Viva Deutschland

Several of my friends (not my family, because they obviously share my heritage) like to disagree with me when I say that being a (no matter how distant) descendant of German lineage is the greatest ancestry one could possibly have. Well, no more. After reading this blog, I am one-hundred percent certain that those unenlightened disbelievers will side with me. Read on. Or gelesen, I should say.

Proof that German engineering is amazing:

1. Porsche
Justification: If you really need a justification for why a Porsche is amazing, I give up already. Hello RS 60 Spyder.

2. Paul van Dyk
Justification: Just listen to “Haunted.” One time. You’ll be a believer.

3. Kraftwerk
Justification: Düsseldorf band in the late ‘70s/early ‘80s that pretty much revolutionized electronic music as we know it today. Booyah.

4. Weaponry
Justification: Anything from the Rheinmetall-Borsig MK 108 30mm (an autocannon for aircraft) in WWII to anything Heckler & Koch has ever created (especially the G3), many German weapons were (and still are) considered to be engineering masterpieces. Bottom line: if it’s a bad-ass gun, it was more than likely manufactured in Deutschland.

5. Wilhelm Richard Wagner / Johann Sebastian Bach / Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Justification: I could write pages. Suffice it to say: three of the best composers/conductors/essayists of all time. If you are not familiar with any of their works, consider yourself an uncultured buffoon.

6. Mercedes-Benz
Justification: I realize it’s another automobile manufacturer, but can you really beat an SLR McLaren Roadster? Not with a stick. Or an MK 108. Well, ok, maybe with a 108.

7. Beer
Justification: Ok, so beer didn’t originate in Germany. But after originating in Egypt or Mesopotamia or wherever, Germanic tribes facilitated the spread of it throughout Europe as far back as 3000 BC. There are also over 1,300 breweries in Germany, more than in any other country of the world except for the U.S. It is a major part of their culture. And can we say Oktoberfest?

8. Heidi Klum
Justification: She needs none. Really, have you seen her in lingerie?

9. Rammstein
Justification: Even if you won’t admit it, you know you went through a phase in high school where they were the most amazing band ever and you had “Du hast” on repeat for hours (although I would argue that “Sonne” is better).

10. Anne Frank
Justification: “The Diary of a Young Girl” is one of the most inspiring books of all time, made even more unbelievable because it’s true. I wish I had half of her unbreakable spirit.

11. German metal
Justification: The Scorpions. Accept. Gamma Ray. Helloween. Kreator. I need not elaborate.

12. Stollen
Justification: Ok, I don’t like fruitcake at all, but when my grandmother makes this every Christmas it never ceases to be one of the most tasty-delicious cakes I’ve ever had. Any German food, for that matter, can usually be counted upon to be scrumptious.

13. Claus Philipp Maria Justinian Schenk Graf von Stauffenberg
Justification: Most of you would probably recognize him as Claus von Stauffenberg. Either way, he was one of the principal figures of the German Resistance during WWII, and the main mastermind behind Operation Walküre. He was almost successful in overthrowing Hiter. And he was just a general all-around bad-ass.

14. And, of course, the greatest example of German engineering of all…me! :-D (Tell me you didn’t see that coming.)

Stay tuned!

Workplace Rants

I would like to preface this blog by saying that I am by no means a naturally pugnacious or angry person. I’m quite the opposite. I am, however, cynical as hell. Also, certain office-setting scenarios require ranting about. They just do. Trust me.

*Disclaimer: Names have been changed (or omitted altogether) to protect the guilty.*

It is irritating when:

- The woman in the office next to you has her phone ringer turned up so loudly that it would not only rouse the dead, it would cause their ears to bleed and kill them a second time. If you’re really that concerned about missing an important call, please have your office phone forwarded to your cell. That way, you can prevent your coworkers from suffering a brain hemorrhage every time your phone rings.

