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The Cat Can Dance, Redux [18 Feb 2004|03:30pm] [ mood | productive ] [ music | deep sky divers, "timeloch" ] 'Most everyone wants to be wanted. I want to be wanted. I want to be wanted so much that people are willing to pay me good money. And that's how much I'm wanted. Again. Finally. Y'know all those people griping about the current job market in the United States? Well, I feel their pain. I felt it for nearly half a year--far longer than I had hoped I would feel it. But I am once again gainfully employed--conveniently enough, by the same company that released me last year. Similar title, too. (Different group, though; given what I've heard about goings-on in my old group, getting RIF'd wasn't necessarily a bad thing.) I'm no longer a drag on the state economy, cashing those unemployment checks. I did take advantage of being unemployed: A relative in Idaho had major back surgery, and I was able to help out with some of the practical matters; an in-law in California passed away, and I was able to accompany my wife to the memorial service--that sort of thing. But I'm really happy to be back on the payroll--and not having to pay my own healthcare-insurance premiums! (Staying healthy is an expensive proposition. Beats the alternative, though.) 3 comments|post comment

True Patriot Acts [11 Sep 2003|10:20am] [ mood | determined ] [ music | Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, "Requiem" ] When an act wraps itself in the flag and styles itself a patriot, suspect its motives. True patriot acts are not heralded with pomp and circumstance until after the fact. The true patriot acts associated with 11 September 2001 are those accomplished by the public servants who rushed to aid those stricken by true terrorist acts. The true patriot acts are those accomplished by the members of the travelling public who attempted to regain control of their flight and keep it from becoming another weapon of mass destruction. The true patriot acts are those accomplished every day by those who aid the surviving relatives and friends of those who perished. True patriotism isn't legislation. True patriotism is individual action. 3 comments|post comment

A Feline's View of Scandinavia [17 Aug 2003|05:10pm] [ mood | sleepy ] [ music | Gaelic Storm, "Johnny Jump Up" ] Have you wondered why you've seen so little of me the past three weeks or so? (If you haven't wondered, please don't inform me. My ego is a fragile thing.) For the past three weeks I've been traipsing across Scandinavia--Sweden, Denmark, and Norway. (The order of the country names signifies the order in which I visited said countries, not any favoritism.) I have tasted uniquely Scandinavian products, such as the vanilla ice-cream bar coated with licorice and sprinkled with salt. I have learnt uniquely Scandinavian games, such as kubb (pronounced "koob"). I have heard uniquely Scandinavian music, such as that produced by the hardingfele (the Norwegian Hardanger fiddle). I have eaten at what is quite possibly the best Mediterranean buffet on the planet--and, yes, it's located in Copenhagen, Denmark. I have learned the true meaning of the word hyggelig in a little town named Ærøskøbing--and, yes, I learned how to pronounce both hyggelig and Ærøskøbing. I have discovered just how cold glacial water can be--and, yes, I can now claim to be a genuinely cool cat. I have pawed through a huge bin of LEGO Technics pieces at LEGOLAND Billund--and, no, I couldn't speak the language of the gentlebeing across from me (and, yes, we had great fun together). I have flown, driven, sailed, and walked. I have slept in an urban hotel, an island pension, a ferry cabin, and a 700-year-old farm. I have eaten lingonberries in Sweden, weinerbrød in Denmark, and bakt potatis in Norway. I have sampled Åbro, Carlsberg, Tuborg, Faxe, Hansa, and Ringnes. I am currently jet-lagged out of my beanie little kitty brain. I am ready to go back tomorrow. 2 comments|post comment

