Moving (sort of)

I have a soft spot for Blogger. I cut my teeth here, and i've racked up an ungodly number of posts about... nothing, really (sorta like Seinfeld, except he's rich and I'm just angry and whiny).

But lately the cross-posting from Multiply hasn't been up to snuff, and Multiply lets me do more stuff (or rather, there are more ways to talk about nothing). So this blog is sorta suspended (i.e., ill be updating on Multiply, and I suppose every now and then the updates will filter through to here. If they do, they'll come in under this post, because I monkeyed around with the date). So for the five of you who actually come by looking for updates and whatnot, for the time being I'm over at

Big, White, and Hairy v1.5

there's photos, the blog, and some random reviews of stuff. watch me try to justify ROCKY BALBOA as a piece of modern cinematic artistry!

Because Days like Today deserve to be written about.

And because I'm low on blogdeas of late.

Got up at the ass-crack of dawn (considering how the days are getting longer, call it a little before 6am) with every intention of getting a headstart on the workday. The night before I decided to turn in extra early for precisely that reason. Plus, I had a Project that needed finishing - nothing hard or complex, but it requires stretches of "me-time" to finish, something that is increasingly difficult to acquire in the battlefield I call the office.

It took the requisite 3 "snoozes" to get me out of bed. Well, at least I was up. Puttered around on the computer and answered some mails, got a little work done, I actually did make progress on some stuff.

But not a blessed thing done on the Project. "It's ok. I'll finish it in the office".

Go through the "4 S's" morning ritual (that's Shit, Shower, Shave, & Saddle-up, for the uninitiated) and get to the office by about 8:15. In the 45 or so minutes it takes me to get to work, more mails have come in. More little fires have to be put out.

And The Project sits there, taunting me.

Get stuck in a meeting at 10am. Meeting is terribly counterproductive, a classic example of "putting the cart before the horse" (I won't bore you with the technicalities). Peopl have other commitments at 11:00, we recess until 12:00

The Project now has a wry smile.

I've been an hour away from my desk. I see the e-mails piling up. This needs a solution. That needs a solution. Client wants this. Ops people want that. Everybody asking, and me in the middle. I suppose that comes with the job description, so I do my very best not to complain.

Reconvene at 12:00. More cart before horseness. All the while I can feel the steady drip of emails entering my inbox, like some sort of electronic water torture (you know, where they tie you under a leaky faucet and let the water drip on your forehead. I'm told it's less than pleasant).

Eventually, in the middle of the meeting, I hear my landline ring. My desk is righ beside the conference room, and for some appalling reason I can identify offhand MY phone ringing. Like the parent who knows which of the forty wailing schoolchildren belongs to him/her. And my phone taunts me. I can hear it ringing as far away as the bathroom, while I'm trying to "concentrate", knowing full well that I can't get to it. And everytime I finally get to my phone, whoever is on the other line hangs up before I can pick up the receiver.

(I'm of the belief that in other people's phones, there's a light that indicates when I'm at my desk or not. The moment the light turns off, they call me. It's the only rational explanation I can think of).

So my phone rings. and rings. and rings. while I'm trying to be interested and the most boring of meetings. And rings, and rings. And there are easily 4 people in striking distance of my phone, and no one will answer it even if to just take a message.

(Because I have a reputation of receiving a lot of english-spoking phonecalls, and it frightens people away)

I pop my head out of the meeting and politely ask one of my seatmates to to answer my phone and take a message. At which point, my phone ceases to ring.

Meeting ends. Phone has not rung once since. Off to lunch. Back from lunch, and I see a missed call on my personal celfone (I hate walking around with 2 phones, so I tend to leave the personal one in my desk drawer). Private number. I hate private numbers. Waitaminute, private number could be a call from home. Something might have happened. Crap...

The Project, incidentally, has taken a nap. More mails piling in. With every mail that enters, I can see a good half hour of my time evaporating.

I run around like a headless chicken for various uninteresting reasons, and I get to my desk to find another missed call. From a Private Number. Crap, something really must be going on.

I decide to try and retake control of my day. The meeting has a 3rd round scheduled for 3pm, and I excuse myself. I keep my personal phone handy, regardless of that stupid feeling I have walking around with 2 celphones.

