Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Oh you evil you....
So, somehow my computer magically moved within the Active Directory to an improper OU. As there are only a select few who have access to do such a thing, I am busy contemplating a painful revenge. "Why?" you ask. It is not that I particularly care where my PC is housed within AD. The problem is that we have a lovely policy geared toward enforcing compliance. This means I am looking at the worst color combination ever. I will get the codes so you can see for yourself.... R128-G55-B155 and R231-G230-B0. Yes, my background image on both screens is now this color combination and I cannot get rid of it. I had someone move me back then used the cmd prompt to update my group policy (I sound like a total geek, huh?), but apparently, the fix must actually be manually forced by someone that is not here right now. I am pretty sure he did it on purpose and must pay the consequences......
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Jack Made Me Do It
I was reading through my beloved's blog posts from this month. He had included a really emotional piece about war and loss. As this is the month of Veteran's Day and the anniversary of my friend's death in Iraq, I am adding two poems:
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973)
©Copyright. The Estate of W. H. Auden, 1976, 1991.All Rights Reserved.
----------------------------------------------------
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
ARMISTICE DAY AT ARLINGTON
THE wind to-day is full of ghosts with ghostly bugles blowing,
Where shadows steal across the world, as silent as the dew.
Where golden youth is yellow dust, by haunted rivers flowing
Through valleys where the crosses grow, as harvest wheat is growing,
And only dead men see the line that passes in review.
The gripping clay once more gives way before the Mighty Mother
Who waits with everlasting arms to guard her sleeping sons.
And lonely mates in silent fields call out to one another
The story of an empty grave, where each has lost a brother,
Who takes the long, long trail at last beyond the rusting guns.
Gently the east wind brought him home to meet the south wind sighing.
Softly the north wind breathes his name that none of us may know.
For only those who fell with him, out in the darkness lying,
Can tell his company or rank, and they are unreplying,
As each dreams on through summer dawns or winter's mantling snow.
Nameless--and yet how gallantly he faced the roaring thunder
Where names were less than star-dust as the crashing steel swept by
To take its endless toll of those the night squad spaded under,
Clod upon clod, beneath the sod that time alone may sunder,
Held where the wind--blown grasses stir beneath an alien sky.
He'll miss, perhaps, the poppy blooms that sway above the clover,
But rose-red wreaths of Arlington bend low above his dreams.
The reveille at dawn is done, the slogging hikes are over,
Where out the friendly lanes of home, a gay and careless rover,
His wild, free spirit seeks the hills and haunts the singing streams.
No more he moves by Meuse or Aisne, some shell-swept river wading,
No marching orders call him from his rough-hewn granite grave.
And when at dusk we hear far off the eerie drum-taps fading,
What hallowed spot holds more than this, with spectral lines parading
Blood of our blood, dust of our dust, "the ashes of our brave''?
There will be tears from watching eyes, where rain and mist are blended,
There will be heartache in the lines where gold-starred mothers wait.
But where the great shells fall no more, what vision is more splendid
Than peace along the once--scarred fields, the last red battle ended,
Peace that he helped to bring again above the twilight gate?
Let valor's minstrel voices sing his fame for future pages,
But when the starless darkness comes and the long silence creeps,
When blossom mists of spring return or winter torrent rages,
Write this above his nameless dust, to last beyond the ages,
"Safe in the Mighty Mother's arms an Unknown Soldier sleeps."
from Great Poems of the World War: Electronic Edition, W. D. Eaton
In loving memory of former CPT Sean Patrick Sims (August 27, 1972 – November 13, 2004
Funeral Blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973)
©Copyright. The Estate of W. H. Auden, 1976, 1991.All Rights Reserved.
----------------------------------------------------
THE UNKNOWN SOLDIER
ARMISTICE DAY AT ARLINGTON
THE wind to-day is full of ghosts with ghostly bugles blowing,
Where shadows steal across the world, as silent as the dew.
Where golden youth is yellow dust, by haunted rivers flowing
Through valleys where the crosses grow, as harvest wheat is growing,
And only dead men see the line that passes in review.
The gripping clay once more gives way before the Mighty Mother
Who waits with everlasting arms to guard her sleeping sons.
And lonely mates in silent fields call out to one another
The story of an empty grave, where each has lost a brother,
Who takes the long, long trail at last beyond the rusting guns.
Gently the east wind brought him home to meet the south wind sighing.
Softly the north wind breathes his name that none of us may know.
For only those who fell with him, out in the darkness lying,
Can tell his company or rank, and they are unreplying,
As each dreams on through summer dawns or winter's mantling snow.
