Me:



For comparison sakes, most people that read this:

7:40am, running through the checklist before leaving the house...

IBM Laptop? Check.

Employee ID? Check.

Dress shirt? Check.

Dress pants? Check.

Dress shoes? Check.

Fast forward to 8:45am, in the office, making the necessary "how was your holiday" conversations to avoid starting work...

Dress shirt + dress pants + NO BELT = thanks for trying, but really, just go home.

I got fans. Internet fans. Maybe not Internet Nerd Fans, but close. And no, you won't really understand that song unless you're this guy, and if you really were that guy, I hope you didn't click on the link to bring you back to your own blog. Haha.

And my internet fans are always like, "Yo, how come you don't blog no mo'?"

Okay, so they're not ALWAYS like that, and they usually don't use "mo'" instead of "more". But they really should. Their point would be that much clearer if they phrased it that way.

I don't know. Something has happened since I stole a piece of framed paper and escaped from Kingston's tenth prison, if you know what I'm saying.

I was talking about Queen's University.

We good? Right, moving on.

I used to pride myself in writing free-flowing blog posts. Not very cleverly crafted posts, but I compensated for this fact by touching on a wide variety of topics in one post. However, somewhere along the line, I lost the ability to connect thoughts. So I started using dotted lines and allowed my thoughts to be disjointed. I know, sounds like a bandage solution right?

It also smells like one too. What?

Now this has bubbled over into not-MTV's the real world. Because I think I have some amount of quick wit, I like to chime in with a well-timed phrase here and there during a conversation to give it new life, or a change of tempo. Recently, I've bungled the words I want to say, sometimes in a very dyslexic manner and other times just not putting much thought into what I'm saying. I've also struggled to convey my thoughts. And I read somewhere that your thoughts don't exist unless you're able to convey them.

Aw shucks. Turns out that author really wrote the same post I'm attempting to write right now, but ten times better. That's my cue to wrap this baby up and put it under the Christmas tree.

What!?!

I cannot resolve to be a more consistent blogger. Life as I know it is a-changing. I'll be around here when I want. Is blogging dead? Is hip-hop dead? Is my cellphone dead? People have been calling but unable to get through even though the phone is just sitting there in front of me, and yes it is switched on.

Where do we go from here? I have a company trip to Florida coming up this week, I'm sure I'll have somethin' to say soon after that.

I'm not the kinda guy to run to my blog when things go awry at work. I'm also not the kinda guy to run to my blog when things are spectacularly splendid at work. Furthermore, I'm not the kinda guy to run to my blog when I get told I need to blog more.

That's not me, that's not thee, and that's not a bee. That's a Hornet. And the clip is as old as your grandmother, but so what.

I don't really have much to say, much less a point to make. I mean, I could talk about the free lunches, baked goods, gift exchange, a cubicle that doubles as a cubicle because it's situated underneath the only air vent that spits out cold air during winter, how I'm a complete sucker fund-raising drive donation requests from co-workers, how I am both a rockstar and a complete newb at what I do, the unmerciful daily commute to Mississauga (Toronto's cousin we never talk about), how I keep getting non-spam emails from a teacher out in San Diego that claims I'm a parent of a 7th grader (this is non-work related), how I am sharing a cubicle but still manage to forget half the time that there's someone there behind me until I bump into him. All valid blog topics.

But that's not me. That may be work me, but that's not internet me. Internet me is tired now, and is going to watch TV. And by watch TV, I mean go watch my brother beat Zelda: Ocarina of Time, which he does once a year around Christmas time. It's a twisted ritual, but I don't question it. I just sit back and watch him mechanically run through every detail of the game.

Don't call this a comeback.

I had the good fortune and enough spare time to take a leisure pop-music history course last year. I was made aware of people, places and eras that would have generated blank stares in the past. One of the first terms discussed in the course was Tin Pan Alley. The birthplace of what I will grossly generalize as "stuck-up-white-people-music". Skipping over lots of details, lets just say they had the market cornered for quite a while. Releasing such hits as, "Take me out to the ballgame", and this classic, amongst others. Except this version is much better and related to Tin Pan Alley.