I open the Project. You're mine now, bastard.

And my celfone rings. Private Number. Oh no.

"I'm calling from (rival mobile operator) to offer the latest inane moneygrabbing scheme in a lame attempt to lure you away from your current provider..." Hari Krishna on a Bicycle, this is the schmuck who's been calling me?

"Call me either before 9am or after 7pm. I'm working." That usually keeps them away.

The 3rd round starts, and I begin with the Project - a full 9 hours after I had intended to start with it. I make good progress, and actually come close to finishing it, when more little fires begin to pop up. No problem, I slowly claw my way through the "to-do" list, sending emails, sending files...

Except they don't seem to want to leave my inbox.

The Line is down. Our Dedicated Internet Connection is dead. So is the backup. Hilarity ensues as we face production stoppage and, obviously, none of my work matters because I CAN'T. SEND. ANY. FRIKKING. EMAILS.

I resolve to go home early, connect from home, and resume. It is now 16:45. The next bus passes by at 17:00. I'm good. I have time.

At 16:55, before I can shut down, I get a call from The Client. He's in a talking mood. A really talking mood. I miss the 17:00 bus. And the subsequent 17:30 bus.

I finally pry the phone away from my cold, numb ear at 17:40. I can make the next bus for sure. At 17:57, my laptop is in my bag, I'm ready to leave, when I remember that I had to retrieve a file from the server. A Very Important File.

Which is when the laptop decides to take forever to boot up. The IT guy comes to install a patch on my computer. The server decides to not function altogether properly. Nearly desperate, I get everything done and am out of the office gate at 18:29. I'm making good time.

Of course, it's raining. Not torrentially, not drizzling either. Enough to leave you with soggy pants and moist socks. Spend maybe 10 minutes in the rain waiting for the bus (which, as you would imagine, is running late due to increased traffic).

Bus arrives. I slither in, damp, wet, and whatever synonym for water-logged you can imagine.

It's a relatively short bus ride. Maybe 10 minutes because of the traffic. Once I get to the town center...

The sun is shining brilliantly, of course. Did you expect any less?

...the heck?!?

...and just like that Multiply works again on my PC?

haven't been able to log in or access any multiply pages for about two weeks now (which would explain the lack of updates, but it's not like you were missing much), which was frustrating - i was still receiving the email updates telling me all about my friends' blogposts, but i couldn't read any of them.

completely cut off, I was.

I contemplated abandoning Multiply completely and go back to good old blogger, but the photo album feature is the major selling point here (all the other community sites have them, but the thought of going to facebook or myspace or egofeeder just seemed so... time consuming.

but apparently things have sorted themselves out.

so what the hell am I going to write about now?

figures.

I'm beginning to sense a pattern on my own blog....

...made up of long silences punctuated by wedding photos, or party photos, or photos of my niece.

over the weekend, i was wedding-bound once again.

still compiling the rest of the photos/video from the rest of the cameras (there's an infamous Macarena dance video, which, thankfully, I was not part of. Being the cameraman has its advatantages, now and again).

Anyone who's been following my photo albums of all spanish tomfoolery will recognize the gentleman to my left. For some reason, we seem to be the constants in most of these happenings. Me, because I'm always game to throwdown. Him, because he's the authentic life of the party. Any party. We were together at 1:30 in the afternoon (for the ceremony), and I retired for the night at around 2am, because I could not feel my legs. And he... my god he was still going strong, with no signs of slowing down.

I just thought it would be worth noting, nay, emphasizing, that after all these years, The Necktie has once again seen the light of day.

Lord knows when The Pooh's next social engagement will be, for not everyone can appreciate The Pooh.

that's it. off to bed. doesn't help that they robbed me of an hour's sleep this morning (bloody daylight saving time. What the hell is the point of daylight saving time when there are more than 12 hours of sunlight for more than half the year? ggrrrr.

threads...

hang on to your underwear, folks, it's time for some good old old-fashioned non-sequitur hop-skip-jump posting!

whee.

A LITTLE SCANDAL IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL
Assuming you have a petty, minutely eeeeeeevil bastard soul like me.

