We Have a Great Offer for You Today!

Telephone: Ring. Ring. I have a phone call that is potentially really good news. Ring ring.

Scott (our hero): Good news? Oh boy! Hello?!

Mysterious Stranger: Mr. Hunter? This is Bill! We looked over your brakes like you wanted.

Scott: Well I suppose that's good n-

Bill (apparently): We're going to have to rambone your oscillators and your drivejimmies are total collywobbles on the front axle. Your bill is going to come to one solid kick in the junk and twenty minutes worth of us all laughing at you during our coffee break.

Scott: I.. what? My drivejimmies? That's n-

Bill: Mmmm, yeah. Well, listen. I can help you out. (keys clacking) I can go ahead and knock off ten minutes from your bill if you upgrade to our Extended Lifetime Super Robot Zombie Insurance Policy Plan. We guarantee that no robot zombies, super or otherwise, will cause an excessive amount of dryrot on your rightmost exterior driveshaft boot array for the lifetime of the warranty.

Scott: That... that sounds good?

Bill: Great! We'll have that ready by noon. You can pay when you pick up the vehicle. Make sure to bring a sacrificial knife for the Ceremony of Life Essence Transference!

Minimalism

I've read multiple stories and blog posts recently about the latest generation of 'lifestyle minimalists;' folks who are taking advantage of digital media to rid themselves of almost all their physical possessions save clothing, their electronics, and one or two pieces of essential furniture. Photo albums on Flickr, television by way of Netflix and Hulu. I totally dig the idea and I've been strongly considering doing one of these "get rid of an item a day" projects to reduce clutter in my own life, but I can't imagine divesting myself of print media: my books and board games. I suppose on a very fundamental level I cannot understand the mind that derives more pleasure from a blank wall than a full bookshelf.

Data Entry

Never at work do I feel more fraudulent, more like I’m taking part in some sort of masquerade, than when I am filing papers and inputting data. There’s no earthly way to make light of data entry no - matter what music is playing and no matter what faux-clever thing your coffee mug says. Mine just says “Happy Birthday!” and has pictures of balloons on it.


I look with some envy at the friends I have and the people I know whose professional lives so neatly intersect with who they are and what they do. On the other hand I feel split, except that my Mr. Hyde wears a collared shirt every day and doesn’t tell anyone that he plays Dungeons and Dragons.


The question is this: am I worried that there are two parts of me and that my work isn’t fulfilling enough? Or perhaps I’m entertaining that notion as a defense mechanism -- hiding from myself the possibility that there’s only one of me -- and he’s sitting behind a desk grading papers and confirming order requests for pens.

It’s so much easier and so much more flattering to feel oppressed and out of place.