Top 10 Reasons Not to get Haircut on Lunch Hour

10. Hair in your sandwich.

9. Hair in your tea.

8. Hair in your keyboard.

7. Hair clogging the laser of your mouse.

6. Hair sweat-stuck to your palms.

5. Hair falling into your shirt into your underwear into your buttcrack.

4. Hair in your eyeball when your boss is talking to you.

3. Um.

2. Actually, it was kind of

1. convenient.

Rooftop Dancing

This guy was dancing on the roof outside my window. I didn't get the camera in time to catch it, so this video doesn't do it justice.



And sadly, I stopped recording just as he noticed me, waved, and did another boogie move. A few minutes later, I tried recording him again. He totally saw me holding up a camera. I wonder if he'll check YouTube later tonight to see if his rooftop dance moves were posted.

How Many Coffee Beans in the Pot?

Today at work, there was a contest to see who could guess how many coffee beans were in this pot that was on display. The winner would receive two free Red Sox tickets.

How freaky is it that someone guessed the exact amount of beans? There were 4732 in the pot, and some fresh-from-Harvard's-MBA-program consultant nailed it. Was this a case of Rainman? Random? Rigged?

The cynic in me wants to say rigged, or wants to suspect that cheating was somehow involved. It's too weird to be random.

The other question is, what poor soul counted them to begin with?

And in case you're wondering, my guess was a couple of thousand beans off the mark. Pffft - not like I wanted to see the Red Sox anyway.

Work Makes Me Ugly

I am back in the office for the first time since December 23. Today was the first day I've gotten out of bed before 9:30 a.m., and last night was the first time I went to sleep before midnight since my vacation began.

I spent most of the last week of that break at home on the couch, in sweatpants, with oily hair, eating pizza.

And yet in comparison, I feel hideous today. I'm nicely dressed: new sweater, new socks, clean hair pulled neatly back. But I long to be back on the couch in my oversized t-shirt, drumming to Guitar Hero.

I guess beauty is a state of mind?

Quote of the day

"In a statement posted on the state's website at 5 a.m., [Governor] Patrick also urged businesses to tell employees not to come to the office today in an effort to avoid the gridlock that gripped the state last time a major storm struck during the afternoon commute."

--Posted by Ben... from the office.

(Hat tip: Co-worker Aaron, who diligently quantifies our misery....)

Paraphrase of the Day

Pam: There was a poop on the front steps this morning.
Me: A poop?
Pam: A human poop.
Me: Did someone clean it up?
Pam: Someone put a napkin over it.

Happy Anniversary to me

As one of my coworkers pointed out, today is my five-year anniversary at work.

Well, five years minus the perks-negating 8-month sabbatical I spent quivering unemployed in the putrid bowels of Providence, Rhode Island.

Five years in spirit!

Frozen treat

I'm currently experiencing the strongest Coffee Coolata ever made. It's already gotten up and walked across my desk several times, and when I stirred it up it gained its own gravitational pull.

I expect to have a black eye and a fat lip by the time I'm done drinking this sucker.

Book Twins

Yesterday on the train, I found myself sitting shoulder to shoulder with a guy who was reading the same book as me. He appeared to be in the first five chapters somewhere; I was around the mid-point of my paperback.

This has never happened before. I hardly ever even see people reading books that I have also read. Sure, I've seen people reading Harry Potter, but I've never been sitting right beside someone reading the exact same book as me.

It made me think about how many books there are out there. And it made me thankful I wasn't commuting during the DaVinci Code craze.

Working For the Man

There is a hilarious website (and equally hilarious book by the writer of 52 Projects) about working for The Man and all the small deaths you die each day as a corporate slave.

I thought this page was especially relevant... Man, I can't wait to retire.

A Break in Routine

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. When I arrived at my train station to take a later train into Boston, the parking lot was full. So I decided to drive a few miles east and take the train from the next closest station.