I won't link to it, because as it is I'm probably the last on the whole "GucciGang-Gate" scandal and most of you are already bored to death by it. Or following it closely (and thus you don't need to know the bloglink anyway).

I'm highly amused by it, bits and pieces that I've read. The blogger in question is a little too whiny "gimme my money!" (well, I suppose 70,000 dollars would do that to a person) and is in serious need of a spellchecker (message is rendered much more effective when medium backs it up). It could all be absolutely made up (this is the internet, after all), or even half-true.

I frankly, do not care. It amuses me to see a gloriously bright spotlight shone on certain persons, right through their self-professed glamour and glitz. I just luuuuurve the sound of crumbling pedestals, and the smell of muck and grime coming to the surface.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Delighting in the misery of others, regardless of who they are, is remarkably unchristian and ungentlemanly.

I never claimed to be very good at either.

Moo ha ha.

LENTING
Coz "Holy Week-ing" just didn't have that faux-poetic ring to it. It's been a while since I slothed... as in, really slothed. It was a much needed break, sitting in (relative) silence with nothing but 100GB of downloaded TV episodes, some unhealthy food, and the occasional drink.

(yes, yes, drinking alone is the first step to "alcoholism". It may be of little comfort and even less convincing, but I'm not exactly a boozehound, and it was just one drink... a day...)

That said, Holy Week in a major metropolitan area (or even a minor metropolitan area like Torrejon) has this wonderfully relaxing... desolation to it. Like those post-apocalyptic movies where the protagonist finds himself in the middle of an empty, abandoned city (without the zombies or radioactive mutants). Hardly anyone around, and this great silence in the air (which is all the more striking considering how noisy Spanish cities can be).

I rarely go for walks just for the hell of it. Heck, I don't like going for walks for no good reason. But this was good. Might just make it something resembling a habit.

SO... WHAT WERE YOU WATCHING?
...no one asked. I had a brainfart the other week, which led me to realize that I've never really figured out the fuss behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I could a bunch of episodes, but of the later seasons. It was a lot like reading comics that have been going on for years - it was enjoyable, smartly done, the writing was sharp - but there's a feeling that you're missing out on a lot of backstory that could make it all the more interesting.

So I've been on a startstop marathon of Buffy. Watching the episodes as fast as I can get them. And I have to admit: It's a good series. The first season struggles a bit to find its footing (the concepts are much larger than the budget), mixing the whole fantasy with "teen growing up" thing. The Second Season really starts to sing, bringing depth and conflict and just sheer freaking torture to the story.

(Joss Whedon rights a sharp story, with great dialogue and twist/turns aplenty, but he's extraordinarily cruel to his characters. He's not afraid to rip their guts out and string them up on the branches, if it adds some pop to the story).

EVERY ACTION HAS AN OPPOSITE AND EQUAL REACTION
Of course, as I began to watch Buffy, it occured to me that I enjoyed Angel whenever I could catch it. But I never followed it properly, and the seasons just melted together in a mess. I had NO idea what was going on.

Truth be told? I enjoy Angel a little bit more than Buffy. Maybe it's the darker sensibility, or that there's less "My So-Called Life" in it (I guess not being a teenager when watchin Buffy takes just a little buzz from it). Or the moments of absurd slapstick humor (which is where David Boreanaz tends to shine - brooding and being stoic all the time then bursting into surreal fits of madness. The episode where he dances is just hilarious).

There's one episode in the first season - he becomes mortal for a day just as his erstwhile Slayer "friend with benefits" is in town (my gosh, what a coincidence!) , and there's a lot of loveydovey for a while, until he realizes that he's no use to anyone as a mortal and has to give it all up. Some Magical Deux Ex Machina turns back the clock 24 hours and only Angel remembers everything. The story seems so damn familiar - I know I've seen it riffed several times before, but I can't recall where - and while the melodrama is turned up to 11, it's just heartwrenching.

Again, Joss Whedon is incredibly cruel to his characters, and this is why he has legions of undying fans.

AND I SWORE TO MYSELF I'D GO TO BED EARLY TODAY
I put away the office laptop relatively early, and was ready to call it a night. Have an early and potentially long day tomorrow (which may lead to a long "next few months"). But I started yammering at the keyboard and Heartbreak Ridge is playing on the teevee.

