itself, modem was responding just fine...
Except for one thing;
Customer had connected, to his cable modem, first a switch (that apparantly acted as an extension cord), an IP-router, and hooked up to that was another router, which was turned off.
For some odd reason he couldn't get online; which might even have been attributed to the fact that his wireless netcard wasn't installed, his CAT-5 cable wasn't plugged in, and even as I was about to do humanity a favor and ask him to electrocute himself, discovered that he had also set his ZoneAlarm firewall to "block all traffic".
And of course, had a hijacked IExplore set to go to russian pornsites. Go fucking figure.
Best part? He demanded that this should work immediately, as it was a home office computer he had gotten from his company, and 'it had been set up by professionals'. I was tempted to ask what exactly their profession was, but since the man was so irate anyway, it seemed a moot point.
In itself, it's funny. Being confronted with it is less so, but it's worth a mention none the less;
Housewife calls in, can't get online. Line is registered to what I assume to be her husband.
Shuffling through her computer (asking her what various sections of the IExplore window reads), we come upon the fact that it attempts to hijack the starting page to something dubious. This is going to be good, I think to myself.
I ask her to check the page history.
"Uh..."
...Yes?
"There's a lot of pages here that have a lot of X'es in them..."
...Aha. Please read a few of them up, I need to check if it's the likely cause of the hijacking.
"Leatherfetish.com, Bondagesluts.com...What ARE these pages?!"
Uh, ma'am, it would appear to be pornographic material...
"Well, I haven't visited these pages!"
Well, someone has...
"..."
"...Oh."
"...Ooh..."
*click*
And then she hung up.
I figure the man of the house was in for a warm welcome when he got home.
Final note;
I also handle copyright cases for the ISP. This more or less means that we get forwarded pre-generated mails from various agencies and lawfirms representing record companies, film companies, the works really. The mails are of a nature that roughly say "we know that this IP address tried to download/upload [some material whose publishers we represent], but since we can't do a case on it, see to it that it doens't happen again."
99% of the time, it's uninteresting stuff, you get fairly jaded quickly, and just see blonde, brunette, redhead...Uh, music, apps, movies actually, but the other sounds cooler. The last 1% is the fun part. Apparantly, porn's less copyright protected, and while I can imagine how it might be a bit more awkward to try and claim the intellectual rights for "Interracial Ass Blasters, vol 4 - Return of Dick Black" as the pinnacle of creativity, it's still surprising how few cases we get on it.
Well, as it goes, procedure is that we send it out to the customer's primary mail address at us, and while this isn't always neither active, nor has an alias bound to it, it's procedure.
So, imagine my surprise when I found a case for "Chocolate Vanilla Cum Eaters" among the cases of various just-released box-office hits.
Now, as I mentioned, usually, the customers that do the massive downloading don't even bother with an assigned email. I don't blame them, really.
This customer, however, had 3 different mailboxes, and upon inspection, all were active.
One was a guy's first name, second was (presumably) his significant other, the third one was, if the alias was to be trusted, their entire family's mail.
Being the kind person I am, I sent the mail containing the copyright infringement (with the infringed work's name in it) to all three.
See, the thing is, I don't have anything against people downloading stuff illegally. It honestly does not bother me. I just feel no obligation to help the person doing so hiding it from his wife and children. Also, who the fuck downloads interracial cumplay videos anyway?
...Family fathers, apparantly.
Friday, February 2, 2007
The little things that make your day
All the problems make me wanna go
Like a bad girl straight to video
Little darling, welcome to the show
You're a failure played in stereo
No, above text really has nothing to do with the rest of this, just listening to Mindless Self Indulgence's 'Straight To Video'. Good stuff, that.
So this day has been strange. Strange, as in multiple incidents that, on their own, would have made me raise my eyebrow.
Okay, bad metaphor, since I seem to have a constant arrogant frown anyway.
