one, two, three...a million!

Tonight was the dreaded annual inventory - the day where we count everything in the big blue box.Yes, it really is as boring as it sounds.

It makes me think back to when I was younger and would make up silly little games like counting contests with my sister. We'd count "one, two, three...a million!" only it dounded more like "onetwothreeabillion!" because we thought it was a race to see who could count the fastest. Stupid children. Of course, our counts were never accurate, because really, at six, what do you have a billion of? On the same token, at 24, what do you have a billion of? If only the answer was 'dollar bills' I would be one happy man.

Anyway, back to the counts. I was assigned to blinds and cushions, so before inventory started, i spent a few hours preparing my area - making sure stray products were returned to their homes and everything was in place. I even went as far as to colour code the bins full of throw cushions, since each colour has a separate code and needed to be counted separately. When we finally got to the counting part of the evening, I realized that I would be doing cushions and kitchen & dining textiles. Crap! All that colour coding for nothing! Well, whatever helps my fellow counters...

So, for the actual counting, the process is this: each counter gets paired up with someone from the temp agency. the temp's responsibility is to record all the counts, but not participate in the counting. Well, lucky me! My temp loved counting, and would re-count everything taht I had just counted, like he didn't believe me or something. I wanted to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to stop, but I had to be polite. Why? The usual sarcastic me would have made some cutting offhand comment or spoken tersely to him, but unfortunately, by luck of the draw, my temp turned out to be a friend of my dad's. *sigh* Mind you, I barely know the guy, but how do you be mean to someone like that?

Anyway, thankfully the worst is over. Now I have less than four hours of sleep before I have to wake up and drive back in to the office. I really should have just camped out overnight in my office. While Mo and I had initially planned to do so (as evidenced by her purse full of CDs to keep up entertained throughout the wee hours of the morning), our senses kicked in and we decided to head to our respective homes and attempt to get some sleep instead.

A wise move indeed. Although I really should be in bed rather than in front of my computer writing this blog entry.

freedom

After two weeks of searching for an 'on' button for my intern, it's finally over! We finally said goodbye this afternoon. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Today's escapades included a display of belly-button-lint-picking (i'm so not kidding!), but I didn't care. All I cared about was that it was his last day.

Now comes the task of writing a reference letter... *sigh*

those things'll kill ya

Attended the premiere screening of Coffee & Cigarettes with two friends. With an impressive cast that includes the likes of Bill Murray, Cate Blanchett, Jack and Meg Black, Roberto Benigni, Steve Buscemi, Iggy Pop, and Tom Waits, among others, the movie didn't disaapoint. Shot entirely in black and white over the course of two years, the movie portrayed several vignettes in a variety of different coffee shops. Keep an eye out for the checkered pattern that manifests itself in various forms throughout the movie.

I loved Bill Murray's vignette, Delirium, as well as Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan's, Cousins?, but my favorite was the last one.

champagne
Two wrinkled older men on a coffee break banter about Paris in the 1920s and the music of Mahler. One wants to pretend that the coffee they are sipping is champagne, in order to celebrate life - the way that elegant people do. Dreams and pragmatism, the darkness of a brick-faced back room, the swirling of cigarette smoke in the air, the comfortable banter of two friends and colleagues grown accustomed to each other over years of coffee breaks together...beauty in simplicity.

when i grow up...i wanna have a perpetual hangover

I've been reading Po Bronson's "What Should I Do With My Life?" recently. I actually bought it several months ago, after reading an excerpt in Fast Company. However, it's been sitting in the bookshelf beside my bed since I picked it up. Somehow it seems more okay to read self-help stuff in magazines...there's a little bit of stigma attached (most likely self-imposed) to going to the bookstore, shelling out heard-earned cash to buy the book, and then reading it in its entirety. Reading a self-help book is like an admission that I need professional help beyond what Oprah and Dr. Phil can offer me via the airwaves. (And perhaps I do, but that's a discussion for another day.)

Nonetheless, I decided to dig in this weekend, and am surprisingly enjoying it. It's a collection of true stotries - accounts of 'people who answered the Ultimate Question.' (As quoted from the book jacket.) So far I've read about people who've changed paths, re-evaluated career choices, switched perspectives on their jobs, etc. It's all very inspirational and such, but so far, I'm not getting any answers as to what I should be doing with my life.

Dammit Po! I spent $22.95 on your book (not including taxes)! I want answers! I deserve answers!

On a slightly different note, my intern came in this morning and asked me if it was possible for a hangover to last two days. (!!!)

First of all, I'm totally the wrong person to ask. One Corona and I'm as red as a lobster. I draw the line when too much alcohol interferes with my complexion...gag!

Secondly, could he try any harder to impress me?!?

"Dude, I'm still, like, totally buzzed, and there's, like, a serious ringing in my ears, so I'm just gonna lay my head down on the table for a bit, okay? Wake me if you need me to do, like, something important, okay?"

I debated whether or not to take a more active, tough-love/coaching/mentoring role with him, but have decided that he's beyond my grasp...or patience level. I'm sure someone, somewhere will benefit from employing him in the distant future. For now, I'm simply going to make use of him somewhat by making him my laminating bitch.

Four more days...and counting...

talar du svenska?

Phase two of my induction into the big blue and yellow cult has begun.

On a whim, I decided to learn how to speak Swedish. Seeing as how I'm already being forced to learn all the Swedish furniture names, I figured that I should at least learn how to pronounce the properly. BILLY, IVAR, and STEN are the easy ones. Once you get to the ones that are multisyllabic and have silly little accents above the vowels, things start to get a little more tricky. (Those darned umlauts!)

I went to the public library yesterday to get one of those book + cassette combos and luckily, they had one on the shelf. Brought it home and popped in the tape, and it's got some pretty funked out feedback happening. Probably from the tape being played over-and-over again. Apparently, droves of people before me have suffered the urge to pick up this whacked-out sing-song language. I wonder if the tape gets clearer as the lessons progress - a sign that my predecessors lost interest. I'm tempted to drop out myself.

Let's see how long this lasts...