Is there no end to this madness? All this writing and writing, blah blah blah, it never ends!

On the plus side, I have a great idea for my next LJ project.

On the minus side, I'm really gassy this morning.

And on we go! [ profile] trishalynn wants to know what I'd do if I was given $24 million dollars to spend in one 24-hour period any way I wanted, just as long as the money was given to help other people.


TL,DR version: Killing is bad for the most part. Mostly. So do charity. Not killing. Nope.

Holy Crap

Sep. 26th, 2015 05:53 pm
Hahaha, I see what I did there. Why? Because pictures. This was my day at work on Friday.

Cut for ze beeg peekchurz )
Today, LiveJournal's Writer's Block asks the question, "Do you ever think about changing careers? What do you dream about doing? What prevents you from making the switch?"

And, in a rare bout of blogging and introspection, I'm going to actually answer this question.

I suppose I got lucky - I got a job straight out of college, doing simple clerical stuff in an office. It was temporary, for four months, but hey, four months of pay after college is better than zero months of pay. So I did that, and typed a whole bunch of stuff, and did a decent job, and then eventually was offered a real job that was not temporary in the same office, and I took that, because again, straight out of college, job >>>>> no job.

That was 20 years ago. I have no regrets about staying the same office; I've moved up over the years, and I like what I do. Because of this job I've visited countries I would never have visited before. I've met people from literally every nation on Earth. I've met Presidents and Kings and Heads of Governments. Am I pulling in 7 figures and living a life of luxury? No. But that's not the point or the requirement. I enjoy my job, I have a lot of fun here, and I would not change my choices one bit.

In a dream world, sure, I'd be a world-famous author. But I'm not, and I just write for fun to keep my brain working. It's better that way, mostly because my writing is not actually world-class. Or even town-class. It might not have any class at all, in fact. But I don't care. Right now, I have a job that I love and enjoy, and maybe younger job-hopping people look at me and say I'm old and stagnant, but that's not true at all. I'm just old. ;-)
Yes, it's true, Father Time has once again upped my life counter and mocks me. Bonus points for mocking me in a foreign country. Where I am most definitely not partying down as should be in accordance with such a day.

On the other hand, mmmm, Tea. Actual conversation:

Ismet: Can I get you a drink? Coffee, tea?
Me: I've had too much tea already. I think I will eliminate your country's tea supply before I leave.
Ismet: I don't know... we have a lot of tea here.
Me: Trust me. When I'm through here, this country will be called Urkey.

Happy Cinco de Mayo everyone! and happy birthday to [ profile] thereject!
Enough of that boring work stuff. Let's get to the goods, complete with a shit-ton of pictures. No zebras were humped during the writing of this entry.

In Which Our Hero Finally Stops Working And Goes To A Safari Park For Vacation, Which Is So Awesome That This Cut Tag Cannot Truly Express It. Also, Lots Of Bandwidth-Hogging Pictures. )
This would be the last of the boring work-related entries. Next stop: Fun time!

In Which Our Hero Finishes His Work-Related Functions, Listens To The Radio, And Enjoys Zebra Porn. )
Kenya does have much to offer... but before we get to the really good stuff and pretty pictures, we have to work our way up through the boring parts.

In Which Our Hero Engages In Official Duties, Bores You Silly, Succumbs To Bureaucracy, And Reiterates How Awesome Monkeys Are. )
Finally back from the legendary Dark Continent, and boy are my arms... nah, let's move on.

First off, just to officially get it out of the way, come to Kenya; we got lions. That's right, I had to post this. That's the way these things go.

Or, if you don't want to read, maybe you need to take an energy drink. It'll make you appreciate Kenya more.

Introduction: In Which Our Hero Heads For, And Lands In, Nairobi. He Also Takes Up Your Bandwidth With Large Pictures. )
I'll post a real entry eventually, summarizing my trip in all its inglorious glory (read: tl;dr), but for now I have to ask myself: Why, in the middle of Kenya, can I hear the distinct and unmistakable sounds of a full-fledged bagpipe and drum band? And no, not a small one either. It's loud, and it's marching, and it's not just someone's TV or stereo on too-high volume. Either there are some very very lost Scotsmen nearby, or there's way too much gin in my latest gin and tonic...


Nov. 23rd, 2009 01:48 pm
Current status report: In Kenya. Have seen monkeys. Have not seen lions or tigers. Working on it. Also, not dead. I guess that's good. More later, including pictures. With monkeys.
"Bon Voyajee", as Bugs Bunny would say!

I like travel. Travel is fun. I have to admit, if I won the lottery, I wouldn't be too into buying stuff (except maybe a pimped-out computer every few months), but I would definitely blow about 80% of my winnings on an eternal vacation to everywhere. No question.

Occasionally, something happens at work which involves us travelling to another country to do more work. Obviously this is not really anything special; lots of jobs involve international travel, and much more frequently than my own. So, whatever.

That being said, next week I'm heading off to Qatar for three weeks. Long trip, lots of work, all that but still, what the heck, it's a foreign country that I've never visited before. And I've got time to kill, to tour around and see the sights, and check out somewhere different. It's an adventure, and unlike Mr. Bilbo Baggins, I like adventures. They're exciting. And there's nothing I like better than sharing excitement with others. Except those jerks in Pod Six.

