Thursday, 26 June 2008
Further to Three Bags Full
In a shocking development this book has been ripped from the large print mystery collection, and moved to general large print. How they allow Lillian Jackson Braun stories to remain in mystery in face of such prejudice against animal sleuths I do not know.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
Further proof that society is going to the dogs sheep
I thought I had found the crappiest title for the week this morning while shelving. I was certain of it. Who in the hell, I thought, would want to take out a book on painting flowers on stones. Why would you write, publish or read a book deovted to the art of florifying rocks? Who has the time? Do they paint them up and encircle the garden? Is someone trying to pimp out a mini stone henge? Come to think of it that last idea sounds attractive, but I digress.
Shelving that book Painting Flowers on Stones I was sure to have plunged to my weekly nadir.
Not so.
Later on this morning, irate typing fuelled by another stint of processing (*PFFFT* I am a special snowflake and I deserve something a bit better than this!) I found a new mystery series. The title I came accross was Three Bags Full : a sheep detective story. OK, I am willing to suspend my disbelief enough to suppose there is a roving shepherd by day, crime fighter by night. But I am not going to go far enough to suppose that a bloody flock of sheep, neurons going ballistic, can bring perps to justice. The note at the back of the book indicated there was also narcotic and alcohol use by the flock. I can only imagine how slow they must have been with those additional impairments. Why anyone wants to read animal detective stories I don't know. The age group these stories appeal to were not reared on Brian Jacques' biannual fluxes. Lord knows what will happen when Jacques' readers hit decrepitude. I comfort myself in the warm knowledge I will probably be dead by then or maybe I too will embrace such novels in my dotage.
It is with trepidation I take my lunch; the quality of titles has been getting worse & I fear what may strike me when I get to the bindery. May the lord have mercy on our souls.
Shelving that book Painting Flowers on Stones I was sure to have plunged to my weekly nadir.
Not so.
Later on this morning, irate typing fuelled by another stint of processing (*PFFFT* I am a special snowflake and I deserve something a bit better than this!) I found a new mystery series. The title I came accross was Three Bags Full : a sheep detective story. OK, I am willing to suspend my disbelief enough to suppose there is a roving shepherd by day, crime fighter by night. But I am not going to go far enough to suppose that a bloody flock of sheep, neurons going ballistic, can bring perps to justice. The note at the back of the book indicated there was also narcotic and alcohol use by the flock. I can only imagine how slow they must have been with those additional impairments. Why anyone wants to read animal detective stories I don't know. The age group these stories appeal to were not reared on Brian Jacques' biannual fluxes. Lord knows what will happen when Jacques' readers hit decrepitude. I comfort myself in the warm knowledge I will probably be dead by then or maybe I too will embrace such novels in my dotage.
It is with trepidation I take my lunch; the quality of titles has been getting worse & I fear what may strike me when I get to the bindery. May the lord have mercy on our souls.
Can we go home now?
Don't worry, I am not skiving off on work time; I am typing this on my break. The subject sums it all up pretty much. I have been in a filthy mood and I am not sure how to improve it. It was going OK until that stupid mutt just about ran me over other night. There was I, crossing Stuart St. For once I was not jaywalking and the green light was urging me on, Go for it! Go for it! But this impatient slag in a late model sedan talking on the cell phone just drove round the corner anyway and nearly hit me. At first I was prepared to launch into martyr phase. 'I wish she had hit me, that would have taught her...' But it woudln't have taught her anything because we are probably looking at a self-entitled soccer mom with special needs. She would have cursed me for making her spend an extra 30 minutes on Saturday trying to get the kids to hose off debris from the wheels. No doubt they are trolls as well, so a lot of screaming would be involved.
Next phase, wishing I had a brick, a baseball bat, anything to smash the car up. That's an impulse I have had a lot lately, I really must find some outlet for my anger & aggression or the dishes are going to get it. The council could sponser a shooting range since a lot of my problems come from working there. I find myself counting down the months, can I resign yet? can I resign yet? Though what the hell I would do otherwise I don't know. Plow into another mire probably, at least one that didn't involve processing and shelving I guess. There are hitherto unchartered horrors in any job I suppose.
Someone I am acquainted with just got a job at McRaes mines, as an admin assisstant. $20 an hour. Maybe that is what we all ought to be doing? I would have to fight back the urge to make Brrm brrm noises all the time though.
