Priviledged are the few.
That's what I think during the weekdays as I stare at the walls of my cubicle. Just feet away from me, a number of individuals look up from their desks and gaze out their windows on the golf course across the highway; the parking lot; the next building; or the cafeteria garbage area (okay, that last one doesn't sound that great).
When the "window" thought entered my mind, I started thinking about each of the offices I've had since I left college and what kind of view they afforded. At first, I had no windows. But then, I got to look at, in order of responsibility; a parking lot, a dog kennel, the side of a Kohl's Department store, a tree ... and then the Chicago River from 20 floors up.
Then things changed. A men's room door, a small warehouse ... and then a series of cubicle walls.
But the ability to stare out a window at something usually comes with a price. And that price is responsibility. I don't mind personal responsibility. That's fine. But I'm through with professional responsibility. That probably happens to almost everyone.
Actually, the best window view I ever had was over 50 years ago, when I was in 4th grade. Yes, I guess there is supposed to be some professional responsibility in going to school. But grade school is different. They make you go. Even though you know you'd be just fine if you didn't, you have to anyway.
In 4th grade, Mrs. Cassidy decided she would sit us in alphabetical order. This didn't go down well with me when she announced it on the first day, because I have a "low" alphabetical name, which would have put me in the first row ... right by the wall and the coat closet. But, unknownst to me, Mrs. Cassidy must have been dyslexic in addition to being ancient and a bitch ... because she started to seat us from her right, instead of her left like a normal American would.
This put me in the row just along the windows. And the windows were seated perfectly. They were low enough so that you could look out without stretching your neck like a giraffe. Just a casual gaze once in a whiile, or a slack-jawed stare if you were so inclined.
And there was so MUCH to look at. The landscaped front lawn of the school. Moderately traveled Cherry Street beyond that ... and the brand new apartments just on the other side of Cherry Street.
It was great. Sure, Mrs. Cassidy yelled at me a lot ... and when she got tired of yelling at me, she would sneak up from behind and bust me in the arm with that goddamned ruler of hers ... but it was worth it. I watched the trees shed their leaves in the Fall, the first snows of Winter, and the incoming birds of Spring. Oh, and a couple of cool car wrecks on Cherry Street, but nothing where anyone was hurt; unlike the little girl that I barely knew who was hit in the crosswalk on the other side of the school and died; and everyone said that the car hit her so hard it knocked her eyeballs out; and when I told my Mom that, she hit me up at the side of the head so hard that MY eyeballs almost came out. But Mom was pretty mean back then and I didn't help anything.
Little did I guess back there in 1960-something that I'd already experienced the zenith of my work window gazing. But my life still isn't over yet.
Is being in an old-folks home work?
March 14, 2012
March 10, 2012
I'll Be Damned ...
I think I promised last time that my next post would be a bitch-fest, but frankly, I don't feel like it tonight. I had a pretty good day, so I'll save the bitching for later.
This afternoon, I was dialing through the TeeVee channels and happened across a very old monster movie named "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms". I used to know what a fathom was, but I forgot. I think one fathom equals three Mark Twains, but I'd have to double check.
Anyway, in the movie, the Paleontologist, who later gets eaten in his diving bell, says that the Monster is heading from parts north to the Hudson Submarine Canyon, which is supposedly off the coast of New York City.
I looked at Jan and said "I call bullshit on that". I was smug in my certainty that this was a made up name ... but for some reason, I made a mental note to remember so I could look it up later, to reaffirm my intellectual superiority.
About an hour ago, I typed it into Google ... and son-of-a-bitch! There IS a Hudson Submarine Canyon!
Here are some pictures:
This afternoon, I was dialing through the TeeVee channels and happened across a very old monster movie named "The Beast From 20,000 Fathoms". I used to know what a fathom was, but I forgot. I think one fathom equals three Mark Twains, but I'd have to double check.
Anyway, in the movie, the Paleontologist, who later gets eaten in his diving bell, says that the Monster is heading from parts north to the Hudson Submarine Canyon, which is supposedly off the coast of New York City.
I looked at Jan and said "I call bullshit on that". I was smug in my certainty that this was a made up name ... but for some reason, I made a mental note to remember so I could look it up later, to reaffirm my intellectual superiority.
About an hour ago, I typed it into Google ... and son-of-a-bitch! There IS a Hudson Submarine Canyon!
Here are some pictures:
Pretty damned impressive, isn't it? And I guess I'm not as smart as I thought I was. I suppose even I can learn something almost every day.
Oh, and the Beast From 20,000 Fathoms never made it to the Hudson Submarine Canyon. He got sidetracked by coming ashore at the Port Authority where he ate a policeman and a couple of cars before Lee Van Cleef put on a radiation suit, and armed with a grenade launcher fitted with a radioactive isotope, rode a roller coaster up to where Beastie was and shot him in the balls.
I am not making this shit up.
March 08, 2012
Artsy Fartsy
March is here and the days are almost in double digits. And I haven't written a damned post. There are just too many things happening, and instead of bitching about everything that's going on, I thought I would offer you a calming ...
