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Archive for June, 2007

This amused me.

Good Day, Katharine!

Can you provide the last day of work for Mr. _____ _____ (xxx-xx-xxxx)?

Also, Prudential needs to confirm the type of Leave for Mr. _____ (i.e. personal or medical). Let me know if you have any questions.

Thanks

Charles

Charles-

Mr. _____’s last day at work was 09/26/06. Also, he is dead, not on leave. Please inform Prudential of this fact.

Thank you!

-Katharine

I can’t decide if I should have been more professional in my response or not. Yes, I could have used the word “deceased” or the term “has passed away.” But I really think they should just be grateful that I didn’t say “he bought the farm, dumbass – you should know, since you’re looking at the exact same data in the same system as I am.”

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An Apache Helicopter

As I believe I’ve mentioned elsewhere, Richard is extremely quotable. These aren’t your run-of-the-mill quotes, though. These are less Yeats and more Yogi Berra. Here are a few gems I’ve been saving up over the past few weeks:

Richard has been staring out of the window, dreamily, for a good, solid five minutes.
Me: Whatcha thinking about over there?
Richard (after a long pause): If I could fly anything, it’d be a helicopter.
Me: Oh.
Richard (about thirty seconds later): An Apache helicopter.

We’re driving in my car; Richard is, as usual, complaining about my music.
Richard: What is that shite?
Me: It’s Rent.
Richard: It’s gay. Turn it off.
Me: Fine. What do you want to listen to instead?
Richard (completely serious, but in a high-pitched, excited voice): Phantom!

Richard is holding an umbrella, looking quite consternated.
Richard: How does this thing work?
Me: Huh?
Richard (even more annoyed now): I said, how does this thing work?!
Me: …Did you just ask me how an umbrella works? Seriously?
Richard: Yes. Are you going to show me or not?

I’m sitting at my desk, at work. My phone rings.
Richard: Hey! What’s up?
Me: Not much.
Richard: Where are you?
Me: I’m at work. Where you called me.
Richard: Oh. Right. Sorry.

The next day…
Richard: Hey! What’s up?
Me: Not much.
Richard: Where are you?
Me: I’m at work. Where you called me. Just like yesterday.
Richard: Oh. Right. Sorry.

I love this man.

Yes, you.

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Colorful

I’m not quite sure what this means: “Wow, you look really colorful today…”

I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not. I mean, would you take that as a compliment? Maybe if I was aiming for “colorful,” then I wouldn’t even be thinking about this. But somehow “colorful” is resonating in my mind as an adjective that someone came up with because they couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Or maybe I should just stop wearing this outfit to work:

I forgot to shave that day, okay?

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While poking around tonight on YouTube, I found this amazing video of two of the great modern masters, Yo Yo Ma (the cellist) and El Gran Ástor, Ástor Piazzolla (the bandoneon player). If this doesn’t move you, then you’re made of stone:

I think most people have heard of Yo Yo Ma, but Ástor Piazzolla is still largely unappreciated in this country. He basically reinvinted tango music by taking it from the nightclubs and cabarets of Argentina and elevating it to a legitimate art form by fusing it with modern jazz and classical music. So go and give El Gran Ástor a try sometime. If you like him, you’ll probably like his protege, too: Dino Salduzzi. My newest CD is also Dino’s newest, Ojos Negros, which also — coincidentally — happens to be a recording of duets between a bandoneon player and a cellist. Very, very good stuff.

In other news, after an unfortunate hair-dye incident yesterday, I am now a brunette. I made the sad mistake of attempting to dye my hair (I was tired of the dirty blonde look) and, out of an overinflated sense of my own styling/coloring techniques, I decided to do it myself. First mistake. I went for a “strawberry blonde” shade — at least, according to the Clairol “Coloure Experte” box. That’s the last time I buy hair dye whose own packaging can’t even spell the world color. Second mistake. Needless to say, the color didn’t quite turn out as expected. Instead of “strawberry blonde,” I got this:

Only more frightening. I waited a full 24 hours and shampooed it furiously, praying that the color would tone itself down, but to no avail. Instead, I ended up doing the walk of shame into my local Visible Changes today where I was the butt of many jokes in the coloring department. I was even an example to some trainees of how not to “do red.” No shit? Yeah, I think everyone got that memo already.

So, three hours in the salon, a headful of bleach paste (yes, bleach paste) and $250 later, I am now a brunette. It’s obviously not my natural color but the stylist said that putting anything else on over the bleach would damage my hair too much. Then, of course, she loaded me down with hideously overpriced salon shampoos and conditioners and hair masques and I bought them with my head hung, simply grateful that anyone was able to correct my Pennywise ‘do and ashamed of my own hubris.

The brunette is growing on me, though, and Richard is strangely attracted to it. I always knew he had a thing for brunettes… Maybe I’ve had enough of being a blonde for a while. At the very least, now I can start conquering that other physical attribute that causes people to immediately assume that I’m a blithering moron:

Ed. note: I’ve had to remove the picture of some very nice-looking jubblies that was right here, as this particular blog posting somehow became the #1 Google returned-page when Image Searching for “b00bs.”  Dude.  Seriously?  GO AWAY.  Go to Tommy’s Bookmarks or buy a Playboy or something.  This is not a b00b-blog.  Sorry.

They’re not mine, sickos.

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BBQ?

This is a great website, but…man:


…and I thought I was an asshole. Can you imagine receiving this from someone on the street? Or, more likely, from somebody in an Urban Outfitters who’s trying way too hard to fit into the whole emo scene but in whom you can still see the glimmers of an angry, disenfranchised nerd?

At least these cards don’t take themselves so seriously:

Seriously? I want these for Christmas / my birthday / a wedding gift / Arbor Day. I would hand these out like candy.

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Engrish

As a person who is somewhat (okay, very) anal-retentive about the proper usage of the English language, its grammar, its punctuation and its spelling, working for a foreign-owned company whose global corporate office sends out hilariously-translated memos and other errata amuses me to no end. Today, I received this gem:

This message is to confirm you that your service request Folder Access Form was registered the: 6/13/2007 9:21:03 AM with the ticket number 2590777

Our commitment is to solve it no longer then the: 6/14/2007 12:48:00 PM

And yesterday it was this:

Policies

Additionally, here are the effective policies pertaining to your request:
I. It is required to completely fill out the form (throughout Lotus Notes or the Intranet), all the fields are mandatory, if there is any omission, the request will not proceed.
II. The full path must be indicated since only access to the final folder will be given.
III. The Business Process of each area, is the responsible for validating that the information owner has authorized the requestor to access the folders or network directories mentioned.
IV. A copy of the request must be sent to the Business Process of your area. Nevertheless, the request does not guarantee the service execution.
V. Once the Business Process has given the approval, the Global Service Center proceeds to execute the service and notifies the user that requested it.
VI. If the request has been declined by the Business Process, the user will be notified and the service will not proceed.
VII. The person to whom the access is provided, is subject to the Information Security policies effective in _______.
VIII. Supervisor or Area Manager approval required.

We appreciate the time you took to read this message and we invite you to extend it to whom you may consider necessary.

Granted, the language isn’t quite insane enough for this site, but it’s just stilted enough to make me giggle at random points during the day. I seem to be the only person doing this, which leads me to believe that either (a), everyone else here has gotten used to it or (b) no one really cares. I’m leaning strongly towards (b) right now.

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Nine Times?

Because there’s not enough douchbaggery in the real world:

He’s just leading you down the primrose path…

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