Interface-off!

So , people have been asking me, “What is your new job,” and unlike teaching, where everyone knows exactly what that is, (something that requires the opening of a vein if you do it too long…) nobody seems to know what a proposal specialist does. I love the title: very shi shi sounding. It’s basically technical writing.

Never did I think the words “writer” and “paid” could go together. But they do! It’s just that now I need to keep my swearing to a minimum…

I surfed on over to Wikipedia to get a duplicitous definition of technical writing: to convey a particular piece of information to a particular audience for a particular purpose. Or, to translate technical ideas into words that a specific audience will understand. Or, a translation of complex technical concepts into simple language intended to enable a specific user to perform a specific task in a specific way.

Ignore the hypocrisy of that sentence…

“A good technical writer can create informational media about a complicated technical subject or task in ways that almost anyone can clearly understand. Technical writing is a specialized, structured way of writing, in which information is presented in a format and manner that best suits the cognitive and psychological needs of the readers, so they can respond to a document as its author intended, and achieve the purpose related to that document.”

So basically, technical writers dumb stuff down.

See? I just did! I’m a natural. Hey, I could do this for a living. Oh, wait! I AM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Here is the part that really scares me: “precision in technical writing is critical because if anything is described incorrectly, readers may act improperly on what is said, causing mistakes, problems at work or, in rare cases, company liability”, . And since, in my case, I’ll be writing for a healthcare company I may have to come with my own warning for a while:

Employee’s Lack of Experience May Cause Death. Or Dry Mouth.

For all the complexities in the Wikipedia article, there is one that I love: “technical writing is the interface between your ideas and the rest of the world."

In Yer Face! Ahem. I meant, I am the interface.

Magical Wonder

Nicola has been searching the garden. She has found Things. Magical Things. There are sparkles everywhere. Vacuuming has become essential. She is absolutely certain that the fairies have left her these things to find. As such, she leaves them little notes, and cookies.

There is no question that there is magic in our home. We may not be able to see the fairies. But we can see magic personified.

Magical Wonder. If Nicola had a Style Statement it would be this.

If wonder is defined as something strange and surprising, then fairies in the garden are just that. But for us jaded grown-ups, so is magic and wonder. We may not expect magical beings in the backyard, but we don’t expect the joy that transfers from one who does.

And therein lies the magic.

If we take the time to explore the spectacular world of our children, we can taste the sweetness of nostalgia, with lashings of wonder.

While I was about to start my day speculating about the most efficient routes to decreasing credit card debt, I stopped when Nicola’ wondered aloud:

“I can’t wait to go to Fairyland. But how do I get there?”

This is what we will think about today.

My thought? First star on your right, and straight on ‘till morning. What’s yours?

Homage to Lame.

I've been under a rock.

To all my loyal readers two or three of you, I've been:

a) furiously praying for a job (and sort of kind of doing something about it too!)

b) furiously watering my plants because I'm the Green Reaper and this is the First Time Ever I've not managed to viciously kill my plants with voracious watering or dangerous neglect ("We have plants downstairs? Where? When did we get them? Were they brown? Oh, 'cause they are now....") The devotion I have bestowed on my plants is really bordering on pathological now. I've started collecting rain water for my indoor plants. That's a sure sign I'm about to do something atypical and weird. (Like get a job.)

c) furiously thinking about how to write about the superiority of the corporate world without alienating all my teacher friends....who have to go back to work soon NYAH NYAH NYAH NYAH. Ooops. Alienation complete. Well...there is much to say.

d) I also finally hemmed my curtains. That was huge. I was amazed that I didn't break the sewing machine and actually accomplished the task in less than 30 mintues when I'd be putting it off for two years.

e) trying not to write mean things about people. I feel that's a startlingly large part of my personality. I am really very difficult. I have difficult people in my life.

e) eating a fair bit of ice cream as my personal homage to summer. Only so I could personally use the word homage because it's such pretentious crap. Homage. Fromage.

And I saw, Stardust tonight. Go see it. It's lovely.

Small Dog Syndrome

I have been accused of posessing the personality of a small dog - the kind I like to call "toilet brush" dogs. They look cute, but don't piss them off. Even if you're a big dog, they'll yap their furry little heads off and go fully ballistic if they're behind a glass door and they can't get at you.

Apprently, I am like this.

And this is also the reason that the pug's impression of Gloria Gaynor in Men In Black makes Andrew pee his pants EVERY time. "Oh man, K - that is SO you,"

Thanks.

To be fair, my fuse is as short as my stature. It's easy to irritate me. Rather like it's easy to irritate a small dog by simply walking past its' owner's house. You know the kind - they go utterly beserk and starting barking and jumping at the window. I often wonder, what will it do if it gets out? It looks like it could maybe nip my ankle, but....truly, I'm not worried.

But back to me: (and isn't it always about me?) Today I realized that Andy's right. I am like a temperamental small dog - short temper, loud bark, and absolutely no understanding of what you're up against. You see, when I realize I Have Been Dissed, I must take immediate action.

And today, at the Superstore (why does it always seem to be there?) I was dissed. Not in a big way, but nevertheless I got honked at for stopping at a stop sign. I don't like to be honked at. If I fucked up and deserve a honk, okay, fine, but I don't have to like it. But to be honked at for stopping at stop sign! Oooh....IT'S ON!

So I walked over to this man who was, as a matter of fact, twice my size - and so was his car (ahem, SUV Escalade). But those of us who suffer from SSD (small dog syndome) become blinded to our own physical vulnerabilities not to mention the wisdom behind approaching a total stranger and starting a conversation with, "Hey Dickhead!!!"

It's just not wise.

But I've done it all my life. I've always been like this. I am the human chihuahua.

Woof.

I Married Avril Levigne

Yesterday, Andy started singing,

"Hey hey Roo Roo...I don't like your diaper!

Hey hey Roo Roo...I think you need a new one!"

If that makes no sense, check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cQ25-glGRzI