Stuff on My Desk: Poster of Snow Tracks

OK. So. If you've been reading my blog for some time, you'll remember (or maybe you won't, who knows?) a little series I liked to call "Stuff on My Desk." It was fun, it was fabulous, it was loved by...few.

I stopped it awhile back because, frankly, there's only so much stuff on my desk.

This NaBloPoMo thing, however, has me running scared looking for topics. And I realized that, somehow, I'd left out bar-none the most popular item on my desk (or, technically, on my cube wall; now is not the time for semantics, a'ight?):

THE SNOW TRACKS POSTER

Dun dun dun!

(Did you just get a little shiver of excitement? Uh, me either. Let's just go with it.)

So, the poster. I got it from a designer I used to work with, who'd received it as a freebie from a stock photo company. I said to her, "Hey, designer" (which wasn't her actual name, but I can't REMEMBER her name just now, all right? Let's not dwell on it) "are you going to do anything with that poster? My cube's looking a little bare."

OK, take a good look at this poster. We're apparently looking at a parking lot. It's snowy. There are tire tracks. There are telephone poles. There are a few parked cars. And there are, inexplicably, boats. There are corners of buildings. There's possible evidence of either a road or railroad tracks in one corner.

Not exactly super art fabulosity personified.

But when I say this is the most popular item in my cube? It's because no fewer than 30-40 people (many of whom I'd never met before) have stopped by my desk with the EXPRESS PURPOSE of discussing the apparent profundity of this poster.

A sample conversation:

Me: (working, working, working)

Guy I've Never Seen Before: Hey, are you Shannon?

Me: (glancing pointedly at the nameplate adorning my cube) Um. Yes. Can I help you?

GINSB: I was walking past your cube last night and I saw this poster, and I just had to stop by and ask you: What does it mean?

Me: Excuse me?

GINSB: I mean, I stood here for probably 20 minutes last night just staring at it. Like, the tire tracks. And then the boats? I mean, what is this supposed to BE?

Me: (feverishly willing my phone to ring) Uh...a parking lot with some tire tracks and boats?

GINSB: But if you REALLY look at it, like, the tire tracks? Some of them don't seem to do anything but just drive in circles. Like, they never parked; they just drove around. And then those footprints -- I mean, they don't even LEAD anywhere. (leaning forward, really getting into this now) I've been thinking about this all night. I just HAD to come over and ask you about it. I mean, I'm thinking, "Where did she get this poster? What does it MEAN?"

Me: Uhhh...I got it for free? From an old co-worker? And...I just needed something on that wall there. So...I have no idea what it "means." It's just kind of taking up space.

GINSB: (visibly disappointed) Oh. Oh, OK. I just thought...OK, never mind. (dejectedly walks away)

Me: Sigh.

*****

I've had nearly identical conversations with at least two dozen colleagues and a handful of cleaning staff. And I know that the above seems sort of farcical in its earnestness, but I'm here to tell you: It ain't.

Everyone wants to know: WHAT DOES IT MEAN??

They cannot fathom that I just hung up this CLEARLY PROFOUND AND FULL OF THE MEANING OF LIFE poster because I wanted something to take up space.

And, I suppose, if you look at it long enough to see all the little pieces and parts of it, it IS kind of a cool photograph.

But I'm here today to say, now and forever, THAT'S ALL IT IS.

Unless you also see something totally deep and profound, and you really want to study and worship it, in which case there are apparently some like-minded individuals at my office ready to join your Church of the Snowy Tracks.

May peace be with you.

PS: Am I crazy for kind of liking the name Ginsbey?

Stuff on My Desk: Frankenstein Ring

First: Wow. This is the blurriest picture ever in the history of Stuff on My Desk. (Like how I made it sound like an actual thing? With a history?) Sorry about that. My camera stinks.

This is the most recent addition to the Stuff on My Desk. Well, if you consider Halloween "recent."

Shortly after Halloween, our neighbors had us over for dinner and highly-contentious card-playing.

Well, highly-contentious for the husbands. (We always play boys against girls; playing as couples is a recipe for divorce, or at least an evening of not speaking to one another.) Not that the girls always win. It's just that the boys CARE a lot more about winning than the girls do. So when the boys win, we're still having fun. But when the girls win, it is PERSONAL. Sigh. Boys.

Anyway.

This little plastic gem was perched atop our dessert: leftover Halloween cupcakes. Subsequently, he was also covered in frosting. And I will readily admit that I licked the frosting off his face. Which could be why the white paint on what are supposed to be his teeth is kind of...chipped. So I'm probably suffering from lead poisoning, too.

Anyway.

