Friday, June 27, 2008

Did I not tell you???

Y'all should know. I just wrote the best post ever, but I magically deleted it because I'm working on a laptop that has secret delete hotkeys. I'll try to recreate it.

So....I got back to my office after a long day of trying to explain to investment bankers that the magical sum you believe you are entitled to and the amount you actually have a chance in hell of convincing a jury that you are entitled to are very different things, and so you should consider the actual cash money on the table. Investment Banker Dude still thinks in terms of justice and fairness. Isn't that cute?

That was followed by drinks and snacks Chez Boss's Hotel, which is a mere 20.6 feet away from my post-modern meta-hipness Hell (the plates on the wall* are a bit much...

(Note: well-lit work space)

...but I must give props for the shag carpet in the library). Anyway, I walk into the lobby and the joint is blaring the 80stechnoeuroindustrialcrap I imagined it should play not 2 days ago. Think Cube Squared. Or don't. The Viceroy Hotel in Santa Monica affirmatively answers the age-old question, "Can you be too designed?" Why, yes. Yes you can. Even the ceramic brittany spaniel desklamp agrees.



Anyway, I'm blogging late at night because I finally broke down and decided to incur the wireless internet cost at the hotel. I had refused to incur the $10.95 per day because I was assured that the AT&T aircard I brought with me meant that I would not have to incur the cost, except that the software wasn't installed on my laptop. I tried to install the software, but no one would give me administrator's rights. IT in NY was kind enough to insisted for 3 days that the software was installed, so on principle I wouldn't give eurotrashhiphotel the pleasure of charging me for internet access.

At one point, my office manager told me that I had to log onto an internet-based software system in order to access the internet.

--------Just chew on that one for a spell-------

Finally, the NY office IT guys sent an LA office IT guy into my conference room to confirm that it isn't installed.

Hmmmm. Now can I get an apology from NY for all of the names they called me behind my back? I believe "that dumb bitch from CT" needs a little love.
___________________
* Shut up, Corrie.

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Thursday, June 26, 2008

I'm going back to Cali -- I don't think so

So, I'm holed up in Cali for another 36 hours. I am so uncomfortable in the hotel where I am saying because it is SOOOO not me that I spend my "down time" walking the beach and people watching. I'd rather grab a burger from the questionably hygienic clam shack than sit in the way too dark hotel among the beautiful people wrestling with my solitude instead of enjoying it. I thought I'd have some Class A knitting and reading time, but the common areas are so dark -- surely the only thing the patrons would care to do is look fabulous -- that you can't even people watch them and write deep and piercing thoughts about their petty realities in a journal ("'Wow! The Hills?!', she squealed. Her smile would have conveyed hopeful idealism, cynicism having been botoxed and sandblasted into oblivion, were it not for the deadness in her eyes. The bloom was off the rose, she'd yet to marry a Baldwin, and Nebraska wouldn't take her back.")

One good thing -- I am impressing the fuck out of my CA compadres by showing up at 7:30 a.m., or earlier, each morning. They think I'm a psychotic worker bee. I hope they never learn that I'm still on East Coast time, and I regularly stroll into the CT office at the same bat time.

I haven't even left and it looks like I'll be back in a few weeks. It will be a much shorter trip (if I have any say in the matter) and I'm going to try to stay at a less happening hotel. Heck, there's a little motel called the Hotel California a few doors down. I don't know if it is the Hotel California, but they've got surf boards tacked to the front and it looks like it is probably run by a few dudes who have never grown up enough to leave the beach. The whole hospitality thing is just to fund the surfing habit and all.

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Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Left Coast

It's like visiting another planet...
... but with a much shorter flight.

I'm hanging in our fabulous Santa Monica office which, for those of you less familiar with LA that I am, is way west on the water. My secretary was kind enough to secure the glass conference room right off the reception desk, where I can be seen by all to be the slovenly paper whore that I am, rather than in a darkened cave where I belong. I can't even take my freaking shoes off for fear that a client might see me. Must have word with her. (Like she'd listen. I've had many "words" with her.)

Anyway, drove through Venice Beach and was quite disappointed to discover no bleach blonde, bikini-clad bodybuilders in Old School roller skates, zipping around the coven of skate punks, with a 1979 boombox on her shoulder. Not a one.

