From The Front Desk To Your Desk...

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

The Intern


Once upon a noonday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious webpage of forgotten lore - There I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at on my boss’s door“’Tis some visitor, “I muttered, “tapping at my boss’s door -

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each passing feature wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrowFrom the Trades surcease of sorrow – sorrow from this dreadful bore - For that rare and radiant anything that could break this dreadful bore

- Nameless here for evermore.


Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a sigh and mutter,In there shuffled a lowly Intern from the offices next door;Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;But with mien of star or leading lady, leaned against my boss’s door.Leaned against a bust of Goldwyn just above my boss’s door

- Leaned, and simpered, and nothing more.


Then this unpaid student beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,“Though thy shirt be wrecked and wrinkled, thou,” I said “art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and clueless Intern wandering from the offices next door - Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

Quoth the Intern, “Nevermore.”


But the Intern still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled an orthopedic chair in front of kid and bust and door;
Then, upon the vinyl sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this lowly student of films of yore - What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, student from the office next door.

Meant in croaking, “Nevermore.”

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the kid whose lazy eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s vinyl lining that the florescent-light gloated o’er
But whose sweaty vinyl lining the florescent-lights gloated o’er,

“My boredom shall press, ah, nevermore!”


Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censerSwung by bosses whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.“Wretch,” I cried, “My employer has lent thee – by an email he hathsent thee!Respite – respite and nepenthe from my abysmal bore;What oh what the hell is nepenthe?” I did then have cause to roar.

Quoth the Intern, “Nevermore.”


“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil! – prophet still, if boss or devil!Whether Tempter sent, or whether agency tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, in this deserted office granted - On my desk by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore - Is there – is there anything for me to do? Tell me – tell me, I implore!”

Quoth the Intern, “Nevermore!”


And the Intern, never working, still is sitting, still is smirkingOn the pallid bust of Goldwyn just beside my boss’s door;And his eyes have all the seeming of an executive’s that’s Scheming,And the florescent-light on him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;And in my boredom I lie there simpering, whimpering on the floor

It shall be lifted – Nevermore!

Thursday, May 11, 2006

Nudity In The Theatre

I was just speaking to some oldish friends about one of the most time honored traditions of American Theatre - Nudity on stage. The question at hand is simple - what's the deal? While I am all for certain types of nudity, the last thing I want to see is a bunch of Naked People prancing around during All My Sons while I'm watching with my parents. At the same time, who am I to tell you that doing a rendition of Seven Brides for Seven Brothers au natural wouldn't be inspired. Or a prelude to a porn flick.

This is not my first foray into this hot button issue. Many people don’t know this, but I originally wanted to do Lysistrata completely in the buff (the actors and actresses, not me – that would be stupid) but a committee made up the dance department, the young republicans, and DISA really put the kibosh on that one. I know what you’re thinking: why would the dance department want to stop my hot Greek action? Apparently their charter with the University states that the Dance department has a strangle hold on all inappropriate nudity during a school sanctioned event. You can’t fight with policy. If you do, you disappear.

I suggested a line of specialty glasses that would be given to the audience before the show started. The show progresses as normal but just before an uncomfortable nudity scene, the stage manager can flip a switch…suddenly a red light starts to blink just above the stage. This is the 10 second warning light, informing the audience that the faint of heart should now slip on said glasses. You see, the glasses would have black bars painted across sections of the lenses creating, in effect, a personalized sensor system or PSS. I had to halt development in the PSS when we couldn’t figure out how to handle the actors moving around on the stage or people sitting in any position but dead center. Not being able to perfect the PSS might very well be my greatest regret from school.

I think nudity is a welcome convention for the stage as long as the women (come on, who wants to see a guy, bare-assed and fancy free) strutting around are consummate professionals who understand the aesthetic value of the nudity in “the world of the play.” And are smoking hot. At the same time, I think that seeing such a spectacle with ones wife, while in some circles could be a prelude to enriching discourse, might very well be one of the worst experiences I can imagine.

But that’s just this humble man’s opinion.

