Respite

I have to blog right now because I have no other escape hatch in my day.

So far this morning everyone at work seems to have either the "Short Friday Hurries," cramming as much in before noon so that they can leave early and flop ass-wise into their favorite Starbucks chair, or they're doing what they normally do (nothing, other than annoy me) and therefore they don't actually have to be here, but they would have felt guilty staying at home. I've seen 4 people wearing velour sweatsuits today, and only one of them is female, and that's NoMakeup Sandie who is half-human/half-turtle.

Do not invest in the Orange Jack Phone Company. It is management-heavy, light on leadership, and filled brim-side with too many people who believe it matters. I can't say I'm one of them.

The reporting system I use apparently got corked last night, as it went face-down for an hour, for no reason. Yesterday afternoon I was using Excel, tried to save a monster of a worksheet that was three weeks in the making, and suddenly I get a

"Windows is attempting to install Microsoft Office Professional.

Please wait while the installation puts the brakes on your life."

So, I was using a program within the Office suite, yet it wasn't actually in-use, because it wasn't even installed on the laptop that work shoved off onto me? Every day, The Matrix and 1984 meet for drinks in my kitchen, laughing at the simplicity of Office Space. I am officially burned out on this job as of Wednesday night. I literally stared at a computer screen for 38 minutes straight, blinking but not seeing anything of import or value after that split second of eye-wetting Valhalla.

So anyway, my job sucks, and if anyone wants it, they can have it. Doing the work is not difficult. Finding enough motivation to do it for people who don't remember screaming a request into the phone for it once they get what they want, now THAT will take a special person to fill this chair. I'm looking for a new job, perferably making Dave Attell money for comedy and writing, like $20Gs a pop.

I'm headlining Laughs all weekend. The other night I riffed around at Pegasus with moderate success for 55 minutes, only going through a few real bits. I'm excited to see what happens tonight when I can really drill down into the material and find a new vein of comedy gold. Hope you can make it to a show! 9pm Friday and Saturday.

Pink velour sweatsuit, likely not a new one, probably one that was hanging around since they were last popular. I think she's roller-disco'ing, too.

Live the nightmare.

this blog has been as entertaining as my day at work.

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And Another Another Thing

If anyone thought I was the only person who thinks The Stranger is an incestuously "self-made hipster" rag of Biblically Gay-But-Not-In-A-Homo-Way proportions, check out this week's "I, Anonymous" entry.

Compare it to my previous blog regarding that fibrous melange of lines and pictures.

And then wipe your pipe with the local music reviews. And the "Drunk Of The Week" horsecrap of a feature is probably just a bunch of their exes they want to out for being tanked too often. Real drunks don't get their pictures taken while awake. Get with the program.

I stand by my previous quote that "Celebrity I Saw U" is the only thing in that diaper-liner worth reading.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

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How To Tell When Somebody Is Lying

You know that feeling you get in your gut that says "there's no way this prostitute isn't a cop."? Yeah, check in with that.

If someone tells you a trait about themselves, an intrinsic trait, not something visible like pretty eyes or a well-tucked fruit-cocktail, then that person's probably lying to you.

You can usually tell something about somebody because you have a sense of decency and smell to let you in on it. It's a gut reaction to the way someone walks, looks around a room, and picks up the tab every time.

So remember, if somebody has the need to tell you a trait about themselves, like "I'm funny," or "I'm a great guy," or "I don't need attention," the exact opposite is true, and they will be on stage in a few minutes.

Behold the finest knifeholder created. At www.viceversa.com





I Care,
Lott
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Putting The "Con" in Conference Call

I "rushed" into work this morning because, like a lot of days, I had a conference call. The factors of timeliness and building-presence don't affect me emotionally. If I could do my job from home, I wouldn't; I don't want any of these people to know where I live, not to mention that I'd be waist-up naked and likely wine-drunk most of the work day. My focus wanes from moment to moment after the badge scan, even more-so when I know I don't have to be back here for 16 hours.

My "team" is based in California. Perfect. My original boss in this organization is about 12 feet away. The manager I had following her is about a quarter-mile down the road in another building. My current manager is in Calafournee. My next manager will be a naked mole-rat/human hybrid who lives near the center of Sugarloaf Mountain in South America. It helps save $$$ in facilities when the middle-managers are middle-crust dwellers with daylight problems. No cubes, no offices, no badges.