Once he was (reasonably) clean and free of sugary food coloring, I gave him a place of honor on my middle finger and resumed our card game.

During which Frankenstein managed to get in the way while I was dealing (his giant head made it REALLY hard to shuffle), but I refused to take him off because we were winning, and I liked smooching his little green face for luck before I picked up my hand each time.

And because it annoyed the crap out of our husbands, and that always amuses and pleases me greatly.

When the evening was over, I couldn't quite bear to part with little snaggle-toothed Frankie. (Who, to me, looks like he's a member of Archie's Gang rather than a monster hell-bent on terrorizing torch-bearing villagers. Seriously -- what is with that hair?)

So now he lives on my desk, and every now and then I slip him onto my finger during an extra-boring conference call and smooch his tiny face and wish for a fire drill. So far, Frankie hasn't delivered.

Stuff on My Desk: Dollar Store Painting

Who says great art can't cost a dollar?

...OK, pretty much everyone.

BUT.

How cute is this little painting? I found it at The Dollar Store for...um, a dollar. (Sorry for the flash in the picture. I couldn't figure out how to turn it off, and I was in a hurry.)

I love it because:

• The colors are awesome.
• It's vaguely Fall-ish looking -- my favoritest-est-est season.
• I'm not sure about the artist, but anyone with the last name "Vagil" (so tragically close to "Vagisil") is screaming to be given the benefit of the doubt. He or she has undoubtedly suffered enough on the playground of life; let's cut him or her some slack.
• The trees look reasonably lifelike, but not obnoxiously so. (I realize I'm reaching here.)
• Oh, and IT ONLY COST ME A DOLLAR.

I actually liked this little print so much, I bought two copies of it (for TWO dollars, total) so I could have one in my cubicle at work and one in my home office.

(It is my secret dream to paint a room in our house that orange color. However, I think it might give T a heart attack. He's not so adventurous when it comes to home decor.)

In short: I love my little print. My cheap, knockoff, painted-by-a-person-of-unknown-sex-or-creed-who-is-named-after-yeast-infection-cream, Dollar Store print.

Stuff on My Desk: Pill-shaped Stress Ball

Just like everyone else in the world, I have stress.

It just so happens that I like to take mine out on this small, hand-sized stress ball in the shape of a Dexatrim pill.

(Seriously: Anytime I see pills that break apart in the middle and have different stuff on each end, I think of those old Dexatrim commercials from the 1980s. Remember those? Take one and your appetite is just gone! Little did we know they'd either make us crazy or anorexic or crazy-anorexic. We were so innocent.)

(Disclaimer: I have no idea if Dexatrim actually made people crazy or anorexic. I'm just assuming based on my deep, inner hatred of diet pills. Please don't be offended if you or your loved one had a wonderful (or horrible) experience with them. I'm just talking out of my butt here.)

ANYWAY.

I got this little guy at a trade show for pharmacists, which my brother and I used to attend with our dad when we were growing up. Trade shows are like crack dens for kids -- you get tons of free stuff, and you're a kid, so no one expects you to sit through a boring speech about the merits of their REVOLUTIONARY hemorrhoid medication in exchange for the tchotchkes they just handed you. You just take it and run to the next booth, where they're giving away candy and free book lights.

And now, as a 32-year-old adult, when my cubicle neighbor makes that snorting noise for the 50th time, and the people in the kitchenette across from me bang on the vending machine WITH THEIR FISTS and the guy from down the hall stands next to my cube, cursing loudly at the printer, somehow missing the fact that I AM WORKING three feet to his left?

I don't have to get up and kick them all in the shins, or scream at the top of my lungs that I HAVE HAD IT with Corporate America and am leaving to take a job in a research library where it's just me and a bunch of books and no one around to be loud and throw away my coffee cup and make the whole office smell like a combination of popcorn and dead, rotting foot skin.

I have an outlet.

Thank you, pill-shaped stress ball.

Stuff on My Desk: That One Paper Game Thingie

If you don't remember these, clearly you didn't grow up in the 80s.

They were all the rage on the playground when I was in elementary school. Need to know if that super-cute fifth grade boy likes you? Ask the paper. Should I perm ALL my hair or just my bangs? Ask the paper.

(And yes, I'm aware that this probably has an actual NAME vs. just "the paper," but I can't remember it. Please feel free to enlighten me.)

If you younger (or older) folks are wondering how the heck this thing works: You stick both pointer fingers and thumbs inside the folded corners of the paper (underneath the part you've written on). You pick a number and then move your fingers back and forth that number of times (I can't think of a better way to describe this; it's more of a visual). Wherever you stop, you then pick a color and lift up the appropriate tab, under which lies your answer. Wicked cool. And totally foolproof, of course.

