Dispatches From My Work Desk

Leveraging my status as an ambitious employee with goals is difficult to achieve since I'm more of a provocateur for handling responsibility with a sleepy conduct. To give myself some credit, I get drowsy when I'm not challenged. Don't get me wrong. I like deadlines. I also like the whooshing sound they make as they fly by, but my abject disdain for routine has forced me to enter a creative concord with my job.

It's an agreement that quietly states, "I, JJ McLaughlin, hereby promise to engage in tasks that are as preposterous as they are alluring, while at work, in order to avoid any impending slip into a profound state of sleep."

So I've chronicled my workday in crushing detail to share my penetrating ability to make flossing teeth seem more thrilling than the heavy use of recreational drugs. For all you discerning individuals who truly appreciate the elegant and visually rich format of my life and want to know more about it, this elaborate element of absurd exploration is for you.

The purpose of doing so is to prove to myself, and all of you reading this, just how rigorous and meaningful my day truly is, through a value added analysis used to measure my contribution to the workplace and society. The results are astonishing.

It's all about the details in life. I leave none of them out in this week's blog.

Starting My Morning With Spam Grammar Exercises

My day begins at 6 a.m., like clockwork. I stumble, stagger, slink and sometimes crawl into work. Communication is minimal since others are convinced I'm a zombie with the trace remnants of sleep still looming over me like a drunken man wearing the stench of booze from an all night Vegas bender. Without a heavy dose of coffee shooting through me, my grammar is a cross between peevish toddler and a drugged Yoda: "Sleepy I aaam." So I decide that I might need to wake up before I begin writing major news stories for publication.

I boil the creative juices by opening my e-mail and clicking on the Spam messages. Not only is it a real joy to the senses but it's an exercise in grammar that boosts the ego to level-20, New York Times caliber.

For example, I am able to quickly decipher the weak sentence structure of the following passive voice Spam message:

"Your balls are to be slurped by the biggest carpet munching nymphos!!!"

*It's hardly persuasive. The three exclamation points feel hollow, in an attempt by an inexperienced writer to breathe life into a desiccated construction. The active voice, however, allows you to write with straightforwardness.

I would then click on another Spam message to practice more grammar, for example, always be specific.

"In short order, you'll notice enhanced length, you stud."

The imprecision of "short order" is suspicious. Two days? One week? A year? Furthermore, avoid bankrupt modifiers such as enhanced. And stud is inaccurate. Rewrite it with exactness.

"You're exactly two days away from an 11-inch jizz stick, bitch"

Your girlfriendsd*porcupine&*!@ hot pix for <--- What does that even mean? These particular ones are hopeless exercises that I rarely spend time modifying for gain.

Playing with grammar and words takes new meaning when you edit Spam messages, however the odd exercise doesn't consume too much of my time, otherwise I might get irritable vowel syndrome and defecate incoherent sentence fragments in my work. And then ask myself, "Is my love life as good as it should be?"

I will slap myself in the face when I accidentally click on one of ads, in grave error, which will consequentially open the portal to my computer that allows extra terrestrial porn to pop up intermittently.

At about 6:30 a.m., I've typically completed that little exercise and am more awake than asleep at that point. So I open my real e-mail and look for the urban dictionary word of the day. I will scoff at it (psssh) and then unknowingly use it in conversation later.

At this point hunger will hit me so I decide I need to head down to the lunchroom for a snack in the vending machine. Of the hundreds of e-mails I receive on the hour, it's imperative to create an out of office auto reply before I leave. (No, it really isn't, but I always wanted to create one).

Unnecessary Information Revealed In An Out Of Office Auto Reply

Depending on my mood and my destination, the auto reply can vary in nature to a large degree. Since I would likely be leaving my desk for shitty vending machine food, the level of urgency might be low. I could see the auto reply read something like this:

"I will be out of the office from Dec. 8 between 6:30 a.m. to 6:35 a.m. because my youthful salary doesn't allow me the luxury of eating beyond the vending machine menu."

