Reeling and spinning and going back to the 80s

Work with pressing deadlines were hurled my way like scuds at desert storm during the past week. An officemate from far-away could not have stated it better when she summarized in a word what had been keeping her on her toes albeit expectations from our demanding job: dedication. For me, it's the absence of an offer for a better paying job and the hope that things will normalize and get better if I stay on. Also, there's the glimmer of hope of getting another raise as I deem it to fit my tab. Everything would be ok if I were paid equitably for the things I do on the daily. More importantly, for the things I do beyond those embodied in the job description of the position I occupy. They now call me creative director, AKA a very gifted and talented person on the arts (music, graphics, multi-media, project aesthetics, layout, feature writing, etc, blah blah blah) that the department is lucky enough to have. I'll bet my ass they would not find anyone who could top what I put on the table as a single individual with the pay rate I'm getting. Not to be misconstrued, I'm paid rather well for the regular job I should only be doing, that is. Several people, maybe, but not a single individual who had not only specialized but who was also lucky enough to be born with over-flowing creative juices. Oh yeah, I'll bet my ass on that for sure.

I, plus several others, have grown to accept that what we do is thankless. I could live with that. But tired is what I am right now. My eyes hurt. My stomach churns unhappily to the intense tune of Jimi Hendrix's Fire. That and I have a 3-week worth laundry in my room that I'm too tired to fold up and take to the laundromat. Oh, and Emily, our helper, had not visited for more than a month now due to some sickness that had affected her family which lends the house an air of primal chaos.

On a much lighter and non-venting-of-heavy-feelings-and-frustrations side, an officemate is again leaving for an expat assignment to neighboring Hong Kong. A despedida party was held and the creative director, cue me, was again called to step up. I mixed several 80s music with shounds of people booing, cymbals, and random noises to fill the gap between horrible jokes that the leaving officemate so enthusiastically hurled our way in the past. We had all only found out in the past week that we shared the same opinion about the substandard nature of the jokes. It's either that or the delivery was not quite ok, they say, but it was pretty obvious that the jokes were horrific. I'll spare you the punchlines. Believe me, you would not ever want to hear them.

The 80s music had been served and I quite enjoyed my find via the link on the title of this post. I got some Milli Vanilli, Ice Ice Baby, Push It, Asi Me Gusta Mi (more popularly known as Extacy Extano), and Mony Mony. The tunes were so old-schoolishly old that you would want to flush your ears with a dose of heavy metal to rid you of the nostalgia. Aweful tasting nostalgia, that is, but fun. I had a wicked time listening to the full tracks.

Below are some tracks I reserched that made a cover of some popular 80s music. These versions are fused with rock so you get a new experience while reliving the old memories.

Labels: Memoir, Music, Vertigo

posted by Fritz @ 12:14 AM