So tempting ...
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
Yeah, this dent ... and paint chips ... and scrape ... and huge hole in the paint ... and bending of the metal around the headlight:
Holy heavens people. LOOK at the space in the alley by my car. I am not even as far to the edge of my parking spot as I could be.
The "apology" was written on the back of a child's crayon drawing (and by child's crayon drawing, I mean a collection of crayon colours in a somewhat round shape that one is required to assume was drawn by a child of quite limited years). I called the number -- angry, as you can quite imagine. I got an answering machine. Then I took a plethora of photographs and called the police. Who advised me to give her 24 hours, and then call them to come out and take a report if I do not hear from her.
Then I went to my photography class. And I have something after work each night this week, which means I am going to have to cancel something if I have to wait for the police to come by. I never needed this, but as weeks go I needed this less than usual.
Got home from my photography class to no message from this woman. I'm starting to think letting the police get involved is the best option ... for her. Because she won't like me now that I'm angry.
(Toronto went fine. I'll elaborate when I'm not consumed by the fire of vengeance. My poor KITT. He sat for three days in an airport parking lot without incident ... then he is attacked at home. What has the world come to?)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
I neglected to comment I can no longer take editing direction from a person whose own writing is more than simply laughably bad, it is painful to me as a writer to lay eyes upon. I hope her qualifications as the best friend of the boss’s daughter serves her well as she takes over when I leave – because if the documents I’ve seen her draft since she got here are any indication, she is barely literate.
See, here is where poor management skills really bites you in the ass: We got notice last week that our office has to physically move in August. I had been planning to quit at the end of August, but when I heard we have to move I thought “Ah, that would be too cruel. I should leave in September [if I don’t move to Toronto].”
But then it hit me like a truck – are you frickin’ kidding me?!
I’m going to be a decent employee to someone who put the blame on me when the Committee gave her negative feedback on the job she’s been doing to date? (one of the Committee members pointed out – quite rightly – that I never came near half the work they have problems with … and that they never had problems with the work that did come near me before she showed up)? Someone who writes me up for being late on meeting day without including that it was because I was sick as a dog and had to leave as soon as the meeting was over because showing up for the meeting was all I could muster? Someone who will write down that I was five minutes late to work, but not write down when I document for her the extra hours I put in at home -- or that I made up for being five minutes late that morning by working an extra 20 minutes at the end of the work day? I even found out she’s written me up as having poor time management skills because I took the last 15 minutes of Friday to file my week’s work. Her comment was “should tidy desk right before moving, not when there is other work to do.” This is the person I had the impulse to treat decently? No.
Now instead of leaving at the end of August, I’m leaving in the middle. Ppplllbtth!
Of course, the boss is on vacation at the moment. Can’t hand a resignation letter to a person who is not physically here. But she’s supposed to pop in briefly on August 1. The letter is sitting squarely in the middle of her desk to greet her. Go ahead, honey, write me up for quitting incompetently. I still quit!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I find I can’t follow Shelley’s train of thought without moving my lips silently as I go along … similar to when I needed to read The Canterbury Tales out loud in order to have a hope of understanding what I had been assured was the English language.
Even the story veers off in one direction only to dip and weave around to sneak back upon itself. At least I assume it will materialize behind itself by the end. I’ve already gone from a mariner’s letters to his sister to the recollection of a stranded man (Frankenstein) he came across in his voyage, who is now reciting the particulars of a third man’s (if you can call Frankenstein’s creation a “man”) experiences in the first person. It makes sense the story will retract from the creature’s discourse to the stranded man’s recollections to the original mariner’s letters. But then again, it would have made more sense to not have fractured the story or its delivery quite so thoroughly in the first place.
In other words, I’m quite enjoying it.
Monday, July 14, 2008
As far as introductory goes, it's fine. But the problem of not being led by a teacher is compounded by the student you will find in every class you ever take. The one who is confident they are sitting in on a private session that is only about them. The one who answers every question with an in-depth personal story that is more conversational than responsive...
...The one who spoke so much at last Thursday's class that time ran out before I and another student had a chance to present our pictures for critique because we had to listen to stories about the small hands of this woman's one daughter as she tries to learn the violin, how the other daughter's face is so expressive when she considers her homework, how the woman is unable to catch up with the pelicans who swim in her neighbourhood lake and how when her children act too spoiled this woman drives them to the inner city to look at the homeless. This middle-class woman is sincerely confused that the homeless people hide their faces when she pulls out her camera to take their picture, because she insists they should know she is there to support their plight. This woman has no clue that packing her children into the mini-van to gawk at other humans is tantamount to making the homeless exhibits at the local zoo -- and this is the type of woman who is making the two-hour class her own personal playground and taking time away from the other students.
If I would have had the chance, I'd have shared with the class:
This guy who was not happy to find paparrazzi at his favourite eating establishment.
And retreated to the trees to give me what for!These lovely creatures who sat politely for me on this great bare tree in front of the lush forested area ... you don't have to look too closely. That way you won't discover the lush forested area is in focus and the birds are kinda fuzzy.
And we can't forget this gorgeous lake that is basically a friend's backyard. I do believe I have found my summer vacation spot:
This really was too perfect of a shot - how could I not take it?
Monday, July 7, 2008
The bride crossed a tree-lined bridge on the arm of her father to meet her groom ...
... which really pleased the groom.
The bride was clearly in love ...
and it would seem so was the groom, as they walked off to their new life.
The baseball-sized raindrops even held off until the bridal party was shuttled off from the ceremony and guests could get back to their cars. Most guests, at any rate. I chose to wander around the gardens a little with friends to see what we could see ... until the rain threatened to give us concussions. Seriously, it was like each rain drop was a quarter cup of liquid a pop. Quite startling.