And I am one of 4 people not wearing jeans in the office today. If you think I freak out over open-toed shoes in the office,* you cannot know how uncomfortable I am with the jeans. Those who know me, know that I am the worlds biggest comfort dresser (I had written "slob" but that's a bit harsh) when I am not at work. But there is something about getting paid that makes me want to, you know, not wear what I wear when I driving the kids to and from activities on the weekend (I had written "drinking beers and hanging out" but that's a bit fantastic.)

Anyway, I've got to get some stuff written, revised, comprehended. I've been up since 3:45 a.m. EST after sleeping only 3 hours. It is now 14 hours later.

Maybe if I hurry the bellboy/underwear model will still be working at I can order him to feed me some grapes. Preferably squashed and fermented. More on the hotel later. Perhaps I can surreptitiously take some pix. But the lighting is sooo poor (that is to say, night club hip and stylish) that I need a tripod... Seriously, you walk into the hotel and 3/4-expect the lights to start flashing and bad Euro-techno-Industrial crap to come pulsing through at top decibels.

I am so uptight and East Coast.

naked piggies in Pacific Ocean

______________________________
* It just is. Don't try to understand it. I have nothing against feet and I never wear shoes sitting in my own work-cave, but I just can't get into the open toed shoes in the office. I can't explain it.

Sunday, June 08, 2008

Censored!

I've just be ordered not to blog a certain daughter's suspension. So I'll have to save that until....later when no one is looking over my shoulder.

[See below for missing post. No power in the 'verse can stop me.]

In the interim, here are some pix from Uncle Steven's wedding. Discuss amongst yourselves.
The Fam, less Thing 3, who was hanging with Team Katie during the reception


The new and improved Mr. and Mrs. Steven

Why you never trust an eye-witness

Unsub's 2-day suspension, from many angles. Monikers have been changed to protect the innocent ... and the guilty


Unsub:

It was a day like any other. A startlingly attractive and witty couple, and their darling, respectful, and pleasant 3-year old daughter were in Oklahoma City to attend the nuptials of a remarkably intelligent nephew to his the lovely and talented betrothed. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and Unsub's teacher, Mr. X, sets upon a chain of events that, in retrospect, spelled certain doom. (If Woody had gone straight to the police...).

All of a sudden and without warning, Mr. X decides to move the classroom seats around a week early and for no apparent reason. It had been his practice since September to change the seat configuration on the last Friday of the month, yet here he was, in May, changing seats on the second-to-last Friday of the month. Something was amiss. Unsub inquired about the change in pattern. Mr. X responded, "Why not?"

Wary, Unsub followed the teacher's direction. She lifted her chair to shoulder height, careful to avoid hitting anything as she navigated the narrow space leading to where Mr. X moved her desk. But she could not shake the feeling that only bad things could come from this unexpected chain of events. Yes...something dreadful was just around the corner. She could taste it.

Just then, she heard a noise. Almost like a crunch, but not quite. She turned to see what happened and she heard it again. Then, Mr. X took the chair from her hands. In that moment, the horror of her actions was revealed -- she had hit Tiny Tim with her chair...Twice. Indeed, the very steps she took to avoid hitting anyone in fact caused her to hit Tiny Tim. To quote Darth Vader, "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!"

But for the fact that Mr. X immediately ordered her to the principal's, she would have fallen to her knees, rended her clothes, and begged forgiveness. Oh! What wretched world!

Mr. X
Unsub was being her usual self -- seething just below the surface. You see, she finishes all of the assignments and lessons first, and takes out a book to read while I teach the rest of the brainless oafs in her class. I guess she's bored. (Actual paraphrase of Mr. X's statement.)

I always move class around at the end of the month. I gave Unsub the choice between a table of four with the collective IQ of 101 and sitting by herself. Unsub chose to sit by herself.

I moved her desk and then I heard a student say, "Gosh, Mr. X, Unsub appears to be saddened by this move. Surely there is something thoughtful and affirming we, her class, can do to make this move more actualizing for our dear Unsub. She is such a troubled soul."

