Today was my first day at the new job. It was good — aside from learning that I won't get my first paycheck for a month, things couldn't have gone better. Everyone was smart, nice and extremely helpful. And hey: free lunch. Score.

There's a lot of half-learned technology about which I need to firm up my understanding. But by far the biggest adjustment is the new Powerbook. Yup, it's time to learn how Macs work. I've been issued a 15" Powerbook, and it's pretty sweet. DVD burner, 1400xsomethingorother screen, 80 GB hard drive. It's a beautiful machine.

But it doesn't feel like a real computer. I have a pretty deep understanding of the Window operating system. I can use it extremely quickly and efficiently. It sucks to give up that amount of skill. I'm sure I'll be able to become proficient in Mac-fu, but for now I feel oddly powerless.

I'll no doubt have plenty more complaints coming which will be answered by people more familiar with Apple products than I am. So far, there are only two that I'm not prepared to chalk up to my own ignorance. First, the missing mouse button. I know, you can plug in a real mouse. I know, it's to force designers to make good UI decisions (although the UI seems much more cluttered and disorganized than I expected — Mac Excel's menus are godawful). But it's still a huge pain in the ass to not have a right menu button available when using the trackpad.

My other complaint: the keyboard. It's not very well positioned and the action on the keys doesn't feel very good relative to the other laptops I've used. But most irritating is the absence of several keys. I like having insert available. And why have you taken away my pageup and pagedown? They're on the arrows keys, but this function key business just isn't going to fly. I can run a windows machine pretty well with one hand, leaving the other free to administer beverages, flip through channels or idly tap on the table until Charles goes crazy. These are expensive machines, Steve. You ought to be able to throw in a couple more keys.

Anyway, if it weren't for the salary cut and delayed paycheck, I'd probably be ordering a thinkpad right now. I know I'll come to love this machine, but I'm not converted just yet.

ALSO: I can't figure out the shortcut key combo that lets you switch between, say, the Firefox main window a comment popup. Hmm.

as i have been rolling around on the couch all day in a cold medicine-induced drug haze in the same sweat pants and shirt i've been wearing for approximately 34 days straight (uva pants and a northwestern hoodie, and no, they don't like each other very much), i thought of yet another thing i am truly thankful for in life other than my arctic parka - the fact that, this year, i do not need to attend any company christmas parties. this thought was partly inspired by kathryn's post, and partly inspired by the fact that i spent half the hallucinatory day staring at the green ceramic monkey tommy won last year at his company xmas party, trying to communicate with its innermost thoughts. (the fact that i just wrote a sentence that included tommy winning a ceramic green monkey at an xmas party should be reason enough to prove why i am thankful about not attending any more company xmas parties.)

now that i am a Graduate Student, and not working at blah blah company anymore, i can write about it without remorse, and what i will say for the most part is that it was a nice company with lovely people. except the one dreadful night i attended the xmas party at the president's house.

the night went something like this: arrive with tommy at formalish affair, take off coat, realize suddenly, though this somehow did not strike me before, that the beaded tank top i am wearing is ENTIRELY too low cut and slutty for a work party. have 3-4 gin & tonics; stop caring about prostitutish tank top. chat with workers, eat food, make good friends with open bar bartender person. la la la. it was, at any given point up until then, no worse than any other typical company party: some strained conversations offset by the copious amounts of alcohol. everything was going more or less dandyish until this terrible moment: the president's 30-year-old son reappears in the living room, dressed as santa. tee hee, very funny, cheesy, but whatever, catherine goes to bar to get another drink when she hears the president's booming voice say, "we need some lovely ladies to SIT ON SANTA'S LAP....CATHERINE! GO!"

i froze in my path, then kept on going, assured that the president was joking. but. he. was. not. above my most frenzied of protests, he insisted that i sit IN HIS SON'S LAP in front of the ENTIRE COMPANY wearing my prostitutish tank top while he TOOK PICTURES that would later in the week end up on the kitchen bulletin board. i tell you, i very nearly freaked out right there and puked up in santa's beard. i promise, i am generally game for many things, but sitting in freaky son-of-company-president's santa lap is not one of them. no doubt the entire spectacle, me sitting, plastic-smile-faced, on santa's lap, mentally picturing myself dunking the president's head in the punch bowl, did much to assure everyone of my professionalism and capability.

sigh.

now i am freshly humiliated by that entire creepy experience. i have half a mind to sic some elves on the guy.

yay for two of my favorite things being smushed together: britt daniel of spoon will be making an appearance on an upcoming episode of "veronica mars," singing elvis costello's "veronica." nice. rob thomas must be a fan, seeing as earlier this season he used my proclaimed Sexiest Song of 2005, spoon's "i turn my camera on," in a segment where veronica was following around charisma carpenter and taking photographs.

did anyone watch last week's episode? the baby - there's no way it's actually duncan's, right?