So, here's what's up:
1) Work. My former teamleader (whom I've had since I started at my job mack in march) quit in end january, to move to Australia. It's a pity, since I honestly respected him. Sure, he might have been marginally influenced by the weed he homegrew, but honestly I always considered him the example that you can indeed smoke a reasonable amount of joints and still be sharp. Also, he was considerate and willing to find solutions to most any problem that might arise at work, from work schedules, to strange solutions to strange problems. Most of all, he cared for the people that worked under him.
The new teamleader I got, was an old friend of him, and initially I considered him the complete opposite. Streamlined, goal-oriented and utterly professional. I was wrong about him, which took less than a week to discover. He had almost the same traits as my former teamleader, except he smoked a good deal less weed. I had a talk with him today, from my side because I wanted to explain why I have some trouble meeting on time. Meeting at 2 in the afternoon doesn't help one bit if you're still not asleep at 8 AM, or have already woken up multiple times due to nightmares. He listened, thought, and came with suggestions. He cared, and wanted to help find a workable solution.
Moreoever, after having been teamleader for less than 3 weeks, he also told me that he's leaving the company at the end of the month. He's been offered a position in another company that he felt too good to pass up on. Naturally, he felt somewhat bad about having just taken over this job, and then leaving, but one has to do what's right for one self. I understand him, and wish him all well the new place.
And then he said something that I wasn't entirely prepared for;
"If I was in your situation, I would file an application for the position".
In truth, I want that position. I am not entirely certain if I'd be qualified for it, having had no formal management training, but he struck a nerve. I considered applying for the position when my former TL left us, but turned it down on the grounds that I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to do. I do now.
I'll need to mull over this for a while, because I'm worried how I'll react to the rejection in case I apply and get turned down. It's obviously not the end of the world, but it's easier to slack and set the goals low, because that way you don't get disappointed. Problem is, I've done that for a long time, emotionally as well. Maybe it's time for a change.
My qualities?
1) I know what I'm doing as it is now, so I know what to expect of those who'd work under me.
2) I wouldn't ask them to do something I know I couldn't. Easy, since pretty much anything we can get tossed in our face, I've already had happen, from Backbones tilting, gateways dieing horribly and mailservers discarding usernames + passwords.
3) I care for the workplace, and those working there.
4) It'd be one fuck of a PR-stunt from their side, to show that they encourage development and growith internally in the department. God, I'd feel nauseatingly good about being the poster child for the company *coughs*.
5) I have informal management experience from work, from several occasions where things simply were going to fall apart unless I intervened.
Cons:
1) No management diplomas.
2) Not sure whether leadership experience from EVE Online really counts that much, although I could point out that I have people skills.
3) It could be strange having colleagues that'd now take directions from me.
4) Morning shifts.
5) Would you be able to take directions from a guy with purple hair?
All in all, it's started a minor avalanche of thoughts in me. Would I be able to streamline and lead people I consider more than colleagues? I actually don't know. But admitting to myself, I want to find out how I'd handle it.
That was the first thing.
Second off; going for an after-work beer with one of my good colleagues, went to the local bar. Ran into some semi-colleagues that work on the Dell Dimension assignment. One of them, whom I periphally know (from having run into him a few times), greeted me as I walked in. My glasses were fogging a bit, so I looked around a little confused; for some reason he took this as a sign to jokingly say "Hey, don't look at me like you don't know me, we've run into each other enough times!". He sounded like he was joking when he said it.
Honestly, I only know what assignment he works on, never even heard the guy's name before, and looking through fogged glasses makes it pretty damn hard to discern anything but rough size and possibly gender of the person in front of you.
Picking up on the joke, I asked him to repeat what he said.
And that's when things took a turn for the strange.
Being confronted with what he said, although I honestly did not even stab it in his eye or sneer at him, I apparantly had mortally insulted him? He began inquiring as to why I thought he'd said that, and how he would never have said anything like that. The more he proclaimed, the more agitated and wounded he became. After about 30 seconds of rambling, he stated that if I indeed thought he had said that, then I had issues trusting people, since he would never say something like that. Odd thing is, the guy standing next to me (both of us sober, while the Dell guy was heavily inebriated) had also heard him saying it. I tried to tell him that it was indeed what I had heard, but I had thought he had meant it as a joke, which for some reason infuriated the guy even further. At this point I considered simply turning around and walking away, but stubbornness, and to some extent, annoyance that a sober person apparantly hears *worse* than a drunk-off-his-ass person does, made me force the issue and tell him that I did indeed hear him saying so, and that I had taken it as a joke.
