29 September 2008

Brief Hereos Recap - Minor Spoiler Warning

Ok, giant gripe with tonight's Heroes: How the hell was Meredith able to make a speech while Claire is suffocating? I mean, really? They are in an enclosed space, Meredith all flamey and speechy. Claire is flashing back on the attack from Sylar. "I want to help people!" Yeah, yeah. "I want to hurt him!" Ah, so we get to the heart of the matter. Claire is all sweaty and gasping for air. Meredith is cool as anything and seemingly able to function without a ready supply of oxygen.

Other than that, it was a pretty decent episode. The focus was primarily on HRG and Sylar rounding up the baddies from Level 5, with a few brief forays into Claire/Meredith, Tracy, Hiro/Ando story lines. Thankfully, there was no more awkward sex with proto-fly Mohinder and Maya. Ucky.

23 September 2008

On Death and Dying

I am going to preface this post by saying that I absolutely do not want bad things to happen to the ones I love. Hell, that's why they are called "loved ones", right?

I've been thinking a lot lately about the inevitability of death. I haven't quite gotten to the fatalistic point, but I'm feeling very, I don't know, laid back about the whole thing. Here's what I've got.

People die. Once we reach a certain age, we know this. Some people deal with death earlier than others, or more frequently, but at some point it greets us all. My grandpa is 93 years old and while he is in pretty good shape for a nonagenarian, I know that sooner rather than later, he is going to be gone. I will miss him but I will not rage and scream about the unfairness of it all.

OK sure, it may be easier to face the death of an old person or a terminally sick person. How would I feel if something catastrophic happened to one of my friends, or my parents? I'm not going to be specific about the fatal incident because I'm a little superstitious about that sort of thing. Anyway, something fatal happens to someone I care about. Yes, I'm sad and I cry and I wish it hadn't happened. However, if the incident in question hadn't happened, if it was thwarted in some manner, it doesn't confer immortality upon said loved one. Follow me? They are still going to die one day. This isn't to say that I wouldn't like as much time as possible with my loved ones.

Another thing I've been thinking about is how I don't think people are so much afraid of death as they are afraid of dying. It's the anticipation, the possibility of pain that frightens them. Everyone wants to go quietly in their sleep, or in some other instantaneous, pain-free way. Also, it's the idea of leaving behind unfinished things. I'll tell you something; if you're dead, it doesn't matter anymore. I don't care what it is. You. are. dead. It is the people left behind who have the tough job of it. They are the ones who have to clean up the mess and deal with the shit.

I'm sure by this point you've convinced yourself that I am an unfeeling monster who doesn't deserve loved ones. This is not true. I feel things. I also feel that it is useless to rage against something we have very little control over. That way lies ulcers.

Looking back over this I realize that it could seem like I believe in fate and predestination. I don't. I don't believe that each person is born with the day they die written down somewhere. Death is inevitable, but the method of delivery varies.

18 September 2008

Life Was A Beach; Now It's A Bitch

Vacations are lovely. I just got back from Bethany Beach, DE and if it weren't for the fact that my car died in the Wawa parking lot, I'd still be all zoned out and relaxed.

The beach is a funny place. I used to go a lot when I was a wee'un and I loved getting buried in the sand and body-surfing. I got to eat ice cream and pancakes and play skeeball. As I got older, the beach started to have new possibilities. Namely, boys.

Now, I don't know about all of you, but I have seen lots of movies and read books where people go to the beach and magical lovely things happen. You know: boy meets girl, sparks happen, boy and girl begin tentative relationship, uh-oh! plot device to drive the couple apart, whew! it was all a misunderstanding. Kisses on the beach, fade, and done. This would be the point where I tell you that that has never happened to me.

So, regardless of my previous beachy experiences, as I drove into the first in a line of Delaware beach towns, I got all twitchy. Ooooo, the possibilities! Maybe this trip would be THE trip. Maybe I'll have the magical moment. Picture it: waves crashing, my hair perfectly tousled by the salt breeze, my cheeks nicely rosy from the sun. He is tall and bronzed and sensitive yet manly. I am the girl he has been waiting for. He cups my face in his strong hands, gazes into my eyes, and...well, you've seen the movie.

I'm sure you've figured out that this did not happen. I spent a very nice and relaxing couple of days with my parents. I read some beach-type books, ate some good food and had ice cream for lunch one day. I got a bit of a tan and managed to destress. Which was almost ruined by the fact that my car died as I was leaving Wawa earlier with my cibatta melt and iced tea. Waiting for the AAA tow truck for over an hour is a buzz kill. Much thanks goes out to my neighbor for coming out and 1) giving me a jump, and 2) hanging out with me when my car died again and giving me a ride home.

