Yeeaaaaaah....

You can always tell when there’s a crisis around here. I was talking to one of the Enterprise guys (he plays WoW) for a bit, then walked through the server rooms and came back to my desk. Complete atmosphere change out here; I overheard an “I thought I had..” excuse as I walked by. Apparantly they messed up again out there. I’d recommend less time sleeping and more time paying attention in the future, but that’s just me. Anyway, I haven’t been writing much lately, been in a funk. I did come up with some random stuff last Friday I’ll post at the end here. The first movie I’m watching here on the new monitors is Office Space; so amazingly appropriate. Also in the same vein is an awesome book, Company, by Max Barry. Anyone that’s ever worked in any sort of corporate environment can relate, and it’s got a few good twists in the story to boot.

I came up with this gem after having an issue with one of our clients, Schwab. Sha-waaab. Yeah.

Yarr Shwabbby
Cotton balls squeal in antiseptic delight, awaiting the fruition of their existence. Bloodily absorbing fresh wounds, they retreat to multiply in the dark, humid confines of the garbage. Bursting from the plastic confine, they messily crush the hapless sanitation worker into the pavement and roll down the sidewalk, leaving a trail of viscera. Brave firemen wielding flamethrowers stand nervously at attention in their path, a desperate bid to save the rest of the city. Flames embrace the errant balls, charring their surfaces black. The men raise their weapons in the air, celebrating victory over the cottony balls of death, until a shredding sound interrupts them mid-cheer; clawing from the oozing centers rise three nougat caramel chews, wreathed in the flames of hell. They boil the gasoline in the firemen’s own canisters, which violently explode in turn. Gurgling liquid chocolate, the hell candies torch the rest of the city, eventually collapsing in a pool of melted caramel as their own fires squelch them into oblivion.

price is right song

Augh, lost my original post. Ah, well, there wasn't much content here anyway. I finished off yesterday's post. It's an abrupt ending, and I could probably flesh out the rest of it, but this is mostly just a daily brain dump anyway. I also observed that this blog is severely lacking in pictures--no one reads the actual text in these things, right? So here you go:

John started awake, his head snapping forward as he shook off the feeling of vertigo. It wasn't like him to fall asleep at his desk, and now he had a crick in his neck. He massaged the back of his neck with one hand and peered up over his cubicle wall, hoping no one had caught him asleep. No one was around, fortunately. He sunk back down and stared at his computer screen, bleary eyed. He jumped again, startled as his phone rang. He put the receiver to his ear and rambled off his standard Monday morning greeting, the one that sounded like one long word. "'GmorningprocessinJohnspeakingcanIhelpyou".
The line was dead. He opened his mouth to inquire hello and winced, as a burst of static exploded in his ear. He pulled the receiver away and glared at it, then slammed it down, annoyed. He paused for a second--it was deathly silent in the cube farm. No typing, no quiet drumbeats tapping from headphones somewhere. The watercooler was usually the center of traffic at this point in the day. He shivered involuntarily. Listening to his own breathing for several seconds, he strained to pick out the sound of rustling paper or background phone conversations--nothing. His phone shattered the stillness, the ring causing him to jump again. He picked up the phone, waited a full breath-- "Hello?" Static again, scratchy and harsh. Slamming the phone down he jumped to his feet, peering around. Nothing.
He took several tenative steps into the cube farm, looking at his neighbors desk. Outlook was up on the screen, coffee was steaming in the #1 Dad mug on the desk, but Bill wasn't there. He looked around again and opened his mouth to call out when Bill's phone began to shrill, high-pitched and insistent. John lifted the receiver off the cradle, "Bill's desk, John speak-" The crash of static assaulted his ear. His head swam. He slammed the phone down, started down the aisle somewhat panicked now, calling out: "Hello! Anyone there? Hello!" At each desk in turn, as he passed, the phone began to ring. He dropped into a dead run as each phone lit up behind him, a cacophony of simultaneous rings, the decible level increasing as every phone in the room lit up. It became almost unbearable as he reached the hallway. As he was about to cross the threshold, the phones cut out. Dead silence reigned again. Mid-stride he paused, turning to look over his shoulder.
Every single monitor in the room simultaneously dropped into a static pattern. He almost anticipated what happened next: Grating static from every single speaker. He covered his ears with both hands and bolted.
He was halfway through the building before he realized he was screaming with the voices that began to emerge in the static patterns--wailing painful cries. He heard "No, please--don't come any closer!" from Sales, sickeninig thuds and pops from Marketing. He reached the foyer in a desperate bid to flee the building and the escalating sounds of horror.
Bursting through the heavy glass doors of the building's main entrance, he had only a moment to register the truck before it smashed into him, sending him through the air to crash into the pavement. The employees emerging from the new conference room were shocked to discover that John had ran out into traffic rather than the conference room, where his surprise birthday party had been set up.