"I will not be available for a short period of time today but you can reach me on my mobile phone where I will screen calls aggressively and will only answer if your name is Ashley and you are prepared to apologize."

"I am out of the office handling business matters, in stall #3 of the men's room. If this is urgent, please call my assistant who might or might not be blogging about how long my bathroom visit has taken."

"From hours of 7-9 a.m., I will be too busy staring blankly at an unsharpened pencil, wondering about the existential outcome of my embittered existence as a sharp individual with dull tendencies."

"I will be out of the office for an indefinite amount of time, waiting in line at the unemployment office after encouraging a female coworker to reveal more cleavage when talking to me."

After creating an out of office reply, I head down to the first floor where I will embark on the most difficult decision I will face the entire day: Deciding what to purchase in the vending machine.

Vending Machine Executive Decision

There it stands, in all its glory. My hands, clinch the sweaty, eager quarters, preparing to make their descent into the slot of no return. I am bombarded with choices. Bullets of sweat begin shooting off my forehead. I hastily drop the money in and press F5. Yes. No. What the fuck? Do I want pop corn at this ungodly hour of the day? I dig deep from within, summoning my hunger's palate, seeking advice. The only response I receive is, "it all sounds good." Why can't I get a direct answer? I become flushed with buyer's remorse instantly after pressing F5. But thankfully, the message beeps and says $1.00 and I only entered $.75. Sigh of relief. I get fidgety and ask myself how Jesus would spend that money ... and then I postulate that home slice would probably buy shortbread and turn it into Welch's grape juice, ferment it, and then have a holiday party where everyone will love him for making the greatest snack purchase ever. I can't exactly do that. I take a step back, and examine the big picture. Twix, Butterfinger and Snickers have never disappointed me. But pastries are meant for mornings. Chips are beckoning, too. I breathe deeply because my heart is racing and my adrenal glands are on the cusp of imploding from exhaustion. In the reflection of the vending machine, I see someone walking in. I try to give the impression that I'm cool and I know exactly what I will be purchasing. I can't concentrate with someone else in the room, so I tell him the greatest lie ever to make him leave. "There's naked women upstairs ... and pizza ... and an unaccounted for $20 bill on the floor. Go get it all before it's gone," I said. Once I got rid of him I put my game face on, and realized that this is what I was hired for. I'm expected to make exceptional editorial decisions. I perform best when my back is against the wall, but why am I having a meltdown now? I turn the TV on really loud, turn the water facets on, open the fridge door, kick over the trash can, flip a table and lick other people's food in the fridge. And finally, I go with gum. Mother fucking gum.

Once I get that out of the way, I head upstairs for the editorial meeting. It's not your ordinary meeting, in my book though. I approach it like the Olympics.

Color Commentary On My Editorial Meeting Performance

Bob Costas Thirty minutes now until we see JJ McLaughlin try to medal in the elusive sport of editorial meeting commenting. First time for this event, and one that’s unfamiliar to some of our viewers. Marv, you competed briefly in this event. What should we look for?

Marv Albert Bob, this event is typically dominated by those who like to hear their own voice, or to a lesser extent, people who are prepared.

Bob Costas JJ has a unique approach to the sport. He appears, at first, almost completely ignorant of what’s happening in a meeting, often looking around with a puzzled expression.

Marv Albert It's part of his game plan. Sort of like cat-and-mouse, right?

Bob Costas No, he genuinely has no idea what is going on in the meeting.

Marv Albert He's a game changer though. Look for JJ to nudge whomever's sitting next to him and whisper something like, "What's going on?" or "Who's this Larry guy?"

Bob Costas WOW! What a clutch play by JJ! He was able to glom on to something someone said and repeat it as if it were his own thought.

Marv Albert That's what makes him so special. I talked to one of his college professors before the game who said this: "I’d never seen a student with less energy, interest, or charisma. It was almost like he was catatonic. But then, when called upon in class, he was able, at an early age, to take a fresh, cogent thought that a classmate had made moments before and restate it as if it were his own."

