noideadog: (meerkat)
Does anyone want to go see Nightwatch? Or Howl's Moving Castle? Or Corpse Bride? Or March of the Penguins? Or Antonio Banderas Is OMG Hot - the Movie? Seriously, every year there are about three movies I really want to see and right at this very moment there are five. And new Harry Potter is any minute now, isn't it? How do people keep up? I need to start going on dates or something. (Nice simple solution there, yes.) Until that starts happening, anyone want to go see any of them?

Eircom have sent me a payslip, which implies that they're going to pay me tomorrow. I guess the HR lady wasn't kidding when she said nobody had been told I was leaving. It'd be fun to leave it and see how long they keep paying me for before demanding it back, but I don't think I'd be good with that amount of temptation to spend it. And I'd like a P45 some time. Poo. I'll call them tomorrow.
noideadog: (Default)
Continued from the previous post, here's my Last Day In Eircom.

I pottered around the building for most of the morning, ostensibly moving things from place to place, but really saying goodbye to people on the various floors. Simo and I finally made the map of the patch panel that we'd been talking about for months and had about seven arguments with people who wouldn't recognise the usefulness of it. They'll see. *mutters darkly* Some of us went for lunch in Luigi Malones, and after that I did some final ritualising: swinging down the banisters, washing and leaving behind my coffee mugs, leaning out the canteen window, other stuff that's hard to explain. Powerman vetoed the first version of my going away essay (too staid) so I rewrote it. (It was short. These things tend to go on like an Oscar speech). And then we went to the pub.

We have an office tradition that when someone leaves the NOC (Network Operations Centre) they get a tshirt, with their years of service on the back, and an appropriately funny slogan on the front. Stu, for example, moving to a bank job got "It pays to be with AIB". Donal, immediate noticer of things you'd hoped you could cover up got "Is someone looking at..". When Natasha showed me mine, I near killed her with a bear hug. Shoddy photograph here, but check this out:



(That's why no matter how nice the people in your office are, they're rubbish compared to the people in Crown Alley. They got me money for a camera too, and a My Little Pony Twinkle Twirl Dance Studio and a talking George W Bush and a lucky bag with pink hair bobbins in it. But.. tshirt!)

Big apologies to the people who were there who I didn't speak to at all for the whole evening. I sincerely did keep trying to, but I kept being waylaid by beers.
noideadog: (school)
I'm a bit behind here.

Let's start at half past seven on Friday morning. Braving the excessive, cold, wintry, stupid rain, Gliceas kindly met me for an extra-early Grumpy Breakfast Club meeting, to give me pre-exam relaxation time, and to allow me to revise my phoneme flashcards on the pretext of showing him how interesting they were. Capital fellow, Gliceas. I don't say it often enough.

Reinforced with toast and bacon I ventured back out into the rain in plenty of time to arrive for my half eight exam. Even more plenty of time than I'd expected, as it happened, since the receptionist in the Dublin School of English greeted me with a bemused expression, a vow that no exam in the school had ever, ever taken place at half eight in the morning, and an invitation to check whether my brain was functioning adequately. (He only implied the last one.)

It was rather a relief when the only other person doing the exam at the same time arrived, and something of an anti-climax when the course co-ordinator turned up with a pretty easy exam. I ran out of time on the lesson planning question, but the grammar was fine, and interesting. Though actually, I still don't know what the form of "there's something I was meaning to ask you" is. I hope I can ask for the answer tomorrow night at the reception, after the other ten people in the class do the exam, but if you know what they might have been looking for, please do tell me.

Exam over, I latted up and went in to the office for my Last Day Ever in eircom.
noideadog: (Default)
I made my last post specifically to say this, but then I forgot:

Drinking tonight in The Bank on College Green to celebrate the end of an eircom era. You are most welcome to come along.
noideadog: (Default)


Tick tick tick!
noideadog: (school)
I got a lovely mail this morning from Pollux Fackler explaining how I can save 70% on medication. I'm not on any medication, so I must have accidentally misled him at some stage, but I'm touched that he thought of me. Good ol' Pollux. He's so considerate.

Ineffectual weekend. I spent a stupid amount of time trying to find a newspaper article for my class on Wednesday. We're not allowed use material from coursebooks this time, and I mistakenly thought that finding a suitable article on "work, careers, training or education" would just be a matter of skimming a couple of newspapers, chopping out columns and choosing my favourite. I know better now. Powerman saved me with a copy of the Guardian's Work supplement, but not before I'd slogged through a couple of days' worth of the Irish Times, the Observer, the Daily Mail, the Sun, the Sunday Independent, Metro, Eircom Live![1], iVenus, Salon and some other random stuff I found on google.

Newspapers don't write about work as much as I'd expected. Or when they do, it's hostile towards immigrants, or filled with incomprehensible figures and jargon, or it's far too long and complex and also riddled with swearing. I'll be teaching an Upper Intermediate class (can read a novel, knows more grammar than you do), so they could handle it, but.. well, I tried to imagine standing up in front of twelve students and an observer and defining "a barrel of shitehawks", and then I went back to the search.

