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2001-05-19 I shocked and amazed a co-worker by using the word "perspicuity" in a sentence at work. I then shocked and amazed myself by spelling it correctly on the first try. Don't expect much perspicuity in this entry. It's a lucky day lately when my thoughts are vaguely coherent. Over sushi last night, The Roommate and I discussed the tragedy that has become our spelling; common words that at one time we wouldn't think about twice now look funny in every form. But not to brag, but we were both high achievers in English -- we both were reading early (like age 3) and tested in the high percentages -- so while you might not be able to tell from my babble here, we have good vocabularies and fairly advanced grammar and writing skills. But I think the years of reading Internet chat-flavored language ("R U F or M? A/S/L check!") and writing marketing soundbytes and corporate doublespeak have numbed the language centers of my brain. It's a struggle now to read the more academic texts I've been trying to digest. (This could also explain a recent resurging interest in comic books, but I fear this does a disservice to the quality and seriousness of writing in many mature comics.) Of course, rather than a permanent flaw, it could just be that I'm tired from being online all the time. Or out of practice for the same reason. But I don't want to turn off the computer. It's scary out there. As you might have seen on my Weblog, I entered and tied to win the East Coast/West Coast Trivia contest. I did my contest entry in about 40 minutes when I finally got back to my computer after going to Irvine. I was a Google maniac, searching the Web and their site for answers. I contemplated not entering, figuring I'd done so embarrassingly badly. So I'm suspicious and not sure why or how, but that's probably just my bad attitude about myself showing through. One of the prizes is sex with the hosts of the site. It is optional and, I hope for their sake, fully rescindable. Of course my host will get the monogamy card played on him (again.) But I look forward to meeting him and some other local online journalers. But not without at least a little Internet Separation Anxiety. Today was the last day for several people on our team at work. Now that we've had a couple weeks to "process" the layoffs (this is California, after all,) we're starting to look at what shape things are really in, where our group is at, and where we as a group (and as individuals) really want to be, professionally. I still don't know where that is, myself. I need to make a decision and act on it instead of my current pattern of going to work and pretending that I have no work to do. I do indeed have "billable" projects (that is, for other departments) but no desire in the slightest to work on them. Yesterday I was having imaginary confrontations in the elevator, imaging arguments with executives about my poor work ethic and bad attitude. "Fine! If you think my performance is so bad I'll fill out a time-off sheet taking half of last week off! Why don't I fill it in the next five weeks, too? How about longer? Who else wants some?!?" (Yes, I say things like that in my head. Not out loud. I sound like a Powerpuff Girl if I say those things out loud.) Maybe today's the day I buy a TV. S'possible. I do need to get groceries and toiletries at our friendly neighborhood organic grocery store. I don't really care that much about organic vegetables, which I guess is too bad. I suppose as a vegetarian I should care about where my food comes from. Mostly I'm happy enough to find out there's no beef fat in my fries (at least not in India.) I'm afraid to develop a diet that's more restrictive than that, for fear that I will never be able to travel more than 80 miles from a health food store. It's disconcerting to realize that I'm as tied to the clock and the calendar as I am. At work last week, someone pointed out that when they asked when I'd be done with work, I looked at the clock, not my work, implying that I'd be done at a time, not a stopping point. Just now in the bathroom I was wondering if I needed a haircut or not, and instead of looking at how high the greasy pompadour of bangs is in the front or how long the sides are, I wondered how many weeks had passed since my last haircut . I've got Time Sickness and I've got it bad. Maybe it is time to turn off the computer.
2003-03-29 - Moving Notice |
