So, I finally got the long-awaited award. Huzzah. I wrote a technical paper on which a new internet-based application will function. Correctly. Did it in a couple days instead of a couple months. Projected savings from it? About seven million dollars. My award, you may think, would be quite substantial. If you think that, you don't work for the government. My award was less than one thousand American dollars. Before taxes, of course. The total amount of the award was less than the total amount of taxes taken out of my paycheck.

Ah, the IRS. Even when you get "rewarded" it still feels like a hatrack up the ass.

The Mrs. and I were out earlier. While we were out and leaving King Kullen (a grocery store, or "supermarket" as you damn kids say) (damn kids... with your long hair and your supermarkets and your hula hoops)we heard the following words shouted by a man to (presumably) his daughter. Before I divulge the words, let me stress something here... this wasn't just said in the usual Long Island mega-decibel way. Nor was it said in a happy/excited way. This was shouted, close to screamingly loud, in something that the average person would easily assume was a threatening manner. (And, for maximum weirdness, remember that this was being said as they were going into a grocery store:

"You want a puppy!?! Let's get a puppy!!!"

I've been going to this store for years. I know where to find just about anything in there. I've never, ever seen a puppy section. No pets of any kind. Not even sea monkeys or a pet rock. Maybe the little girl was terrified of puppies, and the father was threatening her. "Be good, or I'm going to get you a puppy!" "No, daddy, noooooo!!" I've never heard of puppyphobia before. (I'm sorry... .Cynophobia. Thank you google.) (Interesting side note: pupaphobia = fear of puppets. That's a whole other thing, but it's making me laugh like crazy right now.)

I'm watching the extended DVD version of Lord of the Rings for the bajillionth time. (And I'll watch it a bajillion times more, dammit!) The overwhelming feeling I get when watching it: I want to be there. And I don't just mean out adventuring and questing and crap. I mean I want to be somewhere where the people actually work together towards a common goal. They feel so strongly about their goal that they'll do whatever it takes to get there. I'm not just talking about the movie, either. No no. I'm also talking about the behind the scenes stuff. Watching what all these people did, designing individual items like belt buckles and arrowheads by hand just so every split second of the film looks authentic. For god's sake, they wrote on the tips of arrowheads! You never see the arrowheads! But they did it, because that's what the characters/races would have done. And they absolutely love what they're doing. (Well, did. You know what I mean.)

How I would love to actually enjoy what I do for a living. Hell, at this point I'd settle for not being sickened by what I do for a living. That'd be a step up. A huge step up.

Cool yet again! (But for different reasons.) Someone actually spent over an hour looking at my site? Holy crap! (And I use that phrase, because it's a Rhode Island native.) (Family Guy. Duh.) Here's an item of interest for whoever you are, and the rest of you... A late addition to Jerf's website at work was a forum thing wherein technical issues were discussed. The logic being that the stuff would be posted for all to see, so that everyone would get the same, unchanging answer at the click of a link. This would seem logical to most rational life forms, which in hindsight is why it was doomed to fail. That forum has since been taken down, with the excuse that "all the managers" agreed that their people preferred paper. Paper, that doesn't get updated, that gets held onto and revered as a holy relic long after its usefulness has expired. Yes, dear reader, paper. The stuff that this former art major hardly uses any more.

That's sad for a couple of reasons. It's sad because it's completely plausible. The technophobes at work fear the computer and prefer paper almost as much as they enjoy their 15 minute feedings. (That's eating once every 15 minutes, for 15 minutes at a time.) Turns out, though, that not all the managers agreed to this. The managers' managers all said this was the case, but in reality it's because they had no *control* over the answers that were being given. Mind you, these are technical answers, and not a one of them has even a jot of technical background. In anything. Much less the work that's being done in their departments. But they couldn't have just anyone handing out answers, could they? Someone might actually get information that's useful and beneficial! Can't have that! It might start a dangerous precedent! So, they made the paper decree, so they could all sign it with bold strokes of the pen and photocopy it by the hundreds. Laying waste to even more trees than before. Because, after all, what are trees but the stuff they make the cardboard boxes out of for the flatbeds of cookies and other assorted pastries that must be consumed by their drones? Must keep control of the empire!

In case you couldn't tell, work continues to make me physically ill. Anyone out there with a job offer can e-mail me whenever you please. I'm becoming less and less picky as the minutes tick by.

Woohoo! Someone at the IRS in Texas looked at my website today! Only about six and a half minutes, though. Damn. I gotta come up with more interesting stuff, I guess. Feel free to e-mail me to learn about all sorts of neat stuff. Like, how a grade 10 can continue to work (actually, *not* work. Doesn't do a damn thing but hit on any female under 35. Nice habit for a married guy, huh?) in a grade 9 position when that grade 10 doesn't even belong to the department, and that grade 10 actually belongs to a department that has since been dissolved. If you like that one, I'll tell you about the grade 11 who's doing the same thing, but with night differential. (Except she's not hitting on women. She's not doing anything, period.) That's just a start! Unfortunately, I've got a million of 'em. Like, how you can save the IRS $7 million, and not even get a "thank you", much less a dime. It's fun!

In the "things that make you go hmm" category... earlier today Donner (not the Reindeer) showed me an e-mail address. It was a domain I'd never seen/heard of before, and for whatever reason I thought it was in Georgia. I don't know why, but since my brain works in an unweildy eidetic fashion that I don't really understand I kinda just go with it. We looked it up and it turned out that it was in Illinois. OK, so what the hell do I know. Fast forward in time, and I'm looking at the visitor logs for my website. I had a visit from someone in Georgia today. I don't know anyone in Georgia. And they came straight to my site, too. Not referred by anyone else.

So, this weekend I'm going to concentrate really, really hard on winning the lottery. Damn my uncontrollable psychic powers that don't bring me any financial gain! I'd settle for the ability to make heads explode, a la Scanners. Or maybe some pyrokinesis. Something that makes all the headaches worthwhile. That's really all I ask.

Friday, the morons in management had bagels to celebrate my birthday. This goes in the "it's the thought that counts" category, I guess. Why? Simple, really. I wasn't in on Friday. I had scheduled leave. In other words, they knew I wasn't going to be there. Since I'm shit on all other days at work, I guess my birthday shouldn't be anything different. I don't know what the hell I was expecting.

So... for the sake of maintaining her empire, the Empress will let Jerf's page die a horrible death. All because, in my opinion, she wants to keep the person who maintains the site on her shift, so she can take the credit for it. Just like she's been doing since the day she started. No wonder I hate being in the same room with other managers. Managers take credit for things other people do, since they have no skills. I have skills and want to be acknowledged for them, which is why I've never received better than a "met" as a manager. Managers aren't supposed to have skills, I guess.

Jerf wanted to keep the page going. It's a huge chunk of his life, hell, his soul went into that, so I don't blame him one bit. And now, it's been stolen from him. The page will wither and die because the Empress wants her talons in it, so it'll be kept by people who don't know the job. And when the page fails, she'll take it out on them. Then look for another "volunteer".

Far too many people rely on the site to do their jobs. The Empress, and the rest, know this. Yet they don't know what's involved to keep the site up and running. Hey, it's on the same screen as e-mail, so it must be just as easy! Morons. All fall down, as the nursery rhyme goes.

I'm glad for Jerf, though. Not only did he get out, but he's going to a place where he will be truly appreciated. That's such a rarity, it's painfully unfunny. Hopefully the job is something he enjoys. (Also a rarity.)

Me... I'm going to sell a kidney and retire. Much more worthwhile.