As many of you know, for the most part I am a mild mannered and one might even say genteel individual. I believe in the importance of being polite and I frown upon excessive swearing or "cussing" without due cause. However, sometimes the television.....
This didn't happen until Fiona moved out. The madness started to creep in afterwards. It is like the television could see that I was alone in the house, alone but for a white fluffy cat, and then it attempted to creep insidiously into the corners of my mind.
The other night I came home from a long office day and turned on the aforementioned television. I was sitting there watching ancient reruns of "Friends", half asleep on the couch with Anabel purring on my lap.
Then it happened. The demon I mean, I could feel it reaching its sinuous tentacles out attempting possession, attempting to brainwash me. I am not sure how long it was there staring at me before I noticed it, but notice it I did. Because in the middle of a shampoo commercial in which a sultry European voice promises strong, soft and shining hair. I found myself sitting bolt upright on the couch yelling "SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT UP!". The demon thus exorcised, I turned off the TV. I had visions of smashing the entire box Office Space style, but instead I coaxed Annabel out from behind a bookshelf and went up to bed with a novel.
It is true, I may be going mad. And you may pretend not to know me when you see me ripping out pages from the grocery store magazine rack or cursing the Stella Artois advertisements at the Landmark Theatres. But Reader, beware the demon that lurks within the network cables and sprawls on glossy print. She is waiting for you to let down your guard. She will coax you, amuse you, seduce you, annoy you. But if you let her in she will steal your soul and sell it for a premium.
I mean, really, just shut the fuck up.
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
15 February 2011
A supervillan(ess) is born
Somewhere between watching Spanish television and "chatting" with customer service online*, I came to the realization that I was going to make a career change.
I am going to go into marketing. (It is true, I have quit the non-profit and have accepted a position with a marketing firm).
Not because of the age old adage if you can't beat them, join them. Well, maybe because of this. But also because of the fact that I have secretly always wanted to be a supervillan. Make that supervillaness with a velvet cape, a mask, and maybe some patent leather stiletto heels...
But, Anyway I am looking forward to forming your physche and selling it to you.
As everyone knows it is important to start by advertising to the very young. In this way you can more easily shape what your victims, I mean target audience, thinks they should believe, think, act like, sound like, dress like, speak like.
My aspiration is to get so good at this that I will be able to shape my vict...target audience's method of rebellion and counter culture. Then, when I have formed the aesthetics, tenants, vocal intonation, and catch phrases of this new culture-counter I am going to sell back to you. Just like the White Stripes song. I guess hipster culture already did this. But originality is not a pre-requisite for selling stuff (or for evil).
Due to a potential conflict of interest with my sometimes-anarchist hobbies AND because, by convention supervillains are normally the alter ego of a mild mannered nerd (or is that super hero convention?), I am going to work on developing my super villainess persona.
In fact, due to a intellectual property and non-compete clause in the contract for my new firm I have invested in a new license, passport, social security number, references, and a silver 2008 Lexus. (I still can't afford this year's model of car). I am hoping to rent a highrise apartment in Belltown to use as my super villain lair.
I think I may have to forgo the cape and mask except in the privacy of my lair. Instead I will be outfitting my closet with business casual, khaki trousers and tight suits from Express. Unless the contract calls for a more hip appearance. For this I will have a collection of vintage inspired designer clothes. I will keep the patent leather stiletto heels.
With out further ado, may I introduce you to 'Jennifer Claire Schaefer'. Super villain by day, mild-mannered author by night.
*you know that stock photo of a smiling Asian woman with perfect teeth is NOT actually your customer service representative, and contrary to what he types he is not delighted to assist you. In fact he become quite petulant and insistent when you tell him you don't want to hear what amazing offers his company has tailored for you.
I am going to go into marketing. (It is true, I have quit the non-profit and have accepted a position with a marketing firm).
Not because of the age old adage if you can't beat them, join them. Well, maybe because of this. But also because of the fact that I have secretly always wanted to be a supervillan. Make that supervillaness with a velvet cape, a mask, and maybe some patent leather stiletto heels...
But, Anyway I am looking forward to forming your physche and selling it to you.
As everyone knows it is important to start by advertising to the very young. In this way you can more easily shape what your victims, I mean target audience, thinks they should believe, think, act like, sound like, dress like, speak like.
My aspiration is to get so good at this that I will be able to shape my vict...target audience's method of rebellion and counter culture. Then, when I have formed the aesthetics, tenants, vocal intonation, and catch phrases of this new culture-counter I am going to sell back to you. Just like the White Stripes song. I guess hipster culture already did this. But originality is not a pre-requisite for selling stuff (or for evil).
Due to a potential conflict of interest with my sometimes-anarchist hobbies AND because, by convention supervillains are normally the alter ego of a mild mannered nerd (or is that super hero convention?), I am going to work on developing my super villainess persona.
In fact, due to a intellectual property and non-compete clause in the contract for my new firm I have invested in a new license, passport, social security number, references, and a silver 2008 Lexus. (I still can't afford this year's model of car). I am hoping to rent a highrise apartment in Belltown to use as my super villain lair.
I think I may have to forgo the cape and mask except in the privacy of my lair. Instead I will be outfitting my closet with business casual, khaki trousers and tight suits from Express. Unless the contract calls for a more hip appearance. For this I will have a collection of vintage inspired designer clothes. I will keep the patent leather stiletto heels.
With out further ado, may I introduce you to 'Jennifer Claire Schaefer'. Super villain by day, mild-mannered author by night.