Haiku.
the half Three Musketeers bar
stares at me from the fridge ...
No one eats it ...
Next Post: I Bitch A Lot.
Haiku.
the half Three Musketeers bar
stares at me from the fridge ...
No one eats it ...
Next Post: I Bitch A Lot.
February 28, 2012
Leap Year
I was almost going to let this month get away without another post. And then I looked at the calendar this afternoon as I was about to turn to a new month, and realized that there was one more day in it. Yes. Leap Day. I started this blog in 2009, and since the year before was a leap year, I certainly didn't want to wait until 2016 to take this opportunity again.
Leap Day. When we catch up to all of the hours that were won and lost between daylight and central time changes. Ha, Ha ... not really. Actually, it's to make up for the earth's natural tendency to be too late or too early for everything in it's yearly orbit around the planet of Uranus.
Being naturally curious about human society, I spent some time on the internets this afternoon to see if hu-mans had any special way that they celebrated the day. I found that more than a lot of people who were born on this day firmly believe they are 25 just because they were born on the 29th of February, even though they are actually 100 years old. They're also pissed because they only get birthday presents every four years.
But, that wasn't really all that interesting. What is interesting ... is that once upon a time way back when in the turn of the last, last century ... about 1900 or so, Leap Day was the one time where a woman could ask a man to marry them and not be faced with being stoned to death by a crowd of over-excited Flappers.
And I actually found some Leap Day Cards from that era. Seems that most men at that time DID NOT want to get married. And that most women from that era DID WANT to get married.
What a silly time.
The Leap Day/Women Proposing to Men thing kind of reminded of me of when I was in high school and we were supposed to have a Sadie Hawkins Day Dance, where the girls ask the boys out ... but we didn't because the local paper had canceled the newspaper comic Lil' Abner before we could read and we didn't realize there WAS such a thing as Sadie Hawkins Day, and missed the chance to have a really cool dance where the girls asked the boys out.
Such is life.
Anyway, I ran across some greeting cards that celebrate a woman's quest for a man's hand in marriage on Leap Day. I don't know exactly WHO would have sent these to WHO, but supposedly, they were second in sales only to the most popular sympathy card of the day that featured a burning barn and the message inside read "So sorry you're barn burned down during the night and incinerated your horse, two cows and 15 chickens". And here they are:
Leap Day. When we catch up to all of the hours that were won and lost between daylight and central time changes. Ha, Ha ... not really. Actually, it's to make up for the earth's natural tendency to be too late or too early for everything in it's yearly orbit around the planet of Uranus.
Being naturally curious about human society, I spent some time on the internets this afternoon to see if hu-mans had any special way that they celebrated the day. I found that more than a lot of people who were born on this day firmly believe they are 25 just because they were born on the 29th of February, even though they are actually 100 years old. They're also pissed because they only get birthday presents every four years.
But, that wasn't really all that interesting. What is interesting ... is that once upon a time way back when in the turn of the last, last century ... about 1900 or so, Leap Day was the one time where a woman could ask a man to marry them and not be faced with being stoned to death by a crowd of over-excited Flappers.
And I actually found some Leap Day Cards from that era. Seems that most men at that time DID NOT want to get married. And that most women from that era DID WANT to get married.
What a silly time.
The Leap Day/Women Proposing to Men thing kind of reminded of me of when I was in high school and we were supposed to have a Sadie Hawkins Day Dance, where the girls ask the boys out ... but we didn't because the local paper had canceled the newspaper comic Lil' Abner before we could read and we didn't realize there WAS such a thing as Sadie Hawkins Day, and missed the chance to have a really cool dance where the girls asked the boys out.
Such is life.
Anyway, I ran across some greeting cards that celebrate a woman's quest for a man's hand in marriage on Leap Day. I don't know exactly WHO would have sent these to WHO, but supposedly, they were second in sales only to the most popular sympathy card of the day that featured a burning barn and the message inside read "So sorry you're barn burned down during the night and incinerated your horse, two cows and 15 chickens". And here they are:
Rather Nice
She Kind of Looks Like Teddy Roosevelt
Yes, A Gauntlet of Beautiful Ladies in Low Cut Dresses.
Poor Guy.
Wow. Just Wow.
Hmmmm.
No Comment.
But ... This Guy Actually Looks Pleased At Being Wooed.
And ... This Doesn't Have A Damn Thing To Do With Leap Year
I Just Liked It
See you next month.
February 20, 2012
Very Random Monday Thoughts
There are times when I either don't have any stories, or I don't have the desire to tell them. This is one of those times ...
I'm one of the few people on earth who never watched "The Office" on prime time television when it was "big". I don't know why. I either forgot, or everyone was gushing so much about it that I just refused to be pulled in. I know it's still on prime time, but I also know that Steven Carell left. And I'm not very interested to find out who took his place, but I'm sure they can't be any good. Anyway, I started watching it in syndication, and find that it isn't really that funny. In fact it makes me uncomfortable. Am I the only one who thinks that the Steve Carell character is retarded?