- Kiss-Ass Guy uses any and every excuse to pop into Boss Man’s office (which happens to be located directly beside yours) approximately seven to thirteen times per day. Yes, you keep a count. This is not counting his daily “I’m-headed-out-for-the-day-just-thought-you-should-know!” drop-by. He is bursting to share some tidbit of news with Boss Man, and has tremendous interest in any and every pastime your Boss Man has ever even thought of mentioning. Really, Kiss-Ass Guy, Boss Man can see through you, I promise. **Editor’s note: This generally would not be my problem, and I would be content to overhear Kiss-Ass Guy’s conversations and chuckle to myself, if it weren’t for the fact that Kiss-Ass Guy becomes my problem when Boss Man isn’t there. Which is often.**

- You open the refrigerator shared by everyone on your floor at lunchtime only to discover that the tasty-delicious frozen entrée (my fare of choice is usually Lean Cuisine Lasagna) you brought mere hours earlier has mysteriously disappeared. Later on in the afternoon you overhear a particularly…elderly…coworker (who amazes you with their ability to function successfully in a competitive work environment despite appearing not a day under eighty) complaining about how they could have sworn they brought chicken instead of lasagna for lunch. **Editor’s note: For this reason, I have a box of oatmeal hidden away safely in the bowels of my desk.**

- You’re in a (fairly important) meeting, and you’re having difficulty understanding one of the presenters through the gigantic wad of gum she keeps smacking around. Isn’t checking your gum at the door one of the first aphorisms of at least pretending to be a semi-professional? I know that gum-smacking HAS to be in the Workplace Cardinal Sins manual somewhere. **Editor’s note: But who am I to judge. For all I know it’s Nicorette, and the only thing preventing her from gnawing off my fingers in a nicotine-withdrawal attack.*

- You’re in your office by yourself, productively staring off into space/biting your nails/adjusting your bra/bending over to pick something up from the floor/singing your own version of Cum on Feel the Noize (Quiet Riot just didn’t quite get it)/something equally embarrassing, when Silent Guy strolls in your doorway, completely catching you in whichever moderately-to-extremely awkward act you’re engaged in. It should also be in the Workplace Cardinal Sins manual that employees announce their presence detectably when entering a coworker’s office. **Editor’s note: This prevents uncomfortable encounters, especially with exceptionally awkward and random people like myself.**

I'm sure there are more, but I've ranted enough for one day.

Stay tuned!

Queen Elizabeth II, Nikki Sixx and a Canine Amputee

In the interest of taking a (not very deserved) break from the world of systems management, I’m going to take a cue from my Amateur Cognitive Psych friend and blog about the dreams I’ve had over the past week or so. Brace yourselves, they’re pretty messed up.

First one. Maybe…four-ish nights ago. I am riding in the back of a DeLorean DMC-12 a la Back to the Future with some friends. I remember being upset because they wouldn’t let me drive. We somehow fly across the Atlantic and end up outside of the gates of Buckingham Palace. Somehow there were no guards, and somehow we had a pressing meeting with Queen Elizabeth II. We hop out of the DeLorean and traipse right into the place like we own it. I seem to remember wearing jeans. Anyway, Her Majesty had apparently been expecting us, because she immediately descends a grand staircase. Beside her is none other than Nikki Sixx. She introduces him to us as her new boyfriend, and the entire time we are trying to talk with her (couldn’t say what about) they are all over each other, and it is disturbing. I end up making some smart-ass remark (I know, imagine that one) and one of my friends punches me in the face and I fall down. The end.

Second one. Two or three nights ago. I should preface this one by saying that (in real life) my roommates and I had a temporary canine visitor that had run away from home. Several days later, because of signs that DeAnne posted around the neighborhood, we were able to successfully reunite Charlie (his real name was Tucker, but we didn’t feel that suited him) with his rightful owner. Anyway, back to dream world. I come home from work and we apparently still have Charlie, except he is hobbling around on three legs. I bend down to inspect him, and see a huge gash where his front left leg should be. The strange thing is that it wasn’t bleeding, but it was a red, gaping hole. I proceed to freak out and run to DeAnne’s room to ask her what on earth happened to Charlie. She (quite calmly) tells me that she had to punish him for using the bathroom inside, so she cut off one of his legs. I get extremely upset because I don’t understand how this is an acceptable punishment for a puppy who isn’t housetrained yet, and DeAnne and I start chasing each other around the house trying to kill each other. Meanwhile, Charlie is hobbling around without a care in the world. The end.

Thoughts/comments? I promise I am not on drugs. That’s the scary part. The even scarier part is that I have dreams such as these on practically a nightly basis. Freud would have a field day with me.

Props to Chuck for inspiring me to share my twisted dreams with the (virtual) world. Yikes. Alas, I must return to creating Access databases.

Stay tuned!

Salad Dressing and Emerson

So I haven’t posted on here since…July? I have the compulsion to write the way most people have the impulse to breathe, so I do it constantly. Most of it, luckily, is safely tucked away in the pages of my Star Wars journal, but the universally relatable ones will find their way up here. And yes, I am one of those weirdos who enjoys chronicling daily observations in an actual – feel free to gasp – book as opposed to a computer. Damn technology. Did I mention my favorite novel is Brave New World? Nothing like some emotional engineering.

