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It’s funny you mention “duality” – it may be the only word you know that you feel makes that you’re intelligent. Why not throw in “integrated”, “exponential”, “cohesiveness” and similar words into sentences that clearly don’t relate or have room for such fluff? Surely those few words also have a role in your cheese-ball ‘corporate-speak.’
I’m still confused with how you became what you became. Was this company auctioning off management positions to the most mentally challenged? Surely half of the directors here must have won something to gain their position.
But I digress, you are without question under-qualified and over-promoted.
Thirteen days ago everything seemed clear enough. Just take care of the ‘problem.’ It should have been easy. No complications. Anyway, I guess the easiest way to describe what happened was that it was an ‘accident.’ Some would say ‘Wrong place, wrong time’ but it wasn’t that. It truly was an accident.
Do I think he had it coming? No. One thing is for sure, he certainly didn’t expect it - I know that much.
Yeah, it’s got me thinking no doubt. No one knows how it would have shaken out the other way.
The guy just had to go.
Spanish? No I don’t speak fuckin’ Spanish. I barely speak English with knowledge of an eight year old. Why does it matter anyway? Surely he has a basic understanding of English so we should be fine.
Plus, I’m not one for talking anyways. You know I got no problem with silence. Paulo knows what to do I’m sure, and I know how the hang the door so we are fine. Is he fine without taking a lunch? I prefer just to go in, hang that damn door and get out.
The less time I take, the better off I am.
Talk about a helluva day. It couldn’t have gone worse. I thought the concept of ‘progress’ was basic but this monkey has us going backwards. You know, like that old Gang of Four song – “two steps forward, six steps back, six steps back”. Good grief. How can these people do it daily. Every day it’s the same inane thing. Sure, they aren’t punching a clock, but you would figure that they would understand that something in life has to have real honest meaning.
Oh well, who cares anyways. I don’t live with them and they don’t live with me.
My arms are dead.
My legs are dead.
My shoulders are dead.
My back is dead.
My neck is dead.
My elbows are dead.
My chest is dead.
I even think my spirit is dead.
The worst part of all – I actually paid to do this. This was all a lot easier when I was younger – back when I wasn’t “a little fluffy” in the belly. I played sports. I didn’t sit all day at a desk, in an office, in a building.
Surely there must be some other reason that people work out for fun.
I don’t know it.
I’ve lived for 33 years.
It seems like yesterday that I was walking to grade school in the snow. No, I’m not old enough to think that it was uphill both ways. In fact, it was a fairly nice walk. Flat, short, and everyday passing one dog that would follow me as I walked past “his” fence. I guess he was making sure I didn’t invade his space, or his master’s space. Little did he know, I really wasn’t a threat at all.
All of that energy wasted.
Now only if my teachers were the same.
I’ve tried to comprehend what is going on overseas.
I’ve tried to think about why we haven’t been looking at other alternatives.
Alternatives to war, alternatives to oil, and alternatives to just flat out reaction without thought. I realized very quickly that money and greed are more important the those in power, than the those without. But then again, those all of the way at the top- Gates, Buffett – they understand the value of reciprocation.
The means to an end always involves everyone, not just a few.
Have I mentioned that Los Angeles is expensive?
No, seriously it’s too expensive.
I haven’t seen a good original movie in a long while.
Nor have I seen a good original TV show in perhaps a longer time.
And from what little I know, these “reality” shows are scripted enough to not be real. Producers will light a spark here, start a fire there and ‘Viola!’ – we’ve got something.
I guess it’s the viewers I have a problem with.
“I can’t believe what happened last night! Can you?”
No – I can’t believe it…in fact, I also can’t believe that Fred Flinstone used to drive around Bedrock on a car with rocks for wheels.
What a waste.
Seriously, coming off a Monday when everything started up a again. My little weekly routine – poker tournaments, work, some freelance work, thinking about what could’ve been…then “BANG!” – it’s Tuesday. Just like the last Tuesday, and the 1000 Tuesdays before it. It may be the most meaningless day of the week.
There was that line in the movie, “Looks like somebody has a case of ‘the Mondays.’” I haven’t a clue what that is, however a case of “the Tuesdays” is something I can relate to. Oh well, at least tomorrow is Wednesday…just getting over the hump.
I remember going to the beach as a kid. We would drive from Chicago to Ocean City Maryland. I loved it.
“This is a beach,” I thought.
Growing up and riding my bike to Lake Michigan wasn’t going to the beach – it was fresh water for Christ sakes! Swimming in Lake Michigan was like swimming in the dishwater at a Mexican restaurant – sure, maybe it used to be clean, but never in my memory.
No, OC was different. A boardwalk, arcades, cheap jewelry shops, screened t-shirts, vendors selling crap, donut shops, fat people in Spandex.
Now that is a beach!
Did any of you know I went to 4 different colleges? Oh yeah, talk about unsettled.
Every once in a while I sit and think, “What would have happened if I just would have stayed and graduated from _______?” I’m amazed, it’s almost like I had four different lives and four different sets of memories from college.