About a year and a half ago, I went out to the mailbox and found a Maxim magazine there. Believe me or not, I didn't order it. Fifteen months later, it still arrives every month. At first I thought that someone ordered it for me as a joke, but now I don't think so. I think that there are certain publishing companies that just send their magazines to people to boost their circulation numbers. I think this may have happened in my case. I'd write them and tell them to stop sending me their rag, but it's too much trouble. You may ask "Hey Rob, how is Maxim magazine anyway?" Well, it's okay. If you're twenty-six or something. But I really can't get in to it. Last month was kind of disgusting because they featured "JWoW" from that Jersey Shore thing. She was really gross looking.
I went to the dentist this past Saturday to have my teeth cleaned. I hadn't gone in a while and TMI, it was pretty disgusting. The hygienist used something on me called a "cavitator ultrasonic cleaner", which is an exact version of what they use in heavy industry to cut steel. It was pretty painful, especially when she missed the teeth. The hygienist was very friendly and told me that I looked like that guy on "House". I don't know if she was coming on to me or not, but I'm too old to care. She didn't know what House's name was, so I told her it was Hugh Laurie. She was very impressed at my "House" knowledge. I didn't know whether or not to be flattered. Maybe not. Oh, and I need a crown. Bummer.
Jan needs a new car. The last time we bought one was in October, 2001. I remember it specifically because people were still freaked out about 9/11. In fact, while we were going through the experience of sitting around waiting for the financing to go through, a Muslim family came in and wanted to buy a car. No one would wait on them. In fact the woman salesperson told me that no one was going to wait on them. I thought that was kind of weird, but I guess that's what fear and distrust is all about. I hope things changed at the dealership. It kind of had to.
One of the blogs I read is by a young lady who is trying to make blogging her business. She tries hard, but I noticed tonight that she did another post about Freddy Mercury and how she dressed up at Halloween as him, complete with a mustache and chest hair. She even has a picture. This is about the 10th time she's done the Freddy Mercury thing. I'm too nice to write her a note telling her she's went to the well once to often, but I don't do that kind of thing. I don't think she reads this blog, but if she does ... well, sorry ... but you've went to the Freddy Mercury well once to often. Also ... slow down on the Jeff Goldblum stuff. Freddy's dead and Jeff is about 80 years old now.
And then there's the WhatABurger story. But I'll leave that for a real post.
Next Post: A Real Post!
I'm one of the few people on earth who never watched "The Office" on prime time television when it was "big". I don't know why. I either forgot, or everyone was gushing so much about it that I just refused to be pulled in. I know it's still on prime time, but I also know that Steven Carell left. And I'm not very interested to find out who took his place, but I'm sure they can't be any good. Anyway, I started watching it in syndication, and find that it isn't really that funny. In fact it makes me uncomfortable. Am I the only one who thinks that the Steve Carell character is retarded?
About a year and a half ago, I went out to the mailbox and found a Maxim magazine there. Believe me or not, I didn't order it. Fifteen months later, it still arrives every month. At first I thought that someone ordered it for me as a joke, but now I don't think so. I think that there are certain publishing companies that just send their magazines to people to boost their circulation numbers. I think this may have happened in my case. I'd write them and tell them to stop sending me their rag, but it's too much trouble. You may ask "Hey Rob, how is Maxim magazine anyway?" Well, it's okay. If you're twenty-six or something. But I really can't get in to it. Last month was kind of disgusting because they featured "JWoW" from that Jersey Shore thing. She was really gross looking.
I went to the dentist this past Saturday to have my teeth cleaned. I hadn't gone in a while and TMI, it was pretty disgusting. The hygienist used something on me called a "cavitator ultrasonic cleaner", which is an exact version of what they use in heavy industry to cut steel. It was pretty painful, especially when she missed the teeth. The hygienist was very friendly and told me that I looked like that guy on "House". I don't know if she was coming on to me or not, but I'm too old to care. She didn't know what House's name was, so I told her it was Hugh Laurie. She was very impressed at my "House" knowledge. I didn't know whether or not to be flattered. Maybe not. Oh, and I need a crown. Bummer.
Jan needs a new car. The last time we bought one was in October, 2001. I remember it specifically because people were still freaked out about 9/11. In fact, while we were going through the experience of sitting around waiting for the financing to go through, a Muslim family came in and wanted to buy a car. No one would wait on them. In fact the woman salesperson told me that no one was going to wait on them. I thought that was kind of weird, but I guess that's what fear and distrust is all about. I hope things changed at the dealership. It kind of had to.
One of the blogs I read is by a young lady who is trying to make blogging her business. She tries hard, but I noticed tonight that she did another post about Freddy Mercury and how she dressed up at Halloween as him, complete with a mustache and chest hair. She even has a picture. This is about the 10th time she's done the Freddy Mercury thing. I'm too nice to write her a note telling her she's went to the well once to often, but I don't do that kind of thing. I don't think she reads this blog, but if she does ... well, sorry ... but you've went to the Freddy Mercury well once to often. Also ... slow down on the Jeff Goldblum stuff. Freddy's dead and Jeff is about 80 years old now.
And then there's the WhatABurger story. But I'll leave that for a real post.
Next Post: A Real Post!
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