Moving on…while I realize that my previous blogs have had specific, intellectual topics (like Post-Its and CrackBerries), this post will be considerably more…thought-provoking? As if sticky pieces of paper and insomnia-inducing electronic devices weren’t thought-provoking enough.

For those of you who actually know me (as opposed to the random stalkers who read this…yes, I’m flattering myself), you know how…(trying to find a delicate way to phrase this)…”independent-minded” I am. That was putting it as nicely as I can as I’m usually referred to as impossibly stubborn. Anyway. This personality trait makes the following harder to comprehend. Nonetheless, it happens, so I’m assuming if it happened to someone like me it could happen to one of you weaker-willed fools. Just kidding. Maybe. :)

My all-time favorite quote goes a little something (fine, exactly) like this: “I listen with attention to the judgment of all men, but so far as I can remember I have followed none but my own.” Not to paraphrase ol’ Michel de Montaigne, but essentially the key to a fulfilling life is to lend an ear to the opinions of others, but to never take them as gospel over what you believe or decide to do. I’m sure Emerson would agree, with all of his “Self Reliance”-ing.

Sounds easy enough, right? Especially for those of you as obstinate as myself. You would think so. But one thing I’ve noticed recently is how easy it is to take the opinions of others and rely on them so exclusively (consciously or not) that you actually catch yourself believing them to be the absolute truth or (worse) passing off those discernments as your own without question.

This (hopefully) wouldn’t be possible if the individuals offering (or force-feeding, in some cases) you their opinions and advice weren’t your closest friends. I’m not talking about the acquaintances you meet up with every now and then, because their opinions always go in one ear and out the other for me (no offense). I’m talking about the people you see/talk to/live with every day. The people you consider family and would be comfortable calling in the event that you (accidentally, of course) bludgeoned someone to death and needed help disposing of the body. Perhaps I've been watching too much of Tony Soprano lately. I digress.

This is not to say that their advice is ill-willed or unfounded; on the contrary, I believe my closest friends have my best interests at heart. It is just that lately I’ve grown tired of relying too heavily on the advice of others instead of tuning everyone else out and listening to myself.

I believe that this is important to remember in every decision-making instance of life, whether it is something as inconsequential as which salad dressing to get at the grocery store or as life-altering as whether to take an out-of-state job promotion.

Moral of the story (cue cheesy sitcom background music): if you’re like me and have a tendency to ask your friends/family/dog/postman/cactus for advice, it’s important to keep in mind that the only person you should really be asking is yourself. Not only do you know yourself better than anyone else, but you will be the one who has to deal with the outcomes of your decisions (whether they are good, not-so-good or move-to-another-country bad).

Because in the end, you are all you have, and that has to be enough. I’m paraphrasing again (sorry Marya Hornbacher). And when you really think about it, that’s not a bad thing.

Stay tuned!

Life without Post-its

Frightening concept, no? I mean really, without Post-its my life would be in shambles. Well, my office life. How else would I keep my hastily scribbled phone messages and to-do lists and what-form-goes-wheres and spontaneous ideas organized? These are the basic Post-its I need to make it through the day.

*Editor's Note*: The picture does NOT include my five different multi-colored Post-it flags for notebooks. I wish I could say I am kidding. I cannot. And yes, I have Hello Kitty Post-its. And yes, I know they're fabulous. :)

I know what you’re thinking—what about this fantasterrific new CrackBerry I just blogged about? Don’t get me wrong, the CrackBerry is e-mazing, but psychologically (for me at least) there’s nothing quite like popping out a brand-new Post-it from my little Post-it Popper-Upper
(I'm still trying to figure out what's in it to weigh it down--sand? lead shavings? crack?) and physically writing what needs to be…well…written. Sorry guys, the creative juices just aren’t
quite flowing like normal today. I blame it on waking up at 4:30 A.M. To my Hello Kitty iPod docking station/alarm clock. You'll start to see a Hello Kitty pattern sooner or later. :)

So anyway, I got to thinking of all of the various uses for Post-its outside the norm. In the film “The Machinist,” Christian Bale’s character (who is a crazy, skeletal insomniac) randomly (he believes) finds a hangman game written on Post-its on his refrigerator, and once he fills in the blanks on them he is connected with repressed memories that he realizes are crucial to his mental well-being. Spoiler Alert: He heals. Sort of.