Anyway, thanks to Powerman, my class will be reading an article about napping at work and then discussing whether people are mental to pay those blokes in New York 14 quid for a twenty minute snooze. I think they probably are. I'm not saying that I don't love the idea of taking a siesta (or indeed that I couldn't do with one right this minute), but it does seem like yet another problem with an obvious, free solution and a sophisticated, expensive one. $14 for 20 minutes? How about going to bed earlier instead? Or sitting on a park bench and closing your eyes? Crazy, I know.

That said, of course, if we had a nap room in the office, I'd be hard pressed to stay out of it today. Now that I have an article, I need to make some exercises out of it, find some interesting grammar, type up some handouts. I have a class observation at lunch, and three hours of class after work, so it looks like it'll be a late night. Forget napping -- I'll sleep when I'm dead. (Which, seriously, any minute now.)

[1] "The magazine for eircom people". News, photographs and profiles, a reminisce by some old guy, obituaries, classifieds and you could win a hands free phone kit, if you send back the crossword by October 15th. 'Live' as in 'alive', btw, not as in 'living'. 'Eircom liiiiives'. Creepy. (I'd do the phonemic symbols to show off my new skills, but.. nahh.)
noideadog: (buttercup)
Top Irish Band The Walls are playing on a platform in the Liffey right now. Loudly. Shut up, Top Irish Band The Walls. Some of us are trying to work!
noideadog: (Default)
My little script says I have 3 weeks, 4 days, 05 hours, 17 minutes, 51 seconds left in Eircom. I called HR to find out what I needed to do about a P45, and they hadn't heard I was leaving. I should have handed in my notice to HR as well as my team. Didn't think of that. They didn't suggest that I work out another thirteen weeks starting from today though, so that's ok.

3 weeks, 4 days, 05 hours, 15 minutes, 53 seconds, and I have several tonnes of personal crap on my desk - a coffee maker, a money elephant, a box of Special K, a Peters Projection map of the world, a bottle of Andrews Liver Salts, a pile of books taller than my head, a box of screwdrivers, a photograph of humbug in a thunderstorm in Barcelona, the set list from an Alphastates concert, a pair of swingdancing shoes, a talking Buttercup doll, spare clothes, teacher boots, screwdrivers, tampons, apples, saxophone reeds, little packets of salt, two Bob the angry flower cartoons, a music stand, cups, markers, a couple of laptops, cough medicine. Etc. That's after a few days of bringing things home. I make myself at home in my office. I nest.

There's a ridiculous plaster chef too. I'm going to forget to bring him home. How careless of me.

3 weeks, 4 days, 05 hours, 11 minutes, 51 seconds. I'll have been here five years on Sunday. This is very weird.
noideadog: (meerkat)
It's nearly the weekend, and I just realised that what I'm looking forward to more than anything else is getting into bed. I've been yawning cavernously for the last hour or so. Of course, typing yawn makes me yawn more. Does it make you yawn too? Yawn yawn yawn. Yawn. Ok, I'm sorry, I've stopp..yawn..ed. I'm a bit tired. At the best of times I'm not a morning person, and for the last three days, Gliceas and I have been ejoying the novelties of 8am breakfast in town and being in work on time. Except for the enjoying bit. People who get up at 7 go to bed earlier than people who get up at 9. You'd think I could remember that.

That said, my going to bed longings have been mostly about warm pyjamas and my duvet and this great red woolly blanket I got a while ago, and maybe a hot water bottle, and maybe some gloves and a mug of soup, and an oven, and a holiday in the Sahara and living inside a volcano so it's possible that I'm slightly influenced by other factors. Our air conditioning was configured by polar bears.
noideadog: (Default)
There were four mimes on Grafton Street at lunchtime, as well as a guy in a leprechaun suit, clanging on a bodhran. Do you remember when buskers had to have some skills? I don't either really, I suppose.

I called the Dublin School of English this afternoon to ask questions about the TEFL course I'm starting next month. It's a six-week evening course, comprising (I thought) fifteen hours a week, divided into three evenings and a chunk of a Saturday. I'm pretty scared of public speaking, so I thought it'd be a useful way of getting over that, and it's good to have a backup skill for when they eventually find me out and I have to leave the country. So, I called the DSE, and confirmed that yes, I'm enrolled in the course, and yes, I still owe them a wholaheapa cash, and no, my understandings with regards to the number of hours involved were not accurate or indeed sane. Twenty one hours per week. Four evenings from half five to nine, and half nine to half four on Saturday. Yikes! I've moved my sax lessons to lunchtime, but it means no tae kwon do, and no swing dancing, and not a whole lot of anything else either. I'm still kind of looking forward to it. It won't kill me, unless it does.