Sigh.

POSTSCRIPT
Have a wedding to attend over the weekend. So what? Well, it's the second wedding I attend of the groom in question.

Some things they don't really teach you in school, I guess.

You load Sixteen Tons...

...and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt. St. Peter don't you wait for me coz I can't go...

...I owe my soul to the Company Store.

I suppose most people would think that this is a wholly inappropriate and downbeat notion to post on one's birthday.Me? I've always been fond of that song. The deep melancholy, the gritty determination to move forward in the face of absolute despair, and that wonderfully reverberating bass voice. And I love the line "another day older and deeper in debt".

Finally, there's this great line towards the end, just as you start to feel reeeeeally sorry for the guy:

If you see me comin', better step aside
A lotta men didn't, a lotta men died
One fist of iron, the other of steel
If the right one don't a-get you
Then the left one will

Just so bad ass.

Now where was I? Oh yes. My birthday. Nothing much to separate it from any other day. I woke up with all my extremities and... uh... other sensitive equipment right where I left them when I was 27.

(There was of course the string of text messages during the wee hours of the morning to reminding me it WAS my birthday, lest I forget)

The day was light, not much going on (for once), but the real celebration was over the weekend, which could only have been described with four words: Wine, Women, Song, and Loot.

WOMEN
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Missing the "weekend at jon z's" celebrations of yesteryear, and facing imminent birthday loneliness, I decided to invite some of the office peeps for lunch. As in, invite them to the House that is My Home but not MY House and actually make them lunch.

Like I said, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Funnily enough, every Y Chromosome I invited couldn't make it, for various (and valid, one hopes) reasons. I found myself in the company of four lovely officemates (and for those who care about these things, they were either unavailable or quite frankly not my cuppa tea). There were stories, there was laughter, there was lots of food (too much food), and of course there was...

WINE
Fair amounts of it, to accompany the reasonably successful meal (leaving humility aside, it feels all sorts of kick ass to have four women complement you on your cooking. It's just so... bad ass... in the "modern male" kind of way.

The wine led to someone having the bright idea to break out the karaoke module for the PS2, and thus bringing us to...

SONG
I had no idea the Playstation 2 had a karaoke module. And karaoke games.

Oh the horror. The Horror.

As you can imagine, I was absolute crap at karaoke. I mean, everything was in goddam SPANISH, for crying out loud.

Sing-along humiliation nothwithstanding, I would think it's a fair guess to say that a good time was had by all.

LOOT
Got a new wallet and reversible belt from the Trinity (the "trinity" would be three out of the four ladies who came to lunch). Accessories are always welcome, as I tend to have the common fashion sense of a spastic gnat.

Got a spanking new HP F4100 All-In-One from the Cousin, henceforth known as the Beautiful Black Machine (the printer, not my cousin). I can like print and shit, now. And scan. Now all I need is something to actually scan... but I loves my new toys...

And the Terrible Three at the office surprised me with a beautiful hardbound edition of Alan Moore & Eddie Campbell's FROM HELL. In Spanish. But I do not care, for This is a Challenge. And the books is just puuuurrrty to look at - wonderful production values from cover to cover. So much more impressive than the softcover newsprint -phonebook editions that english version has (of course, this does not make the english version inferior by any means. just... i dunno. less imposing. )

That and Scott McCloud's MAKING COMICS (also in Spanish). I am enormously surprised by the Terrible Three's astonishing good taste when it comes to giving comic gifts to a geek. Sure, I have FROM HELL already in English (stored away in a box back home, last i checked), but it's a choice gift. I later learned that it was somebody's wife who helped pick it out, but still.

I foresee a great and thundering migraine as I read FROM HELL in Spanish. But I laugh at the challenge.

Moo ha ha.

Now, on to 29.

(for anyone who wants to hear the whole "Sixteen Tons", here's the link to the Music section. Or just reload the homepage and wait for it to play)

32 Days Later...

"You talkin' ta me?"
"Are YOU, talkin' ta ME?"

This early on, and the "don't mess wit' me" face is already there. It took me YEARS to perfect mine.

You'll go far, keed. Mark my words.