Where Did Someone Put That Decade?

Work is particularly oppressive today. Looming as large as Everest is the Staff Recognition Ceremony at 2.30 pm. Whilst it doesn’t involve chanting, nudity or flagellation of any type as the best ceremonies do (budget cuts, you know) it does involve reminding me that I’ve been here for over ten years (just a few months shy of 11 actually).

I can still remember the day back in 1992. It was the depths of the recession-we-had-to-have and the place I was working for went belly up. Being a poor uni student who was toying with third year studies and still needed to pay his rent I ran straight to student employment and asked if they had anything. The lovely lady behind the desk obviously saw the desperation in my eyes. “Well” she said, “we do have a position at a hospital. Applications have closed but if you get your resume to me in an hour I’ll put it in the pile.” I raced to the computer center, typed up something in Word Perfect 5.1, printed it on a dot matrix printer and ran back.

I made it, she put it and almost eleven years later I haven’t got around to leaving.

Funny old thing this life.

Don’t Mention The Exorcist

Well, I guess I was tempting fate making the Linda Blair comparison (see yesterday) – last night Phee vomited in such a way to make Miss Blair look like a rank amateur – and all over a two hour effort to get her to eat one yummy home-made-fresh-from-the-barbie hamburger.

As Rae pointed out we’ve decided the best way to avoid such battles is to never start the war. From now peace and tranquillity shall reign at our meal times and hopefully impressions of possessed adolescents will be a thing of the past (or future).

Spider Problem

We have a spider problem. No. Phee has a spider problem. No, that’s not right either. She’s not infested or suddenly grown six superfluous legs. Phee has a problem with spiders.

It’s quite unnerving to watch her enter a room. She stands in the door way and her eyes roll up and scan every millimetre of the ceiling looking for ‘them’. Even more disconcerting is that five minutes later as you are talking to her her eyes will do a Linda Blair and roll upwards once more, just to make sure none of ‘her friends’ (…with friends like these….) have entered.

We’ve told her she’s no longer allowed to look at the ceiling (what sort of parent has to say that? “I’m sorry sweet Petunia, you are not allowed to look upwards until the age of 21.”) and any talk of spiders will result in her life support being turned off.

One For The Geeks

I’m creating a screen saver for client to use on a corporate intranet. I asked what size monitors and resolution most of them used.

Reply was :

“Oh, most are the same as mine – 33cm across”

Pardon Me?

Overheard on the corner of Russell and Collins St, Melbourne, as a drunk man shoved a young blonde into a taxi :

“Don’t worry, it’s only a shorty but I’ll make it worth your while.”