Then I saw Unsub raise the chair over her head and deliver a crushing blow to Tiny Tim. She reared up, raised the chair again and delivered a second blow. Her eyes were wild -- I've never seen such untamed fury. I leapt over the desks and wrested the chair from her hands before she delivered the coup de grace. Poor Tiny Tim will never walk again.

Reality?
Tiny Tim had a red mark on his back parallel to the floor. No skull fracture or subdural hematoma to be found. Looks like Unsub was displeased over the move, and maybe a bit weepy. Tiny Tim made some comment about it, which was at least perceived to be less than complimentary, so Unsub conveniently failed to navigate the chair past Tiny Tim so as to avoid hitting him. She may have even intentionally navigated the chair into Tiny Tim. TWICE.

(Random subreference: "I sat through each filthy, disgusting frame of this film. Twice." Gold star if you can identify the movie.)

Was it worthy of a 2-day suspension? I dunno. Probably. Maybe. On one hand, Tiny Tim's parents weren't even called about the injury, much less an ambulance. Our initial report was the wild-eyed maniac report from the teacher, which is completely incredible. Seriously, if Unsub wanted to harm the little bugger she would have. (See one handed, nail scratch and takedown maneuver that earned Unsub a 1-day suspension in 3rd grade.) On the other hand, Unsub gots to chill.

Looks like a fun and exciting summer of stress and anxiety control techniques! Woo hoo!

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Wednesday, June 04, 2008

The Pix

OK, so exposition on the pix from 5/30 post.

1) I bought "Judo Ninja" for Thing 2 several weeks ago. She has spent the last few weeks taking pictures of Judo Ninja in different settings, so I thought I'd post one.

2) The baby swans have arrived at Hatters Park, where I spend most of the Spring due to Things 1 and 2's softball schedules. I'm still waiting for the day when the Proud Papa beats down that one stupid guy who thinks it is cool to waive a stick near the Swan Family. (Unfortunately, it is usually a 7 year old boy waiving the stick. I don't want him to get sliced .)

3) Those Wacky Codd Boys. Unable to commandeer authentic powder blue tuxedoes, Matt, Bobby, Terrance and Joe enjoy a meta-powder blue tuxedo moment at Terrance's wedding. The tradition continues.

4) Thing 3 running down the aisle at Terrance's wedding. She stopped mid-strut to investigate illicit toy throwing by the ringbearer's baby sister. Then demanded to know what was happening. I was up by the altar coaxing her to come up, which she finally did. The ringbearer, by the way, left her standing there. He was not going to mess up his performance for a baby diva.

5) Monument at 45th Infantry Division museum in OK City. Go Thunderbirds! I think I spotted Dad in that picture of from Easter Sunday Mass 1951.

6) Thing 3 and Cousin Lisa. Her new favorite cousin. Who has boobs, as Thing 3 so astutely pointed out during the wedding rehearsal. For everyone to hear. Including the pastor's wife, who was already pretty sure that I'm going to hell since she learned that Thing 2 was suspended for a second time after beating down some kid in her class with a chair.

On a related note, all three girls looked simply divine at Uncle Steven's wedding. Thing 2 is thinking about not cutting her hair since all of the stylists in the happeningest Greenwich salon were fawning over her -- so thick! so beautiful! She was radiant and I will post pix once I commandeer the camera back from The Hubbins. Thing 1 looked simply GAW-JUSS. Not sure I will post any of those pix. Think Kiki circa 1999 and you will know my and The Hubbins' pain.

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Sunday, June 01, 2008

The Fambly Lawyer

Dear FIL just handed me a 3 page notice from the Bankruptcy Court of the Southern District of New York, relating to the bankruptcy of Pan Am Corp., and asked me to tell him what it means.

Just for context, this bankruptcy action has been going on since 1991. I am not a bankruptcy lawyer, and it is a notice regarding acceptance of report on final distribution (meaning, this is the end of the line). What does it say? What does it mean? It means this is IT, buddy, unless you care to object. And no, I have no idea what it means for you. But let me spend 20 minutes on the computer and see if I can explain where your pension went. All lawyers can do that. Then I'll take 30 sections and tell you if your great idea is patentable, and maybe plan your estate. All while working on this last glass of wine.

No probs, man.

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