Hell. Tony Robbins Style.

I hate temps. Actually, I don't hate them, a lot of temps are brighter and harder working than some of the slobs employed here. Rather, I hate when the big boss loses his "real" secretary for any amount of time, because the temp dutifully lets all calls through, including dorkwads attempting to motivate us workerbees to be, "Simply the Best." Ah, the world of motivational speaking. What Corporate America does when desperate to calm shareholders. "Yes, profits weren't what we expected, what we promised, but don't worry. We hired those top notch Voo Doo Priests at Six Sigma to turn our organization into a lean, mean, profit churning machine. All is well, no need to sell."

This year Six Sigma's call didn't get through. A little disappointing, because I did enjoy watching our organization's head honcho run onto stage swathed in white pajamas and black belt and doing fake Karate kicks. Almost had a stroke repressing my laughter.

No Six Sigma this year, but some other emperor without clothes will undoubtedly throw motivator words such as "synergy" "leadership" and "goals" our way. Yes, we'll learn that only discontent will motivate us past our pre-conceived limitations. We discover that we must "name it to claim it." Self talk. I can all but promise the phrase "Self Talk" will be used repeatedly. If my self talk is negative, so will my results. My mentoring will be negative, and thus I will be a negative leader and our corporate culture will be poisoned and our bottom line will suffer. What do you want to bet that Enron held these type of seminars every week? Part of the pain of these sessions is watching first timers. They want to be positive team players, so they get sucked into this cult like atmosphere. Deprogramming could take up to a year to complete. After a year of plastering on a fake smile, and responding with a hearty "FANTASTIC!" when asked simply, "How are you?" First timers realize that yelling "FANTASTIC! did not further their careers, relationships, or provide winning lottery numbers.

Why not just hand out The Little Engine that Could to every employee at the company Christmas party? It would save the Company (and investors) money. Damn. I hope that doesn't count as bad self talk. I will spend two working days at a pump up pep rally run by people who have no clue as to what we do (Here's a hint you pseudo psycho wannabes: WE'RE A CHARITY! WE DON'T HAVE INVESTORS. WE HAVE CONTRIBUTORS. WE DON'T MAKE MONEY, WE BEG FOR IT!) What peeves me even more is that my workload will still have to be completed by me -Peons don't get a temp- on time, which means my evenings will be spent at the office. I'm salaried, which means no overtime. Grrrr. There goes that negative self talk again. I know, if I can believe it, I can achieve it. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darn it, I don't give a rat's ass if people like me.

Go ahead. Laugh at my pain. I can admit my life is a bad SNL skit. Take comfort knowing CAT recently sent an employee to address City Council regarding the possibilty of teaming together in the event of another major snow storm. This employee was a Six Sigma black belt no less. Yup. We are so screwed.



Voo Doo Priest Tony Robbins awakened the giant within in 2000 and got divorced, then quickly married a blonde he met at one of his seminars.

Misery Chic

So many celebrities doing good deeds these days. I hope that's what it is. I don't mean to be cynical. I can't help it. Seems to me that it is much, much, much easier to adopt a child from a war torn, famine plague region of the world, and then turn said kid over to a nanny to raise. You look good and don't have to get your hands dirty. There will still be time to get another tattoo, collagen lip implants and hubby can keep his the appointment for more blonde highlights. Really want to impress the world with a charitable act? Buy a manse in Katrina ravaged New Orleans! Yes, you and yours won't be denied a single comfort, BUT, you will have a front row seat viewing the misery of others.

Don't get me wrong. I am humbled by those who put themselves in harms way with a passion to end the pain and suffering of others.

What's So Funny About Peace and Love and Understanding?

He was about equal rights, civil rights, yes. But he was just as adamant about attaining his goals through non-violent means. To use violence in order to reach "The Dream" wasn't The Dream at all, but defeat.

Bush, Cheney, and every gangbanger out there should have to complete a course- call it, "King 101" as a part of rehabilitation, incarceration, impeachment, or whatever.