Tuesday, February 14, 2006

Ruminations

The internet can be pretty cool. In the perfect society, we could use the internet to communicate across distances and to break down barriers like race and culture that traditionally have been hindered by things like language and flags and national pastimes. I can learn about the history of Cypress and use this experience to take apart my own innate and completely human misinterpretations and misconceptions about the region and craft a better, more informed world view. A child in Moscow can learn to read English, or French, or Portuguese and become the greatest writer his adoptive language has ever known. Folks of a political bend – be they premieres or presidents, abortion activists or save the whales saboteurs – can take the bully pulpit and speak to the people, waiving their banners for all to see. Inner city kids can learn about Da Vinci, hillbillies can stream the Berlin Philharmonic, and enterprising do-it-your-selfers could find out how to reassemble the garbage disposal.

Unfortunately all we seem to use it for is porn and downloading music.

These are of course very important functions of society, and I would challenge anyone to find me a civilization that failed to become great when porn and music were so readily available. It’s impossible I tell you.

In our modern world I can find out nearly anything about anything with a high speed connection and a few clicks of my mouse. Notice I said nearly everything. The problem with the internet is that it’s just too damn big, but it’s not so big as to encompass the sum total of all human knowledge. And when I say some total I mean everything. Not just the history of American Apple farming, but the phone number for Mr. Cho’s, the Business faxes for awning companies in Berlin, and all manner of miscellany.

It’s a cruel joke really. We assume that in this age of information we can go online and find out anything we may want to know, and while there have been some great advances in collecting and codifying Everything, we aren’t quite there yet. And that means that when the net does fail us, when after 10 to 15 minutes of active searching and googling you are still not getting the answer to your most recent burning question we have no flipping clue what to do next. If it’s not on the internet, it must not exist. If it does somehow exist and it’s still not showing up in an online search, then it must not be worth knowing, right?

Apparently not, or so my boss tells me. Apparently when she asks for some bit of information – be it a phone number or an address or a product name - , she doesn’t want to hear that it doesn’t exist regardless of what Google says. So here’s the question: in a world where we aren’t just addicted to the net but dependant on it for answers for simple every day questions, what the hell are we supposed to do when it falls short?

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

No Kidding?

Seriously, is this a joke.

It isn't is it. It's real. Oh god...

WTF???

Ice Skating with celebrities? What the hell? Where did that come from? Sweet Jesus!

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Sick Face

I've had a cold for about a week now.

There is something strange about Adult Illness. When I say “Adult Illness” I don’t mean to draw a direct comparison to what you could call Child Illness. I guess I don't mean to cite specific types of illness that are felt in adults more then kids. Instead, I mean illness one gets soon after becoming an adult, after one has left the immediate vicinity of home and must depend on ones self to get better. For me, Adult Illness is a state of mind. And it's not good.

I can’t deal with it. I don’t know how to handle it, often over or under medicating with inappropriate over the counters. I miss work when I don’t have to, then show up when I’m near death, and in doing so become patient zero for everyone else on my floor. That’s not to say I’m an idiot, that I can’t read the instructions on medicine or haul my own sick ass to the doctor. It’s just that I don’t want to. I want someone else to do it. That’s the one nice thing about being sick, or at least it used to be. Service with a smile from Mom or Dad or whoever. The good old days.

It would appear the only way to avoid Adult Illness is to move in with my parents. So I guess I'm going to suffer in silence. Kind of.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

Terror Reigns!

I have been beset, accosted in my own little corner of the net-o-sphere! Terror, unspeakable acts of evil! I log on to my email and check it out, and low and behold, I am overjoyed to see that someone has posted a comment onto Trade Secrets. It has been so long, I kind of put the site out of my mind. So the thought of someone, anyone reading my ramblings set my heart a flame. I pictured me and my new reader trading emails about work, about politics, about life!

You could imagine my great joy when I discovered that there was not just one person reading my blog and posting, but several! Turns out I didn’t just have a reader, I had a legion of adoring fans checking in regularly to see what I had to say! Finally I would have the fans that I knew I was born to have.

Then I logged onto the space. Imagine having you dreams crushed by the fattest fatty that ever fattied. That’s what it feels like to discover that you have been made a fool of by none other then a bot that posts to blogs! Granted, I haven’t actually posted anything here in a little longer then forever, it still feels like I am being violated.

But the more I thought about it the less it really mattered to me. At least something was posting to the damn site. Is it sad? Yes. But you’ve got to start somewhere.

Travels Abroad

Travel Log ~ Las Vegas

An Adventure in Three Days, featuring a party of amazingly diverse and varied peoples.

