Antithesis

I think I may have discovered the antithesis of Midas' touch. Me.

Ok. I'm done whining now.

25 X 25

A few friends are reaching significant birthdays, so they've been making lists of the things they have done and lists of things they'd like to do. Maybe a "Bucket List"-type concept. Although my upcoming birthday is not significant, in my head 25 has always been kind of a significant age, so I thought I'd steal the idea and make a list of my own -- a few of the things I've done in my 25 years:

1. Walked the Great Wall
   
2. Had ridiculously long hair and ridiculously short hair
   
3. Been published in a book
   
4. Purchased my first house (well, townhouse)
   
5. Been flooded, blown, or pestered out of almost every Lake Powell camping spot
   
6. Learned how to play the recorder
   
7. Been the "executive producer" on a few short "films"
   
8. Had vampire-shark-bat teeth
   
9. Slept on a park bench -- like a homeless person -- in a foreign country
   
10. Made up my own cookie recipe
    
11. Gone skydiving
    
12. Been a musical street performer
    
13. Ridden a camel
    
14. Handed out around 50 lbs of stickers to African children
    
15. Been among the first handful of people to wear a pair of gold Mickey Mouse ears around Disneyland
    
16. Eaten turtle, rabbit, ostrich, buffalo, two-thousand year old eggs, chicken feet, and some sort of beetle
    
17. Been asked to be in pictures with the leader of a Tibetan monastery and an Iraqi
    
18. Made draperies
    
19. Celebrated Epiphany in front of the Duomo in Florence
    
20. Learned to build a lamp
    
21. Kept the same mechanical pencil since 5th grade
    
22. Had a middle-eastern man email my boss with expressions of admiration and love for me, based on my employee picture on the work website
    
23. Voice-acted
    
24. Created a 6-foot paper snowflake
    
25. Managed to break my own finger with a blow-dryer

An open letter to the people playing loud music on my street

Dear "neighborly" music listeners:

I rode to work in silence this morning. Music was not needed because the drumbeat from your music is on loop in my head. "Duh duh dun da da (rest) duh. Duh duh dun da da (rest) duh. Duh duh dun da da (rest) duh. Duh duh dun da da (rest) duh..."

I appreciate that you like your music. Really; I do. My poor little car speakers share my understanding. Everyone needs to turn up their tunes now and then. But, really, is 2:16 a.m. the best time to do that?

Why?

Why did you choose to stop right in the middle of the road and open all four doors on your white, extended-cab truck -- as if your sub woofer were not thunderous enough? Did you select that location specifically because it would affect the most buildings?

You didn't appear to be drinking, so why were you just standing outside your car, yelling idle conversation to one another as your music blared? Do you have something against the old woman that was sleeping just to your west? Against me, just to the southeast? Against the neighbors directly to the east? Do you have something against sleeping, period?

I would have come out and talked to you. Asked you to turn it down. Perhaps I should have just called the police about your noise ordinance violation. But you were six Tongans, and I am just one me. I wasn't sure it was wise.

I'm not sure if you're moving into one of the condos that just sold. If so, I hope that we can be friends. But you're going to have to learn that not everyone wants to hear your R&B/rap at 2:16 a.m. (Well... ever.) Otherwise, I'm afraid your reception to the neighborhood might not be as warm as you'd like.

Sincerely,

E

P.S. I have a neighbor I could sic on you, if needed. She has big poofy hair, seems like she is constantly casting a curse on you, and would be happy to stand in front of your door and stare.

The PowerPoint that ate Cinncinnati

A co-worker and I have been looking through all our old photo archives (back to the days of transparencies and slides through our 4000 some-odd photos that were taken last year) for a PowerPoint presentation to be shown at an upcoming conference.



My co-worker thinks I find too much joy in the old photos I've found, but it's just fascinating. I think I'm partly anthropologist at heart.



Anywho... After we found, scanned, touched-up, and saved many, many photos, my co-worker set about making the actual PowerPoint. To decrease the file size, which we assumed to be humongous, we tried to compress the photos. She has an old version of PowerPoint, which does not have the "compress all photos" function. So I told her to save it on our share drive and I would compress it because I have a newer version.

The following took place between 2 and 3 p.m.:

E (opening folder with file and seeing size): Holy cow!
Co-worker (two offices away): giggles
E (via instant chat): 408 MB???!?!?
Co-worker: Really?
E: You've created the PowerPoint that ate Cincinnati
Co-worker: I really have!
E (15 minutes later, after opening, attempting to compress and save): I think I've cut about 70 MB.
...
E (5 minutes later, when it's done saving): 402 MB!!! Compressing doesn't do anything! Hold on. I'm going to try something new.
...
...
Co-worker (coming into my office a few minutes later, seeing a look of concentration): How's it coming? What are you doing?
E: I'm just trying to paste the photos in differently. Hold on a sec and we'll see how we're doing...
save
E: Yes! 141 MB. I must keep going! This is so satisfying; it's like ironing your clothes! Immediate gratification. [Dear readers: Yes. I do like ironing.]
Co-worker (watching for several minutes): I really don't want you to have to do this. If you just tell me what you're doing, I'll do it. I know you have other things to do. Really, I feel bad.
E: No! You have to let me finish! This is great!
...

