The Cheeseblog

Argos take the Grey Cup. Guess that means Boston Cream doughnut & double double from Timmy’s for breakfast tomorrow.

Hey, I made the bet and I’m sticking to it.

Today is Big Sunday. You can tell because there are bleachers set up on Georgia St. by the Art Gallery so people can sip hot chocolate and watch the Santa Claus Parade. There are helicopters in the sky and many babies in strollers with fruit shaped hats. You can also tell because there are already yahoos ya-hooting about BC LIONS FOOTBALL WOOOO! at 10:30 am. Here’s one:

He didn’t see me but I saw him.

The GATS has been absent. I wonder if he went to Ottawa to watch the football game. Ain’t no bigger screen than live! WOOOOO!!! LIONS! I wonder if anyone would care about this football game if hockey wasn’t on strike. I wonder if That Man on his balcony is cold. He has no shirt on.

Yesterday was Big Saturday because I got the Best Deal Ever and today? It is a minor blip on my Big Day radar.

What? Oh, the shoes? Sure, I’ll tell you about them.

We took the aquabus across the aqua. Pigeons: check. Jettas: check. Cheese festival! Check. Art by Artisans: check. We left Granville Island and walked up to my favourite shoe store but there were only ugly shoes! Loafers and the like. My favourite shoe store has not let me down in over a year. It always has at least one shoe I want but not yesterday. Nosir.

Because I had left saint aardvark at chapters to pick his way through all the candles and aromatherapy and board games to the back of the store where the books might be, I felt free to carry on up the street to Shoe Warehouse, a store which is the opposite of my favourite shoe store. It always lets me down. Stupid. Shoe. Warehouse.

But not yesterday.
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Today I received my first piece of paper work-spam. The letter is addressed to me! And it says,

“To help you transform from an “Administrative Assistant” into a “Knowledge Assistant,” I’m excited to invite you to attend our training…join administrative assistants, receptionists, office managers, executive secretaries and other governmental administrative staff for this exciting event!” (ps, it’s in Edmonton, in February. No THANK you!)

Will I get a free wardrobe and hairdo? I didn’t think so. Without a makeover, you have no excitement and no transformation. All you’re describing here is a baby shower without the presents and crudites.

Newsflash, The Performance Institute: most Administrative Assistants don’t want to invest too much time or energy becoming better at what they do. One thing this kind of work does for some people is illustrate how the people we Assist Administratively are no different, give or take some experience, than anyone else. In turn, their jobs become more attainable, as in me saying, “Hey hey! I do not have to be a god to manage a staff of 50!”

Thus, the step from Administrative Assistant is not to “Other Kind Of ” or “Better!” assistant, but to something more like “Manager” or “Executive Director,” depending.

Also? Please do not concern yourself with the management, administration or like obscurement of poor l’il knowledge. Let it exist unruly and magical and allow those who seek it to find it without impediment.

Oh, and I won’t be attending, so all y’alls’ tax dollars are safe for another day. Least the parts I’m spending.

I saw a German Shepherd dogg (2 Gs? ya think?) today, playing fetch with a pylon. He would carry it for a bit, stopping and staring back at the passers-by who were looking at him funny. “I’ve got a pylon! Have you got a pylon? Because I’ve got a pylon!”

A google image search for “pylon + dog” retrieves: this page, which is just cool.

There are 17 (seventeen) stairs between each level of my apartment building. This RULES!

I do not have OCD.

I am home sick today with the start of a cold. Had to cut short the training for my new volunteer job with Options For Sexual Health (formerly known as Planned Parenthood.) I’m amazed, though, at how much I learned in 1.5 days about the shell I inhabit. For example, that the cervix is a tough little muscle that feels like the end of the nose! Except it would not tingle when I poked it, which my nose does. Not that I tried poking it. My cervix, that is.

Hello Internet!

Watching TV (my own this time), came across a Frontline story called The Persuaders and watched it for its last hour of two. Became fascinated with this guy, Dr. Clotaire Rapaille, a neuroscientist/marketing dude who does elaborate focus groups and research to figure out what our reptilian brains want so that he can advise corporations on the best way of marketing to us. He told a car company to make SUVs bigger because what the reptilian brain wants from an SUV is Dominance.

He conducts focus groups somewhat like counselling sessions, where the lights go out and everyone relaxes and gets into jungle mode and then the lights come on to simulate a brand new day and everyone writes down their fresh, new day thoughts. This kind of brain manipulation is so interesting to me; digging deep into peoples’ brains, their pasts, their dreams. There has to be a way for me to do this for a living instead of doing it while I’m earning my living. I’ve always thought the answer is to become a psychologist but I’m starting to think that I am just not as turned on by helping people solve their problems as I am by just poking around in their brains and figuring out how they work. Shameful confession buried in flippant blog entry. Huzzah!

The best part was when Dr. R explained how he helped a cheese company market to Americans. He said, “In France, the cheese is alive. You don’t put your cheese in the fridge because you wouldn’t put your cat in the fridge. But in America, the cheese is dead. So to market cheese to Americans, it has to be sealed in plastic, which is the coffin, and stored in the fridge, which is the morgue. Once you know this, it is easy to sell a new cheese to Americans.” He even offers a tombstone for American cheese. Damn funny.
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