The Greyscribe Weather Manifesto [21 Jul 2003|11:11pm] [ mood | quixotic ] [ music | Michael Gettel, "Summer Rain" ] Turn on your radio or television and hear Well, the next five days look absolutely glorious: nothing but sunshine with temperatures in the upper eighties. Or perhaps Enjoy the good weather while you can--a marine layer will begin to push onshore tomorrow morning and cool things down considerably. Or maybe The day will start off drizzly but will begin to improve as the system moves out of our area. Value-laden adjectives and adverbs have no place on an objective news program, but most broadcast stations have no problem with telling their listeners exactly how they should feel about the weather. Let even the hint of a stereotype creep into a news story, and the station faces censure and boycotts. But the same management that carefully polices the news smiles broadly as the weathercaster chirps about clear skies and warm temperatures. Hmph. I was raised in the desert Southwest of the United States. My hometown garnered about eight inches of rain each year. Sunshine was the only choice on the weather menu 350 days of the year. You know the stereotypes: Cats love to nap in sunbeams. Cats hate water. Fine. Many beings--yourself included, perhaps--really enjoy the photonic bombardment from our local fusion furnace. Sure, we need it to keep the planet liveable. But I prefer a nice, thick cumulonimbus between me and that massive stellar radiation source. Something soft and fluffy and grey. Sorta like me. Yeah. And if that mass of water vapor deigns to liquify some of its content and bestow it upon the surface below, so much the better. I moved to the Pacific Northwest precisely for the grey, the clouds, the rain. When I awaken to a low overcast, I smile. When I hear the patter of raindrops on the hostas in my yard, I dance. When I see the spruce trees sway in the moisture-laden wind, I sigh contentedly. So go ahead--tell people that the only good weather is warm, dry weather. I know better. And I'll quietly chuckle at you as you pass by, hunched beneath your umbrella, cursing the climate and pining for sunshine. I'd pity you. But I'm having far too much fun simply watching the rain. 4 comments|post comment

The Cat Can Dance [21 Jul 2003|03:13pm] [ mood | optimistic ] [ music | Crazyquilt, "Telling the Beads" ] Two weeks ago I received a lovely little plaque signifying the completion of fifteen years employment within my company. One week ago I was informed that, as our cohorts in England put it, my position was redundant and therefore had been eliminated. Isn't life just full of delightful little ironies? 'Course, I'm not one to sit still and wait for events to overtake me and steamroll me into a furry throw rug. I had anticipated major changes anyway, so I had already been looking for a new position. I promptly threw my job search into high gear and, by the end of the week, had obtained verbal commitments for formal interviews for two plum positions and had drawn a bead on a few more possibilities. Cats always land on their feet, right? Well, I'm doing my best to uphold the ancient adage, at least metaphorically. We'll conveniently gloss over any physical application of the aphorism. 1 comment|post comment

It's a Small World After All [10 Jul 2003|06:45pm] [ mood | bouncy ] [ music | Paul Frees, "Let It Be" (with full blame attaching to Lord Emsworth) ] Come, sing with me! Everybody together on the chorus! "It's a small world after all/It's a small world after all/It's..." Oh, OK--I'll quit. (Now that I've mired that little ditty in your grey matter...heh heh heh...) The song, it has much wisdom, though. This planet used to be so huge that the ape-descended lifeforms on one landmass would never even imagine that similar ape-descended lifeforms existed on another landmass. Now...well, nowadays the global village is beginning to feel more and more like a genuine village. Case in point: Last year, after I had returned from a trip to Rome, a colleague mentioned to me that another colleague thought she had seen me at Heathrow (the mega-airport west of London, England). I promptly e-mailed the second-named colleague and informed her of the two dates on which I had passed through Heathrow en route to Rome and back. Sure 'nuff, she had indeed seen me on my return journey. Lesson: I gotta be on my best behavior nearly everywhere on the planet. That "six degrees" thing? Ha! Count on it being more like two degrees--assuming that your friendsandrelations aren't watching you in real time on a webcam. I kid you not. This past February I was waiting outside Cheeseburger in Paradise in Lahaina (on the island of Maui in Hawai'i) prior to being seated. The restaurant maintains a wonderful webcam that makes regular position changes, including a view of the sidewalk outside. I briefly considered calling my sister on my cellular telephone, having her access the webcam, and waving at her when the camera was pointed my way. Luckily for all concerned, I was too cheap to pay the roaming and long-distance charges. And barely a week after I open this LiveJournal, I'm discovered by several of my friends from the Keenspot forums. I tell you three times: you can run but you can't hide. 3 comments|post comment

