Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label work. Show all posts
Thursday, January 8, 2009
ONE THING I'LL NEVER UNDERSTAND ABOUT MY JOB
Whenever there's a power outage, people call me in the newsroom giving me a ration of grief - as if I'm the one who knocked the tree onto their power lines. (dennismiller) What am I, Nikola Tesla? (/dennismiller)
Thursday, December 4, 2008
A SWELL FIRST WEEK BACK AT WORK
Tuesday: Noodle nightmare at 1:30, insisted on staying up to see me off to work at 3:00.
Wednesday: Noodle nightmare at 1:00.
Thursday: Beast urpage at 2:30.
My new co-workers must be wondering what they've gotten into with this baggy-eyed thing that comes schlepping into the station to do the news.
Wednesday: Noodle nightmare at 1:00.
Thursday: Beast urpage at 2:30.
My new co-workers must be wondering what they've gotten into with this baggy-eyed thing that comes schlepping into the station to do the news.
Monday, December 1, 2008
RECALIBRATING THE CLOCK
At this time tomorrow morning, I'll be at work. Not on the air just yet, but getting the hang of things over at the new place. My first official on-air day is December 8
Which means I will have been up for around two hours already. So if any of the next day's posts are a bit off coherence-wise, I hope you'll understand that sometimes glarble forf penguin kershlump.
Hooray for once again being gainfully employed, but a month of putting Noodle on the bus while me and Beast waved her goodbye was tremendous wonderfulness, and now Beast knows a panoply of rock-star moves thanks to being home with me and accidentally switching on VH1 Classic while a Who concert was playing. My son is to pancake syrup and ketchup what Keith Moon was to alcohol, but aside from that his tastes are running more toward the keyboard-player end of things. Which is a relief, because when he gets to be my age and older I'm thinking you want to be living more like Tony Banks and less like dear Keith, who never did get to be my age.
And it looks like Beast wants to be back hanging with his pals at nursery school anyway. Dude's got a girlfriend. I can tell she's his girlfriend because a couple weeks ago when I took him to a special music day back at the nursery school, he glared at me when I called him Sweetness as I am wont to do on occasion because...
Which means I will have been up for around two hours already. So if any of the next day's posts are a bit off coherence-wise, I hope you'll understand that sometimes glarble forf penguin kershlump.
Hooray for once again being gainfully employed, but a month of putting Noodle on the bus while me and Beast waved her goodbye was tremendous wonderfulness, and now Beast knows a panoply of rock-star moves thanks to being home with me and accidentally switching on VH1 Classic while a Who concert was playing. My son is to pancake syrup and ketchup what Keith Moon was to alcohol, but aside from that his tastes are running more toward the keyboard-player end of things. Which is a relief, because when he gets to be my age and older I'm thinking you want to be living more like Tony Banks and less like dear Keith, who never did get to be my age.
And it looks like Beast wants to be back hanging with his pals at nursery school anyway. Dude's got a girlfriend. I can tell she's his girlfriend because a couple weeks ago when I took him to a special music day back at the nursery school, he glared at me when I called him Sweetness as I am wont to do on occasion because...
...if you're going to use a sports figure for a nickname you could do a whole lot worse, but Beast has yet to discover the glories of the NFL.
It's a shame John Facenda never did lullabies.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Thursday, January 31, 2008
BEST SLEEP AID EVER - THE CONFERENCE CALL
All week there have been workers in the crawl space, workers on the roof, in the garage, making one hellacious racket, and thus the occasional naps on which daddy relies have been all but impossible what with all that hammering and drilling.
Until today. In my inbox was a note from the boss asking me to listen in on a conference call at noon. Which I could do from home easily enough, so I grabbed my notepad and pen and situated myself nicely on the couch under Beast's blanket with the phone, called the 800 number promptly at 11:59, then listened to the on-hold lite jazz as I waited patiently for the conference call to begin. Waiting...patiently...waiting...patiently...ooh, pretty music...
RUT-ROH.
A flop-sweating cringe came over me the likes of which I hadn't experienced in more than 20 years, when I zoned out in a college Latin class only to come around at the very moment the professor asked me what a noun was and I hommina-hommina-hommina'd for what seemed an eternity before personplaceorthing fell out of my mouth, along with a little bead of drool that had been accumulating in the right corner of my mouth during my doze. (Even then, I could bring the sexy.)
Eventually I fumbled around and found the notepad on which I had scribbled a few things, and so if anybody asks there's evidence that I was lucid...okay, conscious at least...and taking notes for at least part of the call. Damned if I remember doing it, though.
So. Isn't a key idea behind the concept of a conference call that the participants should be awake for it? And if so, does it not hugely defeat the purpose to keep said participants waiting to being the call while under the spell of music that would make Kenny G go scanning the radio dial for some Sabbath, dude?
Anyway, tomorrow night Her Awesomeness and I are going to try reading bedtime stories to the kids via conference call.
Until today. In my inbox was a note from the boss asking me to listen in on a conference call at noon. Which I could do from home easily enough, so I grabbed my notepad and pen and situated myself nicely on the couch under Beast's blanket with the phone, called the 800 number promptly at 11:59, then listened to the on-hold lite jazz as I waited patiently for the conference call to begin. Waiting...patiently...waiting...patiently...ooh, pretty music...
Thank you for participating in today's conference call. You may disconnect at any time.
RUT-ROH.
A flop-sweating cringe came over me the likes of which I hadn't experienced in more than 20 years, when I zoned out in a college Latin class only to come around at the very moment the professor asked me what a noun was and I hommina-hommina-hommina'd for what seemed an eternity before personplaceorthing fell out of my mouth, along with a little bead of drool that had been accumulating in the right corner of my mouth during my doze. (Even then, I could bring the sexy.)
Eventually I fumbled around and found the notepad on which I had scribbled a few things, and so if anybody asks there's evidence that I was lucid...okay, conscious at least...and taking notes for at least part of the call. Damned if I remember doing it, though.
So. Isn't a key idea behind the concept of a conference call that the participants should be awake for it? And if so, does it not hugely defeat the purpose to keep said participants waiting to being the call while under the spell of music that would make Kenny G go scanning the radio dial for some Sabbath, dude?
Anyway, tomorrow night Her Awesomeness and I are going to try reading bedtime stories to the kids via conference call.
(beep) Please continue to wait patiently while Mommy turns the page...(beep)...
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