Budget Blunders by Blustery Blowhards / January 11, 2016 by Bryan Trude

Or, "The blog post where I rant about budget practices."

Workplace Personality / January 8, 2016 by Bryan Trude

It's something I never really dwelt on before, but it's surprising just how much more comfortable a workspace can be with even just a little personalization.

If it wasn't clear before, I have spent the last few weeks at home in Seattle for the holiday, and as I write this, it is my second day back at work for my university's IT department, where I work as a graduate assistant in video production, communications and, increasingly, marketing. While I was hired mostly to work on promotion and training for the rollout of the university's new BANNER Student Information System software (which is on indefinite hold because a critical person to that project was severely injured in the Stillwater Homecoming parade,) the department has been finding new ways to put me to use.

Otherwise, they pay me to spend four hours every morning to sit here and do homework...and write crappy blog posts.

I have a fairly roomy cubicle up near the front door of the building, wedged in between the department's HR rep and the student assistant secretary, near the CIO's office. It's not a bad spot, but last semester it felt kind of cold and sterile.

IT is home to some unusual sights, though. Like these two working to unclog a urinal. Don't ask me how that happened.

Another result of my placement up front is that to get to the restroom, water fountain or the vending machines, I have to walk through the entire building, which is basically a giant bullpen situated in a modern metal barn.

Let me tell you, some of these IT guys take cubicle decoration to the next freakin' level.

I mean, seriously. (Taken with permission.) — I mean, seriously. *(Taken with permission.)*

Now, one of my favorite hobbies revolves around Mobile Suit Gundam. Ever since I first saw Gundam Wing on Toonami, I was hooked. I especially love building and collecting the model kits made for the various mobile suits from all varieties of the show. I had a small, burgeoning collection of built models that I had left in a box at home, so I figured I'd grab it and bring it back with me over the break.

I couldn't find it.

I turned my room and my house upside down, but I couldn't find them. I could only find a half-finished model I started as a fully painted project which is on hiatus because some furry little bastard ate a critical part off of my work table.

Still, I was able to find some other figurines I had collecting dust, and along with a model my folks got me for Christmas (and another one bought with part of an Amazon gift card my brother and sister-in-law sent me), I was able to put something together.

Along with a Spartan, an ODST trooper, and Duke Nukem sitting on the edge of my partition wall, I've started to make this cubicle a little spot of home, adding a little personality (that thing that more than one person has accused me of not having. The Internet is full of jerks.)

Besides, when I'm freaking out over an assignment or staring vapidly at the render bar creep across my monitor, I can look over at Duke's smug grin and remind myself, even if it takes 10 years of development hell, I can still slog through it all and do something big. Even if it sucks.

See ya, Seattle / January 6, 2016 by Bryan Trude

So, when I last wrote for this blog, I wrote about the weird status quo I found myself in trying to observe a holiday while not subscribing to religious dogma that many people associated it with, and how it was my right. Almost immediately, folks who will go unnamed here commented, worrying that I might offend someone.

Way to miss the point.

My own right to be offended at a lack of respect for my beliefs (or lack thereof) notwithstanding, I pushed them out of my mind and had a rather pleasant holiday. I was reminded of it, however, as I let YouTube be my personal jukebox, and a song came on titled "The Most Offensive Song Ever."

Yes, it is a South Park song.

While the song itself may have been offensive back when it was released around the turn of the millenium, the subject matter reminded me of my last post. Granted, for those who have never heard the song, it's about just how far the Virgin Mary can stretch the biblical definition of "Virgin" to get by, so...well...consider yourself warned, but it did get me thinking about how being offended is considered a national pasttime these days.

That is just one of many things rattling around in my brain as I sit in the Wolfgang Puck's grill in Sea-Tac's Terminal C, waiting for my breakfast and wondering how exactly I'm going to kill the next three hours. I could sleep, heaven knows I never sleep well the night before I travel, but I doubt that will happen.

Oh yeah, Merry Holidaysmas and Happy New Year etc.

I could sit and write a blog post and work on my web site. If you're reading this, you know how well that's going (though I have to say, compared to my old type cover, the Surface 4 type cover with its spaced keys has been a godsend.)

I could think about my cat.

Sage is about as much of a morning creature as I am.

To be honest, I'm just glad to be getting back to Stillwater, back to school and to classes and to work and to my little piece of shit car and oh man these garlic potato wedges are good.

Sorry, got a little off track.

My visit home this Christmas felt a little weird, because while I am a resident of Washington, complete with license plate and driver's license and no state income tax, after being back in Oklahoma for four months it didn't quite -feel- like home.

I was back in my room, doing absolutely nothing at all (and loving every minute of it,) getting mad at the cat when she insisted on being a cushion for my feet while I was going down the stairs, yet it all kind of felt off. It felt the way it did when I would visit family in Seattle as a tourist, destined to turn around and fly home.

Yet, Stillwater doesn't feel like home. I'm not even on the plane yet, and already I'm thinking about how in four months, I have to empty out the broom closet I call a dorm suite and figure out what I'm gonna do with all my stuff if I plan on leaving my car in Oklahoma and flying back instead of spending two grand and six days round trip to drive. I'm thinking about going back to work tomorrow, and how much I'm dreading my first Statistics class next week, but I don't have that feeling of "I'm going home."

One of my favorite movies as a kid said "Home is where your rump rests." I guess my rump is a restless hobo.

I'm dreaming of a damp Christmas / December 23, 2015 by Bryan Trude

So, as I was at Fred Meyer, loading groceries in to the back of my mom's Subaru because she decided to send me grocery shopping at the major store in Maple Valley on the last shopping day before Christmas Eve (which was precisely as much fun you'd think it'd be for someone who hates crowded, loud places), I got some snow on my jacket.

I apologize for the vertical-ness, I took it to text to my mother about how much I was loving my life at the time.

It was the first time I've seen real snow this season, and checking the weather report, snow showers are expected in the Maple Valley area for Christmas Eve, marking a good chance for one of the things that can make my mother squeal like a giidy schoolgirl: a white Christmas.

My mother has a certain fascination with snow being on the ground on December 25, bordering on an almost romantic infatuation. She got excited when she moved out to the Pacific Northwest for that reason. After all, chances of a white Christmas in Oklahoma are pretty low.

The forecasted high in Stillwater on Christmas Day? 65 degrees.

Christmas has always been an odd holiday. A mishmash of Christian belief and pagan Germanic festivals, it's worked it's way in to the American, and indeed Western culture, as a cultural celebration of peace, good will, and capitalism bordering on the pornographic. Yet, I still meet people every year who act surprised when I offer "Merry Christmas" or actually participate in the holiday despite not believing in the religious mythos that many subscribe to it.

I'd call it a fairy tale, but I have many relatives and close family members who would get really mad if I called it that, and that is just a fight not worth trying to win.

Like that speech from Independence Day (with fewer aliens shooting green snot at me), Christmas is no longer a Christian holiday. Is it really so weird in this country to celebrate a holiday that brings the entire nation to a screeching halt without believing that, 2,000 years ago, some newlywed gave birth in a horse stall before getting her freak on? Apparently it is for some people.

So, keep your virgin birth, your Star of Bethlehem, your frankincense and your myrrh.

Leave the gold.

Keep your religious connotations and your baby Jesus. I'll celebrate Christmas the way I like to: as a celebration where I do my damnest to have peace and goodwill to all, even if I really hate them.