Charlie is on the move again. Vietcong activity has been at an all time low on the third floor of Discovery building 3 at 155 West Street.
It's quiet. Too quiet.
The evenings are taxing my endurace and my sanity. 3pm to 12am of shortstaffed project madness. The days are taxing my lungs. No work yet, development system on order and due to arrive and time before Christmas (2011) and a "server" neglected by a man who was apparently a raving queen and a bitch who was overworked and quarantined into resigning.
I've begun fantasizing the fake trees are part of a jungle back in Nam, and seeing fumes of dissipating napalm wafting from the flourescent lights post scorth bombing. And empty coffee cups, expended munitions. Behind every plastic tree - a little yellow person with a shitty russian made rifle waiting to pounce, and upon ever astroturf patch of fake grass is a memorial to developers that didn't survive the code neopolitana spaghetti that is Discovery Invest systems. Some interior decorator was obviously hired on behalf of Discovery to make the place look "Green" and "Healthy," and to do everything possible to disguise the obscene amounts of money the insurance industry in general milks off of people fear of losing things that don't really matter.
And the sauce on their spaghetti code is lumpy with bad XML, and there are no fucking meatballs.
But I've started mixing metaphors. My English assessment invigilator would spank me. Hopefully. She had kinky librarian all over her. Unfortunately I was too young to get any of me all over her. Time to smoke again.
Disclaimer: The views in the blog and posts are my own, and do not necessarily represent and opinions shared by Discovery Health or Entelect Software, or any affiliated entitys. Only I am awesome enough to come up with this stuff.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Downtime
They call it “downtime.” I’ve arrived at Discovery in the evil empire that is Sandton HQ a full week before they’re ready for me to be here, and anyone in a position of authority over me here says “enjoy it; you’re gonna have work cut out for you next week.” Then one of the guys said “just update your blog or something.”
I forgot I even had a blog. I’m ashamed of both the blogs I setup many years ago when I was still apologizing for my arrogance and naturally high self-confidence. They’re degradingly apologetic and confrontational – something like “I don’t care, I’m clever, fuck you for not liking me even though I don’t like me either.” And I can’t fucking delete them. I guess my insecure adolescence will just have to live on infamy of memoir upon the net at large.
So I’m making a new one. This is intended to be my personal blog. One of those overly personal, to quote Ed Norton with a simile hybridized to an adjective “strangers with this level of honesty make me go a big rubbery one” projection of extroversion to the net at large. I can’t remember which Jew (Mila and Kira keep getting muddled in my head) praised me for posting “interesting stuff” on fb, so I think I’m going to formalize more of the same. It’s only fair to use my newfound abundant confidence for constructive purposes and important questions.
The name “Sera Ex Deus” is a spanish/latin bastard device of drama intended to sound pompous and sophisticated. “Que Sera” is one of my favourite vernacular phrases based on a song written for Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Man Who Knew Too Much.” It’s Spanish for “Whatever (it) will be.”
I trust anyone reading this is familiar with the Latin device “Deus Ex Machina” (God out of the machine). In synopsis, it means an outrageous freak plot occurrence that permits a story to progress, but is highly unlikely. This is commonly seen in soap operas as “amnesia” or the like. It’s origin is from a crane and harness like machine used to make an actor “levitate” whilst acting the part of a god in theatrical productions, and became synonymous with “divine intervention.”
I intend the bastardization to imply its trans-literal equivalent, which directly versed reads: “It will be out of a god.” It’s my way of making fun of myself and how serious I take things sometimes and to my own detriment. That includes the obvious errors in syntax. At the same time, I'm also giving the finger to anyone who thinks the way I’m conducting myself in recent days in a sign of an inflated ego. I’ve been told I’m “in the middle of a god-complex,” I “think I’m god,” and have been called a few variations of “arrogant dick” and “insensitive.” I don't even need a thesaurus anymore to recognize it's the same attempt at an insult being recycled. The most direct accusation came from someone so impressed by how I handled the resulting criticism that we’ve become good friends now. It’s a common pattern in my life to make the best of friends with people who start out hating me.