Oh Well. I Wasn't Using My Civil liberties Anyway.

How special. On Martin Luther King Day no less.

From today's New York Times:

Vice President Dick Cheney defended efforts by the Pentagon and the C.I.A. to obtain financial records of Americans suspected of terrorism or espionage, calling the practice a "perfectly legitimate activity" used partly to protect troops on military bases.

Huh. Wonder if I can expect the CIA to go over my tax return with a fine tooth comb because I'm seriously considering leaving the Republican Party. I'd be willing to wager that Bush has killed more people than abortion of late.

So... Billy, Barbara, and Clyde- can you make room for one more?

We Are Making Enemies Faster Than We Can Kill Them.

Which is the main problem Bush seems to be overlooking. Hunting down terrorists, potential terrorists, wanna-be-terrorists, (and folks who happen to have the poor fortune of living next door to any of the aforementioned)"over there" before they have the opportunity to find their way "over here" must be the stupidest foreign policy of all time. We've pissed off so many people at this point that the U.S. would have to use nukes for this to work, and that isn't likely since we don't want to contract thyroid cancer when we harvest the oil.

Terror hunting has given governments carte blanche to do as they like, when they like. No one blinks when the U.S. bombs suspected terrorists in Somalia now? Not confirmed terrorists, mind you, suspected terrorists. Although the U.S. may or may not have killed terrorists, one thing is certain. Both sides agree that confirmed -not suspected- civilians were hit.

Huh. China killed some of its own last week too. Of course, the Chinese government is known for this. Their official excuse this time? "They were terrorists."

Of course they were.

I heard the rumors...

I but I didn't believe them. HA!!! I was at a holiday open house over the weekend and a little lady was collecting signatures for none other than GALE THETFORD to run for an At Large City Council seat. You'd think after the spanking' Bob Manning gave Thetford when she ran to retain her Council seat in the last City election she would take the hint.

All I can say is...
"Um.."

Thetford began every single painful and long winded speech she gave while on the Council with "Um." She should use it as her campaign slogan.

Gawd, are Ran$burg and Marcella going to attempt to rise from the dead and defeated too?

Airlines SUCK. Big time.

I hate travel, I really do. Specifically, I hate air travel. Boarding an airplane rates close to root canal on my to do list. The reason for my absolute disdain of airplanes has little to do with a fear of flying. As I've blogged before, I realize and accept that I'm more likely to die driving in my car, on my way to root canal, than I am on an airplane. Or so I'm told. I'm beginning to have my doubts.

My hatred of air travel is due to the fact that many of my fellow passengers are inconsiderate slobs. These days, spending time on a commercial flight is akin to being trapped in an unvented elevator with a couple of homeless winos for at least three hours.

Polly has been dieting. Polly has been working out. Polly has been Heelying like a mad woman. Polly thinks her arse is looking quite shapely these days and the tape measure agrees. To reward myself, I bought a brand new, grown up, black pin stripe Brooks Brother's suit. I know, sounds stuffy and boring, but trust me. It's not. I like shopping for clothes almost as much as I like air travel. In a rare moment of boredom and weakness I stepped into Brooks Brothers in Chicago. Weak because I FREEZING and simply had to warm myself before continuing my walk to the Metra station.

I'm telling you, this suit called my name. Trying it on was an out of body experience. The garment has magic powers. Once on, cellulite disappears. I'm three inches taller. It says size 10 on the label, but I look like a size 2. Cindy Crawford would be jealous. Other shoppers watch me admire myself in the store's three way mirror. I can feel their envy. The ghosts of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly applaud. I feel so gorgeous in this suit I'd wear it on my wedding day. I have the abilty to cure cancer, clear the national deficit, and bring about world peace in this suit. There is only one like it left. Moreover, The Suit is on SALE. To look and feel like this for $500 is a bargain. Euphoria.

