First an apology for all the blather about my shitty job. Why, if I had a penny….for every crappy story, psycho co-worker and bullshit job assignment for every job I’ve ever had. Well, you catch my drift.
And it’s not really any better since the last time I posted. It went like this: We had a meeting two weeks ago celebrating the 20 years our company has been around, complete with cake (!) and a free day off on Friday. More on what I did on that day off in a bit. Then, we got invited to a big dinner at a local Brazilian steakhouse. All the fixins’. And the possibility to earn more days off, a cruise, etc. Fun.
Then, we come back from the day off and are told we have two weeks to turn our performance around or heads will roll! Off with the heads! Stop painting the roses red!
Or something like that. Then, we get a new “consultant,” who is some dude who used to work there who’s going to get us all ship-shape. The two girls I work with him have dubbed him “The Bobs,” a la Office Space, and I can’t disagree.
WHATEVER. People, here’s a newsflash: I get no satisfaction from my job — from any job — I’ve ever had. Except my time in the yarn biz, and we know how that ended! I am sick of this. Sick of doing things that are beneath my intelligence level and skill-set. Working with dildoheads (is that one word or two? I am never sure) who don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground, and who respond to the tragedy in Boston by playing (and singing along to, badly) a chorus from “God Bless the USA.” No, I am not kidding.
So, enough about that. Whatever will be will be. I am going to explore teaching, finally. I don’t know what I need to do, or how to achieve it, because everyone I know who has become a teacher REFUSES TO TELL ME. So, I will do what I always do: Rely on myself and figure it out.
In other news: On my Friday off, I watched movies and slept. All day. It was pure joy. I started with two über-depressing documentaries,
It’s so wonderful to learn the way our patriarchal society, and sadly, other women, cause so much suffering in the world. I am proud to say I am a FEMINIST, and these movies, while well-crafted, are deeply, deeply disturbing.
Of course, I needed a palate cleanser afterwards, as the rain poured down outside my window. Not metaphorically, it was actually pouring.
So, I queued up Flashdance. Yes, I said Flashdance. This is the most ridiculous, plot-inconsistent and retarded movie in the pantheon of ’80s movies, and yet, I can’t resist it. Do I like the music? Fuck, no. Do I not see the dance-double in all the scenes? Mais bien sur! No, the reason I watch this, and frankly, the entire Adrian Lynne oeuvre, is really quite simple.
House pron. You know what I mean — I’m not going to use the real P word, lest I get hit by another wave of Polish spam.
This. This apartment. I have been obsessing over it for years. Between this warehouse apartment and Gorodish’s in Diva (look it up – Diva is my favorite movie, as you know), it’s a tough call. They are both my everything.
But I find myself really questioning things now. Like, how does she clean it? Does she use Murphy’s Oil Soap on the floors? She can’t use a Swiffer, because they weren’t invented yet. Does she own a vacuum? Does she NEED one? Where did she get her furniture? Damn, that TV is big. She couldn’t have gotten that at the dump. But you know, Goodwill has some good deals on TVs, even now. When she opens the warehouse windows, (and she totally does, I caught that part!) does it get smelly in there? Does soot come in? How SHOULD one ventilate in this apartment?
Clearly, I need to seek help.
That’s all I have to bitch/obsess about today. Do I still knit, you ask? Yes, but I haven’t loaded anything on Etsy in a dog’s age, because I need to get photos and I am always os busy on the weekend. Maybe I will lose my job and just have all the time in the world hahahahaha!
In conclusion, I have been thinking about my dad a lot lately, and that’s about as maudlin as I’m prepared to get in print.
And also: I turned on the TV today and watched the entire PBS’s showing of Great Performances at the Met production of Thomas Adés The Tempest. OMG, this is the greatest thing I’ve seen in forever. It had everything: Bowie-esque costumes for Ariel and Caliban, a Sarah Brightman-esque Miranda, Prospero as played by Keith Richards’ body double, a part for a counter-tenor that only Jimmy Summerville could sing, and that touch of Shoenberg atonality that this freak loves.
And it had this divine creature as Ariel. You might not enjoy this, but it made my week.
Oh, what the hell, here’s MORE!