12 September 2008


I did not get fired.

I'm fairly certain that he was looking for an excuse, though. A coworker told me that he made a comment: "Aren't we missing some people on [my project]?"

Hahahahaha asshole, I was on time.

I'm off to pack for my vacation.* If anything interesting happens I'll try to post about it. I don't know if I'm going to have internet access.

*Yeah right. I'm probably gonna Stumble for another hour or so.

11 September 2008

"I Don't Appreciate Your Tone, Young Lady!"

Today was a red-letter day. I put a crack in Stoneface's facade. If I haven't mentioned him before, Stoneface is my boss. Not the go-to-if-I-need-a-day-off boss, but the Director of the non-medical call floor.

When Stoneface first started at my place of employment, many of us were convinced that there was going to be a Falling Down re-enactment. Yup, Stoneface is a dead ringer for Michael Douglas's character: black tie, glasses, red face and all. He didn't interact much with us much. I don't think he even knew my name for the first six months he was there. This was confirmed when I discovered he referred to me as "tribal girl". For fuck's sake, the tattoo isn't even tribal, you tool.

It turns out that Stoneface does have a few topics that open him right up: sandwiches and fishing. Now, I'm all about sandwiches, but I have approximately no interest in fishing. Not that it matters, Stoneface doesn't deal well with women. He's all sorts of chummy with the male supervisors but does not get on with the 2 female ones. Well, the one crawls so far up his as that his doctor asks her what the state of his colon is; the other mostly only deals with him on an as-needed basis.

Anyway, the months pass and Stoneface loosened up a little. If by loosen up you mean cracking mean-spirited jokes and spending half the morning talking about mustard and hot sauce. There would be hour-long debates on where to order lunch and which fucking sandwich to order. As I said, I'm a sandwich fan, but come on - that's not being a foodie, that's mania.

I had decided early on not to bother cultivating anything more than a civil working relationship with this man. I don't like him and I don't like his management style. I tried the odd sally here and there; I got nada so I stopped trying. Today though, today was different.

It has been a fairly weird and shitty week. Not just for me, for everyone. The Princess was all in a tizzy and the call floor was paying the price. I had a seriously busy afternoon happening (really!) and was feeling a bit frazzled. I made a comment to one of my supervisors about how, in all actuality, anyone can do the particular job that the Princess needed done, but only people with a client specific training could do the training. I know this is coming off vague, but I don't think it's a great idea to be too specific.

Anyway, a couple minutes later, I hear the above mentioned supervisor reiterating my comment to Stoneface. I felt that the supervisor wasn't properly conveying my point to Stoneface so I interjected. I explained myself again. Apparently, Stoneface would rather have heard that from my supervisor because as I turned back to my computer, he says, "Thanks so much for your help" in a moderately sarcastic tone. I, being the level-headed individual I am, reply, "That's what I do" in a horrifically chipper tone of voice. OK, there was an undertone of brat, but it was hardly noticeable. Stoneface mutters, "That's not what it seems like."

Awwww, did scary Carrie hurt big, bad Stoneface's feelings? I'll admit to a moment of light-headedness, but then I didn't care. OK, I care that Stoneface chewed out my supervisor for not calling me on my behavior. I understand how the chain of command works, but, well, wasn't this personal? Wasn't the issue my attitude and not my work? If I were slacking off, or chronically late, I could understand Stoneface telling one of my supervisors to talk to me, but he was twisted up by my intonation. If I were him, I'd be a little embarrassed at the way I handled it. But I'm me and I have no regrets. You know, other than my supervisor getting chewed out.

I had the brief hope that Stoneface would call me into his office and snottily fire me. Nope, didn't happen. Unless he's being particularly sneaky and plans on doing the deed tomorrow morning. I'd be a bit salty if I had to haul my bratty ass into work just to get fired.

04 September 2008

Practical Matters

Wednesday is normally a bit of a TV wasteland for me. Last night was pretty much the same except I was planning on watching the pilot of Sons of Anarchy. For those of you who don't watch TV; the show is about a biker "club" in the fictional town of Charming, CA. They are led by Hellboy, and second in command is the original founder's son, Jackson (Charlie Hunnam, super hot). Since the show is on FX at 10 pm, there is some leeway with the type of language they are allowed to use - and use it they did. I didn't count or anything, but I believe that each character who had more than one scene said "shit." Prick and asshole were close seconds.