Like an idiot, I wore my new suit on a commercial flight. Anyone else notice that airplanes are exceedingly filthy these days? Do not reach into the seat pocket in front of you. God only knows what you will find. Three week old used tissues filled with ebola. Last time I checked the seat pocket in front of me I found a used needle. I can only pray the passenger who placed it there suffered from diabetes and not AIDS. Look at the floor and seats. They haven't been vacuumed in months. Such foul decay of the interior cabin really makes one wonder what the maintenance standards are for the rest of the plane. If the engine of the aircraft is neglected in this manner we are all going to die.

Polly sat on a wad of gum thoughtfully chewed and left behind by a previous passenger. My gorgeous new suit, ruined. My formerly perky butt now sagging with depression. Mankind denied my profound beauty and amazing intellect brought about by the magic suit. The magic suit super powers do not include the ability to repel the goo that's penetrated the weave of its fabric. The suit has been defiled, victimized. Don't cry for me. Cry for the magic suit.

Next time I will hitch hike. Probably a safer and cleaner mode of transportation.

So Sick It Just Might Work...

The PJ Star is for sale. Today's Word on the Street column hints that local big wigs with deep pockets have been approached with the goal of local ownership. That's the trend these days, or so we're told.

As much as I love Gary Sandberg, I don't see him coming up with the cash to buy the overpriced paper. Gary gets more votes than anybody with a lot less cash than any other candidate, but even with that sort of genius I don't think he'd even want the hassle of owning a paper.

HOWEVER, how about having a BLOGGER OWNED paper? Okay, and blogger owned and reader supported newspaper. Why? Just so we could remind Bailey who he works for before he glibly writes another stupid editorial that Fire Stations are silly and far less important than funding for the arts.

Heh. Heh.

Guns Don't Shoot People in the Testicles...

People shoot themselves in the testicle(s).

Sigh. Why can't more mishaps involving guns be like this one?!

Tuesday, November 21, 2006

(AP) A man who was attempting an abduction stuck a gun in his waistband when it fired, shooting him in the left testicle, police in Wichita, Kan., said. He cringed, and the gun fired again, striking him in the left calf. The 23-year-old walked into a hospital. He and two others were accused of trying to kidnap a teen in a dispute over stereo speakers.

Polly's view:

The only tragedy here is that the second bullet hit the left calf instead of the other (right) testicle. Then society would have the added benefit/comfort of knowing this gun toting moron could no longer reproduce.

Seriously, I think a partial, although not perfect, answer to reducing the innocent gun slaughter of U.S. citizens would be to require those applying for a gun license take an I.Q. test. Anyone who doesn't score 100 or above can't have a gun. Yes, the same for driving. I haven't thought this one through yet, but should I become Queen, I'm thinking an ethics test might be in order as well, as well as a gun safety exam. Hell, throw in a mental health test in there too, couldn't hurt.

Yeah, I hate government red tape too, but there is that rare occasion when it serves a good purpose. I, for one, love it when the Health Department shuts down a roach infested restaurant. It's a good day when government seizes a crack house, or condemns and then destroys property that a slum lord couldn't get off his lard ass to maintain. Yes, that doesn't happen much here in Peoria, but I understand it happens in other places, and if true, it's a wonderful thing.

As I've written before, not every person who has or wants a gun is an idiot, but every idiot is attracted to guns. Like some birds are attracted to shiny things. Like moths are attracted to a flame. Like politicians are attracted to spending money they don't have, etc.

Guns, fireworks, and idiots go together like beer, pizza, and hot wings.

A note to Bill Dennis, With Love

Bill Dennis over at the Pundit changed his format again. I give up. Go cross-eyed young man, see if I care! His most recent template change isn't as nearly as annoying as the previous migrane inducing formats, (anyone remember "watermelon") so I'll let it slide. Criticize all you like, but Bill is one Peorian that doesn't fear change. We can learn from him. In the last year Bill has changed jobs, homes, towns, as well as templates. Bill, Lovey, Scarlet and I sent our annual Festivus card with our non tax deductible donation, and it came back! I guess you don't have the P.O. Box anymore? You need to include a snail mail address to your site so pseudo-anonymous bloggers can support our favorite Blog Father.