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dragonlady7Didn't realize I hadn't updated in a while, but then, I haven't updated in a while.
Yesterday was Z's first day of work. It was exciting. I had to work 9:30-4:30, so I dropped him at the subway station on my way in. It wasn't even a minute out of my way. So, of course, I left fifteen extra minutes to do it. We were both early. Not much of a surprise.
I picked him up on my way home. The 33 (apparently its real name is The Kensington) goes from the airport to downtown. I work at one end, and he works about two blocks from the other end. So I zipped down it all the way, and missed the turn at the end and had to pull a Uie (waited until the police car went by, then did it near the intersection).
He got in the car and the heavens opened up. I drove home on Franklin St., which is a one-way street from downtown up to Forest Lawn Cemetery. It is lined with some of the most beautiful buildings in Buffalo, most still private residences. Driving along it is always uplifting. Then I proceeded to get soaked while lining up rain buckets under the gutter in the back that leaks, because I like having rain water to water the garden. I think my big rain bucket is slowly leaking, however, so I've been watering things already. They can use it. One little downpour isn't going to make up for the dryest June and July on record.
(By the way, my second crop of peas and snap peas are coming up beautifully and look amazing. This still looks like a successful experiment, so far.)
Z's work:
I dropped him off this morning and came in to see the door, this secret door in the back where he can enter. The place is mad ghetto. You go down this scary alleyway and through this door that someone has to open from the inside for you, and you enter into a hallway. To the left is a door into which an attractive young well-dressed woman was going. "That's where the good people work," Dave said: the front of the house, the advertising and editorial staff. That part of the building can be reached from Main St., the building's attractive and chic facade. Never mind that it's in a sketchy area of Main St., mostly populated by vacant storefronts. Main St. in Buffalo is a tragic aside unto itself, and I won't get into it-- but for those entirely in the dark, I will simply utter the phrase "misbegotten subway project" and leave it to your imaginations to construe how Buffalo has screwed up in that particular respect. It was, of course, as with all things Queen City, well-intentioned.
He led me to the right, down a grungy white-painted hallway. There stood a mini fridge with fake wood paneling and a sticker that bore the newspaper's slogan. There was also a toaster and microwave, and a set of plastic shelves with neatly-applied handwritten labels, in very artsy feminine handwriting ("ketchup, salt, utensils"). Beyond it was a door.
Z opened the door and I followed him down a rickety plywood ramp into a, well, warehouse full of junk. It was dim and cool. "It gets really hot in here," Z said, and pointed out the exhausts for the a/c units cooling the videographer's lair. I glanced around at the artifacts with some interest, but followed Z out through the other door without satisfying my curiosity about the busted-open boom box. There was an old issue of the paper sitting, haphazardly folded, on an empty iMac box: I recognized the issue and surmised it had to be about six weeks old. I don't always read the paper, but I usually see the cover.
Inside the door, to the left was another door. "That's the videographers' closet," Z said. It's a small department, I suppose. On my way out I noticed that the door we'd just come through said "Last one out turn off a/c", and beneath it someone had scrawled, in marker, "and try not locking the video dep't in this time either". Apparently that door locks from the outside. Good to know.
The little hallway led into a large, dim room. There was a fan in it, oscillating air. It was in the high eighties in there, I'd guess. A young man, possibly thirty at the most, peered at us over the three monitors (all bearing Apple logos) on his desk. "That's Webmaster," Z said. I greeted him politely. "This is the Art Dep't. And that's my desk."
"It's hot in here," I said. I had text-messaged Z the day previous to ask after his first day of work (I crouching under the bar at All-Star's during a lull). He'd responded "Good. Don't know where to start. Hot in here."
"Yes," Webmaster said. "I turned on the A/C and the fan and opened some windows and I don't know if it's improving."
"Well," I said, "it's only supposed to be 89 today."
"Oh good," he said. "It was 94 yesterday." This is highly unusual for Buffalo, I must point out. Buffalo gets, on average, 3 days a year that are over 90. In June alone this year it had 5; we've had 3 consecutive days over 90 this week and today and the rest of this week are slated to be either that hot or close enough to it as makes no difference. (Also, for the record, it has never gone over 100 in Buffalo. Close to, but never quite. By official measurements. By the car's "external temperature" thermometer, it's been 115, but the car's thermometer gets overexcited.)
The room had a shaggy carpet and five or six desks. It was 9:25 and only Webmaster and Z were there, but the company's officialish policy is that as long as you're in reasonably before 10, nobody's going to care-- just put in your time. The dress code is also similarly simple-- don't embarrass yourself. I've ordered Dave a pair of khakis as a graduation gift, and am considering getting him a few pairs of nice shorts somewhere. I also think I'm going to start giving him bottles of ice water to take in with him. Although I don't know where he is expected to go if he has to pee.
