Wordjanitor Strikes Again

You'd think I had a crapload of cash hanging out my back pocket. I had neither crap, cash, nor a crapload of cash in my pocket. I checked. The safest lane for a motorcycle is the far-left lane. Not today. Apparently, a lot of people were in a "20 miles over? meh" hurry. I stopped counting after the 97th car tried to crawl up my, err... tailpipe. (OK, I didn't count. It's just a low estimate.) And the guy who tried to read the label on my jeans for 40 miles, but refused to pass until I actually pulled into a turnout? Charmer. "Perhaps you were riding too slowly," you think. Reasonable assumption -- after all, I'm a girl on a giant tricycle, right? I checked that too. My speedometer was quite clearly in the "this could be pricey" zone. Maybe if they realized I was in the midst of a 310-mile killing spree, they would have backed off. Shown a little patience. Evidence of many satisfying splats.

My day job is in marketing for a technology company. I've worked on a lot of projects, both as a content creator and as a reviewer. I'm sure we're not the only company that calls our "brand identity" team, the "brand police." And this video is so flippin' on the mark, it hurts :-) The video is a fantastic visualization of a post (or is it a poem?) by Kendra Eash on McSweeney's . The brand-approval process often feels more like cattle branding than I'd prefer. There's something to be said for creating a consistent image, but sometimes that effort goes further into the generic void than creative minds can stand...

"Bah humbug" used to come more easily. For several years, I "celebrated" the holiday season by defending the rights of those people who didn't  celebrate Christmas and were otherwise unamused by the seemingly obligatory ho-ho-ho-dum foisted upon us by retail giants of the universe.  I wrote annual missives about drunk elves crashing stolen sleighs, SPCA sanctions against reindeer breeders, and other snark.  You still won't catch me caroling in my living room, unless it's in attempt to drown out the Duck Dynasty holiday CD that X "hilariously" sent home with @. I don't flinch (much) when @ puts a Santa hat on my head. My holiday letters have undergone significant snark removal. And although @ is far past believing in Santa, you won't hear him admit it.  Earlier this month, I had an assignment: Write about the Connected Santa program. I found it an amusing request, despite my gradual but significant holiday-letter snark red...

I have that damned Disney song in my head. Because apparently, it's a small world after all. Here I was, minding my own business going through my Facebook feed. Well, actually, I guess going through my Facebook feed means I'm minding everyone else's business. Unless I'm only reading my own posts, which is either freakishly boring or narcissistic. But I wasn't, so I don't have to decide between the two.  Anyway... My friend Christine posted a cool new profile picture doing a yoga pose that, should I attempt it, would likely result in damaged furniture and a bloody nose (mine). The usual " Kermit the Frog and 22 other people commented on this post" message was with the post.

When I was a kid, I wanted to live in the mountains where I could hear a river run and avoid asphalt as much as possible. But this ain't about me. I am not the gallerina. There's a lot to be said for dreaming great dreams of what could be. There are big dreams and little dreams and in between dreams. And moving from dream to reality sometimes takes some pretty big chances. Once in awhile life plays out in ways that say "now, take the chance now." And Valerie did.

(Disclaimer: I work for Cisco.)  Big news! Dick Tracy has announced Microsoft’s next product . In a promotional launch event, tough, but trustworthy spokesperson Inspector Tracy demonstrated the 2-Way Wrist Phone. Welcome to 1946 everyone! Don’t worry, you can upgrade to a 2-Way Wrist TV in 1964! You’ll just need to find Sherman and Mr. Peabody for a little ride in the WABAC  machine. Recently seen on Facebook: If 17 technology vendors announce a new smartwatch by the end of the month, my pet rock will quit smoking. It’s one of the latest examples of follow-the-leader among technology vendors. Or maybe it’s not even follow-the-leader, because no one is really leading a category for an amazing device everyone no one actually seems to need. As Emmy, my neighbor’s three-year-old, might reasonably ask: “Why?” Granted, plenty of success has come from lack of need. Cue Seinfeld , a show about nothing. Enter stage right: the pet rock . And stage left: the chia...

