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Charlie Hatton
Watertown, MA
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Quick update on the site upgrade:
First, a big honking 'THANKS!' to the helpful folks who took a 'sneak peek' at the new layout I'm working on. Based on your comments, suggestions, and -- astonishingly enough -- a fair affinity for the current look and feel, I've changed directions just a bit. The final product will be a hybrid of my first (rather ambitious) idea and the current (rather comfortable) design.
Let's just hope I took the good parts of each, and wind up with something elegant and intuitive. As opposed to complicated and broken. I had an aunt like that once -- and trust me, it's not a pretty combination.
At any rate, I hope to be able to roll the newfangledness out sometime over the weekend. So please excuse my continued scarcity until then. I hereby promise to revert to my daily drivel-dishing ways as soon as the new site is up and running. Or at least up and staggering; I'm willing to take what I can get.
(Yes, including me, thank you very little. This time, they even gave me the address. Hell, they even issued me a new keycard, to get me in the door automagically.
On the other hand, I've never seen a keycard made from corrugated cardboard before. Or an office building with an address like '123 Fake Street'.
Still, I'm sure it'll all sort itself out once I run over to the new place tomorrow. Apparently, we're moving to a suburb called 'Suckerville'. Sounds nice. Maybe there's a Denny's nearby.)
"If anyone needs me, I'll be popping my desk's 'drool cherry'."
Today was 'Packing Day' for most of the people I work with. We were issued suitcase-sized crates into which to stuff our junk. Some people filled crate after crate with books, supplies, computer equipment, you name it. Crates stacked high and far, and strewn all over the office.
Me, I packed all my shit into one crate. With room to spare. I've been at this place for three years, just packed for my third move, and everything I've accumulated along the way still fits into a box barely bigger than an office trashcan.
Probably, there's some profound message about my career in all of this. I choose not to look for it, on the grounds that it may make me never want to get out of bed again.
Still, moving in tomorrow should be fun. I toured the new building today -- yes, the real new building; don't leave those new business cards lying around if you're trying to get rid of me, bitches! -- and it's pretty impressive. The place was erected just for us -- eight shiny new floors of steel and tile and ugly carpet, just waiting for our crates to arrive so we can dirty the place up.
It's a bit humbling, actually. Just think -- when I go there tomorrow, I'll walk in and sit in a chair where no one's ever sat to work before. I'll be the first one to spill soda on my desk, to pin lewd pictures to the corkboard, and leak drool onto the keyboard tray during a Tuesday afternoon nap.
The fact is, ever since the detailed plans for this place were drawn up, there's been a cubicle with my name on it. Wow. That really fills a guy with a sense of pride and responsibility, and a spark of motivation to get in there and break that place in right!
Until, of course, I realize that it also means there's been a trash can with my name on it from day one, too. And all my packed shit would probably fit into it. With room to spare.
Meh. Somebody wake me when it's time for an afternoon coffee run. If anyone needs me, I'll be popping my desk's 'drool cherry'. Gotta love that new cubicle smell.
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What I hate is to see the new people in the next cubicle. You know the ones. The people who babble to themselves, stand up and yell for no apparent reason, and other wise make you think that any day they will go postal on ya.
Oh wait! That's me! Nevermind!
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"Gotta love that new cubicle smell."
I wonder if the janitor of a new place runs around and farts in everyone's cubicle before they move in. I mean what other joy does he have in his job?