My employer has this incredible 12-week paternity leave benefit.
Yes, you read it right, paternity with a “p”. As in, the father of a newborn child can get 12 weeks off work with full pay.
I know plenty of people who take advantage of that. In fact, I know one guy who seemingly takes advantage of that every other year or so.
Did I go on paternity leave when Emily was born?
For reasons that I will surely regret eventually, I decided that my complete absence for 3 months would place in jeopardy various projects that “need” me. Instead, I agreed with my management hierarchy that I will work entirely from home for the foreseeable future, take time to help Natasha with the new baby, but make myself generally available for all and any tasks in progress.
The result? Instead of bonding with my new daughter and letting Natasha rest when she is not nursing, I sit in my basement office for nine-hour workdays.
Ok, saving over three hours of commute time every day is definitely helpful. I do take breaks throughout the day to give Natasha a breather here or there, I relieve her of chauffeuring-the-kids-around responsibilities, and on some days I do manage reasonable enough windows to keep pretense of being home for the sake of child-rearing.
Most of the days, though, it feels as though I plop down in front of my laptop at 8 in the morning, and stagger up the basement stairs with a headache at 6pm.
Nothing to complain about, really. Considering that I can jump into pool immediately following that…
On a nowadays rare workday spent in Manhattan, I had a chance to stroll through Bryant Park in New York Midtown. Around lunchtime, it held a City Library-sponsored book reading in one corner and a musical performance in another. Some people played ping-pong, while others idly lounged around.
In yet another corner, there was an impromptu juggling center. One guy juggled tennis balls, two more guys practiced juggling clubs, but the center was taken up by a group of four people who toss-juggled clubs in a square-and-diagonals pattern. They weren’t exceptionally good, but they kept trying over and over again.
I had a hard time catching them in a nice shot, and did not really succeed. But one detail can be rather clearly seen in this shot. Two of the four were dressed in an office attire, marking them as office-dwellers who came out to play during lunch. I found the concept of going for a juggling exercise during lunch fascinating.
Apparently, if you type “London Bridge” into Google Images search, the very first picture of nine millions that come up is that of London’s Tower Bridge from my fairly old public service announcement, marking it as not the London Bridge. As a result, that particular post has been receiving a huge number of visitors over the last few weeks.
Welcome to all new visitors! I hope you find something useful in my old ramblings. At the very least, you’ll never mistake one bridge for another in the future
Perusing my long-neglected blog aggregator, I came across Brian’s attempt to analyze his writing style via an online gadget (which, I believe, other people tried as well). I was, for a short moment, idle, so I figured I should try that.
Unlike Brian (who was consistently pegged to the same author with every sample of his writing), I ended up as either a vary talented pretender or someone with abject absence of any discernible style.
My short visiting Prague essay apparently resembles David Foster Wallace.
My latest drive-by movie roundup pegs me to H. P. Lovecraft.
My reflection on new parenthood most closely aligns with Stephen King. (What!?!?)
My DIY adventure is in the style of Cory Doctorow.
I stopped at four attempts. I have a feeling that I might have been able to drain the analyzer of all of its choices rather quickly.
While I am familiar with all of these writers’ names, I can’t say that I ever knowingly read anything by them, so there is no way for me to intelligently assess the validity of this analysis.
I always thought my writing was Kurt Vonnegut-ish…