And so it is that we’ve come to the end of yet another fruitful and satisfying work week.
But what do you suppose will happen this weekend? Will it be as fruitful? As satisfying? Well, look no further than my Friday-morning commute playlist, my friend, long held to both make you move your feet and predict the immediate future.
Shhh. Let’s listen:
Tighten Up by The Black Keys
Shut Up and Let Me Go by The Ting Tings
Honky Tonkin’ by Hank Williams
Further Complications by Jarvis Cocker
Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie
Hollywood Swingin’ by Kool and the Gang
Frankenstein by Edgar Winter
Hmm. I see a frightening excursion into a number of malls, the bodily separation of me from my money, and several adult beverages.
Christmas shopping. Yikes.
Which reminds me.
I’m wearing a new shirt today.
What’s that, you say? Why yes, I find that to be true as well! New clothes do make life worth living!
As shallow and self-serving as it may sound, somehow, wearing something to work that I’ve never worn before makes my job more exciting.
Can you imagine? More excitement than I had yesterday! Is that possible? As if the giddiness of yesterday’s filing and repeated “Good morning this is Pearl how can I help you?” wasn’t enough!! And now I’m doing it in a new shirt?
How in the world am I going to top this? The mind. She reels.
It’s been a fact of my corporate/office-style existence since, oh, well, let’s see. I started working right after World War I – the War to End All Wars, we called it. At first, I was content to just draw lines up the backs of my legs to simulate nylons, but I wanted more. I wanted one of those mink-biting-its-feet stoles like you saw in the talkies. I wanted my cigarettes in those long holders. I wanted to draw arches into my eyebrows that said “beat it, wise guy!”. I wanted shoulder pads that would make Joan Crawford weep.
I’m a little more subdued these days. I no longer think that knee-high moccasins are appropriate for the office. You can no longer tell what my favorite bands are from the logos on my shirts. I no longer carry changes of clothes in the back seat of my car, just in case I don’t make it home before I have to work again; and I now put on new make-up every day, even if I woke up in yesterday’s.
How's that for upwardly mobile?
This new attention to my wardrobe might explain my rocket-like rise to power in the last 80 years from dance hall girl to vaudeville crooner to receptionist/copy drudge to World’s Best Lackey. (The title is self-appointed, but I’m sure HR will back me up on this.)
Anyway, that’s all I had to say today. Just wanted to let you know that I look and feel spiffy.
Thought of the day: Certainty
8 hours ago