Poor Impulse Control
15 June 1999
6:48 PM: Somebody called me "clean cut" today. Last straw.
I wish that they would either decide that I am or am not fit to do the job that I'm doing. Again today, I find out that nobody has even thought about the site I work on, and that the things that people have told me were completely untrue, all just because it's not "real" to them, because there isn't a "real" person in charge of it. Just some numbnuts Perl hacker who pushes the buttons.
AND the motherfuckers just pulled my brand new Nutley Brass "Ramones Songbook" off the stereo! Would a sense of humor kill them?
Fuck me. Do not send email, do not pass "Go", do not throw pointed objects at your employers...
17 things due at once, including 4 or 5 I thought weren't happening until next week. Naturally I'm sick. This is helping tremendously.
Bla, bla, bla. I was listening to NPR yesterday or this morning, and heard something kind of satisfying, in a strange way. They had a reporter in Kosovo, covering the story about all the Serbs hightailing it back to Serbia before the Albanians got back, and she was angry. Didn't say anything blatant, but you could hear it in her voice, hear it in the emphasis in phrases like "So now they are leaving, running away from the understandable rage and desire for revenge of their returning Albanian neighbors." The 'Ptui!' was almost audible.
10:41: Wahoo! New Sissy Bar CD at last at last! Songs for Peeps, it will stir you like no other popular music CD has in the last 19 minutes. I guarantee it. Don't miss the smash hit "Cop & Friend" inside every carton!
Not that I could actually dare to play it when any of these other pusillanimous pansies are around. As time goes on here, I find I am way more angry about having my CD yanked then about work. My priorities are clear. I'm so sure that blood will begin spouting from their bodies if they have to listen to some kind of music that they don't approve of for more than 5 minutes! Gasp! Gosh!
As the ferret in "Grist" says, "I will bite you."
"Grist", btw, is a short story by Tony Daniel, from the Sixteenth Annual Year's Best Science Fiction, edited by Gardner Dozois. It's pretty good, considering that it's obviously the first chapter of a novel or three. This is why I read Dozois's annual collections, even though I'm not normally a fan of anthologies. I have yet to run into a story in any of them that wasn't at least pretty good. Most are very good, and some are Wow. For sixteen years he has been doing that. But no pressure, no pressure.
Willfully blind self-indulgent nebbish or amusingly quirky old coot? And how bout that local sports team? Discuss among yourselves.
All names are fake, most places are real, the author is definitely unreliable but it's all in good fun. Yep.
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