Bob Costas Folks, we're witnessing something historic here. It looks like JJ might be slipping into a mild slumber, and then out of nowhere he contributes to the laughter while seemingly completely missing the punchline. He does this to give the impression that he's listening and it's paying off.

Once the meeting is completed at around 9:30 a.m., I head to the bathroom, where I pontificate about the environment and how I can reduce my carbon footprint.

Bathroom Musings

Despite the large, enthusiastic strokes with which I penned my stall-door proclamation, it is debatable whether Rudy's Tacos are the best breakfast Tacos and/or whether the phone number provided will lead to a good time.

I always wonder about the literature on the hot-air-hand-dryer. The device reduces the chances of acquiring communicable diseases. It also helps save our precious trees. So, it was irresponsible of me to recommend that for more effective drying, one should instead wipe his hands on his pants. Even if this were true (a thesis refuted by industry research), the message was conveyed through large, uneven letters hurriedly written with a sharpie marker, which did nothing to suggest legitimacy. But I applaud those who think green and dry their hands on their pants.

I then look at myself in the mirror (this is done at least 50 times per day) and I remind myself that today is going to be the day that I clean up my desk.

Midday Reflections From The Fashionable Mess Of GQ Magazines On My Desk

I always look at the mess on my desk, which is a direct reflection of my life. Relax, o-harbinger-of-hastily-drawn-conclusions. My life is not a mess, at least not completely.

My desk is the unofficial portal for information relating to trends, music, style, girls and sports. So it's no surprise that it is covered with these types of magazines, periodicals and images that exemplify me, a young narcissistic individual who effortlessly persuades others to study me with a mixture of envy and desire.

Moving at a glacial pace to complete work tasks, I begin to imagine what life would be like if I parted my hair and wore nicely pressed shirts. My pillow has been my personal hair stylist for as along as I can remember. And my thrift store attire is just something that's uniquely me. I begin thumbing through some magazines. Not reading them, just thumbing them because I enjoy the feel of magazine gloss pages being sifted through by my fingers.

I always land on some pithy little article that teaches you how to dress to impress, or be the you that you want to be. I wonder if by having a more professional appearance, I might earn more money? And in case you're wondering, at this point it's lunch time, which is when I get most of my work done. The rest of the day is all down hill.

In an attempt to get more organized I make little notes and hang them on my cubicle wall, proclaiming reasons why 2009 will bring a new JJ. I run my fingers through my greasy head of unkempt hair and wonder if anyone else would ever dare wear a lilac colored hoodie on TV and get away with it. I wonder if anyone would ever want to? I wonder how important my role in the newsroom is? Would the local news world be crippled if I did not show up to work one day? Or would my coworkers throw a giant ugly sweater themed festival in honor of my absence? How do you know if you are wasting your time at a certain job? My shoe box full of business cards is collecting dust and unruly neglect. My mouse and keypad are worn and my chair has been sullied by far too many hours sitting, jockeying for that perfect position that doesn't make my legs go numb. When there is no challenge or adventure, is it the responsible thing to do to make the best of it, or is this a disservice to yourself? Considering the value added analysis is set forth initially in this blog. If it weren't for me, the vending machine would be fully stocked. The bathrooms would be free of satirical literature and phone numbers. I would not steal people's thoughts during meetings and reword them and. Society might still be able to function. I am confident in saying that much.

So what do I bring to the workplace and society?

I don't know. Like an acoustic citizen of soft strumming words and ideals with a penchant for hushed and languid tunes, I'm just gonna sit on it for a bit and let it play out in folk like harmony.

Before you make a lewd gesture (hand job motions and the like) at this little reflection, just know that I make the best of it all. You will never find me complaining about anything.

This concludes the dispatches from my work desk. I know I only went halfway into the day, but my work day ends at 3 p.m. anyways. Oh - and if by chance, one of my work superiors happen to read this, consider this posting the greatest stretch of the imagination ever told.

I was going to write an "All things considered year-in-review" this blog, but I'll write that at the end of this week. It goes without saying that it will be a super extraordinary collection of life enhancing musings that will surpass your compendium of dream-fulfilling amazements. Get ready for it.

Back to work.