Late news is bad news. The compensation package may not be sufficient to warrant a move with baby to the most expensive of valleys, even if it is made of silicon, of all raw materials. I'm going to make a counter-offer. They pitched 10,000 less than what I had heard through the grapevine.
anyway, angela called and invited me to move in with her and live an islander's life in the most magic of Brazilian isles. Florianopolis. Her house is gorgeous, perched on top of a cliff overlooking the lagoon and the dunes. From the jacuzzi in her bathroom you can look up and watch the moon and stars trailing very slowly over your head. Ah, the trompe d'oeil of astronomy. And the split rent? About $150 a month.
The catch: no DSL in Floripa.

Protein blobs and decaying mailing lists. So while I am inclined to share my protein blob with the Litterati accolades (also called Iratti in other circles), I feel an increasingly flabbier desire to participate in Trad-Prt. This was the first translation mailing list I subscribed to back in the days when Jerome the pidgeon was literally a "fledgling translator" as worded in an e-mail I received recently from the Green-Eyed Temptation. Instead of sending me bon mots I wish he would tell me where in Spain the rain stays mainly in a plain. Anyhow, I am beginning to find KudoZ a lot more fun and efficient than Trad-Prt. But I am considered a doyenne in Trad-Prt, so I will stay even if only to butt in every once in a while in the flame wars.

Pizza as a literary experience. The GEL, Grande Encontro da Litterati, is going to be held this Friday at Oficina de Pizzas. Litterati is one of the hundreds of mailing lists I subscribe to, in addition to the ones I run, the most acclaimed of which being GlossPost. Doing my weekly Google-experiments, by the way, I've discovered that GlossPost is the first ranking (I mean number freaking ONE!) result on Google for the query "multilingual glossaries". Good job, Jerome!

Leaps and bounds. The good news is that I am advancing by leaps and bounds on the menial review of The Secrets of You Know What. I've spoken with my contacts (oldest friend actually, we played house together) at Apex and I promised that the delivery of the 105 QAs would happen as scheduled. Miguel Verde is giving the layout a facelift. He is clever and what a hot ass! So, the idea is to submit the translated and painstakingly edited Secrets of You Know What to the Unilat Technical Translation Award. Jerome is an innocent pidgeon but this old buzzard não dá ponto sem nó.

No news is good news? E notícia ruim vem a cavalo. I am still waiting for the letter from M, with all details on my compensation package. Meanwhile, endless searching for apartments in Yahoo!Classifieds, Springstreet and other nest providers. Old buzzard that I am I found one I really like, but as it was to be expected it costs a bundle. My emotions for R are waning again. Don't feel like writing him e-mails or sending him tokens of my affection. As I said before: "Ressucitated relationships are like Dolly the cloned sheep. Arthritis settles in after only fifteen days".

Bright sunny skies and a cask of prosecco. I've idled the morning away. Went to the pool, gave R a call (why do I keep calling him is beyond me) and then put on my new belly-squishing swimsuit to go to the bixa (dictionarized Sofia-ese) with the mermaid junior. She loves to be in her element! Splash, splash, mommy and baby, loads of fun and an apple to appease our appetite. After the big watersports extravaganza, S collapsed into her morning slumber. So here I am. When she wakes up we're going to a BBQ at Titi's. My cousin V. is just back from her trip to Antartica, so I am looking forward to seeing lots of pictures of icy landscapes and fish parasytes. After that, we're going to my father's to get a bootleg copy of Bambi, the most Koyaanisqatsi of Disney movies. S has a thing for Thumper. Watch out Blue.

Translation challenge of the week: Please translate "Na tonga da mironga do Cabuletê" into Serbian. The winner takes it all, according to Abba.

Happy Birthday Sao Paulo!

You're a spunky old lady and looking completely ravaged for your relatively young age.



But charming, charming!

I got the job. Amazing. Unfuckingbelievable, they were willing to waive the 3 month trial period and apply immediately for my HB-1. Not so fast, though. Like a good old pater familias arriving from the Old Contry to Ellis Island, I am going to go first, find arrangements for my little mertoddler and a little nest in San Jose. Then I am going to send for my precious mermaid-junior. Blind Tangerine asks me what I am going to do about my analyst. I don't know. The analysts in San Jose will probably try to defragment my neuroses or confine them to a FAT32 partition. Alea jacta est.



Or rather, Vale do Suplício here I come!

Untimely entry from the deadblog

Sunday, October 28, 2001

Here is a good one for "rubbing shoulders" (generally with the rich and famous). Roçar cotovelos. Só não me pergunte como o ombro foi parar no cotovelo.
10:22 AM

Ring ring ring. The deadline is theirs and not mine, that is why we will probably have to reschedule the interview. What a moron I am. (or rather "what a little echo in the line can do"). I hope it proves that I am more highly available than a goddamned latest generation server.

The interview may be rescheduled for 3pm PST today. If the job comes through I am going to need an au-pair. Too bad Tatiana doesn't have a clone.

I make a solemn pledge to never undertake a translation project as long as boring as The Secrets of You Know What. I'm slaving away at a ridiculously low output rate when there are so many more important tasks at hand, such as checking my horoscope, reading Blind Tangerine's latest adventures, listening to Aimee Mann and watching Aristocats on my brand new DVD with the little Mermonkey.

Our Patron Saint, Jerome with J, the Holy Pidgeon