Friday

8:15 AM – Late. I should have left ten minutes ago, but I forgot my change. Hoping that the day goes fast, but who knows. Eight people in the van. Prayers that it is big enough. A woman is looking at me funny, probably shouldn’t talk out loud as I write.

12:04 PM – Lunch soon. Vegas is looming large above the day, I don’t know whether or not to be scared or what.

4:00 PM – The boss has let me go so I can get ready for the trip. Unfortunately for me, no one else has a similar set up. Curses! Fye, I say, fye!

5:56 PM – Remember I have the book. We are on the road. Stuck in traffic. The world is conspiring against me. Us. Conspiring against us. Bastards.

5:57 PM – Bryce has noticed me writing and promptly made fun of me. Illiterate fool!

5:59 PM – Disatster! I lost the change! I carried that god damned cup from hell with me all god damned day, harping about how great it is and I lost it...(someone holds it up in the back of the van)…oh, never mind. The trip may continue, for now.

6:15 PM – Sara claims we will be there in five minutes. Threats concerning asking “are we there yet” are forbidden by the front seat and the masses fall in line.

6:39 PM – Sara: “You SUCK!!!”

9:53 – The “Grand Wizard” decrees a moratorium on non-English speaking music. Hilarity ensues.

No specific entries for the next two and a half hours. Arrival in Las Vegas, cramped, tired, possibly just a little hateful, no later then 12 AM.

Saturday

Handwriting is visibly slanted. I think it was the pen. Perhaps not.

1:30 AM – Nine Fine Irishman, a pub. Two beers and a few folk songs later, the team is ready to move. We’re going to Bellagio, apparently on foot, despite the thing at…(line)

2:45 AM – Carmel, Bellagio. Trendy, and sloppy all rolled into one. The booze she flows like wine. Hip hop hurray, ho, hurray ho…

3:00 AM – Slepp [Sleep?]. A plan is forming, Paris, Alladin, the Grand and then home. This should take, what like, 7 hours. 8 if we’re really lucky.

3:15 AM – Em claims Bryce made her loose $10.00. Bitterness on all sides, I lost my pen and took this one from a clown.

5:30 AM – MGM Grande. ( Handwriting has degenerated, vocab sadly has not) Irate! Anger! Bile! Sara is unhappy…she declares that we are not permitted to have her body. Ever.

6:05 AM – Return to the room to drive a wedge between sleeping people. Sweet revenge! Haha! They’ll never stop us now!

8:22 AM – Girl Fight! My sleep is shattered. Hatred reins. Jesus Christ shut up, shut up shut up! Shut your fat yap!

9:37 AM – Time to start the day. Fresh, rejuvenated, and full of crap. Need food…need…sle—

10:22 AM – Actual get up. Ian gets his revenge, and escape. Auch! The light, it burns our eyes!

Noonish – Lunch at the Rain Forrest Café. While of course I endorse the saving of the rain forest I cannot abide shoddy service, and poorly put together menus. Tis’ Bryce’s birthday, and despite the best efforts of the Special Little Man, he cannot hide from the diligent eyes of Ryan, our incapable server. Sadly, I was in the bathroom when the embarrassment fest went down. I’m sure it was a joy.

Later, while lounging by the pool I reflected on the transient nature of time, and how, after all that we had done, all that we had seen I think that I can say…wow look at the cans on…

Monday, September 05, 2005

Summer In The City

The problem with living in the city, especially one as huge as this, is that when one has the odd hankering to go outside for a bit of exercise, you are never really alone. Now, I suppose I should qualify that a bit and say that by exercise I mean “not sitting on the couch watching TV” NOT the other type. You know, the type that gets your heart rate up and makes you feel all good and stuff until you realize running to the end of the block is not going to do anything for you except make you hot and out of breath. I’m talking about just getting outside and enjoying (for lack of a better word) the great outdoors.

On the streets you’ve got cars whizzing by at 80 +, you’ve got to have special shoes for the mountains (not well worn flat footed deal like moi) and The Park on the weekends is inundated with families from all over the valley and tent cities spring up throughout the green to say nothing about the poor state of Parking. The beach, 45 minutes away…at least. The desert, a solid hour there and back.

I suppose I could get new shoes with special grips or something. I suppose that I could crank the volume on the ipod, drowning out the sounds of the streets. I could just suck it up and drive to the beach or desert or the Park. But then I would be letting the city win…anyhow, there is a kickass marathon of My Super Sweet 16 and Hogan Knows Best on today.