This Is News?

So Paul McCartney lost his voice and had to cancel concerts? He lost his voice 20 years ago, did he just notice it today? Can he cancel his career retrospectively? Does he really have to reschedule? Can't he just go back to the countryside with the new wife and raise sheep or something?

I didn't think so. But a person can hope.
sitting next to me on the train this morning.


Are you fucking mad? Dressed to kill, small child at her side, and she is using an Elizabeth Arden Red Door hand mirror to pull the chunks of dead skin that remained after the last chemical peel off her face. Pulling, picking, scraping and otherwise giving herself a dry facial at 8:30 in the bright light of public transit. Pulling, picking and scraping until some parts actually bled.

EWWWWW. Thanks for making my fucking day. That image is going to stick in my head for fucking ever, no doubt.

Speaking of No Doubt and things that stick in your head, I've had No Doubt's live MTV version of REM's "It's the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine) rolling in an endless loop for about two weeks now. Probably no coincidence that that's how long the war in Iraq has been going on. But there it is. And I can't make it stop. I've tried actually listening to it but that doesn't make it go away.

Another thing that's been stuck in my head for about 4 years now is an old quote from Diana Vreeland: "Pink is the navy blue of India." I'm not sure I know what that means, but I keep thinking about it. It has made an impact on my fabric stash. My studio is starting to pile up with hot pink and rose and orange and coral and saffron and purple. I keep rearranging the piles and there are all these ideas for how to use the fabric pushing around in my mind. (If they could only get rid of No Doubt) (No, I like No Doubt: I just don't want to be singing It's the End of the World as We Know it for another 6 weeks)

Now I want to make a mosaic on the bottle green wall behind the koi pond that says "Pink is the navy blue of India." In some kind of twirly funky type and pink glass and pottery shards. I can see that wall from my sewing machine. I think it'll be inspirational. Or at least cool.

Why? Why Do I Care?

I'd like to think that what I do has some meaning. Granted, my whole career has been one long orgy of ephemera, but still, I like to delude myself that what I do matters. Somehow. To someone. I've won awards for my work. I have had a photo used as an album cover (for Jimmy Buffett, and that is a whole other story). I have a t-shirt I designed in the collection of the Smithsonian Institution. (Another story, but it was for the Y2K team and went to the technology museum... or was it American History?)

But now, well, the web is even more ephemeral than traditional publications. And since I work for a corporate site, not even a very (literally) Flash-y site, my work tends to be a lot of brochure ware. So what am I complaining about today?

This: verbatim from our employee newsletter, an announcement of Passover services. Read it. Then parse out the second sentence.

Passover celebrates the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt. It celebrates the victory over freedom from slavery. The story is retold at a "Seder," a festive meal in which freedom is raised as the highest deal in the human family. For more information, contact the Pastoral Care Office, XXX-XXX-XXXX.

As I read this, that means that "freedom from slavery" was the loser in that conflict. I also question the use of quotes around the word seder. I have visions of Dr. Evil using finger quotes. And finally, freedom is the "highest deal" in the human family? Can I get a clarification from some religious leaders about what constitutes a deal?

When I questioned the generating department, they conceded an "i", as in the "highest I-deal" in the human family.

But still, how much more disspirited can I get when this is the level of drivel I am reduced to publishing? And my friends and family wonder why I drink.

I don't wonder. I only wonder that I haven't started bringing a fucking hip flask to the office. Do you think I should send this to Dilbert?
Take everybody in charge to a spa. It's my deep felt belief that if you forced all our world leaders to a really good spa, gave them all manicures, pedicures and facials, that you could end warfare. Who can feel like dropping a bomb when they've had their pores steam cleaned with lavendar and sage? Or had their feet massaged with coco butter and exfolitaing salts, followed by a hot towel wrap... well, I should say.

Give Saddam a facial and a foot massage and he'd be putty in the hands of the next diplomat to come by.

Please note: this is what passes for humor. Do not send me e-mail calling me an idiot and a freak. Do not take this to mean that I really believe this is a viable plan for world peace. If you can't stand the jokes, stay out of the blogosphere.


Corporate One-Upsmanship

Here in my office (and I use the term loosely to describe the institution) there is a game we play. Who can get out the last e-mail of the day, or the last phone message. Here's how it goes. Just before you leave, say at 4:45, you fire off an e-mail that requires action on the part of the receiver. The next morning, you check to see if the person read the message yet. If not, then they left earlier than you did and you can continue the game by either: sending another e-mail, or calling the person. If they aren't yet in, then you can have even more pleasure by letting them know that you A) work later and B) come in earlier.

It doesn't matter if the job that needs to be done has been sitting on your desk for a week or two. What matters is that you got in the last e-mail of the day.

The spoiler to this game is when the person not only receives the message, but does the work, and sends you an e-mail back with a time stamp of something hellish like 7 pm.

It's almost 5 and I just got tagged. Someone from purchasing sent a report that needs to be converted to a PDF and placed on the web site. If I don't do it now, then tomorrow morning I'll get another nastygram, insinuating that I'm not doing my job. If I do it now, I'll be late for a board meeting on the other end of town.

I'm going to the board meeting. But I'm going to throw a high stick here and tell purchasing that I got their request and will do it in the morning. That way they can't complain. Well, they can, but I responded, so neener neener.

Everybody Sing!

It's the end of the world as we know it, it's the end of the world.....

Or not. Just because America is going to do the unthinkable and start World War III. Or maybe just the Millennial Crusades. You know what? This is just too depressing for me to find any humor, no matter how sick, dark or twisted I let myself get.

I'm going over to my other blog, the PeaceBlog Project, and do some ranting, instead.

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