To Live and Die in New York

This has been a pretty brutal week, and you’re going to have to listen to me complain. Take it. Take it like a man!

Anyway, I just started my new job, and it’s freakin’ a lot of hard work. More work then I think I can adequately describe. This week, Anastasia had to go to Quebec for work, which left me with a dog that probably couldn’t survive 16+ hours on its own while I was at work. I wracked my brain for a solution and couldn’t figure out what to do, and then it dawned on me. I would do what every 28 year-old, self-respecting male would do in this same situation.

I would go home to mommy.

I’ve been commuting out of Danbury this week – I leave on the 6:18am and get back around 8:45pm – and my parents have been caring for Basho while I’m away. God bless them, I sure as hell wouldn’t do it for any of you bums, but they’re coming home, walking him, feeding him, and making sure he doesn’t eat lye or poop or something.

I’m in a small room with 3 other dudes – it’s going to become 4 on Monday, when I get my very own junior programmer – and it sounds like a Tourette’s Club in here, with people talking to themselves as they agonize over a piece of code, or hum to themselves as they type. I don’t do these things, of course. Other people do.

I have so much to tell and not enough time to write it all out. So I’ll leave you with the observation of my project manager, Art:

“Christopher Lambert is the Gerard Depardieu of science-fiction”

Indeed, sir. Indeed.

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