The Good and the Bad

I was going to link some interesting Slovak news articles. Instead, I found a way to insert a widget on the side that does it for me. I'M A KING IN THIS TECH GAME, evidently. Please peruse through them to see what's going on in this faraway land. Recent highlights include a crashing GDP, a deadly mining disaster and a scathing review of Bruno. Bruno just came to theatre here.

Thursday was probably the worst day of my life. Allow me to explain. It's all derived, you see, from a night of irresponsible intoxication, the evening prior. Weekday hangovers are a cardinal sin when you're worried about productivity and "Advancing Your Swagger", two things I hold in the utmost regard. In my defense, it was a work function, and my boss was the one feeding me glass after glass of whiskey, simultaneously pressuring me to put my fingers to the keys on a conveniently located piano. To make matters worse, the next-morning shower, which I was counting on to give me a pot-shot at saving the day, didn't have any water. Yup, I turned on the tap and no water came out. I'm like, "WTF, FML" and that sort of thing. I limped to work with puffy eyes, exuding a smell of whiskey, second hand smoke and shame -rivaled only by a Hull Casino smoking room. My head echoed with a cacophony of phrases like: "I am too hungover for this shit."

Friday things went a lot better. I managed to score a shower and a good night of sleep. At lunchtime I got my fattest envelope of cash yet. It reminded me that working hard was worth it. But for whatever reason, motivation has been a whore these last few weeks. I'm not sure if the environment is wearing on me, the product has me discouraged or there is just no end of the month urgency yet. I'm hoping it's the last option. I think this terrible hangover experience was something of a catalyst that will catapult me back to exceptional levels of quality output and work.

The same dilemma plagued me at school. I need to be really busy to be busy. I can give myself fake deadlines, but I know they are fake. There's no sense of urgency. It's not that I lack copious amounts of future thought. It's that I know I have more than enough time. Solutions on this motivation problem to come...

UPDATE: My intake of Nutella is shameful.

Open Letter

Dear Twitter,

I know you've become really popular lately, and it's probably put a lot more stress on you than you were used to. But get your shit together, please. These increasingly frequent blackouts are killing me. Your platform and success are based on short and erratic messaging, under the guise of "microblogging." My social networking game is being crippled. Your poor accessibility is rivaled only by Slovak infrastructure (I once had to lift a girl in a wheelchair onto a bus).

Regards,

I'm going to watch a show about bombing the southern states with trees to re-grow forests. I love Discovery Channel.

Back at It

Saturday, in the spirit of National Violence Against Roma Day Mike defended my honour by throwing an idle cup of water into the face of an aggressive gypsy. Only once the aforementioned destitute member of society hacked a lugie at me after we refused to buy his sub par magazine. Luckily I'm dodgy as hell and managed to evade the spit missile. Other than that our weekend was pretty standard, by very high standards. If you know what I mean.

It's nice to share my new world with someone who grew up with me. And sort of sad to be alone again. I get the idea that Mike was a little shocked at my newfound surroundings as well. He expressed an equal degree of perplexity as I first did, at the lack of a push/pull convention on building doors. But with the end of Monday fast approaching the weekend feels miles away and I find myself thrust back into this grinding and blogging business.

Truth be told, I'm still pretty exhausted. I hope it's a testament to the hectic weekend and not some underlying malady or anemia, of which I am unaware, eroding my stamina. As the final month of summer marches steadily towards its terminal week I can't help but feel my perception of time in the last few months has been distorted. In retrospect it feels as though it has all flown by; yet, I can vividly recall the agonizingly slow pace of those first few days, and select incidents thereafter. I will now spend the rest of my August 10th, 2009 waking hours practicing Slovak so as to not feel like such a moron in class tomorrow morning.

I need to do something to get myself pumped up about work this week. Hopefully sleep, something I usually disdain, will help.

ASIDE: Here's a fun one for all those wannabe CEOs out there. Rap music is poetic motivation, haters.

The Wormwood Diaries

It's been a scorcher this week, and I'm grateful for overcast. The pathetic fallacy it provides is a nice surprise. A fresh breeze ambles through the flat. It's just a little colder than the temperature of the room. Refreshing and cleansing. A nice change from sticky and sweaty. Another day tolling about under intense UV-assault would have been too much for this pasty Canadian boy. Not that I anticipate doing much tolling today.

