Well, at least no one has yet stooped to the level of arresting protesters. So our Democracy must still be intact.
]]>Well, at least no one has yet stooped to the level of arresting protesters. So our Democracy must still be intact.
]]>Um, actually, no. Really, check for yourself.
Maybe you think I'm being harsh, but I expect someone at that level to get that one right. Yeah, I had to check it myself, but I also don't go around telling people that "under God" is codified in our most important national document. If I were going to, I'd check first just to be sure.
]]>Um, actually, no. Really, check for yourself.
Maybe you think I'm being harsh, but I expect someone at that level to get that one right. Yeah, I had to check it myself, but I also don't go around telling people that "under God" is codified in our most important national document. If I were going to, I'd check first just to be sure.
]]>The surgery was wonderfully uneventful. Everything seems to have gone as planned and on the time-table they expected. I was out of the center at the time they told my ride to be there. My friend stopped with me at Safeway to pick up the painkiller prescription (mmm... Darvocet) and a few things I would need for the recovery period. Speaking of which...
Without going into graphic detail, this work was related to my digestive tract. And because of that, I have to maintain high-fiber, high-other-things practices that promote fast and (relatively) smooth transition through the digestive system. In some cases, this is no big deal– high-fiber foods aren't awful, and Metamucil is tolerable. But this also includes drinking some amount of prune juice per day. And that shit is vile.
I've decided that the whole, "Prune juice is a warrior's drink" facet to the character of Lt. Worf was a massive practical-joke on Star Trek geeks. It was a ploy by the writers to see if they could get the same hopeless nerds who go to these conventions in full Klingon regalia to also choke down this vile-but-natural laxative. Personally, I'd love to see a con require that anyone who wants to walk around in Klingon Warrior garb drink a minimum of one "tankard" (or whatever sort of cup they're carrying with them) per day. I mean, if you want to play the part of a warrior, you gotta drink the part, too. And since there's no equivalent to "blood wine" handy... egads, what if the writers were implying that Klingon Blood Wine was similar to prune juice in taste? No wonder those guys were always quick to fight– had to get the fighting out of the way before your bowels exploded. If this is true, my regard for the Star Trek writers has at least doubled.
Anyway, I'm still taking pain meds at 4-5 hour intervals, but now I'm only taking one pill at a time, not two. Last night, I did a little coding while watching some of my TiVo backlog. My illusions of using the time off of work like a free vacation, though, are now being shone in a more realistic light. But I could be a hell of a lot worse off (indeed, there was a small chance that the doctor would have had to do additional work that could have lengthened my recovery time from 4 days to 7). I'm not driving around much, but I'm answering e-mail with reasonable reliability. In other words, I'm doin' OK.
]]>The surgery was wonderfully uneventful. Everything seems to have gone as planned and on the time-table they expected. I was out of the center at the time they told my ride to be there. My friend stopped with me at Safeway to pick up the painkiller prescription (mmm... Darvocet) and a few things I would need for the recovery period. Speaking of which...
Without going into graphic detail, this work was related to my digestive tract. And because of that, I have to maintain high-fiber, high-other-things practices that promote fast and (relatively) smooth transition through the digestive system. In some cases, this is no big deal– high-fiber foods aren't awful, and Metamucil is tolerable. But this also includes drinking some amount of prune juice per day. And that shit is vile.
I've decided that the whole, "Prune juice is a warrior's drink" facet to the character of Lt. Worf was a massive practical-joke on Star Trek geeks. It was a ploy by the writers to see if they could get the same hopeless nerds who go to these conventions in full Klingon regalia to also choke down this vile-but-natural laxative. Personally, I'd love to see a con require that anyone who wants to walk around in Klingon Warrior garb drink a minimum of one "tankard" (or whatever sort of cup they're carrying with them) per day. I mean, if you want to play the part of a warrior, you gotta drink the part, too. And since there's no equivalent to "blood wine" handy... egads, what if the writers were implying that Klingon Blood Wine was similar to prune juice in taste? No wonder those guys were always quick to fight– had to get the fighting out of the way before your bowels exploded. If this is true, my regard for the Star Trek writers has at least doubled.
