From the geniuses in the payroll department:

“Any employee who does not have access to a computer or who is otherwise unable to obtain their earnings statement online, may request to receive on-going paper versions of the Direct Deposit statements by completing the Online Earnings Statement Exception form available on the payroll website.”

Had a meeting this morning with some project managers and assorted support personnel. It was unremarkable except for the big veiny phallus that had been drawn and left behind by the room’s previous occupant. Nobody noticed until I surreptitiously pointed it out to a couple of people over iChat. The project managers—not the type to let that sort of thing go unerased—never even noticed. It honestly sort of sums this particular project up rather well.

The plum crop is in, and, though less bountiful than last year’s bumper crop, it is still ridiculously large. Like last year, there is simply too much to eat fresh before it spoiled, so I set about making plum jelly in order to preserve as much of it as I could.

I got as far as my second gallon when I was about to run out of pectin. I was on the verge of buying more when I realized the madness had to end. I still have at least a couple of gallons from last year’s crop; what the hell was I doing making more? But if I wasn’t making jelly, what in Rodale’s name was I going to do with all these plums?

Foist them off on my colleagues, that’s what. Come on down and grab some fresh apricots and plums, guys; they’re sitting on my desk. If you do not take some fruit I will find you and give it to you, by force, if necessary. You will eat this fruit. You will eat it because you want it. Because it’s goddamned delicious. Seriously, they’re fantastic. Eat these fucking plums. Right now.

компютриOrdinarily, I don’t share the cherries from the tree in the backyard. I eat them all myself. Selfish? You betcha.

This season, though, there’s simply so many that even I can’t eat them all. Since they’re sweet cherries, they’re not particularly good for turning into jam and jelly, and I can’t stand to see something so beautiful and perfect go to waste. So I’m bringing them in to work on Monday. You like cherries? Show up in my office; they’ll be in the fridge.

There’s about enough cherries left on the tree to supply two or three days’ worth of unrestricted gorging on the best cherries you ever laid lips upon, so don’t delay. Get your butt across campus and take advantage of this once-in-a-year offer now!

Naturally it’s only on the VERY LAST DAY of a four-day weekend that I get sunburned, so I get to dazzle my colleagues with an embarrassing, bright red forehead. It’s a good thing I’d already unscrewed the fluorescent bulbs over my desk; perhaps the relative darkness will hide my parboiled visage.

Now with just a bit more luck, my irradiated epidermis will remain intact through tomorrow’s data center meeting, so my colleagues, who already suffer enough by having to look at my ugly mug, won’t be treated to the additional displeasure of watching my face-flakes drift down onto the conference table.

I just saw a fellow in the hallway with shaved legs. I probably wouldn’t have noticed if they’d been completely hairless—but this guy was fairly dark-haired, and depilated only up to the middle of his calf. The effect was like he’d been wearing Nair™-filled socks or something.

I figure the less I know, the better.