For a couple of weeks now, after considering why people are working longer and later hours notwithstanding the deleterious effect on their health, I’ve been wanting to consider the wider question of Why do companies do bad things?
Last week, I was chatting with someone who asked me to tell them about my stroke experience. It was an interesting conversation, for me at least.
I love that I can’t tell whether that’s Curb Your Enthusiasm or an actual sportscast.
Week Three of the World Cup has come to an end. And what a [🚨 CLICHÉ KLAXON!!! 🚨] Feast Of Football it’s been. Notwithstanding that Brazil continue to elicit roughly the same amount of sympathy as their 1994 World Cup-winning edition of vicious bores, rather than 1982’s beautiful losers.
We’re thinking of going to pick up a new desk tomorrow. One of those ones that incorporates the wall into its structure, and folds flat into the wall when it’s not in use.
Sorry, Michael. I’m going somewhere with this.
I can’t say that I’m any less furious about the state of the world this week than I was last week.
No. Shan’t. I don’t care what you say, Royal Baby Announcement Town Crier Guy. I’ll thcream and thcream ’till I’m thick.
As long-suffering readers of the blog may know, one of the potential changes a stroke survivor might go through, is an increase in the frequency of anger. The UK Stroke Association suggests meditation to ameliorate the negative emotional changes that a patient go through.
Mrs Stroke Bloke and I were just talking about how over five years have passed since my stroke. A lot of things have changed since the day before the stroke. Since the day after the stroke. Since the day I was released from the Rusk Institute. And so on.
The rather hoary old saw I’m ripping here is, time flies…
We’re just over a week into 2018, and already it seems like
2018 : 2017 : : 2017 : 2016
Maybe things look more upbeat in the United States, where instead of Weak And Wobbly Theresa, there’s a VERY STABLE GENIUS!!! in charge.
Phew! Between a dose of the Dreaded Lurgy, travel, and the end-of-year festivities, things got away from me a bit for a couple of weeks there.
So it’s thank goodness for the New Year.
Or, is it? Alongside the usual end-of-year reviews and goals for 2018 that I’ve been seeing on my soshul meeds, there’s also been a bit of sniffiness about New Year and New Year’s resolutions. But perhaps nothing quite as scornful as this 1916 column from Marxist theorist Antonio Gramsci:
“I hate these New Year’s that fall like fixed maturities, which turn life and human spirit into a commercial concern with its neat final balance, its outstanding amounts, its budget for the new management.” — Antonio Gramsci, January 1st, 1916 https://t.co/6HB8zJo4Le
— Viewpoint Magazine (@viewpointmag) January 1, 2018
[Be sure to catch more lighthearted japes in the Apoplexy Tiny Letter!
Oh, and there’s some actual stroke stuff if you read on!]
So, wow. Last week’s post was kinda prescient, wasn’t it?
It turns out Moz really is a bit of a monster.
I should have known he’d have something unhelpful to say on the subject. Devious, truculent, and unreliable, right enough.
[We don’t need to talk about Moz. Let’s career off in a different direction…] Continue reading Kicking Boys