Anyway, I'm still taking pain meds at 4-5 hour intervals, but now I'm only taking one pill at a time, not two. Last night, I did a little coding while watching some of my TiVo backlog. My illusions of using the time off of work like a free vacation, though, are now being shone in a more realistic light. But I could be a hell of a lot worse off (indeed, there was a small chance that the doctor would have had to do additional work that could have lengthened my recovery time from 4 days to 7). I'm not driving around much, but I'm answering e-mail with reasonable reliability. In other words, I'm doin' OK.
]]>More recently, we have a cold look at Homeland Security Chief Michael Chertoff's reading habits.
Barbara Bush chimes in with her views on the state and status of the refugees who've found themselves in Houston (emphasis added by me):
A post at Daily Kos summarizes some of the best examples of FEMA's shoddiness:
(No, that last one isn't really an Onion headline, it just reads like one.)
Lastly, one thoughtful suggestion on how Bush could personally help out: President Bush: Sell the Ranch.

More recently, we have a cold look at Homeland Security Chief Michael Chertoff's reading habits.
Barbara Bush chimes in with her views on the state and status of the refugees who've found themselves in Houston (emphasis added by me):
A post at Daily Kos summarizes some of the best examples of FEMA's shoddiness:
(No, that last one isn't really an Onion headline, it just reads like one.)
Lastly, one thoughtful suggestion on how Bush could personally help out: President Bush: Sell the Ranch.

| Your Birthdate: March 3 |
|
Being born on the 3rd day of the month is likely to add a good bit of vitality to your life.
The energy of 3 allows you bounce back rapidly from setbacks, physical or mental. There is a restlessness in your nature, but you seem to be able to portray an easygoing, "couldn't care less" attitude. You have a natural ability to express yourself in public, and you always make a very good impression. Good with words, you excel in writing, speaking, and possibly singing. You are energetic and always a good conversationalist. You have a keen imagination, but you tend to scatter your energies and become involved with too may superficial matters. You are affectionate and loving, but sometimes too sensitive. You are subject to rapid ups and downs. |
As it happens, there are more than a couple of those statements I can't really argue with...
]]>| Your Birthdate: March 3 |
|
Being born on the 3rd day of the month is likely to add a good bit of vitality to your life.
The energy of 3 allows you bounce back rapidly from setbacks, physical or mental. There is a restlessness in your nature, but you seem to be able to portray an easygoing, "couldn't care less" attitude. You have a natural ability to express yourself in public, and you always make a very good impression. Good with words, you excel in writing, speaking, and possibly singing. You are energetic and always a good conversationalist. You have a keen imagination, but you tend to scatter your energies and become involved with too may superficial matters. You are affectionate and loving, but sometimes too sensitive. You are subject to rapid ups and downs. |
As it happens, there are more than a couple of those statements I can't really argue with...
]]>Article in the Washington Monthly detailing the chronology of how the current administration has systematically gutted FEMA and buried our ability to respond: January 2001: Bush appoints Joe Allbaugh, a crony from Texas, as head of FEMA. Allbaugh has no previous experience in disaster management.
As with prior hurricanes in Florida, and earthquakes in California, it seems clear to some people who is to blame:
The FEMA director and the Dept. of Homeland Security Director seem to have impressions of the situation that have no backing in actual reality. Their opinions and talking points are handily routed by the reports of people actually on the ground there.
In fact, it seems that, according to Brown (FEMA director, a man who's previous job must have been some stellar credentials, except for the whole getting fired part), "the federal government did not even know about the Convention Center people until today." The "today" in that statement was Thursday, September 1. Oddly-enough, the rest of the country seemed to know about those people while Bush was still on vacation.
