I'm havin...

I'm having a sudden attack of I-love-my-life, which hasn't happened in the longest time. Reasons for this, in no particular order of importance:- I have washing-machineness again! About six weeks ago, I came home to a large empty space in the communal laundry where once had lived a washing machine. It wasn't actually mine, but was co-owned by my landlord, and my neighbour's landlord, so I wasn't out of pocket myself, but, god, laundromats are my personal hell. As was reinforced last Sunday morning when the skeezy and disgusting old man--the only other person in there--went across the street and brought back a whole roast chicken and chips. He then ripped half of it to pieces with his hands, before dismembering the rest of it with a large and filthy serrated knife he pulled from his bag. He didn't chew with his mouth closed, either. All before 10am. So it's a very sad thing you can't possibly be as happy about the new washing machine as I am, because, me? I am very happy.- My cat just purred so loudly he made himself sneeze. Ahem.- My accidental new job is working out well. My main boss S is a complete dag in the best possible way, and is involving me in everything. My other main boss J is also very nice, but is confounded at very idea of having a PA; he keeps asking 'But what do you want?' every time I walk into his office. Lunatic G is, well, a lunatic, and I'll be pleased when I don't have to babysit her as well as do my own job, but she does think I'm the bee's knees, so that's nice. Also, surprisingly, I'm doing a lot of editing and copy-writing, much more than I ever did at the Publishing Company of Pure Evil. T is still one of the coolest people ever, and I found out A is also Buffy & Angel fan, and the three of us have hugely involved, dialogue-quoting, arm-waving discussions about everything at least once a day. - It's a lovely evening with the first chill of autumn in the air, and I walked home past some of my favorite houses, and then down Brunswick Street, and watched all the freaks and weirdos and students and yuppies and artists and writerly types. I read all the new protest graffiti and posters, and I bought a beautiful green velvet scarf that I coveted all last winter, when I was too poor to afford it.- I have tomato soup and pesto toast for dinner, and I'm wearing new, cool jeans, and my oldest sweatshirt.- After disasterous taping week--forced to choose, I picked TWW over Buffy, only to get such bad reception that the tape is unwatchable, ditto with taping Angel the next night--I found out that I have friends who taped all three shows, and who, instead of just lending me the tapes, will invite me over for dinner before watching it all together. Friends rock.- The randomly generated default password for my email at work was Justin. I changed it to Lance, because JC was too short. This amuses me far too much.- Seriously, eleven entries? Who'd a thunk it. One day I might even master the art of the short and snappy post.

I'm not making this up, I swear

So, the hilarious finance company has offered me a three month contract, as PA to the two most senior general managers. This also means I'm no longer G's (the Communications Manager That Can't Communicate) personal crisis-fixer, which she wasn't too happy about. She still comes past every five minutes or so, of course, just for my 'input on this communication' [tr: is this email intelligible?], and trying to slip a few extra projects my way, which makes my actual boss stalk out of his office, point at me, and say 'Mine!' very firmly. It's so cute. To prove it's not only the staff that she pisses off, this was how she told me a conversation with a client (woman, 80+, runs a seniors community radio program that the company has sponsored for a number of years) went at a function last night:G: 'And she was clearly angling for more money, yeah, of course [rolls eyes], so I told her that we were already spending as much on old people as we were going to, and can you believe it, she got really cranky! I mean, what else was I supposed to call them?'Me: 'Goodness me. Some people.'Good grief.

Kate is a pret...

Kate is a pretty common name. So common, in fact, that when I'm introduced to someone new, they invariably say, 'Oh, you're the other Kate.' So now it's official.

1 - The night b...