There were only a few people waiting. Unlike my station, the parking lot at this one is split in half by the tracks. There is a walkway you can climb to cross from one side of the tracks to the other (something I wish my station had... instead, we have to go around and under the tracks).

When my train is about to arrive, an alarm sounds, making a terrible "eh eh eh eh eh" noise. My favorite thing about the other station was that the alarm was different. When the train began approaching as a small dot from the west, the alarm went "bloo blee bloo blee" - far more pleasant.

The Case of the Mysterious Stripper Tickets

Last week someone at work placed into my mailbox a folded brochure for a strip-club in Brockton called "The Foxy Lady." And six complementary passes to a strip-show.

The brochure advertised a half-dozen busty women with names like Candy and Tiny (the latter being, I assume, an ironic twist on her boob-size).

There was no note with these items, no indication of who'd sent them. I would've thought it was junk-mail except that there was no envelope, either.

This was definitely the biggest work mystery since the Case of the Missing NutraGrain Bar!

I brought the tickets to my desk and promptly made an announcement and inquiry to my nearby coworkers in order to prevent any chance of getting caught apparently trying to keep them all for myself.

If the tickets were meant as a joke, only with these nearby people am I chummy enough for that kind of thing, although it didn't seem to fit any of their senses of humor. My new boss averted his eyes when I flashed the brochure. Jason denied being the sender. So did everyone else. That left the Upstairs People.

I emailed Pam, the customer service woman, who knows better than anyone what's up in this place. ("Mice," she had said about the missing NutraGrain Bar, long before I discovered the scraps of chewed foil.) To this case she responded with several possible theories, the most likely being that they were intended as a joke for the Other Ben, the one Upstairs -- not me. Finally Pam concluded with a PS: "Show me them."

I did, and left them with her, adding that she should probably pass them along to Porn Guy. Six passes to a strip-show. It would be his lucky day.

Train Advertisements

This week, all of the boring healthcare ads on the train changed out in favor of ads for... pistachios?

It seems funny that something like pistachios, which have been around and enjoyed for longer than I've been alive, need advertising.

Is the kooky cartoon designed to get kids hooked on pistachios? Or do pistachio growers/distributors just want to say, "Hey, remember pistachios? It's probably been a while since you had them. Maybe you should buy some."

I'd love to see a study of whether or not ads for pistachios increase pistachio consumption.

Roadtrip Daydreams

Today I told myself that I should have taken time off before starting my new job. Work is hectic and I have too much to do, but this morning I found myself making a mental list of places to stop on a hypothetical roadtrip.

I picture going west and north from Boston, up through Wyoming to Yellowstone National Park. Maybe go through St. Louis and see those arches or instead go north and stop in Chicago.

From there, I'd go to Mount St. Helens and then spend a few days in Portland, Oregon to see the places I've only heard about.

Next on the list would be driving straight south along the coast and stopping to see the redwood trees. Of course, then comes a few days in San Francisco, a few days in L.A. and at least a few days in San Diego visiting Trevor.

Then it's west, through Phoenix to Albequerque. After that, my main objective would be getting back home so I wouldn't stop in any particular place for more than a night's rest. I'd swing north through Tennessee because why not see what Graceland's all about? I'd stop and see Kelly in Charlotte, NC. And it would only make sense to pause in New Jersey and see my parents for a few days before driving the final four hours back to Massachusetts.

I'd allot six weeks for the loop. Ahhh... if only.

Bathroom Discourse, Part 5

I was combining a trip to the bathroom with a trip to the water cooler when one of the designers joined me en route. We said hello and walked side by side.

"Are you going to the ladies room?" she asked.

I didn't want to walk into the ladies room together, though I was planning to go there before the water cooler. "No," I said and indicated to my water bottle, "Water."

"Oh good," she said smiling. "I don't like to go to the bathroom when there are people I know in there with me."

I feel the same way, but I didn't tell her. I gave a little laugh, then she went straight and I turned left towards the kitchen.

