My first real week of work is almost over.

Today was unique at work, in that I did not use my 45-minute lunch break to go down to the parking garage and sleep in my car.

This day-walking is still hard on me.

Brian G. pointed out that I should erase my internet history if I'm going to use my website at work. A good precaution in general, but I'm the only one that uses my computer. Although, I will do it from now on, considering that I may be writing about the antics I must pull to keep myself sane. Or at least, keep up the appearance that I am sane. I already have "Go Crazy" scheduled in my phone organizer for 3:14 pm, a week from next Tuesday.

So, back to the antics.

I was taught a new skill today. I learned how to process "evidence". This is any mail that contains recorded transcripts or CD's or DVD's; any piece of technology with recorded information that cannot be read.

Mostly cassette tapes, interrogations and the like. But there was one piece of evidence that caught my eye...

Client Suffers Fall At Gentlemen's Club; Security Camera Footage On Media File. Burned onto a CD. That will play on my computer.

Is there a reason not to watch this?

No one was looking so I threw it in the disk drive. Heh heh, Big Brother is watching. I didn't have the guts to watch it long enough to see the guy fall. But still, it's the thought that counts.

But all kinds of crazy stuff passes through my hands. When I can, I read it. Court transcripts, interrogations, autopsy reports, and lawsuits.

One letter in particular made my day. It was concerning a fire that damaged some windows or something. This was written by a lawyer, a trained professional, and it read "Thank you for your understanding in this matter and I am sorry for any incontinence this fire has caused you."

At first I laughed at the guy. But then I wondered if he too, was just finding ways to entertain himself as he drudged through the reams of documents that swamped his day. I have a kindred spirit out there. Well, with him and all those food-service guys that habitually urinate in the soup de jour.

I really enjoy the language employed by most insurance underwriters. It's very acrobatic. It leaps, flips, and revolves only to end up in the exact same place it began. Very impressive.

The underlying malice and hidden threats are also very entertaining. But what kills me is that the correspondence always ends on such a friendly note. For example:

Dear sir,

Your failure to reply promptly is terribly inconvenient. Since, under state law, you are required to provide the proper documentation within the allotted time, I am certain that you will comply.

An immediate response will eliminate the need for further legal action.

Very Truly Yours,

Smeagol Law Corp.

PS: The family had a great time at the wedding! Best wishes to the kids!

Huh-larious.

What else, what else...Oh! There was an announcement for a meeting that would be held for anyone interested in joining the company bowling league.

I rarely bowl. When I do, I'm certainly not sober. I have no interest in joining a competitive league. But I certainly demanded to leave work for half an hour to go to the meeting.

It really is the little things in life.

Eh, so now I should be careful about posting at work. Or, as careful as I am about anything.

I know people read this thing. I know that most of my friends have read it. I know that even some of my friend's parents have read it. (Most of them are polite enough not to mention it. Most of them.) No, I've decided I don't mind.

I mean, Cheebus forbid that my friend's parents actually discover that I'm a three-dimensional person and not just the wise-cracking guy that raids their refrigerators and is always involved somehow when their kids get into trouble.

Plus, blogs cannot be entered as evidence in any court of law.

That's not true. Maybe they can. If so, I'm boned. Speaking of being boned...

A Weblog Runs Through It

I was over at Sky's house Tuesday night for his roommate's going-away party. Danny is going to Europe for a month. Not exactly forever, but our excuses for throwing parties as of late have been as thin as the praise for "The Day After Tomorrow".

It was a work night and I was exhausted from not sleeping the night before, so I had taken it easy.

Later, after filling a five-gallon water-cooler with Sex-On-The-Beach, chicken-fighting in the pool, learning how to mix Lemon-Drops, salsa-dancing with Anna in Sky's living room, finishing off the Sex-On-The-Beach, and making plans to spend a weekend in Chicago with Mai, Nunemacher and Kate arrived.

Kate said, "So, I heard you have a website..."

I thought, "I'm boned!" Then I told her where she could find all the stuff I had written about her.

Why not? My only other option would be to run home and delete my archives. But I won't delete my stuff for anybody.

I'll just proceed with Plan B: that even though my thoughts are instantly accessible to anyone with an internet connection, I'll be lost among the throngs, just another face in the crowd; my entries skimmed over and immediately forgotten.

There are worse things, but few more reliable than the fickle attentions of a human being.

Final Thought

I really want a shirt with a picture of Scrooge McDuck on it. Below the picture, I want it to say "Entrepreneur".

Maybe once I get paid.

This post has been provided to you 100% pants-free, in honor of my neglected friend Jaden.