1 - The night before you have to get up at 5.00am for a 7.00am flight, make sure you're actually asleep by 1.00am. Note that being in bed is not enough, actual sleep is required. Also, don't wake up every half hour to check that the alarm clock batteries haven't suddenly gone flat. 2 - When booking a taxi to the airport, remember to get the operator to ask the taxi driver to please come and knock on your door, not just sit on his arse honking the horn, because, as far as you know, no one else in the building needs to be awake at such an ungodly hour. 3 - When setting up unfamilliar AV equipment, if the sound doesn't work the first time, make sure you've plugged the speaker cable into the proper socket (this is the socket with a picture of a speaker right above it, not a picture of a microphone). 4 - When dismantling AV equipment, do not rip off the top half of the nail on your index finger while unscrewing the various plugs. If you really feel you must do this, make sure the GM who wants to engage you in an inane conversation about stationery is not in the room. That way you won't have to stand there, hand cupped so as not to drip blood on the floor, trying to think how best to say, 'Look, really, please bugger off, I'm bleeding here,' and desperately hoping he doesn't want to shake your hand. 5 - Try and make sure that all the deadline-critical projects that you left ticking along happily with various suppliers don't suddenly come to a grinding halt, resulting in any number of panicked phone calls. This is can be difficult to arrange, so it's probably best to just shoot the suppliers before you go. Except the wonderful Direct Mail lady, who was fucked over by one of your colleagues; shoot them instead. 6 - Do not become giddly euphoric at the idea of a whole free afternoon wandering around a strange city; this is a signal to the gods to unleash a torrential tropical downpour, so that you end up wet through and stuck in a shopping centre, grumpily wandering through Myer and the Body Shop. 7 - Do not congratulate yourself on carefully avoiding the slippery metal cover on the footpath, because as you do so your foot will skid on some slippery concrete, and you will tear off half the nail on your big toe (so that it matches your finger) and your knee will blow up like a soccer ball. It is however better to do this in Brisbane, where a kind & lovely lady will retrieve your sunglasses, ask if you're okay, and offer to call a taxi, all before you've finished swearing and counting how many working limbs you have left; if you do this in Melbourne, people just walk around you. 8 - When you finally arrive home, do not even think about doing the dishes or cleaning up; this will only result in a broken glass, a temper tantrum, and a freaked-out cat. Instead, finish the gin, have a hot bath, and follow this with peanut butter toast and Queer as Folk. This will make anything better.Today, I'm going to limp into the city to buy an alarm clock that doesn't need batteries, and some CDs. Then I will lie on the couch and moan a bit, with possibly some shouting if the cat jumps on my knee.

The adventure continues...

'ST, do you have many projects that you're on deadline to?' asks G.'Only the database, which you already know about, because you're my boss and I do what you tell me to,' replies ST gravely.'Oh, right, because there's another project, which if you'd like to take a look, and provide some input, and maybe some content because it would require that you...' continues G.ST waits patiently.'Because you know with the new company launches we're having--there are six of them--and they're very important that we project the right presentation, and can you do this please? If you comfortable with this.' G hands ST a single sheet of A4 paper, only half full of text, of which a surprising amount is literally '#*$#@!!' and 'blah blah'.'Er,' ST is stumped.'Those are my notes for the MD's launch speech. He'll be speaking to about 750 people, it's the most important PR event of the year. Can you do it?' asks G, unexpectedly coherent.'Um. You want me, whose entire knowledge of this company consists of seven smudged post-its and 300 badly scanned staff photos, and whose entire knowledge of finance is limited to what coins I can find down the back of the sofa, to write the MD's launch speech?' asks ST, suspecting some vital point is eluding her.'Yes.''Ah, right. Just checking. Cool.'ST, who occasionally has outbreaks of over-acheiving girly-swottiness, takes the speech home to work on, and a couple of days later presents it to G.'You know, this is really good, but I'm afraid that there will have to be some re-writing done, because the MD's a bit miffed that he hasn't had any input yet,' G comments in passing.'You mean, those, er, notes weren't based on a discussion you had with him? I just wrote a whole speech for someone I've never met, who hasn't even been asked what he wants to say?' ST tries hard to sound calm.'Yes,' says G, 'That's how I always do it.''...' says ST.However, all ends happily. The bits needing re-writing turns out to be the parts which ST had pointedly marked [expand], because they were the bits that needed to be filled in by someone who actually knew what they were talking about. She found someone eventually, and returned to her database to live happily ever after. Until...'ST, are you afraid of flying?' S pops his head around the door. S is G's boss, a smart guy who knows his shit.'No.' Nothing surprises ST anymore.'Good. G's got laryngitis, and her doctor says her head will explode if she gets on a plane, which means that you need to go Brisbane tomorrow to arrange the internal launch. It's easy. All you'll need to take is the laptop, the projector, the speaker, the display stand, and the banner. Also, don't forget the celebratory mouse pads, lollies, streamers, balloons and coffee mugs.''And you're sure you want me to do this?' Okay, some things still surprise ST.'Yep, you'll need to change G's flight times. Have fun. In fact, take tomorrow afternoon off, it'll all be over by lunchtime.''Cool.'Tune in tomorrow to see ST try and make friends with Brisbane, and see Brisbane kick her arse...

...

