January 27, 2005
A story of fuck
Escaped, triumphant, from the office at 3:30 on Friday, barely pausing to violate my hug sanctions with my officemates, not sure I got all the personal stuff off the computer, striding back to BART in the certain knowledge that I am done forever (or the next five months) with commuting, two trains, scenery, traffic light, up the hill and home to the welcoming front porch where I realized my keys, sullen defectors, had remained behind.
Fuuuuuuck.
Posted by didofoot at 02:38 PM | Comments (5)
January 21, 2005
Northern review you twist is Olivia always
Today is my last day in this job. I know that once I'm gone my soul will have a chance to finally grow back after years of enduring bureacratic termites, but it's sort of hard to get excited about that because it's such a nebulous thing and, after all, I've done without it for this long. My laptop, on the other hand, is very real to me and turning it in today is breaking my heart. So shiny, so silver, so speedy and true. Together we have made our way through all four of the Monkey Island games and several award-winning term papers. Has my soul ever done as much for me? Will my soul be able to check my spelling or interface seamlessly with our wireless router? Can I use it to download Loom?
My laptop got so excited this morning when I began coiling the power cord and stowing things in the carrying bag. It was a lesson in ebullience to see it wag its little lid and bark out the Windows chime noise over and over--I had to tell the poor thing we were just going for a long drive in the country. Little does it know that in a few minutes I will be handing it over to the IT guys so that its little brain can be wiped. Oh, lappie, who will lovingly clean you with anti-static wipes and waste your massive potential on popcap games now?
Posted by didofoot at 11:16 AM | Comments (3)
January 18, 2005
Jerry, the pot-bellied
I'm holding auditions for some new thoughts in my reality show brain. The old cast was extremely popular with viewers in the 7 - 13 year old set, but management has decided that it would be beneficial to begin attracting a slightly older demographic. Say farewell to the boy-crazy Sasha, whose signature hair-twirling and grating giggles were the model for a generation of young flirts. No longer will viewers enjoy the unproductive days of Jerry, the pot-bellied procrastinator, or his twin brother Saul, whose slovenly housekeeping was the subject of the legendary house-meeting-turned-fistfight during sweeps. Amanda, whose near-homicidal jealousy about her boyfriend encouraged blind hatred from audiences and caused many tabloids to dubb her "the new Shannon Doherty," will soon be gone from our lives and hearts. And we will lose the easy-going Greg, whose pathetic eagerness to fade into the background of any situation means no one will remember him at all.
For Season Two, the producers are searching for a character with a strong work ethic and creative drive who will be the resident tempermental artist. They'll need a calm center for the house as well, someone willing to do the dishes every time they need doing and not big with the complaints. They're also toying with the idea of including some kind of hippie freak, an activist with a political conscience to ease away from the me-me-me vibe that characterized the show's first season. And we'll need a token minority to round out the cast.
If you or anyone you know fits one or more of these characters, and (important) you are a thought, not a person, please report to the studio's casting office ASAP. Filming for the new season starts soon, and no one wants to tune in to an empty house.
Posted by didofoot at 09:59 AM | Comments (0)
January 12, 2005
It is a new world!
After three years, I've decided it's finally time to class Carthage up a bit. Sadly, to me class = New England bed & breakfast. If I could, I would include wallpaper of tasteful blue posies and a small bottle of that shampoo/conditioner two-in-one stuff that both tangles and greases up your hair.
I hope that the traditional dark-text-on-white-background makes everyone's reading easier, but if the fonts aren't working on your browser or the white is blinding your dark-adjusted eyes or the color scheme is giving you flashbacks to your elementary school marching band uniform, feel free to weigh in. This probably isn't the final version but I was sick of the black and purple, so enjoy this for now.
Posted by didofoot at 10:34 AM | Comments (29)
January 05, 2005
Our upcoming trip to Monaco
As the years wear on and no one discovers me (I imagine a chance meeting on a BART train with an editor who looks at me and suddenly Understands that I am the next big thing, but I would also be open to meeting in a restaurant or cafe), I am toning down my goals. I don't need to be famous myself as long as I can be surrounded by all the advantages of fame: namely, money, classy grub, and free stuff. I've decided that after I graduate I will become a personal assistant to someone famous. Not the kind of assistant who works fourteen hour days and is made miserable by the vagaries of a self-important popstar; no, I will be the kind who is cherished as a best friend and confidant, who is allowed to go home early or use the expensive gym membership whenever she wants, who gets all the good complimentary food baskets because the star is on a diet.
When my star discusses me with her starry friends at the catered poolside lunch we are billing to the studio (a lunch at which, of course, I am present), she will say with a little laugh "Oh, I just couldn't do without her." This will be a star who values my Snoopy dances and silly French accent more than she would value organizational skills or a good work ethic. "She helps me keep my sense of humor about it all when it gets really awful," she will say with a small wave which encompasses the Hummer, the lap pool, and Juan, the handsome Salvadoran gardener with whom I had a brief kissing affair in 2007 and who the star and I make cruel jokes about now because he follows me around like a puppy. I am wearing $500 Versace sunglasses and giving sage love advice to the starry friends in between the Juan jokes that get meaner with every bloody Mary.
(I still remember the day six months ago when she gave me those glasses. They came in a big gift box from Versace with a bunch of clothes, and she spent six hours trying them on and complaining that they made her forehead look like it was bulging out under her hairline. "It looks bulgey. Doesn't it look bulgey? God, these glasses are so great. But my forehead looks kind of bulgey, I think. Do you think so? Bulgey, right?" I encouraged her in this impression because I really needed a pair of sunglasses for our upcoming trip to Monaco.) The star winces as she adjusts one of her bandages slightly--she has recently gone under the knife of Hollywood's premiere plastic surgeon, the one who did such a great job with Cate, to reduce the size of her bulgey forehead--and, like the stellar personal assistant I am, I considerately order another round of painkilling bloody Marys from the promisingly attractive waiter.
Posted by didofoot at 08:55 AM | Comments (14)
January 03, 2005
Three weeks to go
Today I woke to a morning worn thin by repetition. I lay staring at the clock as it clicked steadily towards 6:15 and barely even had the energy to fight with the sleeping Lad for the covers which we both try to roll ourselves in like human burritos. (His superior mass is effective in trapping blankets underneath him, but I have the advantages of rarely-trimmed toenails and a truly vicious temper when half-asleep and cold.) Now, at the office, I'm avoiding my paperwork and thinking wistfully of the past ten days spent in the apartment with the Lad, basking in the steam heat like dollar-dog buns at the A's stadium.
My memories of our New Year's party are pleasantly boozy, but the extreme stickiness of our floors the next day suggests that fun was had. I know I broke at least one glass and I seem to remember that Michele was wearing a tablecloth, so doesn't that spell F-U-N? For my few readers from outside the CH fold, pictures are here, so you can judge for yourself.
Posted by didofoot at 11:56 AM | Comments (8)