I wonder where are of those people are. I had a lot of friends at each school, and I wonder what everybody is doing now? Did they graduate?
Did they tour the university circuit like I did until I settled on American History?
I saw a guy at a clothing store spend $75 on a t-shirt. Seventy-five dollars!!!! He then proceeded to buy a pair of blue-jeans for a couple hundred dollars.
I can’t process why anyone would think that they needed to drop almost $400 on a single pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
I walked out with nothing, not that I couldn’t afford the $75 t-shirts, , but mentally that is a huge wall to climb. “T-shirt and jeans” that is ‘comfort wear’ – for me it’s hard to be ‘casual’ in $400 of ‘comfort wear’.
Obviously, I’m in the wrong business.
Any doctors out there? Surely, someone has to have basic knowledge?
Is is a problem if I “wear my emotions on my sleeve”?
Perhaps a fashionista could help? Is it a fashion faux pas if I wear my emotions over my clothes?
Some people take it as a ‘chip on my shoulder,’ but what is it…on my sleeve or on my shoulder?
Are my emotions like a Blue Oyster Cult three-quarter sleeved t-shirt from the seventies? Black body, blue sleeves – “Don’t fear the reaper!” Perhaps the reaper will see my emotions on my sleeves and then fear me. Maybe not.
For some odd reason I am thinking about the trip to Europe that my brother and I took together. If I remember correctly it was 8 weeks. 8 long weeks, thousands of miles from home.
All of the great places we went to, the great food, the interesting people and the strangest thing is my most profound memory is the Canadians with their maple leaf adorning everything they owned.
Red leaf on a backpack.
Red leaf on a hat.
Red leaf on a jacket.
All of this talk about ‘loud Americans’ – they aren’t any different…well, expect for that damn leaf.
“I can’t believe Paul isn’t going to help us out on this one. This was his idea, his plan,” I told Clint as we moved forward. Clint just stares, looking up at the menu.
“Come on man, who else are we going to get?” and Clint just stares ahead.
“Hey fuckhead!” I burst, and Clint finally pays attention – along with everyone else. “Listen, we’re now a man short and we need a replacement.” Clint again stares at the menu ahead.
“Clint, are you listening? This is serious man, you just can’t play Monopoly with two people, it just isn’t fun.”
I really have nothing to say today. Nothing at all. I could take the short cut and just repeat the same word – over and over and over and over and over again…but I won’t. Hmm…today is just one of those days where everything is nothing. I feel liked I’m trapped in a character from a NOMEANSNO song “Everyday, everyday I start to ooze.”
With the wonders of modern medicine curing just about everything, why not a boredom pill. Wasn’t Tim Leary working on that? I don’t need to get all screwy – just reasonably entertained.
Anyone? “A little help here please!”
I’m at a loss for words.
Actually, I’m at a loss for just about everything. The last two hours I have spent thinking about words and the origination of words. Every word stemmed from something, but what was the first word?
Did it start as a grunt? Then a grunt with a different intonation? It’s actually kind of a bizarre way to waste time.
We heard in school about the “fathers of our country”, the creator of the cotton gin…but what about the person that invested “THE”? Surely the word “the” has been important.
I want to know “THE” history!
Robert to Rob to Bob. What ever happened to Bobert?
Thomas. Tom. Tommy. Why no 'h'?
Steven. Stephen. Steve. But "Stephe" looks nice too.
Names are fairly bizarre.
How come every guy I have ever met named “Todd” is gay? Seriously. It is so strange but every single person I have ever met named “Todd” is either gay or extremely feminine. Weird huh?
What happened to descriptive names? Perhaps we need to resurrect some of the ideas from those in the US before us…why not name your child – ‘He who yells at Passersby’ Johnson?
‘She who screams a lot’ Baker?
(No, not that hideously embarrassing band from the 80’s.)
As far as I am concerned, any single thing to the extreme is bad. Everything! If you have blind faith in anything…it’s bad. Religious, political, social…any extreme is a negative.
Well your blind faith makes you lose your sense. All of your rational, logical sense. Your intelligence. It’s almost like the more you believe in something, the dumber you get. Belief isn’t knowledge because knowledge isn’t based on crutches.
Knowledge is a basic concept of information based on pillars that hold up the world around you…not holding you up.
The merits and the beauty of corporate America.
Microsoft, Enron, Coca-Cola, Starbucks, IBP, Wal-Mart, Huffy, Texaco, Chevron, Chevy, Ford, GM, Nike, Arthur Anderson, Johnson & Johnson , Sun Microsystems, Toys R Us, Target, Dell, HP, Deloitte & Touche, Citigroup, AT&T, Raytheon, Diebold, J.P. Morgan / Chase, Mattel, Lockheed Martin, Taco Bell, Tyson Foods, Shell, BP, Delphi, Halliburton, KPMG, Home Depot, General Mills, Wells Fargo & Co, IBM, Unilever, Proctor Gamble
God bless the stockholders.
God bless those CEO bonuses.
God bless the greed.
God, please kill the working class…they are so gauche!
Surely we can outsource every job here…can’t we?