8:03

I took the 8:03 train this morning instead of the 7:33 because there isn't much happening this week at work.

The 8:03 train is a completely different experience. It's only single level: one of the old beat-up trains. The conductor on the 7:33 is a handsome fit guy. The conductor on the 8:03 is an out-of-shape woman with bad red hair.

The 8:03 crowd isn't well-dressed. There are more backpacks than briefcases. Fewer laptops. And you don't get the sense that any of the ladies in sneakers will be changing into nicer shoes once they reach their destination.

Ear Freckles

I was almost to my stop last week. The train had emptied out enough that I wasn't hip to hip with the person beside me. A man older than my dad walked past me down the aisle and then suddenly his head was back, and it was right next to my face.

"Do you know you have several freckles on the back of your ear?"

In my head, I was all, "Ummm... huh.... whaaa..." but I said, "Yes."

"They appear to be pre-cancerous sun-exposure freckles," he said. "People always forget to put sunscreen on their earlobes. You should have them looked at."

"I have," I said, lying.

How did he even see the back of my ear lobe when he'd been walking towards me? Creepy. I guess the freckles, which I was in fact aware of, are that noticeable.

I like my ear freckles because they are weird. I am not a freckled person. I have a few teeny ones on my arms, one on my knee. Three itsy bitsy faint ones like Orion's belt on my chest. That's about it. But my left ear lobe is almost covered by four large freckles.

"Good," he said, relieved that I was on top of my potential for melanoma. He said, "Keep an eye on them."

"Okay," I said, feeling very invaded.

What is with people? I would never interrogate a stranger about their ear freckles. Although I want to warn this one woman about the damage she's doing to her ears by listening to her iPod so loud that I can hear it from three seats up. But the sound of her music is invasive to me, which sort of opens an invitation to make a comment whereas ear freckles are minding their own business and hidden.

Was he someone who has lost a loved one to skin cancer and is now trying to save others, or was he just a dermatologist trying to drum up business?

Crossword Puzzle Guys

Seven of the last nine commuter mornings, I've boarded the train and sat on the bench seat along the wall, just inside the door. Each morning, I take a seat between two 30-something men in suits. They bookend me, usually doing crossword puzzles from The Metro or clacking keys on their laptops, and I imagine I'm a queen flanked by 9-5 guardians.

The one on my left is balding and has a goatee. The one of my right is good-looking in a generic way. Good-looking enough to be entertainment when I'm bored of reading.

These two men are either friends, or they work together. This morning, the one on my left wordlessly handed The Metro across me so the one on my right could look at it. Right-side guy reviewed left-side guy's work for a minute, then handed it back. All without words.

One day last week, right-side guy was working on his laptop and leaned across me (sigh) to show left-side guy an email he'd drafted. "Does this sound okay?" right-side guy asked. Left-side reviewed, nodded and went back to his crossword.

I can't tell exactly what they are to each other because they never have conversation. And, you'd think that since they are obviously somehow linked, they might scoot over to sit next to each other rather than letting me take the empty space between them.

I paid attention this morning: when they leave the train, they do not wait for each other, they do not speak and they seem to go their separate ways. Are they just train-friends? Have they occupied these seats long enough that they are comfortable asking each other for work and crossword advice?

Commuting Haikus

Sit up straight, wear pearls,
wear headband and nice shoes:
corporate costume



Riding ghetto train
Only one level, blue seats.
Move over, you jerk.



Hate people on train.
Hear about their boring lives...
Get off your damn phone.

Commuter Diary #5

This morning, someone had a heart attack on my commuter train, in a car a few back from where I was sitting.



If I was less stable, this would have freaked me out. Imagine your life ending on your commute to your 9-5. Could there be anything worse that feeling your last minutes were wasted in this way? Or reflecting on how many minutes you've wasted riding the train back and forth?



It made me want to take the train back my stop, go straight to the airport and head to Botswana and spend the rest of my life sleeping in a yurt.