Sheep...regular or decaf?

I'm not a ground-breaking consumer. I confess to following some trends and falling into some lines. One line I fall into regularly is at Starbucks. What can I say? It's a block away from where I work, and the baristas (my own personal Spice Girls) give me what I want, what I really, really want.

However, because it is so close, I have become somewhat paranoid about going so regularly. No, it has nothing to do with health. I know that it's bad for me. But I try to choose well, opting for soy hot chocolates for my hot beverage, and mocha frappucino lights for my cold beverage. I know that these will add up to some sort of collective badness, but in the meantime, I'm enjoying their yummy goodness.

I have another favourite coffee place, one that rewards their customers for their frequent visits. You get a stamp card, fill it up, and they give you a freebie. It's a good system, except that the card illustrates your weakness...you have a visual record of how many times you've caved in to your personal demon/temptation. This could be counter-productive, but most people can't pass up a free...I mean good, thing.

Starbucks doesn't use this gimmick. They know that they've got us hooked. But they do have some sort of gimmick: the customer survey. Twice now, since I've been working at this new job and going to Starbucks daily, I've received an extra-printout on my receipt, a request for me to fill out a customer satisfaction survey. The carrot they dangle is the monthly draw for $1,000. All you have to do is fill out the survey and you're entered.

This seemed like a good deal. In the end, if you're lucky enough, you could win a bunch of cash. And all you have to do is answer a few questions. I was sailing through them until I hit the question: "How many times have you visited a Starbucks in the last month?"

I did the math. It wasn't difficult, but the truth was hard. For the last few months, I've been to the Starbucks, on average, 20 times a month. Now I'm sure that's probably a modest number. I know that my supervisor can go twice in a day (and have a venti non-fat latte...with a straw. I know what the straw is for. Do you?). But still, it was shocking. I couldn't believe that I was that much of a consumer-sheep,

So how bad have they got me hooked?

When I saw that the prize for participating in the survey is $1,000, I immediately thought "that would buy a lot of frappucinos." Someone must save me from myself.

What's in a name?

Since childhood, I have hated my names, first and middle. They are both so common and so boring. My sister had interesting names. My mother had chosen them just so they couldn't be shortened and cheapened. Then The Police came out with that song. And when she went to nursing school, her friends shortened it to Roxy. So much for my mother's fine plan. She was outsmarted by a bunch of drunk nurses dressed as puppies (NOTE: That isn't a reference to any kinky sex thing. Each year's class of "probies", for initiation week or whatever you want to call it, were made to dress up like an animal that starts with a "p". Thank god it wasn't porcupines: someone could have gotten hurt.)

Names fascinate me. I think that they influence a person's character. And I'm also interested to hear what kinds of combinations get put together. For females, Lynn (or a variation thereof) seems to be popular for middle names. I have no idea what it is for males. Anyhow, I'm off track.

I find names interesting. I went to school with a Warren Beatty. Perhaps his parents were film buffs. I always wondered if his parents knew that if he turned out kinda ugly, he would be in for a world of hurt. I also went to school with a Tom Collins (parents=alcoholics). And then there was this one kid whose name was Jeffrey Jeffries. I couldn't get over that. Who in their right might would name their kid like some sort of palindrome (begins and ends the same)? The only answer: really mean, twisted parents.

So when I started the new job, I scanned the phone list to help myself become better acquainted with my co-workers. My eyes immediately landed on "Corky McCorkindale" and thought "seriously, what the hell is that?" I didn't want to believe that anyone could intentionally name their kid something so obnoxious. Immediately, I thought that of kid on that tv show. You know the show. It exploited the actor's condition for ratings AND taught a heart-warming life lesson each week. How uplifting [interrobang]

It has been months since I saw this name on the phone list. He doesn't work in the office. He is an outside sales rep (so he isn't like his tv alter-ego). Finally, the other day, I got the nerve to ask about the name. So I asked “What’s the deal with his name? I hope it’s a nickname.” Both of my co-workers looked a little stunned. Perhaps I had said the unspeakable thing? Perhaps I pointed out that the Emperor’s was really naked. After a pause, someone did answer. Corky is his nickname; his real name is Ian. If I were him, despite the association with that tv show, I’d stick with Corky.

The Lesser Evil

You know what's sad? It's not the iminent disappearance of apostrophes (although that is NOT good news). It's that I'm blogging because I'm avoiding something else. I should be writing articles for that magazine, but I'm not yet motivated (the deadline is next weekend...plenty of time). I've already poked around the internet for the daily news about those lousy celebs. I checked out all the cute puppies and kitties on cuteoverload.com. And I've checked out everyone else's blogs (James must be really sick...I hope that he gets well soon). I have no more excuses for not writing my articles, except that now I'm blogging instead.