And speaking of which, no look at a colossal disaster is complete without dropping in on the Big Guy. Sometime either before of after the latest staged photo-op, Bush had time to comfort some victims in Biloxi, Miss.:

Article in the Washington Monthly detailing the chronology of how the current administration has systematically gutted FEMA and buried our ability to respond: January 2001: Bush appoints Joe Allbaugh, a crony from Texas, as head of FEMA. Allbaugh has no previous experience in disaster management.
As with prior hurricanes in Florida, and earthquakes in California, it seems clear to some people who is to blame:
The FEMA director and the Dept. of Homeland Security Director seem to have impressions of the situation that have no backing in actual reality. Their opinions and talking points are handily routed by the reports of people actually on the ground there.
In fact, it seems that, according to Brown (FEMA director, a man who's previous job must have been some stellar credentials, except for the whole getting fired part), "the federal government did not even know about the Convention Center people until today." The "today" in that statement was Thursday, September 1. Oddly-enough, the rest of the country seemed to know about those people while Bush was still on vacation.
And speaking of which, no look at a colossal disaster is complete without dropping in on the Big Guy. Sometime either before of after the latest staged photo-op, Bush had time to comfort some victims in Biloxi, Miss.:

I'm glad to note after yesterday's post, that military and expanded National Guard presence is now in the area. Helicopters are also all over the place doing what they can. Nut-jobs in the area, though, are screwing things up for everyone by firing upon helicopters and otherwise attacking those trying to help. There are reports of rescue-boats being tipped over, and there is apparently news footage of NOPD officers (in uniform no less) looting stores– not just for food and water, which they're supposed to be getting so that they can help people, but tape of officers carting away new computers and flat-screen TVs. As a co-worker pointed out to me, "this isn't a natural disaster; the disaster here is the lack of preparation and planning."
Some quick notes:
Apparently, not enough gub'mint money has made it to "faith-based initiatives", because FEMA is directing donations to Rev. Pat Robertson. Yes, Pat "we should take him out" Robertson. Note that the link this page points to no longer has the charity list on it. From that page, click on "Volunteer or Make a Donation". Also, "Operation Blessing" seems to have moved from the no. 2 spot to no. 3.
It seems that Canada has not only offered aid, but very specialized and highly-relevant aid. It also seems that the Dept. of Homeland Security doesn't want them shifty Canucks crossin' our borders. I hope that one proves to be a misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch (well, to be fair, he left Crawford two days ago, only three days after all this started), it's business as usual for the RNC:
Can't let a little thing like a hurricane get in the way of tax-relief. After all, Condi needs her some new shoes:

I'm glad to note after yesterday's post, that military and expanded National Guard presence is now in the area. Helicopters are also all over the place doing what they can. Nut-jobs in the area, though, are screwing things up for everyone by firing upon helicopters and otherwise attacking those trying to help. There are reports of rescue-boats being tipped over, and there is apparently news footage of NOPD officers (in uniform no less) looting stores– not just for food and water, which they're supposed to be getting so that they can help people, but tape of officers carting away new computers and flat-screen TVs. As a co-worker pointed out to me, "this isn't a natural disaster; the disaster here is the lack of preparation and planning."
Some quick notes:
Apparently, not enough gub'mint money has made it to "faith-based initiatives", because FEMA is directing donations to Rev. Pat Robertson. Yes, Pat "we should take him out" Robertson. Note that the link this page points to no longer has the charity list on it. From that page, click on "Volunteer or Make a Donation". Also, "Operation Blessing" seems to have moved from the no. 2 spot to no. 3.
