Friday, March 31, 2006
Random House of Blues
Well, that is about it actually, however I won’t diminish the importance of that acquisition as they are quite comfortable and have big pockets--not that I have a lot of things to carry, but it nice to have the option.
Aside from that, I have been temping for about the last two months and I now know why I delayed getting a job for so long. This is my first experience within an office setting so I initially did not know what to expect. Consequently, I approached my first day as though it was my first day in prison. I figured that if I worked through lunch that would be the equivalent of kicking somebody’s ass and I quickly realized that electronic staplers have roughly the same value as a carton of Kools. Because of some snafu in the bureaucratic process, I was accidentally given two staplers on my first day and I immediately became the envy/bane of the other 5 cubicles in my aisle. I finally gave one of them back after catching the guy next to me making a disturbingly ingenious Mcguyver-esque shiv out of paper clips and post-it notes.
x 2 = 200 cigarettes (not the Affleck movie) and a whole bunch of trouble
I thought that working at a reputable publishing house would boost my resume and place me in a favorable position to network in a desirable field. However, what I don’t know could fill a book and I bet they would be more than happy to publish it. I spend my day stapling invoices and achieving levels of boredom so seemingly unattainable they are almost Zen like and I oftentimes find myself placing my hand in the stapler just so I know what it is like to feel. Meanwhile, the gentleman in the cubicle adjacent to mine either has a broken stereo or a vexing fixation on the new Madonna album. I am guessing it is the latter, which only further compounds the interminable monotony of my day as I hear Madonna sing over and over again “ . . . time goes by so slowly . . . time goes by so slowly.”
Even though there is no water cooler, there is still a lot of talk. The bulk of which is generated by the two ladies occupying the cubicles behind me. The content of their talks is quite expansive, ranging from Faust to Flavor of Love to American Idol. I didn’t follow either show intently, but according to them, Ms. New York is an “untrustworthy skank” and “that Mandisa can siiiiiiing, girl.” However, I knew it was time to quit when one of them remarked that Nick Cannon’s “Wild N’Out” was a “great” show (I guess by those standards, I have a great job) and I was noticeably excluded from their plans to see “Madea’s Family Reunion”—I can take a hint ladies.
Why did Pumkin spit on New York (pictured)? Is it because Pumkin is a Rationalist and New York is a Empiricist? Or is it simply because New York is simply a trick ass ho?
What is even more aggravating than the actual work is the tedious commute on the Long Island Railroad. Whether it is the person next to me with the loud I-Pod filled with terrible music everybody in the train car can hear (the winner is the guy with the Celine Dion “My Heart Will Go On” techno-remix) or the guy “silently” doing So Duku who constantly mutters in a tone reminiscent of Rainman “that can’t be a two . . . that has to be a nine . . . that can’t be a four,” the two hour round trip lost its charm after the first three minutes of the first day.
Anyway, my apologies to those who actually check this journal often and I will make a habit of trying to update this blog as frequently as my uneventful life allows. Incidentally, if you don’t have anything planned for the weekend, I recommend “V for Vendetta,” a delightful romp about a masked anti-hero with a Sinead O’Conner fetish who talks the talk and Fawkes the Fawke. Take care.
