Okay. I have one of those web designer/developer jobs in which I work for a company. Lets call it Company A. Part of my job as web developer working for Company A, (if I do it well) is to work with other companies. Let's put them in an array, and call it Companies(B,C, X, Y, Z). As members of this Companies array require "web services" (ambiguous term, I know), I like to present myself, in as professional manner as is possible, to these companies as a person who can fulfill their needs for web developmet services. It's sort of fun - I have the sense of safety of having a steady job, complemented by the Everything's-Always-Changing excitement of being a freelancer.

But of course, part of this cool job, which has contains the best elements of both employment worlds. is having a resume (note, however, that within Company A, they are called "Employee Profiles." MUCH DIFFERENT!). And that resume is what I've been working on for something like an hour and a half now. Exhausting.

When writing, the line between sounding professional and non-offensive, and retaining the voice that actually Makes You Who You Are is precarious as hell.

By the way, looking back at that cool little array I created at the beginning of this entry, it does seem pretty pointless. However, it is still cool, and if only for that reason, I'm going to keep it there.
posted 3:15 PM | link

I can't remember where exactly I first learned about it, but since I first did, I've tried to make Poetry Daily a part of my daily browsing. In doing so, I think I've developed a relationship with the site. I know the idea isn't all that profound, but it just seems kind of weird, having a relationship with a website. Sometimes, I won't be all that excited about what's been published for the day. But sometimes, there will just be this poem posted there, and I will be sitting at my desk, reading said poem, and for whatever reason, which not necessarily even related to the depth of the poem's subject or the poet's "ingenous" use of language, I feel attached to it. This poem. Whatever it may be. Like it pointed to a pain I forgot was there or filled a void I was unaware of. A poem like this one.

(And okay, I know this poem is like three weeks old. But it's still so good, and my discovery of it felt completely seredipitous.)
posted 12:53 PM | link

You know, it's funny. As much as technology companies want to talk about the concept of "Migration" (i.e., "Migration to Windows 2000," or "Migration to the Unix Platform.") as being this elegant procedure by which you not only upgrade the environment in which you do things, but actually reach a higher level of conciousness, it almost invariably doesn't work that way. For example: because doing it the old-fashioned paper way just wasn't cutting it, I "Migrated" my personal payment system to Pay My Bills. I paid what I thought was a lot of attention to all the directions, taking special care to set e-mail notices for myself that were well in advance of what I thought were the actual due dates. In spite of that, I get this message the other day:

Dear Gregory,

You have a new item in your PayMyBills.com Inbox:

Rent Due Date: 11/07/00

Send Date: 11/01/2000

To schedule or modify this payment, or to change your Reminder settings, go to https://www.paymybills.com/login.

To which I said: "crap." (Rent is due on the 11/01.)

Suddenly, the concept of "Migration" ceased to be this Progression to Enlightenment and started being this completely unglamorous clamoring to catch the plane that was already taxiing toward takeoff.
posted 8:26 AM | link

This is only a test post
posted 9:29 PM | link