It seems, on the whole, a funky place. Z has never seemed so much of a square to me. He's very much a computer geek, the sort of shy that comes across as just utterly inept-- I often forget that, as I've known him so long now and seen him so predominantly in social situations where he's comfortable that to me, he's an adept and sarcastic conversationalist; but he was very shy about introducing me to people, and didn't seem to know what to say or do with me there. He and I both are kind of vaguely leftish somewhat-geeks, and we have mild hipsterward leanings although he's much more in touch with such things than I. This place is, well, it's a major alternative newsweekly, and almost everyone will pick one up now and then purely for the concert listings. At the least, everyone has heard of the paper. So it's a haven of ultralefty superhipsters. Z has, at least, a Prius and a ponytail; beyond that he'll have to skate by on his extreme supercompetence. (So far he's fixed a couple computers and made a couple friends. He feels confident that Webmaster will turn out to be at the least a good colleague if not a good friend. Webmaster seemed a good sort-- trained as an artist with the technical competence artists have to have nowadays, roped into being the techie guy because he has aptitude at technical stuff, but after this stint as Webmaster really wishing he could get back to the whole Art thing again. Z's very familiar with the type (his sister being that precise type) and tends to get on well with them, being a techie type with artistic leanings or at least appreciations.)
In a locked post (because I think it would overcomplicate the Dooce issue to have a boy fired for his girlfriend's website) I'll divulge the name of the paper and the website that he's been hired to make into a profit-generating entity. But for now, I'll just say that the website needs work and will suddenly undergo a major change at some point in the nearish (ish) future-- Z's setting up the new server they bought, and he's going to develop the website on it while he's testing it, and then, one golden day, the new server and website will both go live and the old ones will be gone.
Yesterday was sort of a bad day to start, as the paper comes out on Thursdays and everyone spends Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday in a buckled-down fury of productivity. Today is the recovery day, so he'll actually have people asking him to do things and also telling him how. Which should be interesting. He's starting up the new server, and also informs me via IM that UPS just showed up with the new intern and Z has been charged with getting him installed. (I don't know. He said it, not me.)
Z forgot his lunch, so I have to zip down there around noonish; I'm thinking I'll take him out someplace. Yay! I have to say, I was just starting to do OK with money and all, digging myself out of the small hole where I had been deposited by the unexpected financial events of November/December, so I'm feeling extremely optimistic. Except that Z's new job wants $60 a week out of him for health insurance. (I pay $18 a week and thought that was a lot.) So he may need to shop around; I think NY has cheaper insurance and he still qualifies as sort of low income.
Well. I have a few errands to putter around and do before I go off for lunch, so perhaps I shall go do those. I do feel I have been missing comments people have left of late, though, so I'm going to try to look through them at some point and figure out who's said things I should answer. Have faith and patience, dear friends. Which is a silly way of putting it, but I'm feeling silly.
Yesterday was Z's first day of work. It was exciting. I had to work 9:30-4:30, so I dropped him at the subway station on my way in. It wasn't even a minute out of my way. So, of course, I left fifteen extra minutes to do it. We were both early. Not much of a surprise.
I picked him up on my way home. The 33 (apparently its real name is The Kensington) goes from the airport to downtown. I work at one end, and he works about two blocks from the other end. So I zipped down it all the way, and missed the turn at the end and had to pull a Uie (waited until the police car went by, then did it near the intersection).
He got in the car and the heavens opened up. I drove home on Franklin St., which is a one-way street from downtown up to Forest Lawn Cemetery. It is lined with some of the most beautiful buildings in Buffalo, most still private residences. Driving along it is always uplifting. Then I proceeded to get soaked while lining up rain buckets under the gutter in the back that leaks, because I like having rain water to water the garden. I think my big rain bucket is slowly leaking, however, so I've been watering things already. They can use it. One little downpour isn't going to make up for the dryest June and July on record.
(By the way, my second crop of peas and snap peas are coming up beautifully and look amazing. This still looks like a successful experiment, so far.)
Z's work:
I dropped him off this morning and came in to see the door, this secret door in the back where he can enter. The place is mad ghetto. You go down this scary alleyway and through this door that someone has to open from the inside for you, and you enter into a hallway. To the left is a door into which an attractive young well-dressed woman was going. "That's where the good people work," Dave said: the front of the house, the advertising and editorial staff. That part of the building can be reached from Main St., the building's attractive and chic facade. Never mind that it's in a sketchy area of Main St., mostly populated by vacant storefronts. Main St. in Buffalo is a tragic aside unto itself, and I won't get into it-- but for those entirely in the dark, I will simply utter the phrase "misbegotten subway project" and leave it to your imaginations to construe how Buffalo has screwed up in that particular respect. It was, of course, as with all things Queen City, well-intentioned.
He led me to the right, down a grungy white-painted hallway. There stood a mini fridge with fake wood paneling and a sticker that bore the newspaper's slogan. There was also a toaster and microwave, and a set of plastic shelves with neatly-applied handwritten labels, in very artsy feminine handwriting ("ketchup, salt, utensils"). Beyond it was a door.
