Carry me back

The federal agency I work for scored dead last in a survey of employee satisfaction given by the Office of Personnel Management to 55 agencies. Management seemed amazed and sort of hurt. “What? We’ve been trying to do away with your jobs for the last decade and telling you that the field offices you work in are obsolete but still demanding the same amount of results and this is how you repay us?” Their answer was to pack up pretty much the entire agency work force and ship us off to Virginia to some bogus training. I leave for it today for a week. I’m glum. The classes seem to define “token effort.” There’s been no attempt to include us or even to let us know what the classes will be like. Just titles, like Customer Service, Something Management Overview, Blahblahblah and You. Certainly nothing appealing like Lap Dancers for Everybody. Plus the training facility would appear to be some cross between a mediocre junior college and minimum security prison. Their web site gaily announces there is a bar, though (The Black Olive! Party!)

I gotta go.

Positive bidness

Today is the class I put on a couple of times a year for HIV positive entrepreneurs on how to start a business. Normally, we have about 20 -25 people show up, but today it’s only 9. I’m disappointed; it’s the same amount of work for 9 people as it is for 30. Still, I’m wearing a beautiful tie R Man gave me for some Christmas, so instead of paying attention to the class, I keep looking down at my chest. Sort of like Paris Hilton.

I gotta go.

Lights out, SF

Big excitement yesterday here in San Francisco, the City that Never Sleeps, but Does Sleep Around, Sometimes. All afternoon, the power kept going off and coming back and then going off again, much like my attention span. I was riding the Muni subway up to the Castro to see my chiropractor, the fabulous, fabulous Greg Gorman www.gorman-rizzo.com and didn’t even notice any power outage, but then, Muni is so chaotic, a small thing like an electricity crisis is easy to overlook.

Actually, I should have known something was up, since when I got to the Embarcadero station heading out, the station agent was barring the escalator to the platform with her body (and there was no way of getting around that girl) announcing “There’s been a power outage, You can’t go down.” This led to understandable confusion since all the lights were on, the signs were working and the trains were merrily trundling in and out of the station, without us. Because most Muni riders assume all station agents are insane, no one really was overly concerned by the discrepancy, but it was annoying to miss your train.

Greg’s a wonderful back cracker and I feel limber as cooked spaghetti now, but even better was missing the blackout making the computers here at work going on and off like some odd disco light.
I gotta go

But who is mrpeenee?

I’m a nice guy, that’s who. I hide it successfully under a mask of brittle bitterness, but I would be happy to save orphan kittys and old ladies from burning buildings if I just weren’t so darn busy downloading porn and staring out the window. My long suffering lover, R Man, and I live in San Francisco where I work for the federal government making wildly inaccurate statements to the press and running the training program for entrepreneurs for the SBA here. I am occasionally surprised to realize how respectable I am.

I grew up in Texas, but never realized what white trash I am until I left. How was I supposed to know nice people didn’t put mayonnaise on their French fries?

I gotta go.