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June 28, 2005
cape codpiece
do you ever wonder why more workplaces
don't have a formal friday every once in awhile? because as nice as it
is to see co-workers dressed up like the slobs that they probably are
outside of the office - i think it would be a nice change of
pace to put on a tophat and tales and sip martinis and chew on fine
cheeseballs as you sit in your cube waiting for precious death to save
you from your self-imposed doom - this thought ocurred to me whilst i
was on vacation last week in the tiny hamlet of sandwich,
ma - home of michael sweet, erstwhile lead singer of christian
rock super group stryper -
after the legal fallout from the break-up of our cult there had been a
bit of awkwardness betwixt us and i thought a quick trip to the
holy coast (as mike refers to it) might be a good chance to
kick back, relax, and allow mike and i the opportunity to iron out our
differences...well, i don't know if any our differences were ironed
out but we did iron out the wrinkles in our black and yellow spandex
and jam for the lamb at the local y.m.c.a. - the crowd was
small - not because we didn't totally rock it because you know we did
- unfortunately our outfits had been in storage for such a
long, long time we reeked of mothballs - our capes refused to
roil or furl and the cod-pieces? well they reeked of warmed
over cod.
and it was there on the holy coast as i stood in the glassy
sea praying for a shark attack or a tidal wave, or even a really
severe case of s.c.u.r.v.y. so that i wouldn't have to return
to the dreaded office...when suddenly as if by magic i
began to formulate a plan in my mind for the implementation of
formal friday which at the time seemed like such a brilliant
idea i couldn't wait to get back to the office - in fact i threw away
the cyanide capsules that i'd packed just in case the reunion didn't
go so well and headed home several days ahead of schedule...only to
find out that formal friday had been tried before - only it
wasn't called formal friday - it was called on golden prom
- and it was called on golden prom because the senior
partners would ask the junior partners to a raging cocktail party that
took place on the promenade - and even though it was pitched
as this gloriously classy event - many woke up days later with that
icky horrified feeling that they may have made out with their
b.o.s.s. - which wouldn't be such a bad thing if your
b.o.s.s. didn't have a penchant for intitiating a little flex
time with various & sundry t.e.m.ps. - which for those of
you not in the corporate know is akin to leprosy or some
other impossibly disgusting malady....
anyway, it was at one of these proms that a senior partner in
an instance of ill-advised, overly inebriated pillow talk let slip
that maybe - just maybe the company was thinking of exploring
outsourcing options - of course over the next several days rumours
spread around the office like wildfire (if by wildfire you mean
the cyph) and lines were drawn and factions formed - and then
there was a minor civil war between those that preferred the electric
stapler to the standard manual stapler - the standard staplers
eventually won out - not because the electric staplers weren't more
powerful, or efficient, or even lethal - because you know they totally
were...but unfortunately fourteen days into the campaign, the power
went out for an hour and a half leaving the electric stapler soldiers to flail
away impotently with rubber bands and paper clips -
at any rate - after the dust settled and the wounded were tended to
with peroxide and cotton swabs the company made the official
announcement that the great outsourcing myth had been just
that - no one would be losing their jobs...which was true, but then
two weeks letter word came down that the company had decided it might
be a good idea to outsource our lunch breaks - because hey, it would
cost them a lot less money to pay some poor soul in a third world
country for that hour - plus they'd get a nice tax break and that
heart warming good samaritan feeling you can only get from
buying lunch for the impoverished or watching extreme makeover
- the rest of us were forced to sit at our desks for that hour
(which we were no longer paid for) sharpening our resolve and our
staple removers as we sustained ourselves on the briscuit and beef
jerkey that were sold in the break room vending machines - and then
one day they to were packed up in shipping crates and outsourced to
the less fortunate....and that my friends is why formal
friday will never be celebrated in our office especially
if there is any alcohol involved - because the results are not always
so sexy.