This was the point where he began to look decidedly bitter and resentful, while mumbling through a sentence that I assume implied that I was a horrible person to even imply that he would judge people based on their looks...Where the hell he got that notion from, is beyond my reasoning. After a bit less than ten minutes of listening to him (while waiting for a beer), my patience was about worn out, and I intently turned away, ignored him and walked off to a nearby table.
I'm unsure as to whether I'm looking forward to seeing him at work on monday, or whether I hope he'll hide away from the abject nonsense he spouted.
Final straw: Sitting down at a table with my colleague, and setting up a dice game with some guy from the same building we work in. Nice guy with a white tie, no problems, but his colleague (whom I've blissfully never met) obviously had something to get off his mind. Staggering into the table, he started muttering about how he was going to get beaten up when he left the bar, and how we should follow him outside to help him. This guy looked like someone who got rejected for the casting of the "I must be Emo" video, and his rather whiny attitude made me want to toss my beer in his face and tell him to grow a pair and stop fucking whining.
Eventually, the tie-guy apparantly rejected this drunken excuse for an emo sufficiently, so emo-boy attempts to stand up, yells "you fucking owe me one, now I'm gonna get beat up outside!" and kicks a chair in towards the table.
Incidentally clipping my knee with it.
Not that it hurt significantly, but I was tempted to stand up and inform him that he wouldn't have to walk outside to get the snot kicked out of him.
God damn sufferjunkie.
Obviously, I have people skills. Especially how kindly I portray people when they annoy me even in the slightest.
And now? Off to bed, because in less than 7 hours, I'm going to be rising to greet the new day, and another glorious workshift. How fortunate I am.
Like a bad girl straight to video
Little darling, welcome to the show
You're a failure played in stereo
No, above text really has nothing to do with the rest of this, just listening to Mindless Self Indulgence's 'Straight To Video'. Good stuff, that.
So this day has been strange. Strange, as in multiple incidents that, on their own, would have made me raise my eyebrow.
Okay, bad metaphor, since I seem to have a constant arrogant frown anyway.
So, here's what's up:
1) Work. My former teamleader (whom I've had since I started at my job mack in march) quit in end january, to move to Australia. It's a pity, since I honestly respected him. Sure, he might have been marginally influenced by the weed he homegrew, but honestly I always considered him the example that you can indeed smoke a reasonable amount of joints and still be sharp. Also, he was considerate and willing to find solutions to most any problem that might arise at work, from work schedules, to strange solutions to strange problems. Most of all, he cared for the people that worked under him.
The new teamleader I got, was an old friend of him, and initially I considered him the complete opposite. Streamlined, goal-oriented and utterly professional. I was wrong about him, which took less than a week to discover. He had almost the same traits as my former teamleader, except he smoked a good deal less weed. I had a talk with him today, from my side because I wanted to explain why I have some trouble meeting on time. Meeting at 2 in the afternoon doesn't help one bit if you're still not asleep at 8 AM, or have already woken up multiple times due to nightmares. He listened, thought, and came with suggestions. He cared, and wanted to help find a workable solution.
Moreoever, after having been teamleader for less than 3 weeks, he also told me that he's leaving the company at the end of the month. He's been offered a position in another company that he felt too good to pass up on. Naturally, he felt somewhat bad about having just taken over this job, and then leaving, but one has to do what's right for one self. I understand him, and wish him all well the new place.
And then he said something that I wasn't entirely prepared for;
"If I was in your situation, I would file an application for the position".
In truth, I want that position. I am not entirely certain if I'd be qualified for it, having had no formal management training, but he struck a nerve. I considered applying for the position when my former TL left us, but turned it down on the grounds that I wasn't sure what I actually wanted to do. I do now.