Once upon a time, there was a young lady, a perfectly ordinary young lady, sitting mournfully at home, consoling herself with the fact that even if she was suddenly unemployed, she now had a lot more time to read and write popslash.Then rings her friend T, desperately in need of a temporary receptionist for her finance company, to cover the regular receptionist's holiday. The young lady, reflecting that, after all, slash won't pay the rent, agrees. This is inspite of many cautionary tales, related to her by supacat, about the kind of perils in which such a receptionist might find herself (deep, mind-killing, head-pounding-on-keyboard boredom being one, and the financial adviser sense of humour being another). Thus is born (cue soaring music) SuperTemp.The time passes reasonably quickly for ST, even if the company has no centralised phone list for their 300+ staff, or list of position titles, or organisational chart, or anything more sophisticated that several old post-its stuck to the computer monitor, for her to refer to. It makes life interesting, especially for everyone else. Between phone calls, ST finds time (a lot of time) to surf the net, and be pissed of by the fact that some kind of net nanny program automatically blocks any interesting sites (and I wasn't even trying to look at slash, I swear).In time, T mentions to G (ST's nominal boss, who took four days to introduce herself) that ST might be able to find time to copy-edit the company newsletter.'Cool,' says ST.'Fuck,' thinks ST, looking at the newsletter. For it is suddenly, blindingly obvious, that G, the Communications Manager, can't communicate. At all.'Heh,' thinks ST, 'Good thing I'm an anal grammar-nazi.''Wow,' says G, 'This is really good.''Er, right,' say ST, 'Thank you.''Here, can you do this one, too?' asks G, 'And this one? And this one?'Friday, later that week...'So,' says G, 'You've been really great on reception. People have commented on how nice you are.''Thank you,' says ST, 'I've, er, enjoyed myself, too.''Actually,' says G, 'I was hoping that you would be able to give me your input on a project, and perhaps be in a position to take ownership of a task to communicate our company's existing staff members internally to each other.''I'm sorry?' says ST.'We have an internet library communicating our staff details internally between offices, and it's mostly wrong,' clarifies G.'You're asking me if I would be interested in staying on to update the staff database?' asks ST, 'Cool.''Great, see you Monday,' says G.To be continued...

Because I couldn't catch a band-wagon with a timetable and a large net...

The first sentence of my ten favorite books.June 17, 1972.All the President's Men Woodward & BernsteinI used to read this at the end of every semester all through high school and uni, because if I could follow the story, it proved that my brain hadn't been entirely fried.It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.Pride & Prejudice Jane AustenI read this to recuperate after All the President's Men.The bathers of Baden in summer were few and fat.Pawn in Frankinsence Dorothy DunnettThe fourth book in the Lymond series. The hero is the ultimate suavely arrogant, hyper-intelligent yet vulnerable bastard whom everyone, including his sister-in-law, a sultan or two, his arch-enemy, several courtesans, his sister, his best friend, and, naturally, the reader wants to fuck. Dunnett writes the most rewarding historical fiction I've read, and this particular book culminates in one of the best set-piece climaxes ever.To those who remembered him, it was typical that Nicholas should sail into Venice just as the latest news reached the Rialto, causing the ducat to fall below fifty groats and dip against the ecu.Scales of Gold Dorothy DunnettThe fourth book from the Niccolo series. Everything Dunnett was practising in Lymond is realised in Niccolo. If you have even a slight liking for the genre, go read them now. Shoo. Go on. You might miss an essay deadline or three - there are 15 books all up - but you won't ever regret it.The book was thick and black and covered with dust.Possession A S ByattEveryone I've ever recommended this book to has hated it. So, please, don't read it. You won't like it. Go read Dorothy Dunnett instead.It was just on two.Corfu Robert DessaixYou know when you're feeling unsettled about your place in the world, and you call your best friend, and have one of those snarky, comforting conversations that lasts for hours on end? This book is like that, only shorter, and more coherent. And a lot cheaper, especially if the friend in question happens to live in Japan.'Are you awake, Will?'The Grey King Susan CooperThe best book of the series; and eternal gratitude to myalexandria for finding DiR slash.Thundershowers hit just before midnight, drowning out the horn honks and noisemaker blare that usually signalled New Year's on the Strip, bringing 1950 to the West Hollywood Substation in a wave of hot squeals with meat wagon backup.The Big Nowhere James ElroyJust, ouch. Not as broad in scope as LA Confidential, but much bleaker, and slightly less macho, and all the better for it.I was just about to overtake Salvatore when I heard my sister scream.I'm not scared Niccolo AmmanitiMy new favorite book. The 'through the eyes of a child' style usually drives me right up the wall, but this book maintains an childishly unsentimental and amoral viewpoint superbly. A sharp, anxious story.The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village.The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy Douglas AdamsWhen I first read this when I was ten, I laughed so hard I dropped the book, which knocked over my glass, which smashed on the floor. I also gave myself a cramp. I have better motor coordination now, but it still makes me grin like a loon. (Slartibartfast!)

This can only end badly

A airplane movie with Charlton Heston as a sleazy business man, Helen Reddy as a nun, and a little girl passenger on kidney dialysis? Late night TV scares me. And, fuck, that's George Costanza's father, looking exactly the same twenty five years ago as he does today, even down to the safari suit and bad dye job. Now Helen Reddy's singing. Good grief.

Apparently I'm three years old.

There is nothing more frustrating than being patronised by one of your best and oldest friends. From random stranngers and co-workers? Pfft. From O? I want to bite her ankle and kick her shin simultaneously. Physically possible, no, deeply satisfying, yes.