It seems that Canada has not only offered aid, but very specialized and highly-relevant aid. It also seems that the Dept. of Homeland Security doesn't want them shifty Canucks crossin' our borders. I hope that one proves to be a misunderstanding.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch (well, to be fair, he left Crawford two days ago, only three days after all this started), it's business as usual for the RNC:
Can't let a little thing like a hurricane get in the way of tax-relief. After all, Condi needs her some new shoes:

Still, I'm more than a little concerned that the XHTML Fist t-shirt features a hand with six fingers. And the left hand, no less. You can't even try to explain it away as being Count Rugen's.
]]>Still, I'm more than a little concerned that the XHTML Fist t-shirt features a hand with six fingers. And the left hand, no less. You can't even try to explain it away as being Count Rugen's.
]]>
Quoth
Bob Harris:
But this was the U.S. president, this morning, during what is likely the GREATEST NATURAL DISASTER IN AMERICAN HISTORY ... Was this a moment unfairly captured? No. Experts had forecast an imminent possible disaster days ago. And from the start, other elected officials – Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco, for example – began urgently working to save American lives. Bush chose instead to continue making public speeches before hand-picked audiences pushing his political agenda...
Over at sistermachinegun.com, Chris Randall would like to know a few things:
Valid points, if you ask me.
]]>
Quoth
Bob Harris:
But this was the U.S. president, this morning, during what is likely the GREATEST NATURAL DISASTER IN AMERICAN HISTORY ... Was this a moment unfairly captured? No. Experts had forecast an imminent possible disaster days ago. And from the start, other elected officials – Louisiana Governor Kathleen Blanco, for example – began urgently working to save American lives. Bush chose instead to continue making public speeches before hand-picked audiences pushing his political agenda...
Over at sistermachinegun.com, Chris Randall would like to know a few things:
Valid points, if you ask me.
]]>Do whatever you can to help the victims in New Orleans. You don't have to go through AmeriCares, but for the sake of humanity do something.
]]>Do whatever you can to help the victims in New Orleans. You don't have to go through AmeriCares, but for the sake of humanity do something.
]]>(For my physics-fetishist readers.)
]]>(For my physics-fetishist readers.)
]]>Turns out, none of the above. Seems the only part that was true, was that he got shot to death.
]]>Turns out, none of the above. Seems the only part that was true, was that he got shot to death.
]]>It seems that the managers of this airport have figured out that the cost of maintaining WiFi is so negligible as to be easily amortized over the other gouging services (food, drink, etc.), and thus it is free. And by free, I mean as in beer, not just as in speech.
I was prepared to be reduced to playing Solitaire for the next three hours. Now I can actually do something interesting.
(If there are any stories about weird happenings at Portland Airport in tomorrow's news, I promise it wasn't me. I mean, it won't be.)
(Note to U.S. Attorney General Gonzales: Just kidding.)
]]>It seems that the managers of this airport have figured out that the cost of maintaining WiFi is so negligible as to be easily amortized over the other gouging services (food, drink, etc.), and thus it is free. And by free, I mean as in beer, not just as in speech.
I was prepared to be reduced to playing Solitaire for the next three hours. Now I can actually do something interesting.
(If there are any stories about weird happenings at Portland Airport in tomorrow's news, I promise it wasn't me. I mean, it won't be.)
(Note to U.S. Attorney General Gonzales: Just kidding.)
]]>
Though it isn't too clear (despite climbing up on a railing to get a closer shot), this is an ActiveX error dialog. It's showing up on the announcements screen for the venue of this year's Open Source Conference.
I'm sure there will be plenty of people here who can offer suggestions to the center's IT department.
]]>
Though it isn't too clear (despite climbing up on a railing to get a closer shot), this is an ActiveX error dialog. It's showing up on the announcements screen for the venue of this year's Open Source Conference.
I'm sure there will be plenty of people here who can offer suggestions to the center's IT department.
]]>How much of Portland beyond the convention center I get to see, that remains to be seen.
]]>How much of Portland beyond the convention center I get to see, that remains to be seen.
]]>I'm restless in three distinct areas of my life. Fortunately, I have three distinct blogs, each covering (more or less) one of those three aspects. So I'm making three entries at (roughly) the same time.
