In preparation for entering the fray that is Spring '12, I logged in to all my official accounts to print out class lists, classroom assignments and other assorted crap. I had actually gotten it all via e-mail last week, but I could not be arsed to actually do anything with it until this morning.
Once I went through the rigamarole, I was greeted, not with my normal mail screen, but with a new G-mail account. A perfectly clean account, with no previous e-mails in it. Also missing were all contact lists, sent mails, calendar entries and everything else the previous account held.
Fuck a goddamned duck.
A new mail popped up, welcoming me to the NEW uni G-mail system! Hooray! The mail literally said, "Isn't this a lovely way to start off the new year?"
NO, you dozy, goat-felching, Ass-To-Mouth-receiving fuckmunches! NOOOOOO!
I called IT support. The tech sounded peevish. "You think you stodgy people would appreciate what we've done and what a cool surprise it was!" he grumped. Whatever, Smedley. I need to port over all my old stuff, I need my lists and contacts, and I really need them before battle-entry tomorrow morning. I'm not entering a hot LZ unarmed.
"Oh, we're going to a whole training series in mid-February. We will explain everything then!"
That's six weeks away, you numb bastard. Everything starts tomorrow. If I'd had some warning, I could have printed everything, or at the least, saved it to flash drive.
Who thought it was a good idea to completely scrub the old system and replace it with a new one less than 24 hours before opening bell -- with no warning?
Why do we drive on parkways and park on driveways?
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
Crushed, again.
In the process of gathering up and carefully storing all of our assorted Christmas crap, I ran across the box of mismatched and orphaned Christmas cards.
Every year, I buy three boxes of Christmas cards -- a religiously-themed box, a vulgar/funny box and a non-denominational box. Inevitably, there are leftovers, and just about every third year I can get away with not purchasing cards. For convenience, all the cards are stacked in a shoebox -- usually with a few stray cards and envelopes from people that need to be added to next years' card list.
At the bottom of the box was a colorful card with a Bethlehem scene on it -- sort of blocky and whimsical -- and covered in scribbles of dreadful handwriting. Three sides of the card were filled with bad puns, academic gossip and random, stream-of-consciousness goofiness.
William's card. From last Christmas.
I knelt there on the floor. First I teared up, and then I just flat-out sobbed for all I was worth.
I miss my friend.
When I had gotten myself under control again, I carefully closed the card and tucked it safely back into the box.
The life of the dead is placed in the heart of the living. -- Cicero
Every year, I buy three boxes of Christmas cards -- a religiously-themed box, a vulgar/funny box and a non-denominational box. Inevitably, there are leftovers, and just about every third year I can get away with not purchasing cards. For convenience, all the cards are stacked in a shoebox -- usually with a few stray cards and envelopes from people that need to be added to next years' card list.
At the bottom of the box was a colorful card with a Bethlehem scene on it -- sort of blocky and whimsical -- and covered in scribbles of dreadful handwriting. Three sides of the card were filled with bad puns, academic gossip and random, stream-of-consciousness goofiness.
William's card. From last Christmas.
I knelt there on the floor. First I teared up, and then I just flat-out sobbed for all I was worth.
I miss my friend.
When I had gotten myself under control again, I carefully closed the card and tucked it safely back into the box.
The life of the dead is placed in the heart of the living. -- Cicero
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