While exploring the less creepy uses for Post-its, I happened upon the 3M Web site and was pleasantly surprised at how far Post-its have come since the plain, yellow sticky note. They have everything from Post-it bulletin boards to a Post-it Digital Notes software kit that allows the user to create their own digital Post-its on their computer to "make and
organize lists, plan projects step by step, sort your notes by category, personalize messages with photos, even set alarms to remind you of appointments or key dates." You think I'm kidding? Click here.

So thank you Art Fry of 3M for inventing the wonderful little sticky notes in North St. Paul, Minnesota, in 1977. I bet you're one rich bastard.

And yes, I Wikipedia-ed Post-its. What’s it to ya?

Stay tuned!

e-tarded

Today’s post is all about my fabulous, new life-controlling device called a CrackBerry. I refuse to refer to it by its regular name because that one way more accurately describes it.

As a member of Generation Y, I will admit to loving the feeling of being constantly e-connected to all my e-friends and e-family. However, as awesome as it is to be able to check my personal and work (gag) e-mail at the touch of a button no matter where my e-travels take me, I discovered after my first night with it that it is ever-so-slightly e-nonnying because EVERY time I received an e-mail my phone chirped and woke me up.

First of all, I am far from a light sleeper—I’d be the girl you see on the news who died because they slept through a hurricane and flash flood combination and nobody woke her up. However, back around January when I finally accepted that I had to have a “big-girl job” in order to survive, I started using my old cell phone’s alarm to wake up in the morning. I don’t know if it’s a Pavlovian response, but every time my new CrackBerry beeps at night I freak out and bolt awake because I think I’ve slept through my alarm and it’s ten in the morning. Even though it’s still dark outside. Go figure.

So sure, CrackBerries do live up to the hype. And while I’m addicted to it now, be sure to ask me again a few months down the road after many nights of sleep interrupted by intermittent beeping at four in the morning just because I got a spam e-mail from monster.com about a fabulous new job as a Bingo Research Technician. And, one would think, I could simply set it to silent for e-mail notifications and to ring for incoming calls. But you’re talking about the girl who took three hours to figure out how to put this thing on vibrate yesterday, so who knows how many weeks that will take!

Stay tuned!

Anti-productivity at its finest

So, I really haven't blogged since my Xanga days. For those of you who actually remember my Xanga days, you know that was four-ish years ago. It's still there. Same screen name. FAR more embarrassing than it seemed when I originally wrote the entries.

One of my main reasons for starting this as opposed to another Xanga or LiveJournal (do people even blog on LiveJournal?? I'm so Internet-trend retarded.) is because, for whatever reason, the Fort Knox spam filter my state agency has locked down on our work computers won't block blogger.com. It will block random sites like my Google e-mail and certain news pages, but one with a URL as obvious as blogger.com gets through. Who knew?

With that said, my main reason for starting this is to fill in the gaps of time at work where I'm not in a meeting, working on a project, running a random errand for my boss or anyone else who happens to flag me down in the hall, taking an extra-long bathroom break, etc. Which, you would think, wouldn't be that much time. And if I were a better state employee you would probably be right. But I'm not. I digress.

Anyway...where was I? OH! Anti-productivity. I'm not entirely sure if that's a word, but it sounds good to me! My anti-productive wanderings around the office have led to several hilarious discoveries that I thought I'd share. For those of you who aren't Josh and DeAnne (or should I say E.T. and Roxanne?), my office could easily be the inspiration behind the NBC hit (and the greatest show of all time) The Office. Complete with a Birthday Club Planning Committee and a Dwight bobble head on my boss's desk. Yep. Except there is no super-gorgeous Jim Halpert to be mischievous with. Sad face.

Back to the ranch...and yes, I've put off making a doctor's appointment for ADD testing for years because I keep getting distracted...funny office findings. First, there are the cheesy "inspirational" posters. I love them, but the only thing they ever really inspire out of me is laughter. If you've ever seen The Office, we have every last one that is seen around Dunder Mifflin. But I digress. Again.

So, these posters. They're all about online safety. My two personal favorites are "If your pet's name is your password...CHANGE IT!" and "Passwords are like bubble gum...not meant to be shared by more than one person."

Whose job is it really to sit around and come up with inane slogans like that? And, once you find out, how can I get THAT job? It's just one of life's little mysteries. Like why I keep my oscillating heater on 85 degrees in my office in the middle of June in Columbia. The world may never know.

Stay tuned!