Month: February 2004

It is with great sadness that I must announce the death of a dear and treasured member of the Plooble family, the Job Search Theme. For those of you who have come to know and love it, I share in your grief. It has been a major part: perhaps the heart and soul – of Fistful of Plooble since the beginning, and it will be missed.

In other words, I am no longer unemployed. Starting Wednesday, I will be a Vision Guidance Leader at Huhcorp.

Okay, not really “although I’ve applied at companies that seem to share the same ethos”. I will be working as an editor for a company that publishes a wide variety of newsletters on topics including health care, finance and the law. Someone will once again be paying me to write, and to write things that don’t require the use of the words “extensible or “functionality” As you can imagine, I’m pretty happy about that “although I am sure there are unexplored countries of jargon I am yet to visit”.

It looks like a pretty cool place with a lot of creative people, and I’m very excited about working for a company that values writing above all. Everyone I’ve met seems to like each other and like being there, and last Friday night in Hell I ran into a group of my soon-to-be fellow editors, including the managing editor who interviewed me. It’s not every day that I get to list “having a drink named after me as a relevant job qualification. I’m sure it sealed the deal.

Job Search is survived by Found Absurdity, Fun With Words, Car Geekery, and the twins, Bitchin’ & Moanin’, who ask that you send wrinkle-resistant khakis in lieu of flowers.

Do any of you know someone from say, San Diego who has moved to North Carolina? Does the weather make them completely nuts? I’ve heard people from less capricious climes say things like, “It’s nice to have four distinct seasons” Yeah, but three in one week?

Chapel Hill is once again in Severe Winter Weather Frenzy. The DJ on WXYC, the UNC campus station, has been reading a forecast that calls for snow, sleet, and six to 12 inches of accumulation through Friday “but his forecast calls for highs in the 70s on Saturday”. Once again the grocery stores are full of bundled-up soccer moms preparing for the siege of Stalingrad.

It’s weather like this “or at least the threat of weather like this” that makes SUV drivers feel superior and justified, but I saw something stuck under the wiper of an Expedition or Excursion or Canyonero in the parking lot of Weaver Street Market that might bring the driver down a peg or two. It’s from an organization called Earth on Empty.

I like words, you like words, we all like words. Sure. But not all of them. Some words I hate, and I don’t mean “intolerance or “can’t” or anything like that. For years I’ve had a list in mind of words I cannot stand. I’ve recently discovered I’m not the only person.

One good friend told me that she hates the word “brouhaha” which disappoints me a bit, since that’s one of my favorites “along with “squeegee””. But yeah, it is kind of stupid. Her ex-husband hated the words “mighty and “tender” Naturally, she sometimes found it necessary to describe her meal as “mighty tender”

Jean has three words that make her shudder: “smock” “slacks and “subpoena” It’s hard to use all three in a sentence, but I’ve done it.

As for me, there are several words I don’t like – “delicious for one, and I would never, ever use it, but it’s not enough to put me off my food. I also could live without “lush” and you’ll never hear me express my longing for a lush lawn, or describe any of my friends as a lush, no matter how appropriate it might be.

So, lush and delicious. I cringe just writing them down. But there’s another word that’s even worse, and it’s basically a combination of the two. I can barely watch HGTV for fear of hearing the word used to describe a soufflé or an upholstery color. I managed to type it in my online quiz, and I’m far too traumatized to do it again.

Any words you have strong feelings about?

Every now and then I pick up “Homes & Land magazine, which lists properties for sale in the area. In addition to some terrifying and/or laughable portraits of real estate agents “one guy included a photo of himself doing a split on railroad tracks, because as we all know thigh strength directly correlates to house hunting acumen”, I often find my teeth set on edge by the street names chosen by developers. I saw a listing for a condo in Durham on Candytuff Lane. I don’t care if it’s 3000 square feet with solid gold toilets and a restaurant kitchen and costs $25,000, I could not tell people I lived on Candytuff Lane. There’s also a Buggaboo Trail out in Orange County somewhere, and a street in Chapel Hill called Tinkerbell. Nope, sorry. Can’t do it. And we have a new apartment complex in the area called The Verge. The verge of what? Insanity? As far as I can tell, the only thing it’s on the verge of is a high-traffic road.

Raleigh has its fair share as well, including an apartment complex called The Landings at Mallard Pond. Every time I pass it I think, “No landings, no mallards, no pond” Not far away is a street called Havershire, which amuses me to no end, since “haver is Scottish dialect for “talk total nonsense” Britain is lousy with shires. Why make one up?

My parents live a few miles from Mine Shaft Road, which isn’t too bad, but sounds like it should be the title of Hitler’s unexpurgated biography. “Give it a minute.”

Continue a few miles from Mine Shaft and you will come to a development called Maisons en Mer. I drove by there last week with Joe, whose French is much better than mine. He confirmed that rather than the obviously intended translation “houses by the sea “which is stupid enough because they’re in North Raleigh”, it’s more like “houses in the sea” We also determined that ten seconds with a can of spray paint could easily change it to mean either “houses in hell or “houses in shit” Check the police blotter for reports of my vandalism arrest.

Of course, most developments are named for whatever was destroyed to put them there. After clear cutting several acres of pines in Raleigh, the developer put up a sign reading, “Coming soon: Bent Tree Plaza” Someone quickly changed it to “Dead Tree Plaza” The Independent once ran a three-column housing development name generator which allowed you to pick from the standard offerings and create your own combination. My favorite was Deer Run Down.

One of my fondest fantasies is to become an upscale property developer and build a neighborhood of attractively-priced McMansions for the nouveau riche, and give the streets names like Slug Trail, Phlegm Road, Poop Chute, Two Guys Named Ted Avenue and Marx-Lenin-Engels Boulevard.

Surely you have something better to do than this.

Today while killing time before an interview I went to the Indian market in Research Triangle Park. “I think it’s called “Indian Market”” Man, I love that place. Walking in there is like stepping into another country “say, perhaps, India”, and it reinforces my naïve belief that I might one day be able to satisfy my chicken tikka masala jones in my own home. Every time I shop there I buy bizarre things in jars the intended use of which I have only the vaguest idea. “Whenever I eat in an Indian restaurant, I worry that the waiters are looking at my condiment distribution the way we might look at a foreign visitor who is putting ketchup on his ice cream.” Still, thanks to this store I have the essential ingredients for the World’s Weirdest Tuna Salad. Don’t worry, the chunks are pickled mango rind.

In addition to selecting a package of tea based solely on the beauty of the label, I bought a bar of sandalwood soap. Imagine my glee when I opened it up at home and saw the inscription on the bar itself, making it without a doubt the coolest soap ever. It costs a dollar, which is twice as much as my previous favorite, Bee & Flower Brand Sandalwood Soap from China. But at least now I don’t have to worry that my soap is made by “or from” imprisoned political dissidents.