For extra fun, it ends on October 22nd, the day after I celebrate my last day in Eircom. There may be a small amount of alcohol involved in the celebration. "There is a written exam on completion of the course.", advises the introductory leaflet, but it doesn't state whether it's on the last day. Why do I do these things to myself? (I am smrt)
noideadog: (weirdofreak)
More about this later, but I should announce at some stage that I've handed in my notice at eircom net. I have a three month notice period here, and I start at Google on October 24th. I'm rather looking forward to it.
noideadog: (Default)
Stuff I found while cleaning out my desk today (I'm moving desks):

The special edition copy of Hail To The Thief that I queued outside HMV at midnight to buy and then never listened to.

Four postcard corners containing stamps: one portugese, one chinese, one canadian, one egyptian.

Two knives from my old house on Aston Quay, one encrusted with very old butter.

"The Elf Queen of Shannara", on two cassettes, as read by Theodore Bikel (anyone want this? Didn't think so.)

An emergency contacts form for our apartment management people. "Please return by july 1st 2004." Oops.

The charger for my minidisk player that I stopped using because I couldn't find the charger.

The data cable for my digital camera that I stopped using because I couldn't find the cable.

My sparkly ballroom dancing shoes.

Two superosity comics from when it used to be funny.

A voucher for a free 12 inch Apache pizza, dated Valentines Day 2002.
noideadog: (fuzzy good)
I love Fridays.

<tim> hi folks. we'd like to conduct a drill of the temple bar economic emergency system at 5:30.
<tim> if you haven't left for the weekend by then, please meet in the lobby where we will move as quickly as possible to the nearest acceptable establishment to buy a round of drink.
<tim> in the event of a real economic emergency, we may be called upon to have more than one pint, but this is only a drill.
<tim> those planning on driving or, even worse, running some marathon distance in the near future, will of course be allowed to have overpriced nonalcoholic drinks.

This is going to be a busy weekend. My parents and Tina-kid are visiting, so we've a schedule planned that includes shopping, a visit to Melt, more shopping, getting the luas to the Barge for a pint, calling into Dunnes Stores just for a minute, shopping and bowling out in Coolock. My dad's lived forty miles from Dublin for his entire life, and never really been in the city centre. I think he's going to hate it.
On Saturday I get to try out my new climbing shoes in UCD, and on Monday Pault's running the marathon, so [livejournal.com profile] trjh and I and some other folk are going to be along the route somewhere, holding drinks bottles and feeling lazy and unaccomplished. (That's my plan anyway.)

At some stage I have to convert a dress into something that looks like it might have been worn in the 20s, before Wednesday's swing party. I think a wide belt at ass-height, long strings of pearls and a boa might do it, but I'm not sure where to get any of those. I need a hat of some sort too. And a cigarette holder, maybe. I shouldn't leave these things 'til the last minute.

Hope you Gamercon kids have a fun time pretending to be elves, or whatever it is you end up doing this weekend.
noideadog: (Default)
"We'll have to check Tanya's diary and see what she says about us today.."

Ehh.. Simo, Paolo, yiz are bollixes, yiz are.

Something like that?
noideadog: (Default)
"There's a reason we live in a democracy. It's so we can vote for Tanya to go get the coffee."

I didn't vote for this regime.

*goes to get coffee*
noideadog: (Default)
It's been a high-achieving day over here. Check it out:

noideadog: (fuzzy pilsner)
Tings I fookin luve.

I love my office on a Friday evening when the sun's shining outside and there's music playing and everyone's starting to talk about shite and wind down for the weekend. And then Brian admits he likes Damien Dempsey and I play his horrible version of Oi Belave in a Ting called Luve and Brian demands an encore and Simon insists we stop mocking his nort-soi-id Coolock culture but he's middleclass as fuck, and he says he has a good mind to report us and we giggle like children..uh.. and lots of work gets done because we are hardworking and efficient and share price matters! Anyway, I love that.
noideadog: (Default)
I don't know when Teen Spirit became the song that means "Look! It's 17:31. It has become Friday Evening! I must announce my happiness to everyone within a two office radius!", but it's my traditional start to the weekend. I am jumping around like an idiot, while still sitting in my chair. I'm glad my open plan office has high partitions.

Heading to Sarah's this evening for dinner and too much wine, and then maybe some Fibbers, as is traditional.
noideadog: (Default)
I worked from home yesterday, where I got about twice as much done as I would have in the office. Working from home is great. Anyway, there was a storm, as people probably noticed and it was a _good_ storm, with hailstones and thunder and stuff, but apart from occasionally stopping to admire it, I didn't give it much thought. I finished work at some stage, and shut down the computer, which is unusual, because I don't shut down the computer all that much, and then plugged it out. Plugged out the monitor too and the assorted PC paraphenalia and the isdn box-on-the-wall box, feeling a bit silly as I did so, like I feel when I get up at night because I don't specifically remember locking the doors. A minute later, the tv went *FZZT* and died.

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