I work for Big Media, y'all. Yes, I got the job, against my every expectation. And I didn't even lie in the interview (well, not hardly at all)!
I'm starting next Wednesday. But until then I have this article I'm supposed to be finishing for Monday, which means that, once again, I will feel compelled to blog every single theory and thought that pops into my head. Gee, where to start? With the description of how I toast bread even though I have no toaster? (It's not in the oven!) With the news of my completely warm 40-minute dog walk this morning despite temperatures of minus ass (-19C)? With praise for Donovan, who I was listening to yesterday?
I've been meaning for some time now to mention that the staff in the Tim Hortons (that's the official spelling -- no apostrophe! Amazing the stuff you know when you're a Canadian copy ed) in the building of M'Lady magazine is a veritable United Nations. There are West Indians, East Indians and Hispanics working there, and not once have I been "tranged" by any one of them. What is tranging? My friend Thor was late to meet me once and he explained that he had been shopping at the No Frills near his house (in crummy Lower Parkdale) and the cashier, a woman named "Trang," was the cause. She sloooowwwly rang in the purchases of the guy in front of him, and then she sloooowwwly rang in Thor's purchases, looking around very spacily the whole time... "I was Tranged," sighed Thor. Now, this is something I really do not get. If I were her I would be having races with myself to see how fast I could ring everything through. Now, I don't want to attach any judgement to tranging, per se -- maybe she comes from one of those lovely, slow-moving East Asian cultures where people still remember the value of family and friends and are not caught up in our Western rat-race mentality. And I'm not saying it's necessarily healthier to do what I do, which is act like I'm racing everybody out of the TTC station when I get off the subway. That being said, being tranged makes me fucking homicidal. So -- the staff of Tim's -- impeccable. Whatever innate temporal values they may have espoused have been sweated out of them by Fordist stopwatch training.
Speaking of the UN, my viewer-tracker informs me I have readers in Nunavut, Andorra and Bangladesh! Shout outs!
More later, undoubtedly...
I'm starting next Wednesday. But until then I have this article I'm supposed to be finishing for Monday, which means that, once again, I will feel compelled to blog every single theory and thought that pops into my head. Gee, where to start? With the description of how I toast bread even though I have no toaster? (It's not in the oven!) With the news of my completely warm 40-minute dog walk this morning despite temperatures of minus ass (-19C)? With praise for Donovan, who I was listening to yesterday?
I've been meaning for some time now to mention that the staff in the Tim Hortons (that's the official spelling -- no apostrophe! Amazing the stuff you know when you're a Canadian copy ed) in the building of M'Lady magazine is a veritable United Nations. There are West Indians, East Indians and Hispanics working there, and not once have I been "tranged" by any one of them. What is tranging? My friend Thor was late to meet me once and he explained that he had been shopping at the No Frills near his house (in crummy Lower Parkdale) and the cashier, a woman named "Trang," was the cause. She sloooowwwly rang in the purchases of the guy in front of him, and then she sloooowwwly rang in Thor's purchases, looking around very spacily the whole time... "I was Tranged," sighed Thor. Now, this is something I really do not get. If I were her I would be having races with myself to see how fast I could ring everything through. Now, I don't want to attach any judgement to tranging, per se -- maybe she comes from one of those lovely, slow-moving East Asian cultures where people still remember the value of family and friends and are not caught up in our Western rat-race mentality. And I'm not saying it's necessarily healthier to do what I do, which is act like I'm racing everybody out of the TTC station when I get off the subway. That being said, being tranged makes me fucking homicidal. So -- the staff of Tim's -- impeccable. Whatever innate temporal values they may have espoused have been sweated out of them by Fordist stopwatch training.
Speaking of the UN, my viewer-tracker informs me I have readers in Nunavut, Andorra and Bangladesh! Shout outs!
More later, undoubtedly...
posted by tongapup at 11:18 a.m.
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