duermemucho's diary

duermemucho's Diaryland Diary


holiday fusion

Holiday fusion is such a terribly odd thing.

My work had its holiday reception yesterday evening, conveniently placed immediately after the annual Directorate All Staff Meeting (so you had to hear about how we're leveraging our competencies for an hour before you could enjoy any beer or chocolate desserts). The nature of my work (in this country, anyway) dictates that a large proportion of the workforce come from non-Western cultures, and out of respect for our (admittedly laudable) diversity, the "holiday" theme of the party was necessarily polished down to a terribly neutral, impressionistic sheen. Like a Monet painting, you couldn't tell at a glance what the theme was, until you stood back a distance and squinted, and then the subject matter wasn't terribly interesting anyway.

There were decorative glass balls...but they were purple and silver. (They were blue and white in one corner of the room, suggesting a Chanukah connection...but inexplicably, the shrimp cocktail was placed right next to this colorful display). There were carved glass...uh, ruminants...possibly reindeer, but also possibly elk, gazelle, gnu, or impala. Only a certified zookeeper could tell. From the ceiling hung vaguely snowflake-shaped paper objects...but as all schoolchildren know, snowflakes have six points, not four or eight...and what's with all the fucking tropical fruit, anyway? If they could have played that idiotic Hawaiian song about "a bright Hawaiian Christmas day" it might have made some sense, but that would have violated the offensively neutral cultural fusion of the event.

I drank my beer and left before the door prizes were handed out. I overheard one of the postdocs whose cube is near mine declaring that she'd received one of these prizes...a Sears gift card. Oh man, what could have been...


I think I buy Pyramid Apricot Weizen only because it reminds me of the apricot tree we had out behind my childhood home in California, which in May and June would become so heavy with fruit that branches would literally break off. Because as a beer, it sucks.


You remember Bushtit and Puffin, the sickeningly stylish couple at my work? Well, today Bushtit offered for me to accompany the two of them and some other coworkers on a skiing and snowboarding outing this weekend. I honestly appreciate and treasure the offer, but fucking-A please. Skiing, like golf, is far too expensive and elitist a hobby for someone as bashful, sloppy, and dour as I. Once I attended a scientific conference in Breckenridge, Colorado in winter, and ended up spending nearly a week listening to my advisor, fuelled with Scotch, drone on about how much he loved his new carbon-fiber elliptical skis and how he could now navigate the double-diamond runs at twice the speed he could before he put down a month's salary on two elongated plastic slabs.

A side note: if you've never been to Breckenridge, Colorado, I highly recommend you go. The town looks exactly like South Park...it's all laid out in a straight line along one main street, and there's snow on the ground pretty much the whole year round (or so they say). And, at 10,000 feet above sea level, one beer will put you under the table.

Oh, don't listen to me. I'm well on my way to drunkenness right now as I type.

7:10 p.m. - 2006-12-07


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