Mandatory cheese sandwich entry, part one

cheese sandwich: (n.) Slang used by weblog writers to describe a weblog entry in which the writer simply catalogs what s/he did that day. Taken from a (probably apocryphal) blog entry that went “Today I ate a cheese sandwich”. In all likeliness, the “cheese” involved was actually “processed cheese food” slices, which are not really cheese in the strictest sense of the word.

Thursday, March 6th, 8:45 a.m.

Damn! I set the alarm clock to 8 p.m. again. They should really work on the user interface of these things. Shower, shave and breakfast will have to be deferred, but at least the habit of laying out the next day’s clothes help to shave off a couple of minutes of fumbling around the closet.

There doesn’t seem to be a dress code at this government office where I’m doing my contract work. “Business casual” is perfectly acceptable. In spite of that, I’ve been erring on the side of new-media-snappy, which in the winter is a dark dress shirt, dark pants, dark blazer. For some odd reason, I chose to dress down a little, opting for one of my dark sweaters with a single raffish horizontal stripe across the chest, the kind you always see in the funkier sections of the department store or on guys in indie rock videos. I have an inordinately large collection of sweaters with these single stripes — some across the chest, some along the sleeves — because I get two from my aunt every year, for my birthday and for Christmas. She seems to always something in one of the Joey-approved colours (black, blue, grey, green or brown) and it always fits. As a result, I haven’t had to buy a sweater in years.

9:15 a.m.

Another failure of civility: the streetcar driver and a surly passenger are having a little standoff. The streetcar driver asked the passenger to show his transfer a little more clearly next time and the passenger responded with mumbled profanities. The driver responded by saying “fine, be that way”, stopped the streetcar, opened the door and asked Surly Passenger to leave. Surly Passenger is staying put in his seat with his arms crossed. I hate rude people, I’ve been working out and Surly Passenger looks a little scrawny; I briefly contemplate pimp-slapping some etiquette into him.

If one of them would kindly blink in this little staring contest, I can get to work and go about the business of giving the Canadian taxpayers real data processing value.

9:30 a.m.

The trip, Surly Passenger standoff notwithstanding, is short: a 10-minute ride north on the Spadina streetcar to Spadina station, 5-minute subway ride east on the Bloor Line to Yonge station, then another 5 minutes on the northbound train to St. Clair station, which is right by the Arthur Meighen Building, which houses the cubicle to which I have been temporarily assigned.

I think this position is about as unbureaucratic as it gets. I was told that I could waltz in as late as 10 a.m. as long as I got in 7.5 hours every day, as stipulated in my contract. I’m usually in between 9:00 and 9:30 so that I can leave early enough to make it down to my gym classes on time. Nothing shall prevent me from lifting barbells in sync with two dozen other people to the tune of Human Leagues Don’t You Want Me Baby.

10:15 p.m.

I’m entering notes about the project in my own little developer diary on my personal laptop for future reference. I think I’ve written elsewhere that making changes to it is like trying to play Jenga while wearing Vaseline-covered mittens.

12:30 p.m.

Lunch with Eldon. Eldon, as I’ve mentioned before, has moved back to Toronto from Vancouver. Over lunch, I detect that homesickness for Vancouver that people from eastern Canada can’t understand. Some ex-Vancouverites miss the spectacular views of the ocean and the mountains. Others miss the sensible way in which west coast coffee shops understand that they have to open well into the wee hours of the morning, if not all the time. Others still decry how expensive Toronto is, but only because they have no idea how much it costs to live in most other places in the world. I’ll admit that we could stand to emulate London Drugs, a Vancouver-based chain that seems to be part drug store, part grocery store, part computer store, and it’s open late.

I like Accordion City. It’s an underrated gem of North America with a lot going for it. It’s got economic might, decent nightlife, more cultures than any other place in North America, lots of really cool nooks and crannies to explore and enough people to make the place really interesting.

I might have one more out-of-the-city move left in me, but it would have to be to some place like New York.

3:30 p.m.

The business logic behind the program I’m working is slowly being revealed to me. I’m finding out the difference between primary and secondary applicants for refugee status, and the recent changes to the law in such matters. My job will be to turn the new legislation into code.

5:15 p.m.

Cute girl with whom I’m seeing an art film tonight calls. She’s downtown and wants to grab dinner before the movie. I’d planned to go home first and shower, shave and change since I rushed out of the house this morning and dressed down. However, I haven’t seen her in a couple of months and figure that my charm can trump a little scruffiness.

More cheese sandwich-y goodness later…