I guess I do intimidate people at work

This is what I look like while I’m at work.  I am not having a bad day, and I have had an invigorating workout previously, meaning the day is vastly better at this time than when it started.  I’m not necessarily happy, but I’m definitely not upset or in a bad mood.

Anyway, more than I wish for it to have occurred, I’ve once again been told by one of my co-workers that has a spine, that my correspondence with work-givers has once against given off the wrong impression to one of them.  Instead of ditching the keys and coming to me directly to discuss project-related discrepancies, they have decided to maneuver around me, and try and get someone to speak to me on their behalf, citing that I was being “difficult.”

If the definition of “difficult” is sending back a project on account of not being given enough (read: essential) information on how to complete said work request, and requesting specific information, and specifically what they could do to expedite said information (write it out), then I suppose that I were being difficult.  However, I like to believe that I was making legitimate, reasonable inquiries, and that the person I am working with is being lazy, obtuse, and lazy.  The spineless part comes, when they circumvent actually working with me, to complain about how I’m being obtuse for asking reasonable things, like information vital to the completion of their project.

This is the third documented time that this has occurred.  Once is someone too sensitive, twice is less questionable, so three times means that I must, definitively, intimidate people in my office.

I can kind of understand why this is probably the case, because I have resting bitch face, and I’m often times equipped with my headphones, because I have a co-worker that’s always on the phone with doctors or scammers.  But the combination of an upset-looking disposition, and the headphones clearly gives off the impression that I want my peers to fuck off.  That’s not entirely false, but when the day is over, I still take my job seriously, and if anyone comes up to me to discuss a project, the headphones come off immediately, and I’m ready and willing to discuss on how to get the job done.

The problem is that people are clearly too afraid of doing such, because this is the government, and everyone that’s a part of it is spineless and lazy.

So if I’m all mean looking and scare my co-workers, so be it.  I accept that.  I can’t change my face, and I can’t change my peers from being on the phone all the time making me want to have headphones on to drown them out.  If they don’t want to do their job on account of being afraid of me, that’s their problem, but it’ll probably make them shit their pants when I go to them to resolve issues, because I do take my job seriously, and their petty incompetence isn’t going to prevent me from doing it.

Eventually, I’ll get some sleep

It occurred to me that at least once every single weekend over the last six weeks, I’ve had at least one night where I’ve stayed up past the threshold of “a long night,” and into the absurd hours of the day when everything seems to happen in a state of questionable reality.  It’s in these nights that I feel like I’m pushing my physical limits at times, and there comes a point where the want for a place to lay down and close my eyes becomes the drive and motivation to finish up whatever it is I’m doing.

And god damn, do I feel tired thinking about it.  The fatigue is actually probably because I’m getting fewer than the eight hours I like to get on weekend nights, and it’s actually making me think that I’m running myself a little too tired, I’m showing my age, or perhaps it’s a little bit of both.

Now some of the reasons for these crazy marathons of days are better than others, and ultimately I don’t have any regrets for any of them, but I certainly think it’s in my best interest if I can just find a weekend where I can sleep in my own bed and sleep until my body simply doesn’t want to be in a state of sleep anymore.

Because I don’t think it’s a great idea to have seen 5 and 6 and 7 a.m., before sleeping, as many times as I have over the last few weeks.

Thoughts on New York

Over the weekend, I went up to New York.  The reason for the trip was to visit Yankee Stadium, and take it off of my list of MLB ballparks, which I can happily say that such was mission accomplished.  Otherwise, the rest of the trip was more or less a whirlwind of cabs, trains, booze, chicken fingers and cash flying out of windows.

I guess it could be said that I had a pretty New York experience, and I have no regrets about anything.  I look back at the weekend fondly, and naturally I’m writing about it now, which says something too.

As for Yankee Stadium, I’ll get more in depth of what I thought about the place as a whole when I write about it for my ballparks page, but when my friend and I had planned the dates out for this trip, we didn’t even think for a second about the fact that this was the start of Derek Jeter’s final homestand.  Not that either of us are remotely close to being Yankee fans, I have to admit that is something cool about having been there for a little bit of what people are perceiving as somewhat historic.  Needless to say, tickets were pricey and the crowds were massive, for what essentially were games between two non-contenders, and I thought the vaunted Yankee Stadium was pretty okay, overall.

But it’s really the city experience which made me feel like writing, because as much as I like to imagine myself as a fairly well-traveled individual that can kind of fit in anywhere I want to fit into, it’s places like New York, that as cliché as it may sound, make you think that you had to have been here more than a handful of times before you can really not feel so out-of-place.

Long story short, the biggest lesson learned about New York is that asking cabbies to go from one borough to another is the equivalent of asking them to drive across the ocean to Zimbabwe.  But for enough money, they’ll still do it.

It came to a surprise for me when my friend and I hopped into a cab in Queens, and asked to go to Grand Central Station, only to be met with a dumbfounded look, and then being asked for an actual address.  At first, I thought he was kidding, but then he was queueing up the address input on his GPS, and I realized that he was serious.  It didn’t occur to me this was because he was a Queens cabbie, and going to Manhattan was like asking him to go from Italy to France.

The same thing happened again later, when I asked a Manhattan cabbie to take me to Queens, and was met with incredulous resistance, and then an eventual compromise to simply take me back to Penn Station, upon realizing that my end goal was to end up at a Long Island Railroad station, since my friend and I were staying way the fuck out in Long Island.  And then it was at Penn Station where the most costly of lessons was learned, which was that after a certain point at night, the LIRR reduces their service to large gaps of time, and when we arrived, the next scheduled departure was at 4:53 a.m., with an estimated arrival time of 6:35 a.m.  So we ended up negotiating with a cabbie to take us back to Long Island for like the cost of a Sega Genesis in 1995.  Ultimately, it ended up being worth it, considering by the time we got back to my friends’ uncle’s place, the LIRR would have departed, saving us basically two hours in which we could get some rest.

