Binkomonster!

Just Can't Get It Right

It is currently 11:21pm. On an Wednesday evening. Are we asleep? Nope. The CTO is sitting and listening to some Pink Martini and trying hard to let the oil slick slide off the proverbial feathers. Life under the man is no easy picnic. Just as one figures out one puzzle, up pop 4 more new ones. Of increasing difficulty. Of the political and 'pay attention' flavor. Walk the tightrope. Juggling balls with one hand, holding balanced plates with the other. And when you get to the other side? Hurray and congratulations. No one was watching anyway. The audience is busy down in the ring looking at the girl in the shiny costume on the dazzling pony. Sigh. Oh but wait! Go stuff yourself in the cannon, and get ready for the next act! What's that you say? Not enough gunpowder? Oh quit griping, what do you know about pyrotechnics anyway? THIS. This is what life feels like sometimes. And when it doesn't feel like this, it feels like being on a roller coaster going way up, and then down at dizzying speed, all the while hanging on with white knuckles and blisters starting to form. Maybe we're not cut out to play the game correctly anymore. Or maybe the game has shifted such that it is alien to us, and unfathomable. Either way, it's not a fun place to be. Wondering what it's like on the other side (to be a writer, to be self employed, to be doing something in the creative field) doesn't bring much relief as we hold a firm philosophy that the 'grass is not always greener on the other side'. In other words, as much as other pursuits may be interesting and engaging, we're sure there are issues that make the writers, consultants and artists weep in their respective cups as well. So what is one to do? Be grateful for the golden handcuffs and that there is some security in times of increasing financial turmoil (have you listened to CNN lately or glanced at a Wall St rag? It's rough out there and not getting smoother any time soon). And continue to chafe at the tight fit of the pigeon cage.

We know how she feels.

Yesterday saw another event of the urinary kind here at Binkomonster. One of our four staff members stealthily left a fluid deposit down in the entryway. An incident that not only assured an olfactory assault, but also damaged some artwork. Note to selves: first floor no longer suitable repository for the Picasso, Rembrandt and Shag. Based on some CCSI (Cat Crime Scene Investigation), we deduced our primary suspect to be the Woobster. In an effort to stem further retaliation, she got to take an evening stay in the bathroom/hospital ward. Further note to selves: Wooby hates confinement. Of any kind. Her alternating pitiful and angry warbling was enough to both disturb sleep, and engender sadness at her current state of feeling.  Which is further compounded by our own misery from, oddly enough, a closed door. Though ours is of the opportunity flavor. Without going into the gory granular, suffice it to say that the situation can be summed up as follows: 1. Opportunity presented  2. Door is open a little bit/peeking through/see a glimpse 3. Things get quiet 3. Opportunity is beginning to look like a 'carrot being strung along on a wire' 4. Door starts to close, and finally 5. Door slams and lock turns. No hope of entry.  Now the wiser will ask whether we pushed or scratched on the door in an effort to signal desire to explore that path? And the answer is no. There was no clawing, and there was no leaning or pushing. There was just a series of hard clear knocks that hopefully made apparent the desire. It appears that perhaps using the doorbell might have been a better idea. But nonetheless, there is deep disappointment, and the beginning of the deep dip on the roller-coaster. To put it in more of a succint fashion: this sucks. We've always railed and ranted at the current 'working for the man' situation, but this puts things in a new light. The feeling of 'not belonging' takes a strong surge. The feeling of being 'pigeon-holed' is layered on top of that. Add in a sprinkle of conspiracy theory (are they on the path to drive us out?), general self-doubt (not doing x,y,z should be doing a,b,c,d, e and f while sleeping and faster) and you have the perfect recipe for a blue fortnight. Wishing that our self-imposed holiday and visit to the East Coast offices were this week instead of next. For now, it is off to the gym. Not that it will change things or help, but perhaps moving the muscles around will bring some kind of relief.

Oh Harry, We are Going to Miss You!

Here at Binkomonster headquarters, last weekend saw complete and utter devotion to all things Harry Potter. It was with some hesitation we marched towards Friday evening since, it was the last time we'd be lining up at midnight to get our collective greedy paws on another installment of Harry's adventures.  After a lovely dinner, and time spent watching the excitement build at Cover to Cover (children and parents in costume, scavenger hunts, quizzes...) the witching hour arrived. And at 12:03, we had our copy. A small stop at the Bagdad cafe (new habits die hard) to fill up on caffeine and some breakfast, and then it was time to be back on the way to the castle. The CTO stayed up until 5am. Then caught some z's, and was at it again around 9amish. 2pm saw a brief break for some food, and then back home to pickup the tale. 7pm and the first officer to complete the tome did the handover to the CEO. Who then promptly started and continued through Sunday, all the way until 6am Monday morning. (Darn book!) All we can say is, wow. Given all of the spoilers that were out on the interwebs (by the way, New York Times and whoever was posting the xeroxed pages on BitTorrent? a POX on you), we were happy that the ending was a surprise. More importantly, it was a great wrapup of an adventure that we've been on for the past 10 years. The difficult thing has been to get over the sadness that this adventure is, well, over. The Harry Potter books and movies have always been a special event for the Binkomonster clan. It means a late night date, and filling our heads with wonderful visuals and the best story ever. Some of the sadness has been tempered knowing that it isn't just us going through this. It was a quiet weekend all over SF (seems like everyone was holed up with copies of book Seven).  And we're just starting to get into the philosophical discussions in various arenas. But, still... no more wondering what Harry, Hermione and Ron are going to be up to next. Bwaaaah. And we've done the Philip Pullman books. And the Eragon series. So we need to go out on a quest and find our next literary obsession. But in the meantime, the woman who deserves the deepest thanks we can muster from the bottom of our hearts is J.K. Rowling.  How lucky are we that we got the chance to share in the literary skein she wove for us this past decade? Very.