Ethanoloholic.

I read an article on CNN this morning that said the frequency of negative posts made by bloggers regarding gas prices is up. Well, dur. A full tank of gas has more than doubled in an extremely short time, of course there's going to be a lot of negativity about it. The article then proceeds to break down by demograph who is upset about said gas prices. It's impacted everyone, fresh out of college grad and Fifty-something alike; obviously the younger crowd is hit harder, as we have to cut costs in critical places to eat the higher prices. I find it amusing that the government proposed 100 dollar rebate vouchers for gas. Big deal, I blow through that in a week and a half in my Accord, which gets very good gas mileage. Decide whether the vastly inflated price is justified under free market, or regulate it--either way, Americans will cope without a useless government rebate. The optimist in me wonders if a mass boycott of gas for several days would have any affect at all on prices. I bet it would.

tumbleweed

WC games
So I've caught a couple World Cup games this past week-- US and Italy, and Brazil and Australia. Pretty cool. I'm actually looking forward to zipping out of here at 9 to catch the games at 10. As we speak, beer is chilling in the fridge in preparation. I wish soccer had more of a following here in the states, or at least more television airtime. It's a nice change of pace from the typical Baseball/Football fare, and I don't agree with the 'long uneventful periods' sentiment. It can get a bit slow when things are being played defensively, i.e lots of midfield passing, but what sport doesn't have its slow periods or downtimes? Baseball has plenty of pitchings-around the batter, posturings and constant pick-off attempts to first; Football can degrade into a back-and-forth punting competition in the middle of the field.
Hopefully the US does well today and Italy kicks butt--maybe all we need is a little hype and exposure to generate more of an interest in professional soccer in this country
I was looking at 1up.com today. They have a bunch of user blogs there, one of which caught my eye. The writer had been fired from his job for showing up to work an hour late. That's pretty harsh--I wonder what line of work he was in? It makes me even more grateful for the relaxed atmosphere here at my job.
I'd also like to plug the 1upshow. I've been watching it regularly every week, its got good content and is entertaining.
I don't think I'll be writing anything creatively this week. There's no spark today.

stream of consciousness day (i've been slacking)

characteristics of the w/land
unkempt unrenowned
push daisies beyond the aether
approximate estimations incinerate
fabricated facsimiles
perpetrated by pernicious philanthropists
surreptitiously soliciting
voraciously insatiable aspirations

Antisocial.

Bleugh. I wonder what's with not wanting to talk lately. I'm content lately to just hide in the corner and not be bothered.

Sharp, stabbing pain in his side. Every day for the past two weeks now, he'd been elbowed, shoved, stepped on by the asshole of the lunch table, Barry. It wasn't enough he only knew one person in the whole room of two hundered kids, and sat there trying to look inconspicuous and fit in. Now the big tough guy of the table had to start picking on him every single day. Tom pushed his glasses back up onto his nose and frowed at his tuna fish. There was a note from Mom--probably a 'I love you have a good day' deal she embarassed him with on a monthly basis. He quickly covered it with the baggie of Oreo's in his lunch and hoped no one had noticed.
Barry started talking loudly at the far end of the table, taking great care to ensure the adjoing lunchers heard how he had banged Stacey Watson this past weekend, how she had moaned how much bigger his cock was than her football-captain boyfriend. Tom winced again and tried to focus on his sandwich. At the edge of peripheral vision he noticed Barry stretch and start to get up, announcing he had to choke the one eyed snake. Tom braced for the blow he knew was coming in the form of a feigned stumble or trip, a calculated fist or elbow just accidentally happing to jab him in the kidneys. This time was gonna be different, Tom was ready for it this time. The blow came, sudden and low, Barrys balled fist about to strike in the predicted spot--until Tom shifted in his seat, deflecting the fist down and away with his elbow. Tom stood up sharply and struck underneath Barrys chin with an open palm, snapping his neck back and sending him toppling over backwards, crashing into the table behind sending some poor kids mashed potatoes everywhere.

>.< argh, gotta go.. maybe finished later.