(It's pretty much the poor man's version of the Magic 8-ball. We were 10; I think my allowance was, like, 75 cents a week or something. You think I could afford some fancy-schmancy Magic 8-ball? Shoot.)

This is hanging on my desk because, one day, in my last job, I was instant-messaging an old co-worker of mine and telling him about a problem I was having that seemed to have no good solution. It was one of those good old Corporate America lose-lose situations. We met for coffee to talk it out, and he helpfully made this paper game ahead of time and brought it with him, presumably to help me make my decision. In reality, it just made me laugh, which was just as good.

The possible "answers" to whatever question I was asking are "Yes," "No," "Forget it, sister" (ha) and "Ask C," who was my boss at the time. The joke there is that you never asked C ANYTHING unless you wanted to be on the phone for three hours.

Anyone else have fond memories of these paper game thingies? Please, do share.

Stuff on My Desk: Drawing of Some Old Men

Personally, I hate conference calls.

They're almost always boring and too long, and I can't recall any that have actually accomplished anything meaningful/productive. In short, 99.9 percent of all conference calls are a giant waste of time.

Which is why I, like most people I know, resort to acting like I'm taking notes while I'm really making a list of things I need to do that day, trying to remember all the lyrics to "We Didn't Start the Fire" and doodling in the margins of my notebook.

(Oh, don't judge me. You know you're not listening, either.)

For some, like me, "doodling" means just that. Aimlessly scribbling meaningless shapes and occasionally making checkerboard patterns within said meaningless shapes (for some unknown reason).

For others, like my former co-worker, Bill, it means drawing something that LOOKS like something.

Bill not only managed to whip off the above drawings during a typical 30-minute conference call, he did it with a sub-quality, corporate-provided red ballpoint pen, all while making everyone on the other end of the call believe he was totally paying attention.

And then he gave the drawings to me.

I'd like to say I keep them hanging in my cube to remind me not to take work too seriously, to keep some sense of whimsy as I traverse through corporate life.

But the truth is, I just think they look kind of cool.

Stuff on My Desk: A Purse I Knitted

I love to knit.

You know what doesn't love me knitting?

My job and all the 500 million other things I have to do.

But once upon a time, I knitted (knitted? knit?) a lot.

The picture above is of one little project I did a few years ago. It's a tiny purse, knitted with some of that novelty "eyelash" yarn and some ribbon. It's hard to see, but there's a flap that folds over the top of the purse, sort of in a messenger bag style.

It was supposed to be something I could use to carry my cell phone and a credit card, just something tiny when I didn't need to carry everything in my giant briefcase/purse.

However. I've discovered that I pretty much never go anywhere with just my cell phone and a credit card.

And it's such a cute little purse, it was depressing me, just sitting sadly in my Closet Where Craft-y Projects Go to Die.

So now it's hanging in my cubicle, where it's all cute and yellow and is a conversation piece when people walk past on their way to the kitchenette. (My favorite question so far: "Why did you make that?" Um, so you could ask me about it? Weirdo.)

Stuff on My Desk: Bowl That Looks Like an Orange

(Yes, I know showing you stuff on my desk is stupid. Yes, I'm still doing it.)

This bowl looks like an orange. (Hence my clever post title.) I was in Kroger one day last winter and thought this was just the thing to brighten up my very, very gray and depressing cubicle.

I love this bowl. It's so bright and cheery, and it capably holds my car keys and loose change while I'm working.

(Do other people keep their keys in bowls like this? If I didn't, they would perpetually be lost.)

Stuff on My Desk: Rockin' Pinocchio

I spend a significant amount of time in a cubicle. It's a 6x8, gray, lifeless, soul-sucking space with absolutely no personality. And like many cube-dwellers, in order to maintain my sanity, over the years I've added layers of photos, posters and tchotchkes to liven up the space.

So I decided that, during the month of December, I'm going to show you the Stuff on My Desk.

(I did warn you that my blog offerings this month were going to be less than inspired. And here we are.)

So for this first installment, let me introduce you to what I call my Rockin' Pinocchio:


He's made of plastic. I don't remember what company made him or why I have him, but I remember that he came in a plastic egg. He's assembled with a series of plastic pieces and a metal rocker that fit together with tiny tabs. And his features are actually stickers that I had to affix myself.

When you tap either side of him, the round orange piece makes Pinocchio rock back and forth on the green stand he's sitting on.

He amuses me during long conference calls.

Although I've never figured out why he's apparently in a fighting stance. Perhaps Jiminy Cricket was being a smarty-pants.