Existential Question for the Day, Number 523: Does the American Dream create us, or do we create it? After leaving the confined space of London and the “cultured” space of Europe, Colin and I are handspringing back into the frontier life of the American Dream. On our To Do list, dutifully being followed and checked…
Tag: On Work
On moving toward money, and meaning.
A Reason to Work
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I was thinking about why I should work. Or why, anyone should work. Why they would want to. I was thinking about what sort of things drives a person to work. You know. Other than hunger and bills. As wealthy and free as we are, why do we work? Offhand, I can think of these sorts…
At Work again
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Today is day two of work. Work. Work. What is that, you say? Work? Why would I do such a foolish thing like that, when I had the cushy life, sitting around, eating bon bons, sleeping in, and “writing” all day? Well, it’s a weird thing, but productivity, it seems, begets itself. At least in…
Zen and the Art of Temping
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If you are wondering what a little slice of hell is, it’s this: being in the office, as a temp, and having the person you are replacing show up, unannounced. Then having her say: May I have a hanger please? as she stares at your coat on the rack with disdain. Then having her say:…
Cubicle Days
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Seems like just yesterday I was that awkward, gawky new girl in the office. Now, Temp-days are ending. What can I do, to fill my time now? No more hole punch cocktails. No more stapler wars. No more chair spin competitions. No more “ARRARHCCHHGH!” from the copier room, as the feeder jams again. No more…
Me vs. the Minutes
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I’m supposed to be typing up minutes. But I’m not. As you can see. Big round table. Men in suits… Ties everywhere. Nice cup of tea, getting cold. Mumble mumble. Scratch on pad. Quote: “MUMBLE. MUMBLE.” Now I’m at my desk and now I have to type up MINUTES. Minutes are the Brussel sprouts of…
T-E-M-P
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Where am I, you might be asking? I am in a temporary place. It’s really pretty. I have a glass box–well glass on two sides, that I sit inside for 8 hours. I type things on letterhead. I make coffee and tea. I am in T-E-M-P land. It’s nice here. This particular version of Templand…
In Plastic Armour
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I was walking back from the Passage to Victoria station the other day and I came upon, well, this. They gave me an orange from a basket. I could choose, actually. Apple or orange. They were promoting a website, a site to change your life. The tall one was funny. He asked, after he heard…
A familiar fear for an American in London
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Published in The Kansas City Star, July 9, 2005 By ELIZABETH G. HOWARD Special to The Star LONDON — For the first few hours after the four explosions Thursday, it felt creepy, awful and horribly familiar. The BBC tore a page directly from an American news channel textbook: repeating the images of the decapitated double-decker…