Many people seemed to fail to realize how important World War II was and how the distribution of land during that era is still a challenging process today.
One of my favorite professors simply refused to repeat the specifics during class. Not that he was being arrogant in thinking that we should have written everything down, not at all. He simply wanted us to understand what caused what, what led up to what and what it all means together.
History isn’t about memorization of raw dates, names and facts – it is about an understanding of the process of the world
We had a slow day at work today and every slow day I take it personally. This is a company I helped start, I got it off of the ground and like every other job – if I don’t have a vested interest – I lose focus.
Overall, the month has been solid, but every slow day I can’t help to think what I may have done wrong, or how I can improve our company. Our customers seem to love us, and love the work we do. But they don’t see what I see.
One little problem, could be a major one.
I remember as a kid, I listened to all of my mom’s old Motown records. In fact, it was nothing but “oldies” – all of the time. Bobby Darin, Elvis, Supremes, Pointer Sisters, Chuck Berry, along with those countless “one-hit wonders” – that was the soundtrack to my suburban upbringing.
I would listen to the oldies station on the way to hockey games as a kid – driving to Joliet, St. Charles, Deerfield, Peoria, and wherever else our games took us.
Today driving on the 110 into downtown Los Angeles, I thought of “Hold Me Tiger” by Fabian. Man, I hate that song.
I miss the winter.
Here we are in January and it’s sunny, and I spent last night walking on the beach – only 5 blocks away. I look out at the Santa Monica Mountains and see little wisps of snow on the peaks. Is there snow in Los Angeles?
There was something humbling about walking outside in Chicago with the temperature sitting at a cool 10 degrees and a gust of wind just about ripping your face off. You cough. You shutter. You shiver. You scrape you car windows. You shovel your driveway. You hear the snow crunch.
That is winter.
I am a critic.
I am critical of myself and everyone around me. Not in an arrogant way, but simply a analytical way. I find my faults and attempt to either correct them, or just end up magnifying them.
Introspection on a daily basis is totally positive medicine. But you know what hurts? When something else points out a glaring fault that you cannot change. I have no problem listening to change, I just need to be able to correct it. And I try to correct it.
One of these days I am going to stop analyzing everything so much.
I bought some fucking boots last night, and these fucking boots are giving me fucking blisters.
I can’t fucking believe I was so fucking stupid to spend $200 fucking bucks on these!
Most of my fucking shoes are a lot fucking cheaper than $200 fucking dollars. I wouldn’t care so fucking much if my fucking feet weren’t getting fucking blisters. As soon as I get fucking home I’m fucking ripping these fucking boots off.
This fucking manufacturer needs a fucking letter to fix this fucking heel! I can’t fucking believe I am fucking limping because of these fucking new boots!
I just read my post from yesterday. My feet, with four fresh blisters were the cause for that exercise in the use of “fucking.” It’s a powerful word. I managed to use “fucking” three times in every sentence. That’s a lot of “fucking.”
It’s funny how some words produce emotions far greater than others. Just reading that passage actually sped up my heart rate, almost making me angry inside.
Surely, I meant no offense if anyone is actually reading this, but it’s funny how one word can affect you.
Oh, Neosporin, Band-Aids and Bushmills are great way to cure blisters.
When I first went to Europe, I actually wanted to see the entire United State BEFORE I stepped foot into Europe. Now, I have driven in every state with the exception of Alaska so I would prefer the go to Alaska, but Europe it is.
Every time I tell people that have been to 49 states…they seen shocked. Of course, I am more shocked when they tell me that they have only been to four. Do Americans not understand how vastly different each and every state is?
The coasts, the borders, the accents, the foods, the landscape.
Everyone, go driving!!!!
Growing up in Chicago – I grew up a Bears fan.
Here we now sit… a week from the Super Bowl and I’m actually content with whoever wins.
I never cared about basketball. Never, even though I was typically ‘tall’ for my grade, I never played.
Baseball, as a “North Sider” I should have been a Cubs fan – but I like the Astros. Weird. Maybe it was the whole Astrodome, the goofy orange uniforms.
Also, playing hockey, I was a huge Blackhawks fan. And what a miserable franchise that has become. Talk about terrible ownership…is there a worse franchise in sports?
I have no free-time.
The few minutes I take to write these simple words means I’m probably neglecting something else. From my regular work schedule, to the various other things I am working on – I feel busy all of the time.
I guess it’s a good thing, at least I’m above ground.
When I try to sleep, my mind just stirs… “I could do [this] or I could do [that]” and then I’m completely awake and start working on something.
They say too little sleep can shorten your life.
Oh well, at least it will have been a busy life.
Here comes the shortest month.
Why is February ‘Black History Month’? I know it’s been used by many comedians as a joke that it’s the shortest month of the year, but do we really need it?
Do text books change in school in February? Is history rewritten every February and written only by black historians? Perhaps it should be. Because reading ‘Black history’ written by Johnny Bob Whiteguy is like…well…you fill in the blank, I can’t think of anything catchy.
Anyway, do yourself a favor…read something this month. Not about Africa…but about America…and the country WE all created, colors together.
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