so, today--this morning, to be exact--i met with the chairman and vice chairman of the company. the conversation with the chairman focused on advertising and our personal lives. the conversation with the vice chairman focused on business. both gave me books to peruse. all three of them are about business. one focuses on how to grow your company--essentially, how to make money. i started thinking about this idea (i certainly have not read the book, yet, an endeavour that will undoubtedly take a large amount of time), when i realized that i am not the type of person who thinks in those terms. i don't know how to grow a business. i don't know how to make money. i only know how to spend money. if i'm given any considerable amount of power in a company, i'll most likely run it into the ground, and if i ever find myself doing the opposite, i'll most likely reverse course just to prove myself in the right. no one likes to be wrong.
recipe #6: 1 part coffee, 1 part semi-skimmed milk, 4 packets of splenda.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
have you?
i have never seen a peacock fly. asking google to locate images of a "flying peacock" produces only eighty-eight dissimilar images, and only one of these images is of an actual flying peacock.
i face the consequences
while i drank recipe #1, i began reading an article on abraham lincoln and his command of oratory. he wrote gorgeously: more poetic than prosaic. i include here a version of the gettysburg address:
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
half-way through recipe #1, i remembered (at the behest of the growing tingle) that coffee forces me to visit the restroom more often than other non-alcoholic beverages. this fact does not bother me, though. i enjoy going to the restroom. the room is quiet, distant, and has dark wood panelling. the environment soothes me. i believe that only on especially rare occasions can a person feel unsettled in a restroom, whether located in new surroundings or not. everyone knows exactly how restrooms work. no one will disturb you while in a stall. they don't know that they have the option. you are hidden from everyone. even cctv is forbidden from entering the sanctuary.
i leave my church, and my caffeine-imposed jitters return. as i walk to my desk, i look far down my leg of the L-shaped office and see a woman, in a transparent, glass-enclosed office giving a presentation while holding a board displaying a graphic of stella artois, one of the company's largest clients. our eyes meet. i wonder what she thought when she saw me.
recipe #2: 4 parts coffee, 1 part skimmed milk, 2 packets of splenda.
"Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation, so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate—we can not consecrate—we can not hallow—this ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us — that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom — and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."
half-way through recipe #1, i remembered (at the behest of the growing tingle) that coffee forces me to visit the restroom more often than other non-alcoholic beverages. this fact does not bother me, though. i enjoy going to the restroom. the room is quiet, distant, and has dark wood panelling. the environment soothes me. i believe that only on especially rare occasions can a person feel unsettled in a restroom, whether located in new surroundings or not. everyone knows exactly how restrooms work. no one will disturb you while in a stall. they don't know that they have the option. you are hidden from everyone. even cctv is forbidden from entering the sanctuary.
i leave my church, and my caffeine-imposed jitters return. as i walk to my desk, i look far down my leg of the L-shaped office and see a woman, in a transparent, glass-enclosed office giving a presentation while holding a board displaying a graphic of stella artois, one of the company's largest clients. our eyes meet. i wonder what she thought when she saw me.
recipe #2: 4 parts coffee, 1 part skimmed milk, 2 packets of splenda.
i get coffee
i'm not sure if i will be eating lunch today. the people i ate lunch with yesterday haven't eaten lunch, and they show no sign of breaking for lunch. the building has a cafeteria, but i have no idea how to maneuver through the area and am quite intimidated by new surroundings. i have decided to replace lunch with coffee, despite that i rarely drink hot coffee, but i am sure that sipping hot coffee will require more time and more concentration that gulping down cold water. i am not a fan of hot tea. believing that i'll be drinking a lot of coffee to quell my appetite, i will try different recipes so as not to bore myself. recipe #1: 3 parts coffee, 2 parts skimmed milk, 2 packets of cane sugar, 1 packet of splenda. as i write, a colleague i ate lunch with yesterday has returned to her desk with a salad. i am more glamorous than she is.
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