The whole thing starts of with a raid of the Sons gun warehouse by a rival club, the Mayans. In case the name wasn't obvious enough, the Mayans are Latinos. They steal several crates of guns and then torch the place. Several of the Sons go up to the warehouse the next morning to investigate the blast, and we are made aware of the fact that the Sons have most of the local police force in their linty, leather pockets. Oh, and for those of you who have an, ahem, barbecue fetish, two people were trapped in the warehouse and were crispy-fried.

We next learn that Jackson (Jax) has a crackhead pregnant ex-wife who OD's in a puddle of melting ice cream. His son, Abel, is 10 weeks premature. In addition, the poor kid has a messed up gut and a congential heart defect. Jax deals with this by going out and pummeling, and then skewering (with a busted pool cue no less), the dude who sold the drugs to the ex-wife. And when I say skewer I mean...you know, I don't want to ruin it for anyone.

Lots of other stuff happens. Jax finds a box of his dad's stuff; journals and photos mostly, and starts to question if what the Sons have become is truly what his dad wanted. Jax's mom (Katey Segal) says some horrible things to both the female doctor (it is implied the doctor lady was involved with the biker lifestyle) who helped with little Abel, and Jax's ex. Hellboy fucks up some Mayans and Jax finally goes to see his son.

Really, I wasn't trying to do a synopsis. What I wanted to do is talk about practicality. Jax's mom did what she thought was necessary to secure a safe future for her grandson. Jax beat the caca out of the dude who sold drugs to the ex because he wanted to send a message. Of course, knocking the stuffing out of the guy after the chick had OD'd doesn't really solve anything, but he did what he thought he had to do. The Sons raid the Mayans to get the guns back and then blow the place to smithereens. Why? Because it was what needed to be done. Messages were sent. I guess we'll see next week if they were received.

How practical is too practical? I always felt that I could do what needed to be done, if it came down to it, but I don't think I could tempt someone into a fatal OD just to save a baby. I don't know if I want to know for a fact that my boyfriend, husband, whatever, killed to protect me or our life. Am I really the type of person who would want the aforementioned significant other to commit felony assault to avenge a slight against me? In the interest of complete honesty; I will admit to wanting him to want to commit felony assault for me.

Before you tap me politely on the shoulder and point out that this is a TV show, I KNOW. I know these people are made up. However, these biker clubs do exist. People like Jax, Clay and Gemma probably exist somewhere, in some form, right? There are people who will maim or kill to right a perceived wrong, or to defend what is theirs. My ex-husband was the practical sort. If you consider wanting to start an assassination business practical. No, I'm not kidding, but what I was going to mention is that I was pretty sure that he would rather kill for me than die for me.

Did any of that make sense? When does doing what needs to be done go to far? I guess that's an individual line that each person must set for themselves. After all, my too far is not your too far.

03 September 2008

Stupid Work

You know when you're sitting somewhere and something happens? OK, I'll be more specific. I was sitting at my desk and received an email for an internal job posting. The kicker is that the job is in Ireland. So I know that in 3...2...1, everyone was going to be gabbing about it.

Sigh. It's quite a burden being so consistently right. Now the one supervisor is talking to one of my annoying coworkers about whether or not Ireland is the place to be. They are discussing beer, the Irish economy, and going on foxhunts.

I am forced to ask myself why this annoys me. It was the same thing yesterday when a bank of the overhead fluorescent briefly flickered out. I figured that someone had leaned against the master switch up in reception. Apparently my coworkers had never experienced a power failure. I'm sure that people were hoping for something catastrophic so we would be sent home, but since my monitor didn't even flicker, I wasn't so optimistic.

I still don't know why the chatter bugs me. Maybe it's because if I don't think it's a big deal, no one should. After all, aren't I the best judge of what is newsworthy or not? Stop laughing.

On a completely unrelated note, my penultimate boss had one of the lamest conversations I have ever heard with my immediate supervisor. Bear in mind that he's probably in his early 40s. He used the word "dude" more in the space of 5 minutes than I do in a week...and I say "dude" quite often. Honestly, he sounded like a wasted surfer dude. See, I just said "dude". I find it hard to muster any respect for a man who wastes half the morning talking about his day at the beach. Especially when he'll let any random person pile shit-work on his call center staff just so he doesn't have to see them sit idle for more than 2 minutes. This becomes an issue because just when someone, usually the Princess, has piled up the work, call volume increases. Oy, the frantic stomping around alone is almost worth the price of admission.