I do that often don't I? Deviate from the point (if you think I have one), and then deviate from those deviations.

Thus, I was outraged to read about this. I know you don't like clicking, so here's my one sentence recap:

Tin Pan Alley is now being sold off and turned into skyscrapers! I don't know who dropped the ball on getting this site declared as historic, especially since this place, that place, and here all have that status.

There's nothing really important there. I picked three boring places to emphasize my point. Feel free not to click and take my word for it.

The point is, and people of New York, you should probably drop everything you're doing and read this next sentence carefully, if you really liked Tin Pan Alley that much, you should've put a ring on it.

Uh-huh, I just did go there.

The REAL Point Is: In the event that Tin Pan Alley is brutally gutted and replaced forever by new and cool housing options...

...

...I would totally live there.

That.

They're gonna bring their kids to you. At work.

And I thought, why do we limit this opportunity of providing a glimpse into our daily lives to kids in grade nine? It's not like grade niners are excited to go to work; in fact, that demographic avoids work like the black plague. I could probably find a statistic that says that 70% of grade niners skip one or more classes a day. But who needs to find something when they can just make it up (War in Iraq!)

In light of this, I propose to expand, "take your kids to work day" to, "take all inquiring (some to the point of annoying) minds to work week". Watch how I do this, alliteratively (how is that a word, I was expecting to make more things up to provide an unexpected continuity to this post...bah-humbugs), I will bold and capitalize because apparently, my blogs are confusing, so this should be as clear as crystallized hearts (what?):

Mondays are take your Mom to work.
Tuesdays are take your Tots to work.
Wednesdays are take your Wives to work. Because only husbands work, not wives, especially here in the year 1902...oh what's that? I was only cracking a joke to make this fit an alliteratory (THERE WE GO) pattern?

*dodges tomato thrown by angry mob*

Thursdays are take your, uh, Thursdays are take your Time getting to work day.
Fridays are take your Friends to work day.

(work doesn't know about Saturday's and Sunday's, shhhhh)

Someone once asked very poignantly, "Now why you wanna go and do that love huh, huh, hey why you wanna go and do that, and do that?" And I'ma tell ya. It's real hard to explain to everyone exactly what you do. If I say, "computers", you might just assume that I fix printers or something cool not-so-up-to-my-skill-level. If I start really explaining to you what I do, not that I can because it's supposedly client confidential, you'd do the whole nod-your-head, pretend-to-understand, figure-out-the-best-question-to-ask-that-wont-make-you-look-completely-stupid-but-wont-spur-on-too-much-more-conversation. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about.

However, if you take your moms (they tell your pops), your tots (who tell their friends), your wives (who tell their friends) and your friends (they, uh, return the "favor"), you might have covered all your bases (that belong to us), and you won't ever have to talk about work again!

Let's face it. Talking about work, outside of work, is just not appealing.

(I actually don't mind as much as I appear to be ranting, probably because work is still new to me, and it's ever changing, and I like talking, sometimes)

Tomorrow, I will commence my second week of work as a full-fledged business consultant. And while this was mentioned a few times over the course of my training, one of the skills a consultant must hone early on in his/her career is the ability to answer a question without actually answering the question.

Or, as I'm about to put it, saying nothin' while saying somethin'. Don't get it mixed up with making somethin' out of nothin', or going from nothin' to somethin'. The nothin' and the somethin' occurs at the exact same time.

Moving on.

I am currently in possession of a fancy schmancy dancy clancy key-chain that displays a six-digit code. Did I mention this code changes every 60 seconds? And it can only be used in combination with another set of codes that reside in my brain!

I feel like I am carrying the launch codes to the Canadian nuclear arsenal, you know, the imaginary arsenal that I tell myself Canada is in possession of to get myself to sleep at night.

My blogging skills have sooooo fallen off.