Z opened the door and I followed him down a rickety plywood ramp into a, well, warehouse full of junk. It was dim and cool. "It gets really hot in here," Z said, and pointed out the exhausts for the a/c units cooling the videographer's lair. I glanced around at the artifacts with some interest, but followed Z out through the other door without satisfying my curiosity about the busted-open boom box. There was an old issue of the paper sitting, haphazardly folded, on an empty iMac box: I recognized the issue and surmised it had to be about six weeks old. I don't always read the paper, but I usually see the cover.
Inside the door, to the left was another door. "That's the videographers' closet," Z said. It's a small department, I suppose. On my way out I noticed that the door we'd just come through said "Last one out turn off a/c", and beneath it someone had scrawled, in marker, "and try not locking the video dep't in this time either". Apparently that door locks from the outside. Good to know.
The little hallway led into a large, dim room. There was a fan in it, oscillating air. It was in the high eighties in there, I'd guess. A young man, possibly thirty at the most, peered at us over the three monitors (all bearing Apple logos) on his desk. "That's Webmaster," Z said. I greeted him politely. "This is the Art Dep't. And that's my desk."
"It's hot in here," I said. I had text-messaged Z the day previous to ask after his first day of work (I crouching under the bar at All-Star's during a lull). He'd responded "Good. Don't know where to start. Hot in here."
"Yes," Webmaster said. "I turned on the A/C and the fan and opened some windows and I don't know if it's improving."
"Well," I said, "it's only supposed to be 89 today."
"Oh good," he said. "It was 94 yesterday." This is highly unusual for Buffalo, I must point out. Buffalo gets, on average, 3 days a year that are over 90. In June alone this year it had 5; we've had 3 consecutive days over 90 this week and today and the rest of this week are slated to be either that hot or close enough to it as makes no difference. (Also, for the record, it has never gone over 100 in Buffalo. Close to, but never quite. By official measurements. By the car's "external temperature" thermometer, it's been 115, but the car's thermometer gets overexcited.)
The room had a shaggy carpet and five or six desks. It was 9:25 and only Webmaster and Z were there, but the company's officialish policy is that as long as you're in reasonably before 10, nobody's going to care-- just put in your time. The dress code is also similarly simple-- don't embarrass yourself. I've ordered Dave a pair of khakis as a graduation gift, and am considering getting him a few pairs of nice shorts somewhere. I also think I'm going to start giving him bottles of ice water to take in with him. Although I don't know where he is expected to go if he has to pee.
It seems, on the whole, a funky place. Z has never seemed so much of a square to me. He's very much a computer geek, the sort of shy that comes across as just utterly inept-- I often forget that, as I've known him so long now and seen him so predominantly in social situations where he's comfortable that to me, he's an adept and sarcastic conversationalist; but he was very shy about introducing me to people, and didn't seem to know what to say or do with me there. He and I both are kind of vaguely leftish somewhat-geeks, and we have mild hipsterward leanings although he's much more in touch with such things than I. This place is, well, it's a major alternative newsweekly, and almost everyone will pick one up now and then purely for the concert listings. At the least, everyone has heard of the paper. So it's a haven of ultralefty superhipsters. Z has, at least, a Prius and a ponytail; beyond that he'll have to skate by on his extreme supercompetence. (So far he's fixed a couple computers and made a couple friends. He feels confident that Webmaster will turn out to be at the least a good colleague if not a good friend. Webmaster seemed a good sort-- trained as an artist with the technical competence artists have to have nowadays, roped into being the techie guy because he has aptitude at technical stuff, but after this stint as Webmaster really wishing he could get back to the whole Art thing again. Z's very familiar with the type (his sister being that precise type) and tends to get on well with them, being a techie type with artistic leanings or at least appreciations.)
In a locked post (because I think it would overcomplicate the Dooce issue to have a boy fired for his girlfriend's website) I'll divulge the name of the paper and the website that he's been hired to make into a profit-generating entity. But for now, I'll just say that the website needs work and will suddenly undergo a major change at some point in the nearish (ish) future-- Z's setting up the new server they bought, and he's going to develop the website on it while he's testing it, and then, one golden day, the new server and website will both go live and the old ones will be gone.
Yesterday was sort of a bad day to start, as the paper comes out on Thursdays and everyone spends Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday in a buckled-down fury of productivity. Today is the recovery day, so he'll actually have people asking him to do things and also telling him how. Which should be interesting. He's starting up the new server, and also informs me via IM that UPS just showed up with the new intern and Z has been charged with getting him installed. (I don't know. He said it, not me.)
Z forgot his lunch, so I have to zip down there around noonish; I'm thinking I'll take him out someplace. Yay! I have to say, I was just starting to do OK with money and all, digging myself out of the small hole where I had been deposited by the unexpected financial events of November/December, so I'm feeling extremely optimistic. Except that Z's new job wants $60 a week out of him for health insurance. (I pay $18 a week and thought that was a lot.) So he may need to shop around; I think NY has cheaper insurance and he still qualifies as sort of low income.
Well. I have a few errands to putter around and do before I go off for lunch, so perhaps I shall go do those. I do feel I have been missing comments people have left of late, though, so I'm going to try to look through them at some point and figure out who's said things I should answer. Have faith and patience, dear friends. Which is a silly way of putting it, but I'm feeling silly.