In the end: the PowerPoint that ate Cincinnati? Just 31 MB. (Large? Perhaps. But it ain't no 408 MB.) These are among the simple pleasures that bring joy to a day at work.

Pathetic, pathetic

You will remember that, not long ago, I posted about a VeggieTales song.

I feel bad that you haven't been able to hear it. Here is the link to part of the song. (Mwah, ha, ha.)

"Four snakes gliding up and down a hollow for no purpose that I could see -- not to eat, not for love, but only gliding."

These are the escalators to my office building.



You'll notice that -- at the time the picture was taken -- the escalator to the right goes up, and the escalator to the left goes down.

This morning:
Left escalator: up.
Right escalator: down.

This happens multiple times a week. And sometimes the escalators don't move at all.

So maybe we're not snakes; and we're on an escalator, not a "hollow," but we appear to just be gliding up and down for some unknown reason. I wonder: are we really just an experiment, amusing some mad-escalator-scientist?

I might need a pen name

To summarize my last post: My current job is perfect in so many ways. But the environment is, in some ways, sapping life out of me. (I think when I learn to find better work / life balance, this will change.)

So, I was thinking about changing jobs. I seemed to have the perfect opportunity lined up, and I was so grateful to just have good things fall in my lap.

Well... The other job changed drastically. So, I called my amazingly patient friend, who is a good thinker / listener, and smart as all-get-out to talk about what I should do. We talked about a lot of things. After talking with this friend and with the company some more, I've decided I'm not changing jobs right away. It just does not seem like the right thing.

But, my friend got me thinking: maybe I need to go back to school. And then I was talking to another friend who mentioned that she knew someone getting a Master's in -- get this -- children's literature. And it's in Australia! And I thought: that would be so great!

So, I'm thinking: maybe I could get a Master's in Creative Writing, with an emphasis in children's literature. (Whether or not I go to Australia to do it is debatable... I wouldn't mind it.)

What do you think?

Considerations: formal schooling is not my favorite thing in the whole world; creative writing is maybe a little useless; it wouldn't really help me if I stay in my current area of Communications -- although maybe just the fact that I have a Master's would help; it's expensive; I'd love to be a (more) published author; it sounds really fun.

Every day there's a [girl] in the mirror asking me, "What are you doing here?"

I have a great job. Really great. It's cool, interesting, meaningful, variable, and just plain ol' good. Especially on days like today: I love being part of the creative, inventive process. It's fun to go to a film shoot, work with people on a script I wrote, worry about lighting and staging, camera angles and framing, cuts and retakes, and just to work with good people and help others relax. I love it.

I love writing interesting things. I love writing things that can change the way people think about something -- in a good and honest way, of course. (I know the PR wrap.) I love figuring out how to couch things, frame them, and make them applicable to different audiences. I love the power of language.

I love art directing -- worrying about what kind of paper to use and what layout best communicates a message. Going to photo shoots to make sure we have have the perfect picture. Thinking about ways to pull out interesting words, phrases, and key messages visually.

I love being able to be part of, and even lead sometimes, teams that are working to make meaningful change. I like being part of the investigational process, coming up with and implementing solutions, planning for various needs.

It's all very interesting. I love seeing how these all interface to influence people and to communicate a message.

So... (you say) what is the point of this blog entry? Are you just bragging about how much you like your job? The funny thing is: I don't.

Why? I don't quite know. And that's why the girl in the mirror is asking me, "What are you doing here?" I am conflicted; sometimes I wonder if it's by nature. But really I think it's just that I know what I am at heart, but sometimes what you are at heart and how your life works out don't coincide. Hence, conflict. So, how does one sort this out? Lately I've been telling people that my job is great, but that -- since I started as an intern -- I'm not ever going to stop being an "intern" to some people mentally, unless I leave and come back. Even though I haven't been an intern for a long time, or even really done intern work. Does that sound reasonable? How do you sort out your life path? Suggestions? Does anyone really ever have it worked out?

Let me think...

Or not. I just learned that your brain stores cuss words in a brain compartment separate from all other words. Moreover, this compartment never erases itself -- or forgets. Swearing almost becomes an autonomic response, more than it is a conscious choice. Certainly it makes it harder to overcome, and more likely to reappear. Interesting, eh?

Of course I have opinions about what this means for people, but I'll keep those to myself.

More fun?

I think it would be really cool if I had the impossible technology that most movies/tv shows have where you can take a still photo, such as seen below, and rotate it around like a 3D rendering. Then you could see better, I could have a better angled picture, and um... it would be fun? Anyway, it's hard to tell from this photo just how blond it is, but it's quite blond. This is the blondest I've ever been.