thanks for the book, now my table is steady
Great great Memorial Day weekend. Some sun, some baby, a little sports, some walking around, some good food, some friends and family, some gadget-buying and some Windows XP installing, and some mindless TV.
I'm feeling good and relaxed, or as relaxed as I can feel considering what a chronic worrier I am.
Just the kind of weekend I needed to prime me for my first day on Job 2.o.
Hans, what will you do differently as you approach this new chapter of your life? you ask.
Well, I'll tell you what I won't change, and that's my daily routine. I'll still talc the same special places on my body every morning. I'll still pull my underpants way up past my belly button before putting my trousers on. I'll still give the bus driver a kiss on the cheek as I get on board.
And I'll still go out there rooting out injustice wherever I find it. Rooting it out and kicking the bad guys in the shins.
What will I change, though...let me think.
I will be more organized. As I cleaned out my desk on my last day on the old job, I came across some papers from like 1998 that I had never gotten around to addressing. That's not right.
By the way, Randy, I passed on your resume to the higher ups. Sorry about the delay.
I'll concentrate more. I'll be more focused and mentally immersed in my work. I'll waste less time doing bullshit.
I'll eat better at lunch time.
I'll maintain a professional distance from my colleagues whenever possible, without being a douche about it.
I'll do the chicken dance alone in the bathroom when nobody's watching.
And I won't tuck in my shirt.
Happy workweek, friends. Knock off a little early and hit the bar for happy hour. Tell 'em I said it was OK.
New softball recap from Ambrose is up.
My pop is not shy about name-dropping. He had a career that allowed him to work closely with some of the biggest names of the 20th century, no exaggeration, and he's not averse to talking about it. Today he told a story about a day in like 1973 when a rich high school buddy of his was visiting from Chicago. They went to a fancy restuarant on Central Park South, a place my pop had been a few times, but by no means was he a regular.
Somehow the maitre'd remembered his name.
"Mr. Bungle," he said. "Good to see you. Your table is ready."
My pop was already feeling all big-shotty about the nice treatment from the maitre'd when suddenly a distinctive voice rang out across the restaurant.
"Lars. Lars Bungle!" it said. "How the hell are you?"
The voice, it turns out, belonged to one of the greatest heroes in American sports history, and needless to say, my pop impressed the bejeezus out of his buddy that night. For ten GP's, whose voice was it?
I left the office at 9:12 pm on my last day, feeling a little bit like Sam Malone closing down Cheers alone for the very last time. BJL gets the points.
I'm feeling good and relaxed, or as relaxed as I can feel considering what a chronic worrier I am.
Just the kind of weekend I needed to prime me for my first day on Job 2.o.
Hans, what will you do differently as you approach this new chapter of your life? you ask.
Well, I'll tell you what I won't change, and that's my daily routine. I'll still talc the same special places on my body every morning. I'll still pull my underpants way up past my belly button before putting my trousers on. I'll still give the bus driver a kiss on the cheek as I get on board.
And I'll still go out there rooting out injustice wherever I find it. Rooting it out and kicking the bad guys in the shins.
What will I change, though...let me think.
I will be more organized. As I cleaned out my desk on my last day on the old job, I came across some papers from like 1998 that I had never gotten around to addressing. That's not right.
By the way, Randy, I passed on your resume to the higher ups. Sorry about the delay.
I'll concentrate more. I'll be more focused and mentally immersed in my work. I'll waste less time doing bullshit.
I'll eat better at lunch time.
I'll maintain a professional distance from my colleagues whenever possible, without being a douche about it.
I'll do the chicken dance alone in the bathroom when nobody's watching.
And I won't tuck in my shirt.
Happy workweek, friends. Knock off a little early and hit the bar for happy hour. Tell 'em I said it was OK.
New softball recap from Ambrose is up.
My pop is not shy about name-dropping. He had a career that allowed him to work closely with some of the biggest names of the 20th century, no exaggeration, and he's not averse to talking about it. Today he told a story about a day in like 1973 when a rich high school buddy of his was visiting from Chicago. They went to a fancy restuarant on Central Park South, a place my pop had been a few times, but by no means was he a regular.
Somehow the maitre'd remembered his name.
"Mr. Bungle," he said. "Good to see you. Your table is ready."
My pop was already feeling all big-shotty about the nice treatment from the maitre'd when suddenly a distinctive voice rang out across the restaurant.
"Lars. Lars Bungle!" it said. "How the hell are you?"
The voice, it turns out, belonged to one of the greatest heroes in American sports history, and needless to say, my pop impressed the bejeezus out of his buddy that night. For ten GP's, whose voice was it?
I left the office at 9:12 pm on my last day, feeling a little bit like Sam Malone closing down Cheers alone for the very last time. BJL gets the points.
posted by hans q. bungle at 02:19
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