I had a rockin' kick-ass day here on this Birthday Eve because of a rush project. Rush = 2 hours until delivery after very first briefing. I produced a complex, precise, professional series of process diagrams using software I only began exploring yesterday morning along with a document that is strategically significant... And for the first time in my life, I watched something that I designed and created come to life and get delivered in its original, me-designed state in the span of a few hours.
In the past, I had to somehow pull together poorly-organized bits of information into something moderately coherent that would likely get completely transmogrified into obtuseness by my bosses and their bosses, or eventually scrapped in its final stages by bureaucratic fat cats anyway, affecting nothing at all after a 6-month fizzling lifespan.
Thank god for pressure.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Winter Whites
My eyes are hungry for the color green. I have spent the last several minutes googling "rainforest" and gazing with deep longing at the lush colors and imagining rays of new-formed sunlight penetrating the warm, hazy air at that special angle that shouts "it's morning!" I wish I could plunge my head through my computer screen as if it were a pensieve and inhale that loamy, living, nourishing air.
And it's not even the winter blues either, although the winter sky is blue enough - I am entranced by high-res images of Crete and the coasts of Brazil, the Seychelles, the beaches of the Pacific Northwest.
Here's my world.
What I'd like to be gazing at.
And it's not even the winter blues either, although the winter sky is blue enough - I am entranced by high-res images of Crete and the coasts of Brazil, the Seychelles, the beaches of the Pacific Northwest.
Here's my world.
 |
| @ Guy and René Lévesque, taken by me at sundown today. |
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| @ paradise. |
Monday, February 18, 2013
Sick Day Nonsense!
Had to call in. After showering and trying to eat breakfast between coughs, groans and sneezes, I finally realized that I was too ill for office work. The mere thought of walking to the metro sent my virus-riddled brain on a tailspin, much less the notion of riding it. It would be inconsiderate to force this on my colleagues.
I sent my boss an e-mail, knocked back some Nyquil and slept for 4 hours without waking up - all this after a night of 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep. What is up with me? I thought I'd spend some time here, as I muzzily drink my first cup of Pacifico light roast of the day (withdrawal headache still clamoring for attention in the occipital lobe), describing to you (my loyal readers) my most recent obsession: Pilot Frixion .4mm.
All my life, I have put up with a perpetual preoccupation with pens that is placed purely on perspicacity and not at all on price. I have discovered some killer dollar store writing implements and likewise rejected high-quality German models. My journal's companion is a leather and silver encased little gem of a fountain pen with a superfine iridium nib, enameled in brown with silver plum blossoms.
On a whim, I recently bid upon and won a single Pilot Frixion .4mm on eBay... And I'm just flabbergasted at its awesomeness. I refuse to even pick up a pen (unless I have no other recourse) with a rollerball, nib or tip wider than .5mm, and this, this pen has the most satisfying needle point so fine that it's almost invisible against your writing surface. The words one writes seem to float up out of oblivion and imprint themselves magically upon the lucky paper.
Now for the "friction" part of things. Prepare to be amazed. This is an erasable pen, and the mechanism is, you guessed it, friction. The pen has a little rubber nubbin at the opposite end that can be used to send words, godlike, back into the oblivion from whence they came... And it's nothing like those hated, traditional erasable pens, which skip and spit globs of ink, whose erasers quickly wear down and whose words remain etched after erasing, ghostlike and disturbing, upon the page. With the Pilot Frixion, what was done is undone, utterly. And the ink is gel! The nubbin never gets used up, because it's not subsuming the ink, the ink is undergoing a chemical alteration that has nothing to do with the substance of the nubbin! Feel free to quote these medicated words.
If you have no qualms about making trans-Pacific purchases (and waiting 2-3 weeks for your goods to arrive), I definitely recommend these pens.
I sent my boss an e-mail, knocked back some Nyquil and slept for 4 hours without waking up - all this after a night of 9 hours of uninterrupted sleep. What is up with me? I thought I'd spend some time here, as I muzzily drink my first cup of Pacifico light roast of the day (withdrawal headache still clamoring for attention in the occipital lobe), describing to you (my loyal readers) my most recent obsession: Pilot Frixion .4mm.
All my life, I have put up with a perpetual preoccupation with pens that is placed purely on perspicacity and not at all on price. I have discovered some killer dollar store writing implements and likewise rejected high-quality German models. My journal's companion is a leather and silver encased little gem of a fountain pen with a superfine iridium nib, enameled in brown with silver plum blossoms.
On a whim, I recently bid upon and won a single Pilot Frixion .4mm on eBay... And I'm just flabbergasted at its awesomeness. I refuse to even pick up a pen (unless I have no other recourse) with a rollerball, nib or tip wider than .5mm, and this, this pen has the most satisfying needle point so fine that it's almost invisible against your writing surface. The words one writes seem to float up out of oblivion and imprint themselves magically upon the lucky paper.