Truth is, from my perspective, I have no ego at all. I don’t consider myself superior to anyone. I find more often than not its people who are looking for reasons to feel inferior who object to my blatant lack of giving a damn what anyone thinks of me and implicitly attracting attention to that. I guess my personality has always been wrapped in sandpaper. I can't help but polish societies rough edges - many a time they shine beautifully once I leave. I spent a year limbo meets purgatory as an unemployed loser, and struggling day to day while I beat myself up about every possible flaw I could find with myself as a human being. I finally know who I am, and I like who I am, and apparently society is finally ready to appreciate that. Getting here has been a bitch of a climb, but the air is crisper the higher I get. And as I told Mr Huntingford “I believe with all my heart I have important shit to do, and I’m only just getting started.”
This is Sera Ex Deus.
Wear a cup.
I forgot I even had a blog. I’m ashamed of both the blogs I setup many years ago when I was still apologizing for my arrogance and naturally high self-confidence. They’re degradingly apologetic and confrontational – something like “I don’t care, I’m clever, fuck you for not liking me even though I don’t like me either.” And I can’t fucking delete them. I guess my insecure adolescence will just have to live on infamy of memoir upon the net at large.
So I’m making a new one. This is intended to be my personal blog. One of those overly personal, to quote Ed Norton with a simile hybridized to an adjective “strangers with this level of honesty make me go a big rubbery one” projection of extroversion to the net at large. I can’t remember which Jew (Mila and Kira keep getting muddled in my head) praised me for posting “interesting stuff” on fb, so I think I’m going to formalize more of the same. It’s only fair to use my newfound abundant confidence for constructive purposes and important questions.
The name “Sera Ex Deus” is a spanish/latin bastard device of drama intended to sound pompous and sophisticated. “Que Sera” is one of my favourite vernacular phrases based on a song written for Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Man Who Knew Too Much.” It’s Spanish for “Whatever (it) will be.”
I trust anyone reading this is familiar with the Latin device “Deus Ex Machina” (God out of the machine). In synopsis, it means an outrageous freak plot occurrence that permits a story to progress, but is highly unlikely. This is commonly seen in soap operas as “amnesia” or the like. It’s origin is from a crane and harness like machine used to make an actor “levitate” whilst acting the part of a god in theatrical productions, and became synonymous with “divine intervention.”
I intend the bastardization to imply its trans-literal equivalent, which directly versed reads: “It will be out of a god.” It’s my way of making fun of myself and how serious I take things sometimes and to my own detriment. That includes the obvious errors in syntax. At the same time, I'm also giving the finger to anyone who thinks the way I’m conducting myself in recent days in a sign of an inflated ego. I’ve been told I’m “in the middle of a god-complex,” I “think I’m god,” and have been called a few variations of “arrogant dick” and “insensitive.” I don't even need a thesaurus anymore to recognize it's the same attempt at an insult being recycled. The most direct accusation came from someone so impressed by how I handled the resulting criticism that we’ve become good friends now. It’s a common pattern in my life to make the best of friends with people who start out hating me.
Truth is, from my perspective, I have no ego at all. I don’t consider myself superior to anyone. I find more often than not its people who are looking for reasons to feel inferior who object to my blatant lack of giving a damn what anyone thinks of me and implicitly attracting attention to that. I guess my personality has always been wrapped in sandpaper. I can't help but polish societies rough edges - many a time they shine beautifully once I leave. I spent a year limbo meets purgatory as an unemployed loser, and struggling day to day while I beat myself up about every possible flaw I could find with myself as a human being. I finally know who I am, and I like who I am, and apparently society is finally ready to appreciate that. Getting here has been a bitch of a climb, but the air is crisper the higher I get. And as I told Mr Huntingford “I believe with all my heart I have important shit to do, and I’m only just getting started.”
This is Sera Ex Deus.
Wear a cup.
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