Welcome to Seattle-Taco International Airport [07 Jul 2003|06:18pm] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Donald Duck, "Macho Duck" ] In his LiveJournal, rain_luong mused thusly: I shared a bill with Nate Kirby (Jim's roommate--it's a small circle) and a group called the Taco Men, whose name, I have only just figured out, is a play on the word "Tacoman" (someone from Tacoma). I kind of like the idea of all people from Tacoma being referred to as Taco Men. I flew back into Seattle-Tacoma International Airport yesterday. Whilst en route, I noted that, due to space constraints, my baggage claim check indicated that my luggage would be routed to "Seattle/Taco." I think that, from now on, I will refer to Sea-Tac Airport as Seattle-Taco. (Note that Seattle-Taco should not be confused with Maui Tacos, which serves great Hawai'ian-inflected Mexican food. Of course, as a general rule one should never attempt to eat an airport. Dragons can consider themselves exempt from said rule.) Along that same line: A couple of years ago one of my young neices travelled from Kansas to visit the Seattle area. She promptly identified the Space Needle as a water tower. (Hey, if you're less than ten years old and have lived on the American prairie most of your life, a Space Needle-shaped object is unquestionably a water tower.) Thus, I now inform all visitors that the Space Needle is indeed the Seattle municipal water tower. You should hear what I tell 'em the Experience Music Project building is. 5 comments|post comment

Greyscribe Responds to His Spam [03 Jul 2003|10:02am] [ mood | annoyed ] [ music | Heart, "Bad Animals" ] I don't really have the time to respond individually to every piece of spam (uninvited commercial e-mail) that I receive, but I believe that some sort of response is indicated. Therefore... To "Lenna G. Simmons," whose subject line read "Re: our conversation yesterday": Sorry; you must have me confused with some other long-haired grey cat. To "Astrix Manley," whose subject line read "Why don't you like me?": Because you send me spam. Duh! To "Christopher Marchant Wilberforce Adams," whose subject line read "I'm out of here, I have to work in the morning": Too bad you still had time to send me spam. But I gotta admit that I'm jealous of your name. To "Curt Ouellette," whose subject line read "YOUR Gold Visa Card Is Approved": Sorry, "Curt"; I carry only platinum cards. You can keep YOUR Gold Visa card. To "Annelise Sanders," whose subject line read "I cant find that file": Try speling the nam coreckly. To "Wilford Heller," whose subject line read "I just wanted to say Hey": Permit me to introduce you to "Gus Corbin," who sent me spam with the subject line "Hey." The two of you were made for each other. To "Antoine Cabrera," whose subject line read "This should wake you up!": On the contrary, it makes me want to locate a nice beam of sunshine and take a nap. In fact, that sounds like a really good idea. I think I'll go do so right now. 3 comments|post comment

The Maiden Voyage of the S.S. Broadsheet [02 Jul 2003|02:37pm] [ mood | curious ] [ music | The Sound of Silence (really--actual silence) ] So I'm padding around the edge of this huge lake named LiveJournal. It looks fascinating, but I hate to get my fur wet 'cause then I hafta go shampoo it, comb in some conditioner, blow-dry it whilst brushing it just so, and then scrumple it slightly for the perfect devil-may-care look. But then rain_luong (D.C. Simpson, the brilliant creator of Ozy and Millie) launches a LiveJournal, and I feel obligated to read it. Of course, I then feel obligated to comment upon his postings, which obligates me to become a LiveJournal member myself. (I waited as long as I did before creating this LiveJournal because I had to invade Hawai'i last week. Yes, I gave it back. Again. But that's a subject for another entry.) Those few of you who think I might be the same Greyscribe who used to haunt the Keenspot forums are absolutely correct; I am him. Those few of you who think I am the same cat who inadvertantly caused the newsworthy traffic jam in Nantucket last week are mistaken; I've never been to Nantucket. Those few of you who think I am a lizard are just plain weird. post comment

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