Now for the "friction" part of things. Prepare to be amazed. This is an erasable pen, and the mechanism is, you guessed it, friction. The pen has a little rubber nubbin at the opposite end that can be used to send words, godlike, back into the oblivion from whence they came... And it's nothing like those hated, traditional erasable pens, which skip and spit globs of ink, whose erasers quickly wear down and whose words remain etched after erasing, ghostlike and disturbing, upon the page. With the Pilot Frixion, what was done is undone, utterly. And the ink is gel! The nubbin never gets used up, because it's not subsuming the ink, the ink is undergoing a chemical alteration that has nothing to do with the substance of the nubbin! Feel free to quote these medicated words.
If you have no qualms about making trans-Pacific purchases (and waiting 2-3 weeks for your goods to arrive), I definitely recommend these pens.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Sick Again
I'm currently in the middle of my weekend cleaning regime, which includes:
Caspian is off at ashtanga yoga with friends T and D and I wish wish wish that I was there with them building my muscle tone back up... But I have a cold. A new cold. I enjoyed 2.5 weeks of health between this and the last cold (which may have been the flu, since it was 3x worse than the one I have now). I'm hoping it won't be like college, when Natty and I would suffer from the same cold for months due to stress, living off of cereal and milk, not sleeping, etc. My ears are ringing, I wake myself up in the middle of the night to sneeze ten times, my eyes are watering, my head is stuffed with wool, no appetite, etc. The usual cold stuff. I weighed myself this morning for the first time in weeks and the scale said 104. I was so alarmed that I reset it four times and re-weighed, with no change. I'd say bring on the chocolate, if I could actually taste it. UGH.
Now that I'm working full-time in the office again, the kitties have become at least three times sweeter and stuff is three times more cluttered/dusty by the weekend than before.
Anyway. I'm drowning in camomile tea and can barely think. Weird how sinuses full of gunk = a brain full of nothing.
Friday afternoon, I took a walk in the Jewish cemetery. It was quite lonely, with one mourner standing in black beside her loved one's grave, reading from a book. The wind was also a constant 100 kph, and it made the most desolate rushing sound as it swept through the incredibly tall trees that line one of the main chemins. The grounds are so large that I walked briskly from one end to the other (along the shorter axis) in 20 minutes. One weathered headstone, inscribed with three lines, caught my fancy:
Our dream lies buried here.
Your love will light our way.
Your memory will ever be with us.
It says exactly what I feel about the people I love who are gone.
- All laundry (including linens and towels - each load must be folded and put away before another is taken from the washing machine)
- Sweep and mop ceramic floors (wood exempt)
- Dust and wash all up-facing surfaces in house
- Wipe down all cabinets
- Scrub toilets, inside and out
- Scrub shower and tub (bleach first, then with brush)
- Find a home for (or toss) clutter that amassed during the week
- File papers and mail that collected during the week
- Pay bills, pay off credit card, money into savings, etc.
Caspian is off at ashtanga yoga with friends T and D and I wish wish wish that I was there with them building my muscle tone back up... But I have a cold. A new cold. I enjoyed 2.5 weeks of health between this and the last cold (which may have been the flu, since it was 3x worse than the one I have now). I'm hoping it won't be like college, when Natty and I would suffer from the same cold for months due to stress, living off of cereal and milk, not sleeping, etc. My ears are ringing, I wake myself up in the middle of the night to sneeze ten times, my eyes are watering, my head is stuffed with wool, no appetite, etc. The usual cold stuff. I weighed myself this morning for the first time in weeks and the scale said 104. I was so alarmed that I reset it four times and re-weighed, with no change. I'd say bring on the chocolate, if I could actually taste it. UGH.
Now that I'm working full-time in the office again, the kitties have become at least three times sweeter and stuff is three times more cluttered/dusty by the weekend than before.
Anyway. I'm drowning in camomile tea and can barely think. Weird how sinuses full of gunk = a brain full of nothing.
Friday afternoon, I took a walk in the Jewish cemetery. It was quite lonely, with one mourner standing in black beside her loved one's grave, reading from a book. The wind was also a constant 100 kph, and it made the most desolate rushing sound as it swept through the incredibly tall trees that line one of the main chemins. The grounds are so large that I walked briskly from one end to the other (along the shorter axis) in 20 minutes. One weathered headstone, inscribed with three lines, caught my fancy:
Our dream lies buried here.
Your love will light our way.
Your memory will ever be with us.
It says exactly what I feel about the people I love who are gone.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
If you don't use it, you lose it.
Whenever I'm at a shopping center or even walking along the streets, I pass the shops of various mobile services and shudder. I can't stand the mobile industry, and I don't even really know why.
Now, since I'm working in another part of the city and commuting often, I talked it over with Caspian and reluctantly agreed that it's probably safer for me to finally get a cell phone, which I've avoided for about 2.5 years (before which I had many, but also before the popularity explosion of data plans and smartphones).
