Is WiFi like a fart?

I am mystified by wireless internet. I don't understand all that power just floating around in the air - you'd think it would drive cats crazy (and maybe it does). Well, whatever. I was at work today and having a very hard time getting the wireless to provide a decent signal to my laptop. Sometimes it seemed if someone walked by, shortly thereafter I would get a temporary boost in signal.

WTF?

It wouldn't last, to the point that I eventually resorted to roaming around, computer in hand, looking for a better signal. Pathetic, right?

Well, it seemed like a plausible hypothesis that the wifi signals were being wafted towards my computer by the person walking by. Thusly, I figured wifi must be like a fart - you can waft it around.

Turns out the technologically inclined set me straight with talks of wave lengths and radiation. They  may be right, but I prefer my fart theory.

March Madness

March 3 through March 28th: 234.5 hours spent working.

It is it really like this?

I've been rather grumpy these days. Mostly because life has been more or less like this: wake up, go to work, come home, go to sleep only to wake up the next morning and do it all over again. There is that nauseating fallacy of corporate-speak of "work life balance." Let me tell you that it is pure, unadulterated shit. It is some sort of unattainable nirvana, like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It's fiction. The question begs to be asked: is this what adult life is?

Blame it on Stress

My poor blog has been sadly neglected lately, but I have a good excuse – or do I? I’ve been stressed out. Not just cranky, but questioning my life choices in a big way. I suppose when it comes to life choices, they are always big. But anyway…

I was working on a very stressful project for a stress-inducing client. Half way into the project, I found myself sitting on one of those giant planter boxes that have sprouted all over the city to prevent people driving vehicles into buildings. It was early morning and I was freezing my butt off waiting for the crew to show up so that we could load in for a shoot. I was about a half hour early – I’m always early – so I just sat there, watching business people rush by in their skirts and suits and expensive coats. Women passed by, their shoes making polck-plock sounds on the sidewalk, which vibrated with each subway passing by beneath our feet. People getting out of cabs, delivery trucks maneuvering into loading docks. People with places to go and things to do.

In the midst of the early morning activity, a street sweeper slowly made his way down the sidewalk. He was listening to his iPod and he swept the curb. He wore brown Carhart winter overalls and seemed pretty content with life. At that moment I wanted to be him, to be a street sweeper. It seemed like the ideal job. No stress. Lots of time to think. Yes, for a moment (or two, or threee), I wanted to be him.

Booger Eating Businessman

Not so long ago, I was coming back from a video shoot way downtown. I dragged my tired self to the E train and sat there, in the train, at the end of the line, waiting for it to move. It was past rush hour, but a few suits still straggled in. One middle aged man plopped down across the isle from me.

He loosened his tie and opened the Wall Street Journal. Nothing really remarkable there. Boring, really. I diverted my gaze elsewhere, my eyes drifting out of focus, really not looking at anything in particular, trying to whish the train to move. My thoughts kept getting interrupted by the man's crackling paper - either he is a speed reader or.... I looked over and I don't really think I was prepared to witness what he was up to.

Every minute or so, he let his right hand go of the newspaper, raised it up to his nose and went to work. He really dug around, his nose suddenly twice the size. After removing the offending piece of mucus, he proceeded to put it in his mouth. Naturally, I couldn't stop from staring. This was too gross not to gawk. A few times the bugger got stuck between his teeth, requiring a bit of a prod with this thumb nail.

I got off at my stop and, best I can tell, Mr. Booger Eating Businessman continued to snack all the way home.