Nameless--and yet how gallantly he faced the roaring thunder
Where names were less than star-dust as the crashing steel swept by
To take its endless toll of those the night squad spaded under,
Clod upon clod, beneath the sod that time alone may sunder,
Held where the wind--blown grasses stir beneath an alien sky.
He'll miss, perhaps, the poppy blooms that sway above the clover,
But rose-red wreaths of Arlington bend low above his dreams.
The reveille at dawn is done, the slogging hikes are over,
Where out the friendly lanes of home, a gay and careless rover,
His wild, free spirit seeks the hills and haunts the singing streams.
No more he moves by Meuse or Aisne, some shell-swept river wading,
No marching orders call him from his rough-hewn granite grave.
And when at dusk we hear far off the eerie drum-taps fading,
What hallowed spot holds more than this, with spectral lines parading
Blood of our blood, dust of our dust, "the ashes of our brave''?
There will be tears from watching eyes, where rain and mist are blended,
There will be heartache in the lines where gold-starred mothers wait.
But where the great shells fall no more, what vision is more splendid
Than peace along the once--scarred fields, the last red battle ended,
Peace that he helped to bring again above the twilight gate?
Let valor's minstrel voices sing his fame for future pages,
But when the starless darkness comes and the long silence creeps,
When blossom mists of spring return or winter torrent rages,
Write this above his nameless dust, to last beyond the ages,
"Safe in the Mighty Mother's arms an Unknown Soldier sleeps."
from Great Poems of the World War: Electronic Edition, W. D. Eaton
In loving memory of former CPT Sean Patrick Sims (August 27, 1972 – November 13, 2004
Monday, November 24, 2008
Do You Laugh or Do You Cry?
My approach on life is really healthy right now. I laugh when others would cry. I had two rather hilarious things happen yesterday... at least I thought they were funny as hell and if you had seen it happen, you would have laughed too. First, I am working out with my trainer. This inevitably involves me balancing precariously on some sort of object while I lift weights and hold my core (read fat tummy) in. While nothing happened while exercising, I decided to sit down on the exercise ball for a second. I was sitting there minding my own business when I suddenly slipped off. Fell smack on my ass. Needless to say, I laughed for a good two minutes. This was soon followed by having my gym bag peed on by a dachshund named Rainier (how appropriate). I think if you can fall on your ass and get peed on without spending the rest of your day hiding from the world, that you are doing well mentally. Yay me!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Marriage... has its limits
I don't understand why people remain in unsuccessful relationships. Yes, marriage involves work, but it should not be corrosive. It should not limit you in terms of your growth as a professional or a person. In fact, your relationship should enhance these things - otherwise get out.
I do not understand why someone would get hitched, then stand by as she was made a virtual prisoner in the relationship: all other friends cut off, living in an untenable housing situation, and unable to work. All of the warning sign are there.
Of course, someone looking in may not understand my marriage. But, I don't understand how one's sense of reality could be so askew as to think I would put up with infidelity or that I would be oblivious to it should it exist. Marriage is not about succumbing to crazy.
I do not understand why someone would get hitched, then stand by as she was made a virtual prisoner in the relationship: all other friends cut off, living in an untenable housing situation, and unable to work. All of the warning sign are there.
Of course, someone looking in may not understand my marriage. But, I don't understand how one's sense of reality could be so askew as to think I would put up with infidelity or that I would be oblivious to it should it exist. Marriage is not about succumbing to crazy.
Oh the insanity!
My nephew is 3 years old and at an important stage in his psycho-social development. He is learning key concepts like right and wrong, actions and consequences, and who he is as an individual. Some people do not make it through this stage, and their lives are a series of failures. I have observed three distinct flavors of this type of crazy:
1. The schemer: Someone that is always looking for the quick and easy and will not put effort into anything. They believe that their next get rich plan will pay off. They never take responsibility for their own failings.
2. The martyr: The victim of life, who finds him or herself making poor choices and ending up in problematic situations. Life happens to them, and again they cannot reflect and take responsibility for the decisions they made. The concept of real consequences is lost on them.
3. The torcher: One who is so full of self-loathing, that s/he has to burn every bridge and sabotage every relationship and good thing that happens to him or her in order 1) to feel in control and 2) to prove their unworthiness.
All three personalities have a warped sense of reality, are unable to adequately self-reflect and grow, and live terrible lives.
I think in part that these personalities are from bad wiring to begin with, but also something going wrong during their ego development at age 3. I have great hopes for my nephew.
1. The schemer: Someone that is always looking for the quick and easy and will not put effort into anything. They believe that their next get rich plan will pay off. They never take responsibility for their own failings.