I'll need to mull over this for a while, because I'm worried how I'll react to the rejection in case I apply and get turned down. It's obviously not the end of the world, but it's easier to slack and set the goals low, because that way you don't get disappointed. Problem is, I've done that for a long time, emotionally as well. Maybe it's time for a change.
My qualities?
1) I know what I'm doing as it is now, so I know what to expect of those who'd work under me.
2) I wouldn't ask them to do something I know I couldn't. Easy, since pretty much anything we can get tossed in our face, I've already had happen, from Backbones tilting, gateways dieing horribly and mailservers discarding usernames + passwords.
3) I care for the workplace, and those working there.
4) It'd be one fuck of a PR-stunt from their side, to show that they encourage development and growith internally in the department. God, I'd feel nauseatingly good about being the poster child for the company *coughs*.
5) I have informal management experience from work, from several occasions where things simply were going to fall apart unless I intervened.
Cons:
1) No management diplomas.
2) Not sure whether leadership experience from EVE Online really counts that much, although I could point out that I have people skills.
3) It could be strange having colleagues that'd now take directions from me.
4) Morning shifts.
5) Would you be able to take directions from a guy with purple hair?
All in all, it's started a minor avalanche of thoughts in me. Would I be able to streamline and lead people I consider more than colleagues? I actually don't know. But admitting to myself, I want to find out how I'd handle it.
That was the first thing.
Second off; going for an after-work beer with one of my good colleagues, went to the local bar. Ran into some semi-colleagues that work on the Dell Dimension assignment. One of them, whom I periphally know (from having run into him a few times), greeted me as I walked in. My glasses were fogging a bit, so I looked around a little confused; for some reason he took this as a sign to jokingly say "Hey, don't look at me like you don't know me, we've run into each other enough times!". He sounded like he was joking when he said it.
Honestly, I only know what assignment he works on, never even heard the guy's name before, and looking through fogged glasses makes it pretty damn hard to discern anything but rough size and possibly gender of the person in front of you.
Picking up on the joke, I asked him to repeat what he said.
And that's when things took a turn for the strange.
Being confronted with what he said, although I honestly did not even stab it in his eye or sneer at him, I apparantly had mortally insulted him? He began inquiring as to why I thought he'd said that, and how he would never have said anything like that. The more he proclaimed, the more agitated and wounded he became. After about 30 seconds of rambling, he stated that if I indeed thought he had said that, then I had issues trusting people, since he would never say something like that. Odd thing is, the guy standing next to me (both of us sober, while the Dell guy was heavily inebriated) had also heard him saying it. I tried to tell him that it was indeed what I had heard, but I had thought he had meant it as a joke, which for some reason infuriated the guy even further. At this point I considered simply turning around and walking away, but stubbornness, and to some extent, annoyance that a sober person apparantly hears *worse* than a drunk-off-his-ass person does, made me force the issue and tell him that I did indeed hear him saying so, and that I had taken it as a joke.
This was the point where he began to look decidedly bitter and resentful, while mumbling through a sentence that I assume implied that I was a horrible person to even imply that he would judge people based on their looks...Where the hell he got that notion from, is beyond my reasoning. After a bit less than ten minutes of listening to him (while waiting for a beer), my patience was about worn out, and I intently turned away, ignored him and walked off to a nearby table.
I'm unsure as to whether I'm looking forward to seeing him at work on monday, or whether I hope he'll hide away from the abject nonsense he spouted.
Final straw: Sitting down at a table with my colleague, and setting up a dice game with some guy from the same building we work in. Nice guy with a white tie, no problems, but his colleague (whom I've blissfully never met) obviously had something to get off his mind. Staggering into the table, he started muttering about how he was going to get beaten up when he left the bar, and how we should follow him outside to help him. This guy looked like someone who got rejected for the casting of the "I must be Emo" video, and his rather whiny attitude made me want to toss my beer in his face and tell him to grow a pair and stop fucking whining.
