I'm hooked...

I may not agree with everything the man says, but Fred Reed does have his moments.

A small sample:

I saw a builders' catalog once that listed toilets. So help me, they had names like "The Cerulean Princess" (cyanotic, no doubt), and The Woodland Dawn. Then you get those syrupy recordings over and over when you're on hold for forty-five minutes. "Your call is very important to us. A customer-relations executive will shortly stroke you like a starving masseuse . . . ." The tone invariably suggests that she wants to sit in your lap.

The sense of being managed galls, especially of being managed by idiots. The implication is that, if you call a toilet the Roseate Verge of Morn, I won't know it's a toilet. I'll think it's a sister piece to the Nike of Samothrace, and keep it in a glass case filled with helium. Call a Belgian waffle the Charlemagne avec Crème des Mouches, and I won't have the brain to notice that it's a waffle like every waffle ever made -- pancake, with little square holes. No. I'll think I'm doing the squat-and-gobble with Louis XIV, right there in Howard Johnson's.

* * *Against my better judgment (this is getting to be a habit), I've taken on a 37 page assignement from client T in Houston. It's a document on the Docking Compartment, and there are enough references to go along with the assignment to make it go smoothly. In any event, the time frame is such as to allow me to do only 6 pages a day and still have it done in time for the deadline of next Monday. I knocked off today's quota in jig time.

I also spent another couple of hours continuing to sort receipts, and fetched some more from various nooks and crannies. I need also to do a sweep of the files in the store to make sure I have all the 2001 receipts here at the house.

Cheers...