This morning after a deliciously challenging yoga class and a relaxing lunch with our friends, Caspian and I headed over to the Eaton Center to finally make a decision about that little plastic and metal box that most people stare into more often than the eyes of their loved ones... The dreaded mobile phone.
Errrgh, I hate them! Hate, hate, hate! Despise! I actually judge people quite negatively if I see a top rate, leather-coddled smart phone or tablet resting conspicuously upon one's workspace (and mobile phones aren't even allowed in my office, given the confidential nature of the industry - you actually have to walk off the premises to take a call or send a text message, and phones need to be in pockets or purses at all times). People gaze at their phones like lovers, they caress them ostentatiously in all settings, and it seems so obscene to me. To see a 10-year-old with a mobile phone is, in my opinion, parental blasphemy. There has to be a way for us to live happily without them, there just has to be.
Even the employees irk me. I express interest in a simple model and ask questions about its durability and operating system, and they say, "Well, I'm not so familiar with that one, people generally aren't interested in it..." Bingo! Those are the magic words.
Steering clear of giant shimmering screens, the whole Blackberry nonsense and Mac products as well (I can be such an ex-post-hipster when it comes to tech)... I picked out a little HTC, signed over my $35/monthly, declined a data plan, stuffed the little obsession in my coat pocket and went on my way, ignoring the soulless eyes of those drooling over the display cases. Human nature is terrifying. Does patience exist anymore (and this from the most impatient girl in the world, according to her parents)? Are people capable of waiting quietly in doctors' offices without playing with bright and shiny little doodads? Is everybody's catchphrase "entertain me"?
My lovely recycled leather agenda from years ago is still perused every day, refills are purchased each September. My hand makes actual notes in it. No alarms remind me of the myriads of things I have to do, because I've got a brain for that.
Soufflez.
Now, since I'm working in another part of the city and commuting often, I talked it over with Caspian and reluctantly agreed that it's probably safer for me to finally get a cell phone, which I've avoided for about 2.5 years (before which I had many, but also before the popularity explosion of data plans and smartphones).
This morning after a deliciously challenging yoga class and a relaxing lunch with our friends, Caspian and I headed over to the Eaton Center to finally make a decision about that little plastic and metal box that most people stare into more often than the eyes of their loved ones... The dreaded mobile phone.
Errrgh, I hate them! Hate, hate, hate! Despise! I actually judge people quite negatively if I see a top rate, leather-coddled smart phone or tablet resting conspicuously upon one's workspace (and mobile phones aren't even allowed in my office, given the confidential nature of the industry - you actually have to walk off the premises to take a call or send a text message, and phones need to be in pockets or purses at all times). People gaze at their phones like lovers, they caress them ostentatiously in all settings, and it seems so obscene to me. To see a 10-year-old with a mobile phone is, in my opinion, parental blasphemy. There has to be a way for us to live happily without them, there just has to be.
Even the employees irk me. I express interest in a simple model and ask questions about its durability and operating system, and they say, "Well, I'm not so familiar with that one, people generally aren't interested in it..." Bingo! Those are the magic words.
Steering clear of giant shimmering screens, the whole Blackberry nonsense and Mac products as well (I can be such an ex-post-hipster when it comes to tech)... I picked out a little HTC, signed over my $35/monthly, declined a data plan, stuffed the little obsession in my coat pocket and went on my way, ignoring the soulless eyes of those drooling over the display cases. Human nature is terrifying. Does patience exist anymore (and this from the most impatient girl in the world, according to her parents)? Are people capable of waiting quietly in doctors' offices without playing with bright and shiny little doodads? Is everybody's catchphrase "entertain me"?
My lovely recycled leather agenda from years ago is still perused every day, refills are purchased each September. My hand makes actual notes in it. No alarms remind me of the myriads of things I have to do, because I've got a brain for that.
Soufflez.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Don't Mind Me...
I am having an AWESOME time. So awesome, in fact, that I was at work and looked up at the clock for the first time in hours and noticed that the office was empty and it was almost 7 PM.
My new place rocks, and the people there are so fun and interesting and diverse. Everything feels so natural, interactions just click into place.
And for the first time in my life, I am attempting to consciously cultivate an attitude of "I like being in this place." I think one of the big reasons I despised my last major position is because I'd conditioned myself to love being any place (including the dentist's chair and sitting for hours in a doctor's office) but at work.
It's actually extremely liberating to feel free enough to not have an incredibly strong compulsion to run from the building after one's 8 hours are complete. To be free of that compulsion...
My new place rocks, and the people there are so fun and interesting and diverse. Everything feels so natural, interactions just click into place.
And for the first time in my life, I am attempting to consciously cultivate an attitude of "I like being in this place." I think one of the big reasons I despised my last major position is because I'd conditioned myself to love being any place (including the dentist's chair and sitting for hours in a doctor's office) but at work.
It's actually extremely liberating to feel free enough to not have an incredibly strong compulsion to run from the building after one's 8 hours are complete. To be free of that compulsion...
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