Tuesday, 29 December 2009
If (as i'm fairly sure) Jesus Christ was indeed the first Communist, i've moved closer than ever to being a Christian these last 12 months. Still no buyin that son o God shit but all his chat bout kickin out the money lenders, lovin thy neighbour and of course "from each according to their abilities to each according to their needs" has deeper resonance than ever for me. (JC didnae really come out wi that last yin but i bet he'd've coined it if Karlo (or Louis Blanc) hadnae beat him to the punch.)
Prior to 2009 an average working day consisted of sitting on a wee seat wi wheels, pressing buttons on a keyboard, spraffing on the phone, speaking and staying awake at the odd meeting, drinkin a bucket of black coffee and occassionally wondering what possible value there could be to society from the shit i was doing. I was overpaid for this nonsense to the extent that i never worried about what was spent on music, books, films or the pub and could always take a few months off between contracts to faff about in South Asia.
During 2009 my average working day has been a bit more tricky to define - maybe cos i've done 8 different jobs that spring to mind right now. Whatever, the very best paid of these jobs (fishing of course) has remunerated to the tune of less than a 3rd of what i got as a test analyst. Every one of them (bar telephone market research) has involved far more physical effort and a lot more personal danger than the IT stuff.
I am truly struggling to understand why capitalism values IT testing as more worthy of cash than work which makes a tangible improvement to the world we all live in. I dinnae get it but i like to think Jesus would. Maybe it's time for a second coming and i don't mean a slightly disappointing lp by the Stone Roses.
So, as i stoat aboot waitin on the new Messiah and, if you aint gonna make it to the party of the decade in Leith's own Village Bar, may i wish you a very happy New Year.
And i mean that most sincerely, folks. Gouranga yakuntz!
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
Unless yer job's to humph lazy gadgie's (erm...sorry...valued customer's) messages up 4 flights o tenement stairs. What was it wi those cheapskate Victorians that they didnae speak to Otis or Schindler and instal lifts in the flats? Sheesh!
And what is it wi some good peeps of Embra that they cough up actual dosh for bottled water instead o turnin on a tap?
I hate to moan (honest, guv) but fir fuck sake, last Friday night some radge valued customer had me heavin 84 litres o bottled water plus assorted crates o beer, boxes o wine and frozen vol au vent cases (gastronome superbique) to the top floor of a Polwarth flat. I lived for many a year in Polwarth and the tap gear tasted like Himalayan dew.
Taste the thunder!
Moan over. My belly's shrunk a bit, i've got muscles again and the weirdo plastic water guzzlers indirectly pay me a wage. It may be the root of all evil (it is for sure, nae doots there) but cally dosh is mighty handy when you've been largely without for a while.
So right now i'm kinda diggin this xmas consumption madness. I may hardly see ma pals and get mighty jealous of a weekend when they're out there doin the stuff but come New Year i'll be trimm as trab and back in the black.
And i can only thank the sweet baba Jesus for that.