(no subject)

Interview: pwned.

Well, it went well, anyway. I hate telling people what they want to hear in order to get them to give me a job, but everyone does it. Interviews are merely the process of selecting who lies the fastest and best.

And besides, what the hell do they want from me? Must be able to sit upright, read directions, and not drool overmuch. Droolers will be considered.

Seriously. I met the person I'd be replacing.

So now I'm camped out at a Starbuck's downtown. While I do not love the Bux, I do love downtown. All downtowns. City Centres. It's not my choice to live in the burbs, believe you me -- they're fine for those that like them, but when I am in a city my heart sings. This is the part I love -- the panhandlers, the businessmen on their cellphones, the storefronts, the giant buildings, the pigeons, the sad little trees stuck in the sidewalk. I love it. I don't know why.

This is where I'm meant to be. And it doesn't have to be a big city -- it could be a small town high street, but it needs to whisper city in a way that manicured lawns and split-level ranches don't. It has to be the nucleus, the place from which all else extends. A place where I can do for myself, completely, from buying bodega groceries to banking in a skyscraper.

I have to get out of Texas, to a place where I can live in the City, or at least only a train ride away.

(no subject)

Dear Gmail,

LOVE what you've done with the delete button. Really! No more drop-down menu to delete! Fantastic.

If you're going to muck about with the threading, however, like suddenly including all the deleted messages when one hits "expand all", could you at least offer us the option to turn the bloody thing off? Because, you know, expand-all is great, but not if the stuff I've specifically said "I don't want to see anymore" is suddenly visible again.

Still, the government said "JUMP!" and you said "Uh, not so much" this morning, so I really have nothing but love for you. Fight the man, Google! Fight the man.

Yours in solidarity and only mild annoyance,
Sam.

( Comment conservation )

(no subject)

So a separate subdivision of the same company that owns the subdivision that I interviewed with this morning has just telephoned to say they want to interview me too, for a different position.

Buzuh? Did I put on my Hire Me cologne instead of Eau De Loser today? Or is unemployed suddenly the new black?

So now I have a second, much more promising interview week after next. It's the same company, but it's a full time (well, 2-8 week contracts off-and-on) position. I don't know what the pay is, but the job is marking papers, which I'd prefer anyway because I apparently like pain. And it's within cycling distance, miraculously.

The only thing that got me is that they want the original proof of your degree, the actual diploma itself and not a copy. Which is fine, so long as they're willing to accept my Master's diploma and take it on faith that I was a Bachelor en route to being a Master. (Oh academia, how kinky you are.)

And I'm off for the rest of the afternoon. I need a nap. Also to think out the new cracked-out crossover idea I had....

(no subject)

Scenes from my family, #246:

Mum: [co-worker]'s wife had the babies today!
Sam: Oh? Twins?

My response was, in fact, not the dumbest part of the conversation. The dumbest part of an exceedingly dumb-to-begin-with conversation was:

Mum: Yeah! And she was due today, too!