Mountain peaks at PGA awards

I've always believed that golfers were gay. It feels nice to be validated.

In the dark recesses of my computer, I found a folder that contains my old website from UNC-Greensboro. I posted a journal entry on there one day. The gist of this first message was that there would be many other entries. There weren't. Much like this website and others I've had before it, I post sporadically, if ever. I optimistically state that I will post often (just like I did on this site last month - the entry is right below this one). I never do.

Anyway, here is the entry. I found it pretty amusing. I almost forgot about this temp job, but now it all comes rushing back.

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28 DECEMBER 1998

First of all, who cares what I did today? No one, really. I'm not writing this actually expecting that someone is lurking around on my site waiting for me to inform them of my daily activities. My girlfriend will probably never read this. Last time she tried to view my site her computer crashed. My parents, if they remember where the site is, will read it. My cousin Paul will read it. Not everyday, of course, but someone somewhere will read it. I will.

Since this is the first of these, let me give you some background. I work at the Department of Social Services for the holidays. If you want some food stamps, I'll see if I can arrange it. How about some Medicare or Medicaid? I thought about somehow nicking some stamps for my parents and other loved ones for Christmas, but the almost certain jail time dissuaded me. Call me a wuss. Anyway, I work 8:00 to 5:00, Monday through bloody Friday, doing data entry. My supervisor hands me applications, and I enter them into the State of North Carolina's archaic computer network. Very easy, and very boring. I am already disgruntled, and I've been on the job for two weeks. Some people have been doing data entry there for twenty years. God help them.

In the course of doing this crap, you learn certain codes -- "FS" for food stamps (the acronyms are complex, you see), "MPW" for "Medicaid -- Pregnant Woman", etc. They go on and on. The system is run by commands. There is no Windows 95. There are no windows. There is simply a blank screen with a cursor. Not even a menu. Not even a ready command: a "$" or anything. Just blank. And you have to know what to say. It's like a first date in a foreign country. You don't even know the language at first. So you type in "SS15/A/243568/MPW," or some other seemingly meaningless jargon, and the computer starts to do stuff. You amend files. You fuck with people's food stamps. All of this on a 1977 computer system. Don't even mention Y2K in this place. You'll get laughed out of the building.

This is supposed to be about today's events. I'll tell you about today. I received an application for Medicare from someone who has been dead since 1993. I thought at first that maybe the paper was old -- something that got misplaced. I checked; the caseworker filled out the information last week. This is the kind of stuff that happens. I also entered information that stated that a client, a 45-year-old black female, lived in a house with her 4-year-old white grandfather. I asked my supervisor about the paper. She laughed and shrugged.

On my break I bought a newspaper and walked up the block to the Greensboro Hilton and sat in the lobby and read. I was later informed on the phone (this evening, in fact) that this was not the "right" thing to do. Only paying guests should use the lobby. It's not classy. I violated the manners and basic decency of our society. I did not know this. I wasn't even doing it to be rebellious. They just have really nice leather seats in there. And a bar.

Basically, this has been a very uneventful day. For dinner, I made a chicken dish with creamed spinach and rice. If you want the recipe, e-mail me. I have some leftovers if you'd like to drop by.

Thanks for listening.