*you know that stock photo of a smiling Asian woman with perfect teeth is NOT actually your customer service representative, and contrary to what he types he is not delighted to assist you. In fact he become quite petulant and insistent when you tell him you don't want to hear what amazing offers his company has tailored for you.
11 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde II: distraction
In which there is an unsolved mystery, a pencil shortage and a dog.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
After the bathroom incident (and a small eclair) I did manage to get a little work done. Then, because the cafe was full, I opened up my table to a nanny and a 6 or 7 year old boy. The nanny said " I should warn you, he likes to talk". This was true. I stopped getting much work done. But I did learn about 1st grade homework and dinosaurs.
Next a father, daughter, and French bull dog* came in. They let it wander around the cafe and it frequented my feet and the croissant crumbs from the small boy next to me.
Most cafes would frown on canine customers running free. Not here. The baristsas love this dog. He is a regular. He must be hunted down, kissed, and bestowed with great praise by the new barista who is just coming on shift.
Then the barristas run off for a smoke break outside, the one who has been working all morning is brimming with the urge to tell the second barista about some other incident that happened in the bathroom. The men's bathroom. This incident has nothing to do with me or the photo in the women's bathroom, mind you. The girl begins the story in an animated tone. I want to know what has happened, what was so extraordinarily disgusting? But they slip outside where it is no longer raining, and I cannot hear the rest.
More children come in with parents and nannies afterschool to do work. Today There seems to be a shortage of pencils. The nanny and boy sitting at my table were the first to suffer from the shortage. The boy cuts in line and asks the barista if they have any pencils. No, only pens. So the nanny went to the market across the street to buy pencils while the boy told me that the ham was the most edible part of a ham and cheese croissant. Next the father of the girl with the dog mentions that they don't seem to have a pencil and he must go across the street, luckily the nice nanny intervenes and gives the girls the red mechanical pencil. Twenty minutes later a familiar looking mother comes in with her son and daughter. They had no pencils either. Nice Nanny to the rescue again.
Everyone does their schoolwork and politely give back the borrowed pencils. I decide it is time for me to go as well. I say good bye to the nanny and the boy, leave the baristas gossiping behind the counter, and head home. On the way out I see the sign on the men's bathroom door stating that it is closed until further notice.
Why? What horror of bodily function has occurred here?
* French Bulldogs are one of the uglier species of dogs. This is why people think they are so cute. Additionally, they can't swim. Their heads are too big and they will drown. This pathetic trait, the product of human breeding also serves to make the dog more cute. Really.
07 February 2011
solo perche solo piu verde del verde
In which I go shopping in a public restroom.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
I arrived at the cafe in the middle of a hail storm. It had been sunny when I left home, but now I dashed in the door wet and pelted by tiny pieces of ice.
I had decided to spend the morning in the coffee shop"working". Midway through my latte, a couple of blogs, and a few facebook perusals later I needed to use the restroom.
The restroom is a shade of pale green and has the words "solo perche solo piu verde del verde" painted on the wall. I do not know what this means exactly. I put it into an online translator and it came out with: 'only because it's only green of the green' I think some meaning and all of the poetry must be missing in the translation.
Which reminds me of a certain house I discovered on Queen Anne. The turret of the house, yes turret is inscribed with the latin phrase: 'quo amplius eo amplius' which never quite translates very well for me.
You can find some photos of the house on line at
http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Amplius_Eo_03.jpg and http://www.43places.com/places/view/794003/2018-nob-hill-ave-n-queen-anne-seattle
I first encountered this house late on a moonlight night, but that is another story....
Back in the bathroom, as I sat on the toilet, I noticed that the artwork on the wall had a small tag below it that stated the the photograph was for sale and if one wished to buy it one should write a check, take the artwork off the wall and pay for it at the front counter. (It probably should have said something about washing one's hands first) I was not at that time in a position to write a check, so when finished I wandered back out to my table/workstation and looked up the artist on the internet. The photo in the bathroom was a pleasant close up of a rhododendron. The photos on the artist's website, RJB photography were, all women posing in retro pin-up fashion, lounging on motorcycles or muscle cars. I wondered how he had ended up with the flower shot. I decided to buy the idiosyncratic photograph on a whim and that is where the trouble began.
Firstly, I had difficulty removing the photograph from the wall. The wire in the back seemed to be caught on the nail and I could not manage to untangle it even when I stood on the toilet lid. I looked around for something to pry the wire loose to no avail. Then I had a stroke of genius, I opened the tank on the back of the toilet and removed the long skinny wire that connects the flush lever on the outside of the toilet to the actual flushing mechanism at the bottom of the tank. (The flushing mechanism is called a "flush valve flapper". I know this because my mother's youngest sister was a plumber for awhile after she divorced her millionaire husband and before she went off to be a stock broker on wall street.)
With the wire "chain" I managed to reach the painting wire and un-stick it from the mounting on the wall. Unfortunately, the photograph came loose so quickly that it flew into the water tank. The photograph was undamaged but a significant amount of water was displaced. Due to this unfortunate principle of physics I had to spend quite a bit of time with paper towels in the bathroom. When I was finished (and had washed my hands) I opened the door to see a line of 3 people waiting anxiously to use the restroom. With a red face I exited the restroom and carried my photograph to the counter. (Only later did it occur to me to wonder why there had been a guy waiting in the women's restroom line).
In the end I decided that the photograph was really only mediocre and I hung it in my bathroom at home- NOT over the toilet however.
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