Eventually, the tie-guy apparantly rejected this drunken excuse for an emo sufficiently, so emo-boy attempts to stand up, yells "you fucking owe me one, now I'm gonna get beat up outside!" and kicks a chair in towards the table.
Incidentally clipping my knee with it.
Not that it hurt significantly, but I was tempted to stand up and inform him that he wouldn't have to walk outside to get the snot kicked out of him.
God damn sufferjunkie.
Obviously, I have people skills. Especially how kindly I portray people when they annoy me even in the slightest.
And now? Off to bed, because in less than 7 hours, I'm going to be rising to greet the new day, and another glorious workshift. How fortunate I am.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Friday night snowfall
And here I thought it was going to be a boring walk to the 7-11.
Situation: 2 AM, I'm slightly hungry and feel like a walk. Obvious choice is to achieve both, and visit the local commodity pushers at the best time there is to shop overpriced groceries; night-time style.
It never even struck me to look out the window and check how things were looking. Much greater the surprise when walking out the door, and finding a fine layer of snow on the sidewalk.
Of course, a spectacle so beautiful as such deserves my full attention; for just about the time it took for me to simultaneously trip over a tipped-over bike, and subsequently note that someone had already celebrated the snowfall by sacrificing their stomach's contents all over said sidewalk.
Did I mention I live in the 'hood? Chances are 50/50 that it's either high-school, Bacardi Breezer teenage-vomit, or some wretched husk of a human being whose life has slipped through the cracks in every conceivable way who regurtitated the same place mothers take their children to school on mornings.
I guess there's a cloud to every silver lining.
Even that wasn't enough to take away the moment of magic, standing there with snow already melting through my rather leaky shoes. Just a moment of quiet, and of something as cliché as beauty.
The rest of the walk was less memorable, high point probably being the arguably least edible hotdog I have had the misfortune of chomping down on, and my now somewhat soaked socks.
Looking out the window now, I see shades of white illuminated by that sickly iodine lighting from the street lamps. I've missed snow. I'll hate it in the morning when it sloshes around my boots, and I'll hate it when the snow melts, then re-freezes and turns into caps of ice I can slip on and fracture my spine on. Until then, though, I'll enjoy the aesthetics of it.
Also...for that moment of self-appreciation, I look fucking good with snow in my hair. Harrharr.
Yay for self-appreciation. It beats the McEmo times by a good deal.
Situation: 2 AM, I'm slightly hungry and feel like a walk. Obvious choice is to achieve both, and visit the local commodity pushers at the best time there is to shop overpriced groceries; night-time style.
It never even struck me to look out the window and check how things were looking. Much greater the surprise when walking out the door, and finding a fine layer of snow on the sidewalk.
Of course, a spectacle so beautiful as such deserves my full attention; for just about the time it took for me to simultaneously trip over a tipped-over bike, and subsequently note that someone had already celebrated the snowfall by sacrificing their stomach's contents all over said sidewalk.
Did I mention I live in the 'hood? Chances are 50/50 that it's either high-school, Bacardi Breezer teenage-vomit, or some wretched husk of a human being whose life has slipped through the cracks in every conceivable way who regurtitated the same place mothers take their children to school on mornings.
I guess there's a cloud to every silver lining.
Even that wasn't enough to take away the moment of magic, standing there with snow already melting through my rather leaky shoes. Just a moment of quiet, and of something as cliché as beauty.
The rest of the walk was less memorable, high point probably being the arguably least edible hotdog I have had the misfortune of chomping down on, and my now somewhat soaked socks.
Looking out the window now, I see shades of white illuminated by that sickly iodine lighting from the street lamps. I've missed snow. I'll hate it in the morning when it sloshes around my boots, and I'll hate it when the snow melts, then re-freezes and turns into caps of ice I can slip on and fracture my spine on. Until then, though, I'll enjoy the aesthetics of it.
Also...for that moment of self-appreciation, I look fucking good with snow in my hair. Harrharr.
Yay for self-appreciation. It beats the McEmo times by a good deal.
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