[fuhng-kee toun]: The “Funkytown” is New York City. A songwriter and producer named Steven Greenburg wrote the song when he became bored with Minneapolis and wanted to move to New York, which he called “Funkytown.”
The House That God Has Forgotten Part 63: Take a picture it will last longer.
If I ever can implore you to look at a video I have ever put up here, I want you to look at this video from this link. Before you look, I want you to look around. The bad fake nails, the Red Bull on the table they offer the reporter to drink, and the ugly lap dog that is in the picture. Then I want you to listen to the reporter. Listen to the tone of her voice when she comes up with the other argument and how it shows she agrees with the most of us. -watch it a couple of times. I know I have. 🙂 Take a look here. (Click me)
So a guy at work found this on the TV one night when he was innocently looking at his television news, and ever since then, I think everyone I work with has seen the video. We laugh at how the reporter makes a judgement, how she is offered energy drink and also that the women say that inmates need “Chips, noodles, and candy because it fills inmates up when they are hungry”
(I did not know candy counts as food, but I guess it does)
From my point of view, it is refreshing that they have made this decision because I do not have to deal with the 4 teenagers who come in with a wad of 500kr bills and ask to make separate deposits from “Doobie” “Scooby” and “Pepe”. Or the classic “girl with mobile phone” who is given a random name and id number of someone she does not know to deposit cash that came from somebody like “scooby” but does not want to get busted for money laundering.
That is just one of the few new things that have been going on at The House That God Has Forgotten.
I had the pleasure of seeing on our propaganda intranet a story about how that embarrassing bus was parked at the Vasa skiing contest in Mora. Do we have any pride anymore? We joked about that on and how people were running next to people skiing and telling them “If you join now, you will make more than people that have been working here for over 10 years!”
Or even that the people skiing look confused looking for a cup of blueberry soup and instead get a key holder from The Department of Corrections and Probations.
I am going to have my yearly “development” talk with my boss soon. I think besides promising I will do my e-courses (which I never will get around to) I am going to tell her that if I can stomach it enough to write propaganda (which trust me I can), I want to write for “Om Krim” magazine and the intranet. I also do not have a problem driving that stupid bus around the country too. I can start smoking and hang out behind the van looking bitter with a cigarette hanging out of my mouth.
I read the monthly newsletter from the warden this week. The one thing that caught my eye (and just about everyone else’s) is that they are looking for “real life” corrections officers to pose for propaganda pictures instead of using the usual stock photos taken by models that they have been using. So if you are homo, bi, trans, queer, from another country, have a different religion or are non-typical in any way you are welcome to pose for pictures that show how there is “No discrimination here” posters. Oh, you have to sign a release so they can publish these photos anywhere. So if you are ready to have your face plastered all over the subway station so everyone knows that you are a correction officer… (former inmate: “Hey I remember that guy, I filed a complaint against them. Now I remember what they look like”)
If you are really lucky…you can have a big picture on the bus that shows how a federal government agency does not discriminate. Isn’t that kind of obvious?
So we are running out of places to put inmates and everywhere is full. Now when someone new gets sent to jail I smile. Nothing against you that has to work harder, but mostly because it is funny to watch the bosses go around freaking out.
Mark my words…something is in the air. They are up to something. I don’t know what it is, but when you start meeting people in the parking lot that are never there when you get off work late there is something odd going on.
I am going to go now. The television is calling my name, and the battery is dying on my Mac.
I have three more days of work until the weekend. Then I finally get to leave The House That God Has Forgotten.