I got the following email from a fellow employee:
| I'll be away on vacation next week and back in the office on Monday, May 31 - this is the annual pilgrimage to Cape Cod. I'll be saltwater fly fishing, Natalie will be celebrating our wedding anniversary. |
I got the following email from a fellow employee:
| I'll be away on vacation next week and back in the office on Monday, May 31 - this is the annual pilgrimage to Cape Cod. I'll be saltwater fly fishing, Natalie will be celebrating our wedding anniversary. |
Am I the only one who thinks that Esther is really talking about a relationship? Should we manage relationships the way a good project manager manages a project? A good project manager, mind you.
I know that there's a funny project management/relationship comparison in there, but I'm no project manager. I'll have to leave that to someone else.
CP is a coworker here, and CP is gaygaygay. He is effeminate, neat, and loved by women for his...gayness. You know, the stereotypical gay man.
This office has a relaxed dress code. You can wear jeans, shorts, whatever. No one wears ties. I decided that today, I would shock everyone by dressing up for no particular reason. So I put on my nice pants, dress shirt and shoes, and a tie. CP saw me in the lunch room and casually said, "Nice tie." Clumsily I thanked him.
It's not like any other coworker telling you this. It's certainly not like your girlfriend telling you this. It's like Renoir telling you that he likes your painting. Well, maybe not that huge. But CP is THE authority on fashion here; even the women defer to him. And he's not a snooty bitch about it either.
Yep, I got it goin' on.
Continuing my streak of posting pictures like a madman, here are some tragic pictures of the death of a seagull. This one felt like a right rear tire would be as good a place as any to lay down and die.
But it looks alive doesn't it? Like it's just trying to catch some rays. Okay, maybe not exactly, but there's something eerie about this. I should go back there after work to see if the body is still there. I wonder how the owner will feel about it if he notices.
Yesterday, Rose and I walked along Ste-Catherine Street when we came upon the Falun Dafa's tolerance march at Place des Arts. It was quite nice, but there were some jarring juxtapositions. Happy, peace-loving dancers and people with signs saying that "Falun Dafa is Good" were right next to solemn, gray-faced people holding signs of those slain and tortured in China for practicing their beliefs. Here's some footage. You can click here for a little movie with no sound (Quicktime format, 2795K)
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In keeping with certain traditions, my so-called friends, or rather, a friend of one of them that I don't know, took these pictures after the Calgary Flames recently won their series. I can't say that I don't know interesting people. It's funny how I seem to occasionally find this stuff in real life. But I guess it is real life, in a way.
By the way, none of these links are safe for work execpt the last one, oddly enough.
The question was: "Would you say you had problems with self-esteem? Is it harder for men to admit, because it's "owned" by women? Is it a facet of having too much time on one's hands?"
I'll tackle this a little at a time. I have had problem with self-esteem, but no more than anyone else. Low self-esteem is not a bad thing every once in a while, especially if you actually screwed something up, in which case it only makes sense. Those who never, ever have low self-esteem tend to arrogance, and in the extreme, scary disorders. Of course, it goes without saying that chronic low self-esteem is no good for anyone. By anyone, I mean the person with the low self-esteem as well as those who deal with them.
The great thing about this template and the way I set up Movable Type is that if I don't update enough, the site looks like shit. The navigation is all screwed up. The creates an incentive to update.
I had a delicious entry all ready to go (almost), and then Liz decides to send me a link in email. Normally whenever I click on an entry from Outlook, it opens up a new window. But this time, it used the Movable Type window I was working in. I didn't save my entry, but normally that's not an issue. I can just go back in my browser to MT and my entry will still be there.
But not this time.
Imagine a person with terminal cancer.
They've been on chemo for almost four years. Hair is falling out in patches. Daily pain. The remissions are few and fleeting. They become a shadow of their former selves. And towards the end, they lose the will to go on. The war ends with the bittersweet release of death. No more pain. A new journey into the afterlife.
As previously stated, I went to an Indian dance recital on Thursday night where I somehow made a complete ass of myself. But I'll get to that later.
I was to meet Daywalker and her friends, at the Henri-Bourassa metro station. She neglected to mention which entrance, however, and it took 20 minutes to get together. On the way I passed an Indian couple dressed in an Indian way, looking confused and lost. I thought about asking them if they were her friends, but that seemed so gauche to ask the only Indian people in sight if they knew one in particular.
I finally found Daywalker a block away with her new boyfriend and another friend of hers that I met a couple of months ago. We were still waiting for these other people when a conversation ensued:
