Smoke and mirrors
Sir, are you truly oblivious to the fact that your jaguar is the car belching out thick black smoke? Is your rearview mirror a fun house mirror so expertly distorting reality that you cannot see that where your car terminates and where the billowing cloud of death emanates is the same spot?
I think you could be somewhat forgiven for driving said car if there were any indication that you were driving it purposefully to a mechanic to have it serviced, but as you were on the interstate doing about 48mph with your arm casually slung over the passenger’s seat and your chin up and head back in a manner cheerfully reminiscent of Jimmy Stewart out on a Sunday drive, all forgiveness must be withheld.
I showered!
That’s a big deal if you live around these parts. The cats were so offended by my two-day sickbed stench that I could see them struggle to determine how badly they want to steal my body heat and if it was worth enduring the odor.
And before you ask, let me just say that I haven’t gone to the doctor. I have been experiencing a low-grade fever, persistent headache, congestion, a sore throat, and aches that started in the neck and gradually crept over my whole body. It’s mostly the sore throat and fever that have kept me at home. Nobody likes it when you knowingly bring your contagious self to work. Nobody. Besides, I’d have to be dealing with something much more dramatic and life-threatening to actually get in to see the doctor. If I am going to sit around and feel miserable, I can do so more comfortably at home.
Unfortunately, yesterday–the first day of convalescence–was the day the workers came to chew up the gigantic tree stump that’s been sitting out front not bothering anyone since, oh, March. We’ve clearly come a long way with our tree-rendering technology yet I cannot help but think that chewing away at said stump for hours and hours with a very loud, grinding machine of some sort is somewhat less efficient than watering down the ground around the thing and setting it on fire.
(You know I’m right. Also: FIRE!)
And today they loudly unloaded the various tractors and weed eaters and mowed the grass.
The shower also means I am well enough to manage to actually take said shower, a generally non-strenuous event unless you are overcome with weariness and fever.
I really do feel better this evening.
The Sandwich Party is officially open (updated)
Okay people. No pushing or crowding. Form a single file line…
We already have one entry from Europe.
You can link to your Sandwich Party posts in the comments of this post or this one or this one. You can add your photos here if you like. We’ll collect them all and put them here eventually.
…
So. Who’s hungry? Besides me, I mean.
Update: My contribution seems more like an art project than a sandwich. Tasty though:
Ingredients: nectarine, cherries, green gage plum, cantaloupe, cilantro and salt and pepper cheddar cheese from Fields of Grace Farm.
Frequency
You know that phenomenon where you finally see something and then you see it everywhere all the time? That’s happened to me recently with Amateur Radio license plates. I’ve seen three in four days thus far.
The one this morning was more difficult to read but the FIVE antennas sort of indicated I might be right. Still, I needed to know for sure, so I ran him off the road to verify that the tag did, in fact, say Amateur Radio.
Here’s the weird thing: in my previous NASA life, I managed the production of an educational product (a guide or brief or something…it was all print back then) about ham radio because–did you know?–astronauts use it all the time. It’s kind of vital. If I recall correctly, this particular product centered around the Space Shuttle Amateur Radio Experiment (SAREX):
The Space Amateur Radio Experiment, or SAREX, was a long-running program to use amateur radio equipment on board the space shuttle, the Russian Mir space station, and the International Space Station. Students from more than 200 schools exchanged questions and answers with astronauts in orbit. It was also used to conduct communications experiments with amateur radio operators on the ground.
This is all I could fine in a (cursory and frustrating) search on the NASA website. Now there’s the Amateur Radio on International Space Station (ARISS) program, and schools can still apply to communicate with astronauts via ham radio. I honestly think that’s awesome.
And to answer your question, I’m sure the guy I ran off the road is just fine.
Open when here.
Well, hello there. Welcome to some random paragraphs, mostly work related.
I feel a lot better. I’m still cranky and insensitive and full of righteous indignation, but it’s all much more rational and calm now. Whereas last week I was filled with despair over some stupid, bad, annoying feedback over some freelance work, this week I am simply annoyed and all whatever about it.
I’ve had my regular job for 4 months now, which is enough time to see where all the fractures and stupidity and landmines are. I like my job. I like the team of developers I work with. I like my boss (ahem). It’s all pretty good. I feel a lot better about being able to pull my weight, which is something that always worries me.
This place is, as I have probably mentioned before, full of characters from both The Far Side and Office Space. And since I’m a people-watcher, this amuses me to no end. There’s the manager member of MENSA, who, to quote a colleague, hasn’t bought any clothes since the 1980 Lands’ End catalog came out. There’s there super-competitive writer who is all about getting promoted and recognized. There’s the developer with possibly one of the best names ever (I wish I could tell you. I really do.) who thinks I don’t know he is married (or as good as) and who is chatting me up. Not sleazy but maybe a bit…dense.
Lately, on my commute, the signs say things like CARPOOL and TELECOMMUTE or SOMETHING. Now you tell me. While I am on the road. In my car. By myself. Sorry! Too busy raping the environment to read your sign full of helpful suggestions for how to do my part to help improve the air quality.
I stop off at Starbucks every morning to get iced tea. Yeah, I could make it myself. No, I won’t. I’ll pay $2.21 for a venti unsweet black iced tea no water extra ice with an energy shot because…because…because I’m a dumbass frankly. This morning the barista heard extra shot instead of energy shot so I was handed a glass of iced tea with espresso in it. I don’t recommend it. I’m pretty sure that is what ass really and truly must taste like.
The ascent of humors.
If, like me, you suffer from migraines, you might want to read this. Relatively speaking, my migraines are moderate and infrequent, but that doesn’t make them any less miserable.
“That no one dies of migraine seems, to someone deep into an attack, an ambiguous blessing.”
- Joan Didion
You keep using that word.
It has been a really odd day. The Uninterruptible Power Supply was interrupted over the weekend, so I left my home in the 21st century and arrive at work in the stone age. This is a software company so almost nobody, save the sales staff, has any idea how to interact with other human beings in a casual, relaxed sort of way. Folks wandered around in a daze, unsure what to do with their hands or where to look.
When the network was intermittently back up, we would receive email on the status of the Uninterruptible Power Supply. The more emails I saw about this the more I felt like Inigo Montoya. Uninterruptible. I do not think it means what you think it means.
Everything was rebooted during lunch and seems to be working smoothly now. Uninterrupted, as it were.
People seem to like this image.
I’m never sure what you people are actually going to like, you know.
