Today I had a work meeting.  More specifically, today I had a 5 hour work meeting.  Even more specifically, today I had a 5 hour work meeting that followed a shift for which I showed up an hour early due to coverage concerns, and although I was initially worried about waking up at 4:30am, it turns out my alarm clock was unnecessary due to, as Fiala described it, a storm like the one at the end of Poltergeist.

The point of the meeting was to “cascade” (aka corporate term meaning tell you about something people who make more money than you already know) the topics presented at the Senior Leader Conference in China.  The very same one I filmed a spot in a video for.  I was initially confused at my invitation, considering that I am neither a) a senior, nor b) a leader.  Then I found out it wasn’t so special, so I could sit around for several hours and drink complimentary Pepsi.

Most of my senior leaders are Brazilian men, so to them I say, “Hey, thanks for a brutally boring five hours!  Maybe next week you can make me samba for my job!”

I kid, I kid.  I don’t dance.

But seriously.  Like almost all work meetings, this one was a colossal waste of time for those (ahem, me) who pay attention during their regular workdays.  Everyone else took full advantage of the opportunity to ask questions about topics that had already been covered and kiss ass into their microphones.

What I’m saying is that I didn’t learn much that I didn’t already know.  I did, however, learn some things about Brazilian managers.  Such as:

1. They love techno and will use any excuse to blare it into conference rooms.

2. They still act like it’s a big deal to say “soccer” instead of “football” to a room full of Americans.

3. One of them, my boss’s boss’s boss’s boss, has the same expression I have when I’m waiting for someone to finish saying something very stupid.  It’s the “seriously, I gave you enough rope to hang yourself and now you’re asking for more?” look.

4.  They say “shitstorm.”  A lot.

I think my friend Sandy should hook me up with some of her Percocet.  It’s going gangbusters for her.  If I’m ever forced to give birth and it’s a girl, I’m naming my daughter “Amycrap.”

Failing a drug connection, I have to catch up on Stephanie’s friend Erik’s blog.  I’m not normally an advocate of Tumblr (except for Julia Segal, that is), but this made me enjoy me pre-5am activities today.  No small feat, EDP.  No small feat.