Posted by young_christopher at 3:41 PM | TrackBack
June 16, 2005
that sexy guitar - they play it on the high strings
sometimes i long for the soft soothing
sounds of the sexy saxophone as i canter about some trendy
bistro with one of the various women i meet in my weekly semaphore
class down at the community college - and if you are now doubled
over laughing because i have openly announced that i attend classes at
a community college i should re-emphasize that i meet scads of
eligible women in the aforementioned semaphore class - which,
hopefully raises a few red flags for some of you...but back to the
sexy saxophone which i often refer to as the
sexophone - when you happen to be seated on a softly lit patio
with a bottle of wine whilst a stockinged foot caresses your
well-toned calf - you begin to feel like rob lowe in that movie that
practically invented the sexophone - st. elmo's fire...
and now i should take a moment to point out that both of my calves
happen to be highly toned and completely lethal - a fact i feel i must
mention not only because i firmly believe that my calves are my
b.e.s.t. feature - but also because my calves are highly competitive
and can often be found engaged in epic flex-offs pitted against one
another like bitter rivals...my psychiatrist tells me that calves have
no ego and suggests i stop sleeping in the legwarmers already
and my doctor dismisses it as mere cramping but friends, i'm
here to tell you, my calves are trying to kill each other - if
anything ever happens to either one (even though i secretly expect it
will end in a murder/suicide) remember what i have said here today and
tell the world the truth!
but getting back to rob lowe - when he plays the sexy soul soaring
theme song to st. elmo's fire (the instrumental - not
the version with words which is so, so lame) no one can resist - not
even the sad suicidal demi moore who just can't help but pick herself
up off of those harshly polished hardwood floors and decide that yes,
life is worth living after all - unless of course you happen to be
judd nelson and one of your nostrils is dispraportionately larger than
the other one - but cheer up, because once the music takes control
you're not ashley judd, nor are you judd nelson, heck, you're not even
one half of the identical twin supergroup nelson (matthew or gunnar -
take your pick...it doesn't matter because you're still not one of
them) because you're rob lowe...
at least you're rob lowe until he hooks up with the homely girl - you
know the one, with the chalky white skin...you know the one...i can't
for the life of me remember the three named actress who played her -
but the good folks at imdb would be more than happy to satiate your
curiosity...because homely girls don't attend semaphore class
- you can find them down the hall in creative writing because
they just can't seem to grasp the nuances of non-v.e.r.b.a.l.
communication.
i have noticed recently that many film and television soundtracks have
begun using the guitar quite a bit to score a particularly emotive
scene - a trend i like to refer to as that sexy guitar - they play
it on the high strings - which okay, i guess it's nice and
tastefully bland but it just lacks the cadence, the throaty timbre
of the sexophone - so instead of kissing passionately oft
times you end up sitting on the hood of your car down at the quarry
trading air guitar solos with the woman who might have been the love
of your life if only your life didn't have a soundtrack that
absolutely sucked - that's why i now carry matching ipods filled to
capacity with sexy sax sounds and i'm not talking about safe
sax either - because we aren't trying to recreate the mood of
a doctor's waiting room here - no, no dear friends what we are after
are the sexy results. what? you think that should read
saxy results? no. no it shouldn't - that's just dumb. and
also you might think that matching ipods might interfere with the
chemistry that can only come about through conversation - but
seriously how many dates have you been on where an interesting
conversation took place? me either.
and also, if you're like me and you happen to exclusively date women
from your local community college semaphore class you don't have to
speak - just let the sax do all your talking for you - well,
the sax and you're handy coloured flags of silent
communication - just make sure you read the signals properly - because
those flag sticks tend to be sharp.
Posted by young_christopher at 5:27 PM | TrackBack
Nothing Against Polos
Does anyone really look good in the
polo shirt dress? I saw a girl the other day - pretty girl - wearing a
baby blue one that made her legs look really stumpy. They remind me of
those oversized t-shirts with cats on them that old women or young
girls might wear to bed. I confess that I once had a pink oversized
t-shirt with a cat on it years ago. Frumpy, shapeless, and generally a
bad idea. Sure, every now and again someone tall and lithe will manage
to make the polo shirt dress seem okay, but how great can a very long
polo look? It just seems silly to me. Some people may try to class it
up with the collar flip up. But that's another issue entirely.
And lets talk about that. I'm still deciding how to feel about it.
There's the jacket collar flip up that's perfectly practical when used
as protection against the wind and rain. Very secret agent looking.