You can bet it's another one of those weekend morning (read: afternoon) posts.

I spent the better part of the previous hour navigating a maze of linked Wikipedia articles. Trying to understand what exactly I did to myself, in concocting that "Holy Trinity" of fire, sugar and Absinthe. I look at the bottle, half-full. I ensured a gregarious evening when I poured the other half, and two sugar-free RedBull, into an empty bottle of Sprite. We chugged it in the cab on the way to the now infamous Harley Bar. The glass container has a sticker. It says Van Gogh and Hemingway used it as "Creative Stimulant." I guess I'm in good company.

It's a good thing I opted out of the black one, reaching instead for the emerald green. They call it a lucid drunk. A delicate balance of stimulants and depressants are at play in the herbs. Playing tug-of-war with your consciousness. My memory is foggier than I'd like to admit, but the description feels right. It's scary how quickly it sneaks up on you.

It has started to spit rain. I think Mike might be awake now too. The likelihood that I'll do much more than help him find his way to the train station remains low. We have had a great weekend. Monday will offer me another chance to prove myself. For now I will bide my time, sipping coffee. Watching a man chase komodo dragons on the Discovery Channel.

Just Think About It.

I've mentioned it once before , but it's been raining again and the absolute rancor diffusing from the fermenting sewers is all kinds of putrid. I feel the need to emphasize it once again. Sorry. Nothing is easy in Slovakia, except buying corn on the cob. For whatever reason that shit is ubiquitous in these parts.

Anyways, on my stroll to the tram with my boss, after a measly 11 hours in the office, while sporadically getting jabbed in the face by fists of stench, the subject of smart work breached our conversation. You see, we work with this one girl who works indefatigably hard. Her results are consistently above average; but, quite frankly, she sucks. I mean the quality of the majority of her output is substandard, as far as we could tell. The thing is, her ethic is consistent and extreme. If I was a child laborer on coke, she would be a spartan warrior on steroids mixed with MDMA in some sort of super drug cocktail.

In Slovak the word is kokteil -and camping is kemping. See, this language barrier isn't such a big deal.

The thing is, I think she would be exponentially more successful if she took a little time to look back for areas upon which to improve. Things that weren't just quite perfect. But I'm still new at this, so what do I know.

My Slovak Teacher/Supermodel tells us that Slovaks have just adopted a lot of words as their vocabulary has grown. My favourite one yet is a breakfast occurrence. "Ham and Eggs" is hemendex. Say it fast.

Fly Dropping

Honestly, I love to work. I don't really have anything else to do, as sad as that may sound to the uninitiated reader. If I feel like I am accomplishing things, and that money is being made, I don't care, I'm happy in the office. What else could I be doing with my time that's more productive? At this point in my life, I don't need a balanced schedule. Maybe I'll burn out eventually, but I don't foresee that occurring for awhile.

Three arduous months ago, on my first day of "Le Travail" I was taken out to lunch. The other trainee and I were escorted by a successful salesman to a quaint little place called "Jazz Cafe." I ate soup, chicken and rice. Every meal here is served with soup. Even on the hottest of days.

At noon, both of them quit, simultaneously and independently. I'm the only of our May 13th lunchtime trio that remains employed.

The good news, is they interviewed a new guy today. I'm gaining seniority quickly...

Life Hack: Define Your Week.

I've been up for a few hours. It's Monday morning, an hour or so before work. I'm in the office, well into my second cup of coffee.

I find the idea of starting the week early appealing. And not just Monday early.

I love the feeling of jubilation that accompanies the end of each Friday afternoon, don't get me wrong. By Sunday however, I usually find myself thinking about work again. As morning makes way for afternoon, my hangover subsides and my mind clears. I have few distractions here, so work is the only real thing to start worrying about once my social agenda clears.

After my most recent weekend dinner, I ironed a few shirts and reviewed my pitch. I practiced a bit of Slovak. I've found that when I start doing things Sunday night that either get me in the working mindset or help prepare for Monday my life is a lot easier on the first day of the work week.

I'm itching to get going while the majority of you slackers are enslaving yourselves to the snooze button. Don't let societal definitions of the week dictate your behaviour. Do what works for you.

UPDATE: Hard work pays. More proof.