But all of it adds to the narrative on what I thought turned out to be an awesome trip overall.  I accomplished my main priority in checking Yankee Stadium off of my list, but on top of that, I had a great time road tripping with a friend, met up with some other friendly faces, and had a stereotypical New York City night of bar hopping, Asian Karaoke, 3 a.m. pizza, and then getting stranded in the city until springing for the most expensive cab ride ever.

All to the soundtrack of a butchering of Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York.

Too bad I’m quite fond of my iPad

Because this is where I’d say that if I read another book with what becomes an obvious Mary Sue, I’d throw it out the window.

The definition of a Mary Sue is oft-debated and up to the reader’s interpretation, but for the most part, I personally see Mary Sues as characters in stories that are interpretations of female authors themselves, but melded into these idealistic forms that core characters of the story ultimately fall for.

Over the span of the last year, I’ve read far too many novels where one of the main characters are obviously Mary Sues.  I’m not entirely sure why this keeps happening to me, but I have a tendency to gravitate towards novels involving people with mental illness, are spiritually broken, or are simply socially distant from the rest of the world.  This type of blueprint appears to be the primary breeding ground of Mary Sue characters, because I simply cannot stop running into them.  It’s probably because I’m a romantic at heart, and I like the idea of people down on their luck stumbling across the chance romance, but it’s becoming apparent that the chance romantic interest stands a high probability of becoming a Mary Sue.

A rule I need to employ onto myself is to stop Googling authors while I’m in the midst of reading their work.  I couldn’t help it most of these times, because long gone are the days in which I start and finish a novel in one sitting, and sometimes I’m curious about the author, and I Google them.  The problem is that 99% of the time, I find out what they look like, and 99% of that time, these authors surreptitiously match the description of the object of affection in the book I’m reading.

100% of my instances, both the author and the romantic interests are redheads.  Up for argument is whether or not I think they fit their self-imposed descriptions of “beautiful” with “piercing eyes.”

The point remains however, once the idea enters my head that the romantic interest is a Mary Sue, the rest of these books becomes kind of lame.  I start judging the actions of the Mary Sue as fantasies brought to life by the author, and I roll my eyes whenever they do something tragically cliché, or when they inevitably reject the main character of the story, due to this overdramatic martyr complex.

What sucks though is how many books like this have to exist out there.  After I finished one book where Mary Sue abandons the love of her life on a justifiable account of fearing for her life from her abusive step-father, but then tearfully rejects his letters and attempts to keep a channel of communication open, to end the story, I made sure to log into Amazon, and delete this particular book from the algorithms that determine future suggestions for my Kindle reading.  Regardless of it not being involved in book suggestions, I’ve still managed to come across and end up reading at least two or three more books where they’re not necessarily terrible, but the Mary Sue alarms end up sounding, and tanking the rest of them

The bottom line is that, and I don’t want to sound so tremendously sexist, but it’s really making me lose faith in the next crop of female authors, because they just can’t stop using their literature as channels to bring fantasies to life by inserting perfectly flawed and quirky versions of themselves into them.  I’m not saying male authors aren’t guilty of inserting Marty Stus into their own stories, but apparently I’m just not gravitating towards books written by these people.

Perhaps I should just stick to Palahniuk, autobiographies and/or books about baseball and wrestling.

It’s good to know who to blame when these are all over MARTA

Introducing JAMBANZ.  50% slap bracelet, 50% Bluetooth speaker.  100% bullshit.  Made in Atlanta.

Dad here kind of misses the point of earbuds and headphones.  They exist so that people can privately listen to their music without disturbing other people.  And under the guise of safety and awareness, he basically creates something completely counterproductive to the idea of private audio enjoyment.

All the time, we hear about how bicycles are vehicles too, and they have the same rights to the road as people in cars do.  Well for people in cars, it’s technically illegal to have earbuds on while driving, so why shouldn’t the same apply to those riding bicycles, regardless of their age?  If Dad doesn’t want his daughter or her friend getting run over, perhaps they shouldn’t be wearing earbuds while riding their bicycles in the first place.

As for the Jambanz themselves, this is an invention just begging to fall into the wrong hands.  Namely, anyone who has ever ridden public transportation, or has simply been anywhere within the city limits, where large numbers of people tend to conglomerate.  It’s bad enough we have people who don’t actually wear their earbuds or headphones, and have them alternatively draped on their person, but naturally still have their music blasting, so that the whole world can hear their snake-charmer beats.

Just imagine how much worse it’s going to be when they’re given an option where there are no cumbersome wires to tangle up in, and they can sync their Jambanz with their wireless devices, to pump out their crappy music while being more comfortable in the first place.  And then when one Jambanz user’s crappy music intertwines with another Jambanz user’s crappy music, it’s either going to be Bone Thugs ‘n Harmony, or more likely than not, it’s going to be a World Star Hip Hop fight video break out.

The bottom line is that Jambanz, although not the worst idea in the world, is basically inviting people to be more publicly inconsiderate of others, by being a device that forces the user’s music onto all audibly surrounding people.  And that’s not cool at all.  If Dad’s so concerned about his children’s safety, perhaps he and they need to be better educated on preventative matters, as opposed to “inventing” something that’s just begging to be obnoxious to a larger majority of the world’s populous.