As I was driving to work in my sensible car, the local classic-rock station started playing songs that were popular when I was in high school. U2 is now classic rock. Not even early-career U2, mid-career U2. I cursed out the radio -- probably drowning out Bono crooning "in the name of love" or something equally inappropriate to have cursing as accompaniment. Ah, but that was just one of the rude awakenings that have arrived at my doorstep in more frequent numbers these days. Or, if not rude, they're just not terribly polite nor invited awakenings to my advancing age. I kept finding long blonde hair here and there in the house. I accused the dog of having an affair. Then I realized they weren't blonde. They were gray. And mine. Alas. And why is it that my gray hair comes in completely straight while my brown hair remains characteristically corkscrewy?

I went to an event last week where they handed out candy canes with words attached to them. The words, individual to each person, served as the night's conversation topic. My word was perfectionism. My first reaction was just that I was no longer a perfectionist. Too easy. Once upon a time, I was a perfectionist. Or, better stated, I was someone who strove to be perfect. I hadn't actually perfected perfectionism. If I couldn't be perfect, I could try to make everything I did perfect. For example, I worked as a magazine editor. I developed a high set of production standards and a microscopic eye for detail. If there was an error, whether typo, scratched film, misaligned color plate, or some other ant's-eye-view thing, I'd find it. Would anyone else notice? Maybe 1 in 500 people. Would that person care? Maybe a 1 in 500 chance. But it gave me a sense of control where life didn't allow it. It gave me something I could fix and a change I could see.

I've never been one to do things the easy way. It's not that I come to an Robert Frost-ian intersection with the options of a smooth highway and a dirt path covered with rocks, snakes, and who-knows-what-else and think "Oooh, that looks fun!" But somehow or other, I often end up on the more challenging path. True, when it comes to recreation, I'm more likely to take the dirt path and experience all of the scenery along the way. Four-lane highways get you from Point A to Point B, but life is more often in the journey, which makes two-lane back roads much more fun. Perhaps that's why I like Jeeps . I want to be prepared for the road ahead. Or I think I look bad-ass driving a bright yellow Jeep in a tank top and my hair going all medusa in the wind. I digress...

I have a picture of tornadoes on my refrigerator. Each is a different color and hovers precariously close to the ground, about to touch down. In the midst of all the swirling is a little stick figure with a small umbrella saying "Hey tornadoes, one at a time. Get in line!" Sure, I can yell at a tornado and it will listen! Hmmm... Last week was less than fun. Lots of different dramas emerged from various quadrants of my existence. I had some health stuff to handle;

Somehow or other, I've been back at work for nearly a month. Time flies when you're trying to catch your breath and remember how to tie your shoes . Within a quick blink, it was as if I'd never been gone. Except now I have this weird eating schedule and people keep asking me if I'm better now. Well, yes, better than I was before. Cured, no. But that's just how it is. In the scheme of things, I don't consider the health thing

A guy I work with, but whom I've never met in person, responded to my out-of-the-office auto-reply e-mail with "Are you having a baby?" Wha? Huh? Who in the h**...? My first thought was to respond, "Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. It's yours." As an absolutely hilarious comedian* I saw last winter would say, "First thought wrong..." I didn't go with the first thought. Nor did I opt for the... 2nd: see above italics 3rd: "Been there, done that. Please donate to the March of Dimes" 4th: "Have we met?" 5th: "Please be available to field calls from HR." 6th: "Please see the attached photo from my endoscopy." 7th... * Mark Lundholm .

I realized my invisible superwoman cape isn't working. I sent it to the wrong dry cleaners and they used some sort of solvent that neutralized my superpowers. That's what I get for trying to save a buck.  OK, honestly, I was never quite comfortable in the tights either. The stilettos gave me blisters. And the leotard always gave me a wedgie , which made the cape useful until I remembered it was invisible.  Why is it that superheroes always have such ridiculous wardrobes ? If they're superheros, wouldn't they have the special powers to save the world in jeans, a t-shirt, and flip-flops?  My ego has always tried to convince me that I could simultaneously climb Everest, juggle flaming chainsaws , work full time, keep up with @, and figure out how to live without snobbishly good dark chocolate as the fourth food group (the others were fruits & veggies, tofu, and whole grains).  Hmmm... There might be a wee bit of exaggeration there. But it sure sounds like a fairly...

