Neither a Bang Nor a Whimper

Well, I've quit my job. Finally. After what will be, on my last day, 1160 calendar days or 830 work days (but hey - who's counting?) of continuously difficult and frequently excruciating toil on the cubicle farm, I'm trading my present employer for a new and, to all indications, much better one. The new job offers the same salary, but much better benefits and, most crucially, work that promises to be more satisfying and rewarding.

On the downside, leaving this job for that one means I won't be hanging around with great people like Elise and Matt, in whose commiseratory company I've ingested thousands of milligrams of caffeine since 7/29/03. But we'll always have After School Snack, and I'm going to happily keep blogging from my new perch in Northfield, mere blocks from where the townsfolk repelled the James-Younger gang in 1876. With any luck, I'll cook up something half as biting as anything written by Carleton's most famous (and gotta-be ugliest) professor, Thorstein Veblen, who wrote such pithy cruelties as

No one travelling on a business trip would be missed if he failed to arrive.

The addiction to sports, therefore, in a peculiar degree marks an arrested development in man's moral nature.

In point of substantial merit the law school belongs in the modern university no more than a school of fencing or dancing.

And especially

All business sagacity reduces itself in the last analysis to judicious use of sabotage.

But also

Labor wants also pride and joy in doing good work, a sense of making or doing something beautiful or useful - to be treated with dignity and respect as brother and sister.

Cheers to all of you out there on the Internets!