A Little Whine

My name is DJ and I work in a corporate loony bin. I cannot make rhyme or reason out of half the shit I see on a daily basis. Getting things done is not a simple proposition. It would probably be worse if I was a climber so I’m better off being an “individual contributor”. That term is an example of the corporate bastardization of the English language, but a relatively minor one. They use “reach out” a lot these days, as in contact someone. I’m going to reach out and slug somebody someday. Preferably after my 401k recovers.

OK, the work day is over and I’m a glass half full kind of guy. That’s why I have Binghamton going to the sweet sixteen in one of my brackets, the one where no money is involved. I saw a sportswriter and my bud #1 call it “Binghampton”. There is no p in Binghamton fellas. Get it right! It’s the jewel of the Southern Tier.

We had a corned beef and cabbage feast last night. Yeah, I know it’s not Irish. Feel free to leave a comment. I’ll ignore it. I went to Draegers to get the corned beef. We got one at Safeway last year and it was akin to a salt lick. My daughter made a good sized round of Irish soda bread to go with it, of which we ate about half. My wife cut up some food for son #2. He’s a big fan of the taquito and mini quiche but he we make him eat what the rest of us eat once in a while. Last night was one of those nights, to his chagrin. He pushed it away and went back to TV. After dinner we all headed to different parts of the house. About a half hour later I was informed that sonny boy two had devoured the other half of the soda bread. The carpet was covered with crumbs, as he likes to nosh in front of the TV when the opportunity presents itself.