I'm restless in my life, and I'm not sure exactly the source of that restlessness. It could be the stagnation in my romantic life, it could be the indifference I feel about my current job. Or, it could be that I've been here (in California) for almost eight years. That's longer than I was in Denver, and the longest I've stayed at one address since I left home after high school to live in the dorms at OU.
I used to use a variety of excuses to convince myself that I needed to stay here. I was responsible for my hobby club's website, but I've passed that along to someone new, now. I have friends that I'm close to, but some of them have already moved to further reaches of the bay area, cutting down on how often I see them. And some of them are contemplating a move of their own, almost certainly out-of-state. Yesterday, while sitting with some people, I had one of the strongest senses of yearning and melancholy for Denver I've had since I first moved here. For a few seconds, I was desperate to be back. Something someone had said, triggered a memory. It was a memory of walking off a good Thanksgiving meal with some friends, up in the mountain town of Evergreen. I had a full beard then, and I remember the feeling of my breath causing ice build-up in the beard. That made me think of just how generally crisp the air in Denver feels in the fall, before it gets seriously cold for the winter. I was surprised, really, to feel such an aching.
That isn't to say that I'm planning, or evening idly considering, a return to Denver. I don't know for certain that I really want to leave Silicon Valley. Almost anywhere else I go is going to have fewer jobs in my field to offer. I can make sure I go somewhere that has enough of a job market that I have a good chance of finding employment, but none of them will be like it is here. What's more, I really felt like, when I left Denver, that I was uprooting myself. I'd been there long-enough to feel like I had some roots starting to grow. Moving out here un-did all of that. Wouldn't moving now undo the same progress I've made out here?
The worst part is the uncertainty. I don't know with any great precision what it is that I'm looking for, which makes it fairly hard to decide where I should be looking for it. Some things are clearer than others: I want to find a partner and settle down. Some things aren't: I want to be in a different job, but I don't have anything specific in mind.
I've mused in the past about moving overseas, even if only for a few years. I wonder if it isn't just a matter of the lingering furtiveness, with the impulses taken to a greater extreme than just re-eyeing Denver, or thinking about the east coast. I really don't know where this sense of agitation is going to take me. And that only makes me all the more restless.
]]>I'm restless in three distinct areas of my life. Fortunately, I have three distinct blogs, each covering (more or less) one of those three aspects. So I'm making three entries at (roughly) the same time.
I'm restless in my life, and I'm not sure exactly the source of that restlessness. It could be the stagnation in my romantic life, it could be the indifference I feel about my current job. Or, it could be that I've been here (in California) for almost eight years. That's longer than I was in Denver, and the longest I've stayed at one address since I left home after high school to live in the dorms at OU.
I used to use a variety of excuses to convince myself that I needed to stay here. I was responsible for my hobby club's website, but I've passed that along to someone new, now. I have friends that I'm close to, but some of them have already moved to further reaches of the bay area, cutting down on how often I see them. And some of them are contemplating a move of their own, almost certainly out-of-state. Yesterday, while sitting with some people, I had one of the strongest senses of yearning and melancholy for Denver I've had since I first moved here. For a few seconds, I was desperate to be back. Something someone had said, triggered a memory. It was a memory of walking off a good Thanksgiving meal with some friends, up in the mountain town of Evergreen. I had a full beard then, and I remember the feeling of my breath causing ice build-up in the beard. That made me think of just how generally crisp the air in Denver feels in the fall, before it gets seriously cold for the winter. I was surprised, really, to feel such an aching.
That isn't to say that I'm planning, or evening idly considering, a return to Denver. I don't know for certain that I really want to leave Silicon Valley. Almost anywhere else I go is going to have fewer jobs in my field to offer. I can make sure I go somewhere that has enough of a job market that I have a good chance of finding employment, but none of them will be like it is here. What's more, I really felt like, when I left Denver, that I was uprooting myself. I'd been there long-enough to feel like I had some roots starting to grow. Moving out here un-did all of that. Wouldn't moving now undo the same progress I've made out here?