So, to get to the point, if anyone reading this wants a postcard from the fun-filled action-packed Middle Eastern nation of Qatar (that'd be 14 Scrabble points if proper nouns were allowed), send me a message (chaosvizier [at] hotmail, or LJ's message system thingy) with your name and address (your name would be helpful if I only know your user name, after all), and in the words of AOL, "You'll Get Mail!"

And remember: yes you can have a postcard, but...
Today is Sunday.

Today I am at work. I have been here since 10 am. It is now 7:37 pm.

Yesterday, which was Saturday, I was ato wrok from noon to 10:00 pm.

However, all is not horror. Two thrings have made this day better.

First off, we've been drinking wine since about 5 pm. Mmm, Yellowtail. Despite my general disinterest in red wines, after a hard Sunday's worth of work, sure, even wine feels pretty damn good.

Second off, despite the dedious drudgery of my work day, I was amused by [ profile] fizrep's recounting of his considerably more bizarro workday.

Hell, I'll add three and four here.

Thirdly, this guy's last name is Dikheel. Huh huh, dick heel, huh huh.

Fourthy, my spelling is execrable today. Except that I can spell execrable.
Ok. If there were ever a day when I would want to make a whiny emo "woe is me life sux waaah" post, this would be that day, and this would be that post. But I'm going to not do that.

Instead I will say "Today I met George Clooney and Don Cheadle and Joey Cheek, and even though folks were snapping shots of George and Don, I went up to Joey and told him I remembered him during the Olympics and how he was awesome, and it made his day. I'm nice that way."

Also, I will concede to my many female coworkers: George Clooney is a good-looking male human being. I'm hoping my hair grays out the right way. And my face settles. And a whole bunch of other stuff. But besides that, yeah, I look just like him. Uh huh.
I haven't updated here in a long while. I guess I was saving it up for today, when I could buy twenty-four advent calendars and start. I have to buy twenty-four because once I start opening windows, I JUST CAN'T STOP.

More stories follow. Good stories! Embarassing stories! Stories! )
I have a paper cut on the side of my forehead.

I don't even know how that is remotely possible. It's not like I routinely headbutt a ream of A4 out of frustration. Well, maybe sometimes. A4 is of the devil. But still.


Aug. 18th, 2006 10:57 am
Tonight: Snakes On A Plane. The movie that everyone's been talking about. Samuel L. Jackson, some B-minus actors, and a bunch of snakes, all jammed together on a plane. There is no how or why. There is only when and where. Tonight, 7 pm, in a big screen theater in NYC, we will behold M.F. snakes on a M.F. plane.

Tomorrow: Three years ago, the UN office in Baghdad was bombed, killing lots of people, including my ex-boss. I'll admit it- I had wanted to sign up for that mission before, because it sounded really cool at the time. And my boss probably would have put in a good word for me. I always think about that and wonder: What if?
Today a naked man attacked the building.

Well, "attacked" might be too strong a word. More accurately, he entered the gate quickly, and unclothed, shouting about how he loved everyone, and then Security gave him a taste of loving by "escorting" him down a concrete stairwell. And I use "escorting" in the football sense, like when a linebacker "escorts" the guy from the other team into the ground.

Some days, I love this job. Although I wish we were "attacked" by naked women more often.
The Embassy of Iran brought me a big box of Godiva chocolates for the holidays. I declare this third of the Axis of Evil acceptable in my sight.
Sometimes, work has poor form.

Imagine, if you will, an office. Any office will do. And, like most offices, it on occasion needs supplies, such that they might be acquired from a stockroom downstairs. Sometimes the stockroom can send up someone to bring stock to you; other times, it must be done from the office's end, which means sending someone downstairs with a cart, getting the supplies, and coming back upstairs.

I AM HANZ, AND THIS IS FRANZ, AND WE ARE HERE TO PUMP *clap* YOU UP! Usually, this "someone" is me, because I am a stunning example of manliness and testosterone just waiting to be exploited. And if you're laughing at that, then you would be correct in doing so. See this picture? This picture is totally not me. Nonetheless, I usually have nothing better to do, and a little walking and exercise does me well, so I go. Borrow mail cart, go downstairs, get some boxes, come back up, and voila.

So what happens when I'm not there?

The answer, I've discovered, is not "someone else does it". The answer is "we'll wait as long as it takes for him to get back and then make him do it and tell him to rush it for good measure."

Ooooooookay then. Fine, fine. I'll play your game, because I am such a swirling hunk of machismo that this does not faze me. Until I realize that it's still early and there are no mail carts available yet. Hmmmm. Even my incredibly ripped physique is not capable of carrying several full boxes of supplies up to the office. So I ask for someone to help out.

Let's just say that was one of the least positively-received questions I have ever asked, ever. Ever ever. Let's also say that despite that, I did acquire all the necessary materials, because my biggest muscle is not my twenty-five-inch quads, but rather the gray mushy stuff in my skull. It's all in the engineering, baby.

My only justification is that I'll be gone for two weeks after this, and I have a big box of chocolates on my desk and 12 14 17 21 bottles of booze that I most certainly am not sharing with anyone here. Mine! My preciouses!

The Meme Of Fours. Yes, I Am A Tool. Shut Up. )



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