Catherine Hepburn looks fantastic with her collar up and her sleeves
cuffed. Classy and strong. But old Hollywood starlets aren't our most
recent exposure to this trend. When I see these guys wearing two
brightly colored polos, collars up, running around, it brings to mind
the decade dominated by the likes of Rob Lowe, John Cusack, Andrew
McCarthy and James Spader - especially James Spader for some reason -
the 80's. I'll see women going to work with collars up and think it
looks really cool, but my hesitation arises due to the way I associate
this style with leg warmers and tapered jeans. I used to be staunchly
against it until one day as I was putting my hair up (which happens
fairly often now that I live in fear that I look terrible with my hair
down, thanks a lot Carl) I realized the back of my jacket
collar was flipped. At first I was irritated, but then I did the side
to side self check-out, and I thought I looked pretty cool. My
prejudice towards the flip up is primarily with polos. On guys it's
very frat, requiring a front tuck and a keg, and on women it should be
paired with boat shoes and a weekend on the Cape. Long sleeved button
down shirts flipped, I like. They also have stiffer collars so the
one-side-flopping-down thing is better avoided. I have nothing against
the polo in general, as it may seem. I really love polos. I
have a number of them in various textures and colors. But a polo
dress? A polo collar flip? I just...can't.
Posted by heidi at 11:19 AM | TrackBack
June 11, 2005
Hotel, Motel, Holiday Inn
I stay in a hotel every week, and I've done so for the last five months. We all have our crosses to bear in the business world and this apparently is mine. We can probably all agree that, for a short period of time, staying in a hotel is nice. For starters, you have someone to clean your room - which, unless you're two years old, or an irresponsible forty-two year old who still lives at home, is a bit luxurious. Hotels also have something called a continental breakfast, something that does not exist (at least not for me) on the outside. These breakfasts consist of breads and pastries, assorted juices and yogurts, eggs and sausage, and various cereals. Believe it or not, the hotel staff serves breakfast for several hours, so in reality, if I wanted to, I could eat bear claws and bagels from six in the morning until 10:30am. Who wouldn't want to live like this? This
is the life of kings...
After five months in the hotel it's beginning to get old. Sure, they still clean up my room, and breakfast is still being served, but the new has worn off (just like when you got your first po-go stick and thought you could jump around your driveway until next Christmas). I now find myself thinking of ways to avoid going back to the hotel, even if it means killing time in the nearby Waffle House. It's out of this hotel malaise that the following list has been conceived:
Top 10 Things To Do When You Get Bored In A Hotel
10) Rummage through the couch cushions for loose change.
9) Call the front desk to arrange a series of wake up calls for yourself...with 45
second intervals.
8) Go door to door introducing yourself to your new "hallmates."
7) Put up signs advertising a keg party in someone else's room - show up on time with a plastic cup.
6) Walk towards the pool and exclaim "Sharks 'n Minnows in five minutes!"
5) Sit down with a table of strangers at breakfast but don't say anything.
4) Poll the hotel staff to find out what their favorite "Adult Feature" is.
3) Create parking tickets using the hotel provided pad of paper in your room. Distribute them late at night.
2) Order a pizza for the room next to you. When they refuse to pay, offer the pizza guy five bucks for it.
1) Knock on other people's doors. When they open it appear incredulous. Shout "get out of my room you pervert!"
Relax said the nightman / we are programmed to receive / you can check out anytime you like / but you can never leave
Posted by micah at 5:02 PM | TrackBack
June 9, 2005
Sudden Stoppers
denying us that buffer zone they call "spring" to ease us from the
bitter, bitter cold into the ridiculous heat. I recently purchased an
air conditioner for the apartment, but damn that whole
assemblage thing to actually fit it in the window? Sucks. But it's all
right, all in good time. It'll be worth it.
The worst thing about this
time of year is not the heat. Oh, no. No, it's the people. The damn
tourists. Somehow they make everything hotter and dumber, and all of
Downtown Crossing smells like stale cigarettes. They meander around
like you do when you spin in circles and then try to go in a straight
line. I mean, why is that? Does being out of your hometown and in
unfamiliar territory turn you retarded? Seriously, what happens to
people? So, you're on this crowded sidewalk during the lunch hours,
and there are obvious business people walking at a good clip all
around you, and you just stop dead in your tracks? This is a
familiar rant, but one that all tourists should hear. If you're
visiting a large city, for crying out loud, get the hell out of the
way. Today was my first sudden stopper experience of this summer.
WHAM! Right into some sweaty asshole's back. Yeah, it was as
gross as it sounds. I implore you tourists, especially those of you
coming from out in the sticks where you're unfamliar with basic rules
like "don't talk to strangers": move quickly or stay to one side.
We're not rude. You're just too slow.