You, primary school librarian type, me, dapper derelict flinging surgical grade innards across the school yard. As you screamed for the police our eyes met, did we have a moment?
Missed Friday again. Fuck. I'll catch it one of these days.
-James
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Warren Ellis got me to work on time this morning.
Yeah, that one takes some explaining.
Last night my cell phone received an e-mail after I had gone to bed. My phone was on vibrate, I'd never have heard it if I wasn't still awake. I got up and checked my phone, the message was a newsletter. I turned my phone up and went back to bed. I slept pretty well, which means I wake up and have thoughts like "I bet I can write a whole blog post about this."
When the alarm on my phone went off I heard it, followed by the morning radio-ass.
Hello again Internet, sorry I missed you Friday.
-James
Last night my cell phone received an e-mail after I had gone to bed. My phone was on vibrate, I'd never have heard it if I wasn't still awake. I got up and checked my phone, the message was a newsletter. I turned my phone up and went back to bed. I slept pretty well, which means I wake up and have thoughts like "I bet I can write a whole blog post about this."
When the alarm on my phone went off I heard it, followed by the morning radio-ass.
Hello again Internet, sorry I missed you Friday.
-James
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Another week down.
I'm really trying hard to get back to this regular posting thing. I'm working at one a week right now. In the next week or two I'll start back up with comics posts, I have a giant stack ready and waiting for me to over simplify or make a smart ass remark about.
So, the post.
Fuck. I started writing this Thursday and forgot about it. Should I finish? Yeah, let's do that.
So, distracted, busy, not dead, and the best writing I've produced and shared recently was a letter of complaint. Oh yes, the people pouring my coffee will be spoken to nicely if I have anything to do with it.
Which brings me some place interesting, how important is the treatment of the people who serve you to you? I wrote a letter. Fine, it was an email. But I would not do nothing. It took a few weeks, but I did see change motivated by my complaint. I was quite pleased, and the number of scowls I have received from the target of my letter are tiny little badges of honor, which I'm happy to report have diminished over the last week as well. I had no illusions of anonymity when I wrote it, unless the particular phrase that got under my skin was uttered commonly I was singling myself out pretty hard.
"Who the hell was he?"
He is a regular customer who doesn't like people who speak to him politely and sell him tasty things spoken to poorly. So ask yourself, how do you want the people how prepare your food treated at work?
-James
So, the post.
Fuck. I started writing this Thursday and forgot about it. Should I finish? Yeah, let's do that.
So, distracted, busy, not dead, and the best writing I've produced and shared recently was a letter of complaint. Oh yes, the people pouring my coffee will be spoken to nicely if I have anything to do with it.
Which brings me some place interesting, how important is the treatment of the people who serve you to you? I wrote a letter. Fine, it was an email. But I would not do nothing. It took a few weeks, but I did see change motivated by my complaint. I was quite pleased, and the number of scowls I have received from the target of my letter are tiny little badges of honor, which I'm happy to report have diminished over the last week as well. I had no illusions of anonymity when I wrote it, unless the particular phrase that got under my skin was uttered commonly I was singling myself out pretty hard.
"Who the hell was he?"
He is a regular customer who doesn't like people who speak to him politely and sell him tasty things spoken to poorly. So ask yourself, how do you want the people how prepare your food treated at work?
-James
Friday, March 6, 2009
We are gathered today to mourn the passing of...
I'M NOT FUCKING DEAD!
With things at the paying job starting to get back to... Well I hesitate to call it normal, but with things there up and running under the steely gaze of my Compliance Automaton I can finally start doing what I love again, telling you all about some madding, crazy shit!
I'm not gonna talk about work, because this is the Internet and at least on of you is ready to start hucking rocks at the first sign of weakness. What I will tell you about is the breathtaking process that birthed my little metal man. Standing two metres tall and weighing almost a quarter tonne "Commie", as I affectionately call him, came into this world with an Earth shaking crash. The six engineers crushed when his birthing fits shattered the supports that held his innert form standing will one day be praised as heroes.
Lightning struck that day, it seemed that we had created life. As the only surviving member of the team it fell to me to teach our iron man values and ethics. While he watched I struck fear into the hearts of weak men, ruling them as a tryant, keeping my underlings cowed and distracted with destroying each other, my positive attention reserved only for young Commie.
This, I have gathered, was the problem. He mistook this treatment as weakness and struck. The battle rocked the building to it's foundation , a terrible crack is yet to be repaired. Now we exist in a state of cold war, steeled gazes aimed at each other constantly. That's right little robot, I'm still watching. Just get rid of the one under the desk, we're wasting valuble minutes disarming it.
-James
With things at the paying job starting to get back to... Well I hesitate to call it normal, but with things there up and running under the steely gaze of my Compliance Automaton I can finally start doing what I love again, telling you all about some madding, crazy shit!
I'm not gonna talk about work, because this is the Internet and at least on of you is ready to start hucking rocks at the first sign of weakness. What I will tell you about is the breathtaking process that birthed my little metal man. Standing two metres tall and weighing almost a quarter tonne "Commie", as I affectionately call him, came into this world with an Earth shaking crash. The six engineers crushed when his birthing fits shattered the supports that held his innert form standing will one day be praised as heroes.
Lightning struck that day, it seemed that we had created life. As the only surviving member of the team it fell to me to teach our iron man values and ethics. While he watched I struck fear into the hearts of weak men, ruling them as a tryant, keeping my underlings cowed and distracted with destroying each other, my positive attention reserved only for young Commie.
This, I have gathered, was the problem. He mistook this treatment as weakness and struck. The battle rocked the building to it's foundation , a terrible crack is yet to be repaired. Now we exist in a state of cold war, steeled gazes aimed at each other constantly. That's right little robot, I'm still watching. Just get rid of the one under the desk, we're wasting valuble minutes disarming it.
-James
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