A Birthday Gift
My moms sent me a card with this photo of me at almost-three in it.
For some reason, I am filled with serenity.
Happy posthumous birthday to…
…Warren Zevon and happy humous birthday to me!
Bodies, Spinning In Their Watery Grave
Yesterday, in some kind of weird opium dream, an epiphany came upon me.
Try singing the lyrics of “The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald” to the tune of “Stairway To Heaven”.
Sorry to be the one to point that out, but this is way better than syncing “The Wizard Of Oz” to Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side Of The Moon”. (ADDED: A link to a Google video of this.)
Oh, wait. Damn.
I’m NOT the first to point this possibility out.
Internet fame eludes me once again
Maybe Next Year…
“Obi-Wan: I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced. I fear something terrible has happened.”
Who Knew Posts About Poop Would Be So Well Received?
Not me, certainly, but thank you all, your kind words have warmed my soul!
Which is good, because it is currently, as they say, colder than a witch’s tit here in Milwaukee. Hell, even with the furnace cranking, it’s butt-cold in my house.
I am hidden inside right now, though I should really be outside soaking up the life-affirming bright sunshine outside – or at least be sitting by an uncurtained window – but the fact is that the cold creeps in around the edges of the glass and makes it not a very attractive place to sit unless I thoroughly bundle up under a quilt and then I feel like an old, old man, being pushed gently about in my cane-backed wheelchair by a vaguely frightening nurse.
Or maybe that’s just me. Whatever.
Addendum
I should clarify – I have no problem with them choosing to dismiss. If I wasn’t working out for them, they had every right to tell me to take a hike.
I just take issue with them telling my big boss – who really has no day-to-day interaction with me and wasn’t at all involved in these transactions – that I had performance issues of any sort.
I guess I view it as if I was doing freelancing for a totally separate third party and, dissatisfied with my performance, they let me go and then called the boss at my day job that they had.
Does that make sense?
Go Pack!
Hat tip, Scout at First Draft.
Phonies
Turns out that Holden Caulfield and all of the Playboy Playmates whose questionnaires I ever read weren’t so wrong in decrying phonies.
I had been doing some freelance work for another department here. They let me go last week, assuring me
that it wasn’t a performance issue on my part.
Then, I discovered that they went to my big boss later and told him that they had, indeed, let me go because of performance issues. Wonderful.
Luckily, the big boss – and my direct boss – specifically told me that THEY have no issues with my performance, but it still rankles, particularly in light of my recent and not-so-recent employment history.
Again, I am forced to appreciate the advice of my dad, who always tells me that people are no good and can’t be trusted.