Thanks to technology, I am brought together (interlocking fingers, head tilt, slight smile) with my teammates in California. This conference call is the work-a-day equivalent of a car-wash hangar: Follow the instructions and you can do it yourself! No, now, don't try and throw a curveball, just get it done with and look back at it later to see how many spots you missed. Oh crap, and you've scratched living hell outch-yer protective coat. Wow... was this necessary?

It's the ever-necessary Preview Of The Year's Goals Call. It is vital to have a call of this nature so that we can each look back and say "It was horsesh*t at the beginning, too." As we cover these goals and platitudes to be worked towards, it was made clear to me that the "Scoring" system that a lot of teams are on is based on the work I produce.
And all this time I thought I was powerless.

The work I produce measures workload, efficiency, and trends of each. I pull, format, and produce these reports, or "metrics" if you wanna be corporate about it, for Four teams. I fell into this job as a back-up to the previous guy. The database he built was a house of cards, and one day someone walked by too quickly and it came a-tumbling down. Too bad, because it automated the work I have to do now, with keyboards and mouse-clicks, teeth grinding so hard they barely let any Jameson pass. The work is entered from a raw format into a... hey, wake-up... into a spreadsheet that I have created with formu... hey... are you snoring? Forget this part.

So now here I am. Rock you like a hurricane. My work will affect the scores (imagine grades, but with a mortgage payment attached) attained by many a co-worker. The technician's scores will roll up to the scores hanged by the names of their managers. These are the same managers who, when asked for a list of people they manage, sent me a 3MB org. chart so that my mailbox would be clogged for a week while I found that they manage 2 of 743 people in their regional office. And I get to decide how it all goes!

I have to go now. I am going to send a note to managers to alert them that the scores their salaries and therefore their self-worth are fed from the system that they never use, by people they have minimal communication with, by a guy who is unaffected by how well... or how pathetic... it appears their team is doing. And these folks haven't clued in yet that I can, if necessary, and with fully ethical practices, make it appear that of their 5 direct reports, only 2 of them even work for the company, and that 3 paychecks are all going to an offshore account in the Sugarloaf Savings & Loan Bank for a Mrs. Chandira Rolemat. I found the Golden Ticket, Gobstoppers. Willy Wonka's power is no match for somebody willing to float a Baby Ruth down the chocolate river.

Gotta roll, phone's ringing. Oh look, it's a manager! Unless the first two words uttered are "FREE LUNCH," I see someone with a long Q2 ahead of them.

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I will be headlining the Wednesday Show at Pegasus Pizza in Kirkland, 9:30pm, as well as the entire weekend at Laughs in Bellevue. Shows Friday and Saturday night, 9pm, and one Brunch Showcase Sunday morning, 10-10:30am. Enjoy a blintz!

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Somebody's Trying To Tell Me Something

Monday again?

Last week I printed out an article from The Onion written by a fictitious author, Jim Anchower. Jim's a late-era hesher, living in a world of broken cars, bad weed, broke friends, and low-paying jobs. I don't know if he's ever been a comic, sorry.

So anyway, I forgot the printed version on the tray and somebody left it on my desk some time between Friday afternoon and this morning. I had the article in an e-mail window, which, when printed, had my mail profile name on the top. I'm stupid sometimes.

The funniest part was that somebody had stapled a note as a cover sheet that said:

Hello,

This was left on the printer, and is not the first document like this. Fortunately, it was found and given back to you by somebody concerned for youre well being. If you are having troubles with work or general life circumstances, this company offers these resources to assist.


So here's what I think is so funny:
1- the cover-sheet person thinks I wrote the article, and/or
2- the cover-sheet person thinks my life is the subject of the article, and/or
3- the cover-sheet person thinks I am having a problem with somebody named Wes, not having any beer, scoring bunk doobage, my car breaking down, and getting evicted from an apartment, if they read the entire article, and/or
4- they also think I call myself a "lone-wolf," which I do on occasion, and/or
5- they have zero sense of humor to have never heard or the ability to appreciate The Onion.

I'm too busy making other people think I give a flip about this job, but the person did write my old manager's name on the paper. My old manager would get a huge kick out of the incident, so I really hope they called my old boss, who has not contacted me. But I do have handwriting to match to, so now I have to peruse the fridge to see who wrote on their lunches, because friggin-A, when you're on a suicide watch at work, you need the sustenance that only a meal in a cheese-sauce can provide.

My job sucks and is beneath me. It's time I look elsewhere.
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