The worst part is the uncertainty. I don't know with any great precision what it is that I'm looking for, which makes it fairly hard to decide where I should be looking for it. Some things are clearer than others: I want to find a partner and settle down. Some things aren't: I want to be in a different job, but I don't have anything specific in mind.
I've mused in the past about moving overseas, even if only for a few years. I wonder if it isn't just a matter of the lingering furtiveness, with the impulses taken to a greater extreme than just re-eyeing Denver, or thinking about the east coast. I really don't know where this sense of agitation is going to take me. And that only makes me all the more restless.
]]>Yes, that Mark Furman. The same one who decided to "help along" the investigation of O.J. Simpson (which, by the way, I still believe 100% he did it, and that a large part of the blame for him getting away with it belongs to the detectives like Furman who fucked up their jobs). After running off to obscurity somewhere in Idaho (I'd guess) with other Aryan racist turds, he seems to have decided to poke his head out once again. I'm especially moved by this passage from the back of the book (also cited on Amazon.com):
Dude, WTF? By what bizarre measure can anyone use the phrases "Mark Furman" and "highly respected investigative skills" in the same sentence? This man helped OJ get away with a double-homicide, and you want to read his thoughts on the Terri Schiavo case? Let the woman rest in peace, already. And if you really, really want someone to argue your case, pick someone who isn't a pariah. Pick someone vaguely trustworthy, like Bill O'Reilly or Michael Savage.
]]>Yes, that Mark Furman. The same one who decided to "help along" the investigation of O.J. Simpson (which, by the way, I still believe 100% he did it, and that a large part of the blame for him getting away with it belongs to the detectives like Furman who fucked up their jobs). After running off to obscurity somewhere in Idaho (I'd guess) with other Aryan racist turds, he seems to have decided to poke his head out once again. I'm especially moved by this passage from the back of the book (also cited on Amazon.com):
Dude, WTF? By what bizarre measure can anyone use the phrases "Mark Furman" and "highly respected investigative skills" in the same sentence? This man helped OJ get away with a double-homicide, and you want to read his thoughts on the Terri Schiavo case? Let the woman rest in peace, already. And if you really, really want someone to argue your case, pick someone who isn't a pariah. Pick someone vaguely trustworthy, like Bill O'Reilly or Michael Savage.
]]>Anyway, so tonight I took it out on the balcony to try and get a good view of the Deep Impact mission's big moment– the collision of the projectile against the comet Tempel 1. But I didn't plan very well. For one thing, there is just too much light pollution, even in my quiet suburb. For another, I just didn't give myself enough time to be able to locate and fix on the comet.
So, on the plus side, I got some fantasic viewing of Jupiter and three of its moons. But I didn't manage to locate the comet. Barring more pressing matters, I think I'll try again tomorrow night to view the comet. I won't get to witness the impact, but I can at least view it for a bit. I'll try to give myself time to drive a ways down 17 towards Santa Cruz, so that I can get better viewing conditions.
]]>Anyway, so tonight I took it out on the balcony to try and get a good view of the Deep Impact mission's big moment– the collision of the projectile against the comet Tempel 1. But I didn't plan very well. For one thing, there is just too much light pollution, even in my quiet suburb. For another, I just didn't give myself enough time to be able to locate and fix on the comet.
So, on the plus side, I got some fantasic viewing of Jupiter and three of its moons. But I didn't manage to locate the comet. Barring more pressing matters, I think I'll try again tomorrow night to view the comet. I won't get to witness the impact, but I can at least view it for a bit. I'll try to give myself time to drive a ways down 17 towards Santa Cruz, so that I can get better viewing conditions.
