stuff

• The next time someone says to me, "I'm not a racist, but..." I am going to get out my cattle-prod and discourage that person from finishing the thought with the power of electricity behind me, because damn, no matter what the context, I have learned that whenever that phrase is uttered what follows is bound to be the most egregiously, pestilentially racist statement imaginable. I mean. Who do these people think they're kidding, exactly (besides themselves), and why do they think I'm willing to listen to them?



• You know how sometimes several different aspects of your life will converge into one thematic preoccupation? It's sort of like getting a new car, in my experience; you might not have noticed other cars like yours on the road before you bought it, but after, you notice them everywhere, you're more sensitive to that particular thing that's always been there. Yeah, so lately my life has been drifting towards themes of collaboration -- I read about it online and in books, spend my time thinking about it. It delights me, the ways in which disparate partners learn to work together, the generosity they show to each other, the ideas they spark off each other.
  
  I love to work in tandem with others, although I haven't often had the opportunity, but I'm not sure to do in a situation like this, which isn't really a collaboration at all but would probably improve by being one: I'm the webmistress of Ye Olde Workplace Website, and my boss keeps contributing articles he wants me to post that are, well, let us say technically deficient. The ideas are good ones, but his execution's organizationally and grammatically scattershot. (Yes, more scattershot than mine, can you believe it!) Sloppy. The problem is that I don't want to rewrite too much, but posting things as he emails them to me is simply out of the question, and so I end up with a lame compromise: I fix the grammatical errors and tighten up as much as I dare without rewriting the thing completely (which is actually what's called for in most cases), slap it all up on the web, and hope he doesn't notice or mind too much.
  
  I don't want to overstep with him, but man, I really do want to say hey, I know you're a busy guy; if you want to just hand your notes over I'll make sure they're up on the website in some cohesive form by the end of the day. I want to be your collaborator. I'm there for you. Maybe one day I'll get there.



• DUDE PLEASE AT LEAST OPEN YOUR BANK STATEMENTS BEFORE YOU GIVE THEM TO ME BECAUSE KNOWING THAT YOU HAVEN'T GOT THE SLIGHTEST IDEA OF HOW MUCH MONEY YOU HAVE IN YOUR ACCOUNT AND HAVE PUT ME IN SOLE CHARGE OF IT ANYWAY IS GIVING ME A NERVOUS TIC OKAY THANK YOU.



• I had lunch with some of my former coworkers today, ones still employed by my former company, I mean. It's been eleven months since the layoffs began, and things seemed to have leveled out with the company at half-strength. My friends seem much more relaxed now than they were last year at this time; there were complaints -- I think there always will be when you get a group of friendly coworkers together outside the office -- but no one was as furiously upset and angry as we all were a year ago, which is nothing but good.
  
  I wish them all the best, and the coworkers who weren't at lunch as well (all but my dog-starving former supervisor who I hear has recently acquired a kitten; I hope the kitten scratches my erstwhile boss's sofa to ribbons before she starves), but I am feeling this afternoon as though I am still lucky to be away. I love my new job, as pedestrian and unglamorous as it is, and all awkward writing and bank account reconciliation notwithstanding; it suits low-key me just fine.



• Random Linx 4 U: geek badges, cool music in the streets, ridiculous yet embarrassingly informative-to-me videos on how to walk in heels (note to self: remember to get Useful Gentleman), the nifty hand-me-down I got this week.