Wednesday, April 13, 2005

A blogger's miscellany

Yesterday in work I was passing through the elevator lobby when a coworker said, "Hey, you've got a bit of toilet paper on your shoe." I checked and discovered it was neither toilet paper nor on my shoe; it was a fabric softener sheet poking out of one leg of my jeans. (It still smelled dryer-fresh, too.) Should I be more or less embarrassed than if it had been toilet paper?

I'm angry that the "Pretty in Pink" sequel was merely a hoax.

A woman driving a newer Corolla than mine nearly forced me off the road today. Not out of malice, mind you; she just wasn't paying attention to her driving and she changed lanes without looking. I was in that lane, and my repeated horn-honking had no effect on her behavior. I'd been following her for about a mile, and inattention was pretty characterstic of her driving style. Say what you will about my driving, but when operating a motor vehicle I always have my mind on the road. Unlike the guy I saw this morning driving whilst reading a newspaper. Sigh.

I had another interview this week, and a call about yet another. That will make six so far in 2005, but I'm starting to get Interview Overexposure Disorder (IOD). Some of the symptoms of IOD are extreme indifference to typos on a job application, and growing impatience with the question, "What would you say is your greatest weakness?" I've begun to toy with answering in a number of unorthodox ways.

- "Um, I'm pretty lackadaisical about getting in on time."
- "I tend to slack off when I'm not being watched."
- "Internet porn has an unholy grip on me."
- "Rage. Uncontrollable, unreasoning rage."

I can't really say any of these things, and none of them are true anyway. (Except for the rage.)

To attend this interview I was in an office building yesterday for the second time, and for the second time the security guard was absent from the station that featured a sign admonishing visitors to sign in. I guess building management is primarily focusing on protecting its tenants from threats like Mothra or Ghidra instead of something outrageous like, say, a person with a gun. How would Mothra sign in? Would Ghidra sign in three times? How would they fit into the lobby, much less the elevator?

Speculating about how security would react to one or more of Godzilla's nemeses is another sympton of IOD.


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