Next phase, wishing I had a brick, a baseball bat, anything to smash the car up. That's an impulse I have had a lot lately, I really must find some outlet for my anger & aggression or the dishes are going to get it. The council could sponser a shooting range since a lot of my problems come from working there. I find myself counting down the months, can I resign yet? can I resign yet? Though what the hell I would do otherwise I don't know. Plow into another mire probably, at least one that didn't involve processing and shelving I guess. There are hitherto unchartered horrors in any job I suppose.
Someone I am acquainted with just got a job at McRaes mines, as an admin assisstant. $20 an hour. Maybe that is what we all ought to be doing? I would have to fight back the urge to make Brrm brrm noises all the time though.
Monday, 16 June 2008
The unghhhh report
Such a tumultuous day already, well, if your life is as uneventful as mine it is. From the heart break and despair of realising I had overslept to the elation of realising I had made it to work early I have run the gamut of emotions. Whistle stop highlights included:
-peevishness at the cat screeching at my door
-quiet satisfaction at the intact status of the cat's food bag
-wordless rage at the traffic getting in MY WAY when I was trying to jay walk
-mischeivous glee as I held the lifts every stop I went so I wouldn't end up waiting five minutes to just drop off a trolley
-disappointment in myself upon realising I could have stood around for five minutes while being paid
-abject loneliness when I saw no-one had emailed me
-a few heart-felt sneers at people in magazines; especially the toff pin-ups in Country Life and Tatler
-resolution, because now I have to get back to the grind
Which is all very draining. And yes, this job is pretty cushy as far as jobs go, but I would really prefer some mental engagement from life. Obviously I can't write a novel, too many other, smarter people are doing that, so I just have to focus on my criminal master scheme.
Right, feel the burn as I gulp down the last of my sweet instant coffee (thanks library!) and off with another trolley delivery of joy.
-peevishness at the cat screeching at my door
-quiet satisfaction at the intact status of the cat's food bag
-wordless rage at the traffic getting in MY WAY when I was trying to jay walk
-mischeivous glee as I held the lifts every stop I went so I wouldn't end up waiting five minutes to just drop off a trolley
-disappointment in myself upon realising I could have stood around for five minutes while being paid
-abject loneliness when I saw no-one had emailed me
-a few heart-felt sneers at people in magazines; especially the toff pin-ups in Country Life and Tatler
-resolution, because now I have to get back to the grind
Which is all very draining. And yes, this job is pretty cushy as far as jobs go, but I would really prefer some mental engagement from life. Obviously I can't write a novel, too many other, smarter people are doing that, so I just have to focus on my criminal master scheme.
Right, feel the burn as I gulp down the last of my sweet instant coffee (thanks library!) and off with another trolley delivery of joy.
Sunday, 15 June 2008
Not again...
I was preparing for a bit of a moan about soulseek users, but I think I can't really be bothered. How many times can I be outraged by this entirely predictable behaviour? If I can just let go of the angst (and paranoia I named myself something unspeakable on the program...) Suffice to say I am still looking for Madman in a Basket.
I have had an extremely unproductive Sunday. I walked down the hill, I walked up the hill. I walked along the hill and met an orange cat that was MUCH friendlier than our orange cat. This one was quite eager to please, and I bet it never ravaged its food bag. I acquired some coat hangers, reshuffled the rubbish in my room and thought deep thoughts but acheived nothing. Another weekend gone. Ready to face another week of work? I think not, but that is what we all have to look forward to for the rest of our lives. The question is how to make it amusing? I used to look at people coming throug h lending services and imagine their stories. Now all I do is look forward to breaks and ulimately lunch. And of course slice and dice things in the bindery - so satisfying. I guess now that I have finally been introduced to the joys of withdrawing magazines I can pretend I am on Battlestar Gallactica destroying enemy fighters with every system beep.
I have had an extremely unproductive Sunday. I walked down the hill, I walked up the hill. I walked along the hill and met an orange cat that was MUCH friendlier than our orange cat. This one was quite eager to please, and I bet it never ravaged its food bag. I acquired some coat hangers, reshuffled the rubbish in my room and thought deep thoughts but acheived nothing. Another weekend gone. Ready to face another week of work? I think not, but that is what we all have to look forward to for the rest of our lives. The question is how to make it amusing? I used to look at people coming throug h lending services and imagine their stories. Now all I do is look forward to breaks and ulimately lunch. And of course slice and dice things in the bindery - so satisfying. I guess now that I have finally been introduced to the joys of withdrawing magazines I can pretend I am on Battlestar Gallactica destroying enemy fighters with every system beep.
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