This isn't the way it's supposed to be. Blogging (or "blobbing", which is how I keep typing it) should reflect the quirky dynamism of a person's life. Perhaps that's my problem. I hang around engineers all day, who talk nothing but engineerese.

Now there's something I can blog about.

I was stuck in yet another meeting the other day with a room full of engineers. Don't ask me what kind of engineers. I don't know. They're all the same...too occupied with the minutiae of cameras and recording devices. They worry about focus, depth of field, sharpness, brightness, and colour. They argue about spacing and placement and regulations and materials. they argue about timelines. And I drift off, because it's all really fucking boring. This past week, my mind drifted to a strange place.

These engineers come from everywhere, usually places in Europe and Asia. It's a wonder they can understand each other, but I guess that engineerese is universal. The European ones are from countries that end in "~ia". I have no idea which Asian countries are represented. But they're all characters.

While they were arguing about millimetres, I looked around the room, picturing them all as Muppets. Some were easier to picture than others. There's a squat, square man with a heavy accent, bushy curved eyebrows, and a quick sense of humour. There's an annoyingly polite Asian guy ("correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't believe that I am...") who wears huge cargo pants with pockets which are stuffed full of something (he looks kind of sumo-ish, with his heavy, bowed legs). There's a short, balding ornery Scottish guy who's always ready with a scathing judgement and harsh self-criticism (and who cannot pass a box of Timbits). There's the rabbity little Italian, transplanted from a small town in northern BC, who is loud and completely politcally incorrect.

I was mentally remaking them out of foam, fake fur, and googly eyes when the most intense engineer turned his icy focus onto me: "And how are the manuals and carton coming?" This is the moment in which I always get myself into trouble. They lull me into a stupor with all of their techno-talk, and then they abruptly change their focus onto me. It's like getting woken up by someone throwing cold water at you...shocking, confusing, and makes you have to pee a little. At the first of these kinds of meetings, I embarassed myself by lying. It wasn't until I was back at my desk that I realized that I had given a status report ("they're almost done") on something that didn't exist.

Now I'm more careful with my answers.

(See, now this is where I go so wrong. I have no idea how to end this. I'll publish it now and maybe find an ending later.)

Holy Crap

That's not just a comment about the past holiday season. I just checked in and realized how long ago it was that I last blogged. I hadn't realized that it had been so long, but a friend kindly reminded me that it had been a while. And even though I've been too lazy to update my blog, I've been thankful that everyone else has been posting somewhat regularly. I've enjoyed keeping up with your lives, and I realize that it's totally unfair to not keep you updated on mine. Besides, the hijinks and hilarity that I experience every day should not be kept from anyone.

Truthfully, I had been half-heartedly thinking of starting up again. I was falling for the New Year folly of starting things anew. We all know that those things almost never work out. I agree with meladuck: I don't do resolutions (that reminds me...one of the engineers at work today told a really corny joke about computer monitors and New Year's resolutions...it was bad).

But I can't ignore that it's the beginning of the year. This is especially true because we have to do goal-setting for work. I hate that kind of exercise, especially when "your salary increase depends on it". It's like writing a cover letter for a job application. You know what they want to hear, and you give it to them. It's an empty, pointless (except for the $) exercise.

That being said, I have to make some up. I had decided almost immediately that my first goal (even though they have to measurable, etc), was to start the year with a new attitude. But I already gave up on that on the first day everyone was back from Christmas (yes, I said it) holidays. It took one thing to get me back to my same, old miserableness. And what broke me was something that I cannot ignore: food noises.

Every morning, my tech-writing co-worker has yogurt as a mid-morning snack. While the yogurt container is still full, it's fine. But whe's he's finishing it he does the most annoying thing. He's one of those people who do the rapid, little scrapes. Scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape, scrape. What the f**K is wrong with your spoon that you have to scrape the plastic container so much? Is it too big for the individual portion yogurt? Does it have holes? Is gravity defeating both the yogurt and you? What the F**K?

Now, see, this is my blog problem. I get so far, and then I don't know how to neatly tie everything together and sum it up. Maybe I won't. Maybe that's why I stopped blogging. I put too much pressure on myself that all my posts be brilliant, and that put blogger's block on me. I've now decided to make that one of my goals (who cares if it isn't work-related). No more pressure, and no more bloggers block.

Ahhhhhh, the freedom. It's delicious.