My employer, you see, has just moved offices. I found upon arriving to work this morning that my new office was, on cursory glance, far superior to my old one in every respect. It's larger, it has a lovely view of Moreton Bay and there is no dentist on the other side of the wall. In general, in fact, the new offices are far better than the old ones. Life, I said to myself this morning, is truly sweet.
In a sadly short period of time, however, the minty fresh sheen evaporated from this new working space. The first thing which indicated to me that perhaps all was not well in the state of Denmark, as it were, was that my lovely view also includes a primary school, which means that if I stare too long at the bay I look a little dodgy. This, however, was nothing to the dread realisation that hit me like a lead pipe in the hands of a man named "Bubba" at approximately 9:30 this morning. You see, while it is certainly true that I am no longer next door to a dentist who hates me more than he loves life, I am now directly above a fucking gym. This is, apparently, not a problem for anyone else in the office in as much as for some reason the loud duff-duff style "yeah, let's work those abs!" music that drones on in the place doesn't reach any office but mine. This, I discovered, is on account of an open door to a fuse-box which cannot be fucking well closed!!! I've tried pushing, kicking, and alternately praying to every deity I could think of and rocking back and forth in a fetal position whimpering. All to no avail. The only thing I have yet to try is strolling into the gym with shotguns akimbo to explain calmly to the denizens of the establishment in question the benefits of working out in silence. This, clearly, must be my next step.
1Given how often I use this phrase in everyday life, it is perhaps a little surprising that I only just now worked it into my blog.
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13 comments:
The think I love most about your blog Fitz is that it tackles the big issues. Tackle is a bit of an understatement; you take a lead pipe and beat the big issues around the head with it. While most other blogs out there in bloggerspace are content to just bitch and moan about their petty issues or tell us how much milk they have on their cereal or better yet show us pictures of their cereal, you Fitz rise above that.
However, I have noticed a slide in presentation. Your footnote had the same font-size as the main text.
Yes, the broader issue of the existence of a compassionate god in a universe replete with suffering has not been tackled so eloquently in literature since, I submit, Dostoyevsky's Brothers Karamazov. It's nice to be noticed, Geoff.
The font size thing is weird, actually. I pick a smaller size in composition, but for some reason it's always normal-sized when I post lately. Can't seem to fix it, since in html it claims to be smaller, too.
I think the reason why things are going bad for you is that God doesn't like you praying to all those false gods.
Allow me to fellate myself for one moment and let you all know that I am actually reading The Brothers Karamazov.
Man that feels good.
Well Chris, I am going to start reading the Brothers Karamazov and beat you to finishing it and then put it in my reading list on Facebook before you. And remember that I have a lot of time now that I don't come into uni anymore. That ought to defellate your ego a bit.
Punny.
Geoff, why don't you come into uni anymore?
And Andrew, why don't you invest in a pair of earmuffs?
I'm not all that comfortable with this word "defellate"..... does it involve rolling porn footage backwards perhaps? In any case, I'm reasonably sure you can't do it to an ego.
Geoff has finally decided that he can engage in three hour lunches followed by an afternoon nap in the comfort of his own home?
Finally, allow me to remove a rib to add that I've beaten both Chris and Geoff to the end of said book, so narnie narnie woop woop to both of you.
Oh the Humanity.....
they're playing a techno version of Dancing Queen downstairs. As it was, since Mamma Mia played at QPAC I've not been able to listen to Abba without absent mindedly drafting an official declaration of war on Sweden.....
God must be stopped .... and I'm the man to stop him.
Also, Dave, it occurs to me that this is perhaps the biggest problem with Pascal's Wager..... Choosing at random, you're almost certain to hit upon the wrong god, and well, what if the one that actually exists takes it personally?
I wonder if techno ABBA would be the only good techno or the only bad ABBA.
Dave, how do you live with such messianic wrongness coursing through your veins?
Maybe you'll the music here instead Andrew.
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