The @-Work Nettwerk
Mundane Tasks and Capitalist Pig-Dog Commands

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copyright 2000 by benjamin wyskida and andrew myatt.

Volume Twenty-Seven:
This Time Your Kids Will Eat It, Or I'll Kill Them.

Today's Golden Cubicle Award--and the next SEVEN Golden Cubicle Awards, as far as I'm concerned, goes to Sarah Loff, of Washington, DC. (And if you never look at recommended web pages from the nettwerk, you ought to look at this one...):
**Hello, all. here's a new look for the nettwerk: http://www.lfw.org/jminc/http://www.atwerk.net/index.html

Instead of a rubber-band ball, I'm going to make a rubber-band planet!!!

We had a meeting at work. The entire staff was in the classroom at the office. Some of the hoodies decided that it would be really funny to tie the door shut with an extension cord and leave. We were stuck in the classroom for a long time and tried many McGuyer-tricks to get out to no avail. Eventually, Kong pulled the door so hard that the handle broke off and we were freed.

The Tally of Decadence for Tuesday, February 8: 1 Mondrian inspired highball glass from which I can sip water and look really cool among arty types while I man the reference desk
4 Pascal Roge CDs of arty French piano music (*2 of them autographed)
2 pieces of my boss's homemade devils food cake with coffee buttercream icing
1 Non-logo compliant postcard--advertising a publication of my esteemed organization --showing a buffed (and I mean BUFFED) stone carver cradling a limestone baluster in his big strong arms

Yesterday I went to the 'medicine cabinet' for some aspirin. I noticed that it also stocked 'industrial strength moisturizer.'

I just designed a web site for a 78-year-old lady who is a blind whistler. I have troubles picturing whistling as a booming industry.

I felt momentarily better about my liberal arts education after I giggled over the ironic phrase "the fate of the hydrocarbons." Then it occurred to me that it might be a perfectly legitimate turn of phrase used in science classes I successfully avoided, and I felt dumb again.

So far this week I have hacked into and crashed yahoo and e-bay.

I spent 8 hours at work today alternately looking at our company's stock price and resting my head on my desk.

I contemplated sexually harassing my assistant today, just because I CAN, but then I remembered that his neck is hairy and he tucks in his sweatshirts.

Why did I admit to my boss that I left the completely empty coffeepot on the burner, creating a workplace fire hazard? Because I never want to be taken seriously here, and I never want to have to deal with all of the confounding freedom and painful decision making that comes from getting a raise. Plus, I want to be praised for the work that I've done specifically for the job I was hired for, not for having common sense and "worldly smarts" necessary for the survival of the species.

I worked on updating my resume yesterday for the first time in 4 years, only to realize that it didn't need much updating.

I am not trying to be off color, because I consider myself a RABID feminist and a raging liberal, but I can9t not laugh at the fact that the Women9s Sports Foundation Athlete of the Year Award is named THE FLO HYMAN TROPHY.

While I really enjoy having my desk right next to a window, it has proven dangerous. The problem with ground floor windows and an office of your own is that you forget that others can actually look into your office and see you doing things such as picking your nose and scratching yourself in that all-too-male way.

We suspended one of my students today and so he went around the corner ofthe building and mooned the class through the window.

Last week I worked 67 hours, only to have my utterly visionless, egregiously genital-less boss decide the report I had been working on was too detailed and strong for our organization to support. But then I got into grad school. :-)

I met a guy on the bus today whose job is "preparation" at the funeral home after someone dies. Suddenly, compared to touching dead people, getting locked in a classroom by a bunch of hoodies and getting mooned just didn't seem too bad anymore.

In a recent survey 94.5% of men admitted to masturbating at work. the other 5.5% admitted they were unemployed.

An e-mail discussion amongst some of the @-Werk Steering Committee Muckety-Mucks, over whether or not the nettwerk was still funny (of course we ALL know that is it...right...right), yielded a couple of thoughts:

I'm not actually sure if I have a sense of humor anymore, but I laughed (with a faint, desperate hysteria) at this sentence from a report for the air force on bash (bird air strike hazard): The native blue joint grass is conducive to being mowed to 10 inches and the geese avoided it as much as possible because it is very stiff and pokes the geese that land on it (Barela 1997).

I'm funny LOOKING. Does that count?

I would like to put forth the observation that WORK IS NOT FUNNY. NOTHING at my job is FUNNY. I've brought in this CD by the pretentious Chicago can't-be-bothered-to-really-rock band June of 44. Here are some song titles: "Cardiac Atlas"; "Recorded Syntax"; "Southeast of Boston"; "Peel Away Velleity". That's how funny my job is!

I have to agree with Sarah. The irony of the working world just isn't funny anymore; it's depressing. I recount a previous entry, yet to be proven otherwise: "job is generally dull." Of course the humor lies in that I accidentally typed "dog" instead of "dull" and I laughed out loud. I suppose it would be in the darkest days that we'd see the brightest light.

Today's Golden Cubicle Award goes to Ms. Elizabeth Botten, of Silver Spring, MD:
**My cut-out card of Michelangelo's "David" has finally fallen off the wall. It's a relief actually. I had hung it, not on purpose mind you, with the penis right at eye level. Every day I would look up from my work, with that stone urethra staring right back at me and think, "I really need to do something about that."**

http://sd.plushie.org/zrnet/plush.htm ALF will never be the same.

For a long time I prevented myself from going to the coffee shop down the street from where I work - no money, no caffeine. One frigid day I gave in: I would splurge on a nice, hot chai. So I walked down to The Roastery, and the most beautiful man asked me if I wanted skim milk or whole. Tall and lanky, with a nicely pierced lower lip, who am I to resist this man and his wares? 5 minutes of heaven, for the bargain price of $3 a day. It's never easy when two addictions fuel each other; "Hottie, flirting with me and selling me delicious beverages - whatever will I do?" I make my trips worth it, too: I go during off-peak hours, so I can get maximum barrista attention.

Note from the ubermensch that's an inside joke most people on the nettwerk won't even understand: I recommend the hot chai.

Yesterday I made my co-worker laugh while she was on an important business call by placing her animal crackers in compromising positions.

Since even the cynical/ironic stance on Valentine's Day has been packaged and marketed back to us, there's really nothing to do but ignore the whole business. Inspirational quote: "It's not the side effects of the cocaine / I'm thinking that it must be love." - David Bowie, 'Station to Station' I'd also like to say that if anyone writes anything rude about Courtney Love, I'm going to track them down and kick them.

Spinning around on your desk chair the morning after a drunken Valentine's is a bad, bad idea.

Yesterday was Valentine's day. I was in the break room drinking a coke (which I hate, but it's free) and eating stale birthday cake (ditto, plus I'm supposedly vegan. I suffered for it later but did it again this morning.) and I saw a big sign that said "Happy V.D.". This was not a joke.

Today while looking through an artist's papers, in a folder titled "Subject Matter/ Miscellaneous," I unwittingly found a photograph of two elephants about to mate. They drew a big crowd.

copyright benjamin wyskida and andy myatt, 2000.