In a work-related e-mail no less!!! Found a ghiradelli lava cake mix in my panty last night. Made it. Have pics for you. :-) I think I've found the true meaning of ROFLMAO

I'm the type of person who gets to the airport early, brings a book, and chills out before a flight. Right now I'm working with the people who breathlessly slide into their seats eight seconds before they close the doors at the gate.

I have fun with Facebook update posts--those odd little things that have taught so many of us to refer to ourselves in the third person. Being a wordgeek, I'm entertained by finding ways to express myself in a sentence--hopefully with some humor attached. Reading them gives me a quick read on my friends--laughing, standing in line somewhere, stressed, vacationing, hospitalized. Heck, Friday I learned DaveBro was (briefly) 40 miles away at SFO instead of the usual several hundred in Texas. (Brat) I sometimes look back at my recent posts for some sort of accounting of the week. Apparently, animals are really causing me stress lately. Wordjanitor... is chillin' in the sunny backyard and checking e-mail for flaming chick ens. would be getting this stuff done if not for the flying monkeys throwing poo. is just having a fine ol' time juggling rabid wolverines and herding tired cats. laughs: "Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinn...

How many stakeholders does it take to change a lightbulb? Can we put the lightbulb in a microsite with really neat flash stuff? How many site strategists does it take to change a lightbulb? Do we still need this lightbulb on the site? What's the customer benefit of the lightbulb? How are the metrics for the lightbulb? What's the drive-to strategy? How many writers does it take to change a light bulb? What do you mean you're changing the lightbulb? Do you know how long I worked on that lightbulb? How many designers does it take to change a lightbulb? Can we make it a candle? Candles are pretty.

I had a money-saving thought: If I could convert my workday stress into electricity, I could power the house and still get a credit back from PG&E. Gas, well that's another story. But with the right diet... Wrong diet? So far, 2009 has been the Year of Working My Tailfeathers Off. Yes, it ends in a preposition and you probably had no prior knowledge that I ever had tailfeathers. Well, no way to prove it now because they're gone baby gone. And if they have any sense, they ain't coming back. The big admission: I have a work ethic problem. It's not enough to get the job done. It's not enough to get the job done well. I have to figure out how to make it better. (Somehow this does not apply to cleaning my house...) Yeah yeah. It's not actually the intensity and long hours, though they're part of the equation. And it's not just in the job I get paid to do. But in the cube-dwelling arena, I have made a habit of seeing beyond the task at hand. I'm defini...

Some office mornings just don't start well. Going directly from parking lot to conference room can be a little frazzling. But having a disembodied, and very cranky, voice yell at a room full of people across two states via speakerphone? Well, it's not pretty. At one point I considered offering to step out of the room to call Barack Obama on my cell phone to ask him to shift his presidential inauguration by a day to better align with this person's preferred schedule. However, I've been advised that "not everyone really understands when you're kidding." When the day starts sour, you know it's going to take a bit of doing to undo the film brought on by that variety of "professionalism." It took a field trip to another building for a lunch meeting, but I found it. Strangely, the best part of my day was an instructional sign above a new-fangled water-saving toilet. A sign over a toilet. And yes, I reallllllly wish I'd had a camera with me. And...

Imagine if you will... It's Thursday afternoon in Cubeville. 3:17: Tra la la la. Sitting at your desk. La la la. Getting ready to leave at 3:45 for physical therapy. La la la. 3:18: A senior VP sends an e-mail to 5,000 people to announce this really great Web project -- you guessed it, the same one you'd been asked to hold until you received her approval. 3:19: Cubedwellers in earshot here a very perky, "Well, I guess that's approval!" Initiate IM search for Web developers. Uh, guys... 3:27: Compose e-mail, "Dear Boss and Boss's Boss, Imagine my surprise..." 3:35: Site is live -- warts and all. 3:45: Warts removed. 4:05: Praising existence of carpool lane on 101, consider personal budget for lavish gifts to Web developers. 4:35: Arrive at physical therapy prepared to get pummeled by 6'2" guy who has to release sciatic nerve tension by thumbs into calf and elbow into hamstrings and glutes. Tra la la. La. LA LA LA!