2. The martyr: The victim of life, who finds him or herself making poor choices and ending up in problematic situations. Life happens to them, and again they cannot reflect and take responsibility for the decisions they made. The concept of real consequences is lost on them.
3. The torcher: One who is so full of self-loathing, that s/he has to burn every bridge and sabotage every relationship and good thing that happens to him or her in order 1) to feel in control and 2) to prove their unworthiness.
All three personalities have a warped sense of reality, are unable to adequately self-reflect and grow, and live terrible lives.
I think in part that these personalities are from bad wiring to begin with, but also something going wrong during their ego development at age 3. I have great hopes for my nephew.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Fridge Wars....
i received this memo today....
I am taking back my offer to clean out one of the refrigerators in the lunchroom on a weekly basis. I have just had two phone calls berating me for doing the good deed today of disposing of food that was obviously well past the time that it could be eaten and/or was not dated. The rules have been posted on the bulletin board in the lunchroom for years. It is each employee’s responsibility to follow the rules and to label and date their food and to remove food and containers on a timely basis.
In the future, I won’t be touching any food in the refrigerator but my own. I will not be cleaning up the messes in the refrigerators left by other persons and disposing of the excess ice cubes and wiping clean the refrigerator surfaces and buying baking soda for the refrigerators . When the refrigerators get packed, dirty, smelly and intolerable, I will have to find an alternative location for my food that I bring on a daily basis.
I am taking back my offer to clean out one of the refrigerators in the lunchroom on a weekly basis. I have just had two phone calls berating me for doing the good deed today of disposing of food that was obviously well past the time that it could be eaten and/or was not dated. The rules have been posted on the bulletin board in the lunchroom for years. It is each employee’s responsibility to follow the rules and to label and date their food and to remove food and containers on a timely basis.
In the future, I won’t be touching any food in the refrigerator but my own. I will not be cleaning up the messes in the refrigerators left by other persons and disposing of the excess ice cubes and wiping clean the refrigerator surfaces and buying baking soda for the refrigerators . When the refrigerators get packed, dirty, smelly and intolerable, I will have to find an alternative location for my food that I bring on a daily basis.
Fighting for Fridge Freshness
I am in the midst of a fight for fridge freshness. Don't ask me how or why. I do not know. All I know is that I am the go to girl for folks interested in fridge freshness. I think I am about to call for a committee on fridge freshness and other related policies. Gowain has taken leadership in keeping one of our three fridges fresh. Every Friday he cleans it out. Now the other two fridges are frightening. Katie has asked that she commandeer the second fridge - leaving only one unmanaged. The fridge of fright it will be called.
Gowain's Fresh Fridge campaign has been very successful. One supporter wrote,
"Gowain's relentless pursuit of fridgidaire freshness has spared many of us from the pitfalls of a potentially putrid pot pie.I don't know if I will ever be comfortable knowing that unchecked odors are able to comingle with my carefully planned and packaged lunch delights.Please empower sir Gowain to remain at the reigns of refrigerator righteousness and keep the foul funk of fridge fermentation from our friends."
So, two down - and then there was one.
Gowain's Fresh Fridge campaign has been very successful. One supporter wrote,
"Gowain's relentless pursuit of fridgidaire freshness has spared many of us from the pitfalls of a potentially putrid pot pie.I don't know if I will ever be comfortable knowing that unchecked odors are able to comingle with my carefully planned and packaged lunch delights.Please empower sir Gowain to remain at the reigns of refrigerator righteousness and keep the foul funk of fridge fermentation from our friends."
So, two down - and then there was one.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Ah simplicity
I enjoy my life, but I missed Halloween. I spent last week at a conference, and therefore with people I like from work. It was nice to get to know people after there are a couple of drinks in them.
Halloween was spent traveling (read: long hours in airports)instead of dressed up and high on sugar. I really missed getting dressed up. Once I got home exhausted, I just did not have the energy to be creative. I attended the party (at my house) as a travel weary me. Not much of a get-up.
I met lots of interesting folks in the Outback bar at the Orlando airport. I even met a couple of rockers who stepped out of 1983 - Night Ranger t-shirt included! It was not a costume, but an ironic lifestyle choice. These two guys were with Eddie Money - one was the keyboard player (his picture is above) the other was the stage manager. The two gentlemen wear a costume all the time. I guess I do too. I wear makeup and dress for work - though I would rather be in a tee and sweats. I will try to think of it as Halloween every day instead of just being bummed that I have to wait a year.
BTW, Robert has herpes!!!!!! Ha Ha!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
