Month: March 2007

Unphotographable.

This is a picture I did not take of a middle-aged couple walking down the street. The woman was pretty normally dressed in an orange fleece and jeans. The man was wearing a brown hoodie, camo pants, brown Crocs, and a lovely set of dangly, sparkly earrings.

Since I bought another charger…

Self-indulgent photographic moments.

Anatole in the sun

The wee man seems fond of the new chair. Which is good, since only he and Andrew have ever really sat in it.

Anatole on the new chair

We are very fond of the S&M cat toy. So much so that it was necessary to fall off the chair repeatedly in pursuit of it. 🙂

Starbucks cup disclaimer

Soo… Starbucks may not like peace? Dear Starbucks: you don’t need the disclaimers. They makes you look like lame corporate dicks. Peace is good.

Milestone

Today is my third anniversary at my current place of employment. Huh.

It’s not that that’s so weird, just that I was at my last job only three years and nine months, and yet it feels like I was there much, MUCH longer than this. Granted, here we specialize in nothing changing, and there we specialized in everything changing. Always. Often in bad ways. (I am on my fourth boss in three years here. I had… five, I think, at the previous gig.)

I recently read a forum post by a woman who was having a bit of a mental freakout because she realized she’d been at the same company for ten years. Same type of work the whole time, but different departments, different bosses, different products, etc. She said that turning 40 hadn’t phased her, seeing her nieces having babies didn’t phase her, but that work milestone did.

Joining the corporate world not that long before the dot com, and having worked a lot in tech has definitely coloured my ideas of what it means to be an old timer in the workplace. I mean, yes, there are still companies and even industry niches where people can spend an entire career. And my parents both had jobs with companies for 20-year spans (of course, neither ended well…)

Also on my mind is that tomorrow is my Dad’s last day of work. Ever. He will be Officially Retired. It was not exactly what/how he planned, but he’s certainly gotten totally into it. He has 7-plus acres of bush to “clean up” (how do you tidy a swamp?). He has a house, garage, attic, and two sheds to clean out (these are projects my parents have decreed, and hey, better them doing it now than me having to do it years from now…). He and Mom are leaving on a cruise in a few weeks. Their 40th anniversary is in a few weeks, too.

I’m not all that happy with my life right now, but for my parents, I’m very excited. I can think of nothing better than embarking on endless adventures with your best friend. (And your exceedingly well-waxed new car. Heh.)

Signs of spring

  • Acres of pasty (sometimes hastily-shaven) flesh blooming from beneath shed heaps of restrictive and bulky winter clothing.
  • Shorts and flip-flops likely to be seen on anyone under 40 as soon as the temperature hits double digits.
  • Strappy sandals being worn pre-pedicure. Eek.
  • Being honked at while walking to the library. (Alas, it was some guy in a red pickup — odds that it was a friend of my brother’s: high — and not, say, a hot geek in an Infiniti — odds of one of those being a friend of my brother’s: not high.)
  • Leaving work and ending up driving behind a blindingly shiny Aston Martin Vantage that has just pulled out of the yuppie ‘burbs.
  • The cavalcade of amusing spring fashion choices by the call centre girls at work. (I saw a t-shirt dress that I’m fairly sure Paris Hilton would have rejected for being too skimpy…)
  • Dogs out for walks just about going into seizures from the overdose of new, glorious, and rotting smells. (It is impossible not to grin when one lays eyes on an extremely happy dog. And if you disagree with this statement, I do not want to know you.)
  • People biking, on the sidewalk, without helmets.
  • People biking, on the street, while smoking.
  • A dude with a shaved head, wearing a ‘beater, out for a stroll with the kids and his magnificently beer-gutted friend.
  • Scores of elderly women in garish lipstick walking toy poodles. (Seriously, where in hell did they all come from?)
  • Three cats on a neighbouring balcony. (I have no idea why three cats on a balcony was so funny, but it was.)
  • PDAs. (Amusingly, older people holding hands and canoodling doesn’t bother me, and I never expect the young to act with any decorum, mostly I just want to put bags over the heads of people in my demographic.)
  • Poop.

No right.

The denizens of the internet tend to pride themselves on this milieu’s democracy, or some version thereof. No one’s the boss of me and all that. Plenty of people like to think, too, that because they can hide behind monitors and pseudonyms and the like that they’re not only boss-less, but anonymous, too.

Fortunately, things are not quite so primitive.

Which is why pathetic, cowardly, and disgusting acts like this cannot only be exposed and condemned, but dealt with appropriately: Death threats against bloggers are NOT “protected speech” (why I cancelled my ETech presentations)

There is free speech, and then there is terrorizing someone whose only “transgression” has been to be passionate, brilliant, dedicated to sharing and improving, and a woman — i.e. orders of magnitude better than any one of the sad sacks responsible for disrupting this woman’s sense of safety and equilibrium.

There are, blessedly, far more of us than there are of them. Far more of us who are responsible adults, eloquent writers, skilled geeks, and fans of Kathy’s. We are stalwartly in her corner. A situation like this would sicken me no matter who was targeted, but anyone who reads any of the blogs I post on knows how amazing I think she is, so the only difference in this case is that I take it very personally.