]]>I'm watching The Wizard of Oz, as I tape it from my TiVo for a friend. And I gotta say this, no matter the consequences...
The Cowardly Lion is so ghey. I mean, he makes Johnny Depp's swishbuckler Jack Sparrow look butch.
]]>I'm watching The Wizard of Oz, as I tape it from my TiVo for a friend. And I gotta say this, no matter the consequences...
The Cowardly Lion is so ghey. I mean, he makes Johnny Depp's swishbuckler Jack Sparrow look butch.
]]>
]]>
]]>It appears that Amazon encodes significant data into their image URLs. It also appears that this person has way too much time on his hands.
]]>It appears that Amazon encodes significant data into their image URLs. It also appears that this person has way too much time on his hands.
]]>I want them for this recipe, which I know isn't vegetarian. But they looked really amazing on the episode of The Naked Chef that I saw them on.
Thus far, I have tried the following places with no luck:
The Milk Pail Market was really nice. Open-air, great prices on both produce and dry goods (this is where I'll go for lentils from now on). Great selection of cheeses (I tried Vella Farms' Dry Jack for the first time over the weekend, and now here's a more convenient place to get it). But no cherry peppers.
If anyone has an idea where I might find this elusive breed, use the e-mail link on the home page to let me know?
(Edit: I had the days and grocers numbers off by 1. Doesn't everyone count/index from zero?)
]]>I want them for this recipe, which I know isn't vegetarian. But they looked really amazing on the episode of The Naked Chef that I saw them on.
Thus far, I have tried the following places with no luck:
The Milk Pail Market was really nice. Open-air, great prices on both produce and dry goods (this is where I'll go for lentils from now on). Great selection of cheeses (I tried Vella Farms' Dry Jack for the first time over the weekend, and now here's a more convenient place to get it). But no cherry peppers.
If anyone has an idea where I might find this elusive breed, use the e-mail link on the home page to let me know?
(Edit: I had the days and grocers numbers off by 1. Doesn't everyone count/index from zero?)
]]>The day it happened was a Wednesday. I was actually a fairly early riser then, which would surpise most of the people who know me here in California. I was on my way to work at about 9 or so (I tended to get into my seat by 9:30) and had just started driving away from my house. I turned the radio from the local alt-rock station to NPR as I did every morning for my commute. They were talking about an explosion. Untold number dead. Descriptions of the vast damage to the building. Then they mentioned Oklahoma City, and the specific building. I nearly went off the road. Even writing about it now gives me a chill. OKC? WTF?
I spent a day or two getting through to family and friends. The odds of anyone I knew being in that building on the 19th were slim. I did have a lot of elderly family in the city, who might have reason to visit the Social Security Administration office in that building, but none of them would have gone that late in the month. None of my friends were even close to the area at the time. One friend was working an opening shift at a restaurant some number of miles away (I'm estimating it was about 5 miles), and he said that the remnants of the shock wave caused their front doors to swing open, then slowly close. The sound they heard could have been anything, but the doors spooked them.
Then the frenzy and finger-pointing began. Mind you, we're talking just hours here. People were sure they'd seen "Arab-looking" men around. (To be fair, downtown OKC is pretty much white and black, with only a smattering of Asian, Latino and others; someone Middle-Eastern would have been pretty conspicuous.) There was a lot of focus on Islamist possibilities, with "experts" already being interviewed on various radio stations.
Then the real shock came. The first sketches from actual eye-witnesses were of a man of decidedly white complexion. Then, to rub it home, they caught Tim McVeigh.
God help us, had we been attacked by someone with a clue. McVeigh was caught because he was speeding northbound on I-35 in a car with expired tags. When the cop came up to the window, there was a gun sitting on the passenger seat beside McVeigh. So he was taken into custody. And at that point, things started to add up and fall into place. Partial receipts were found. People remembered his face. And one person actually rolled over on him. But had he been blessed with the basic common sense that you don't speed in a car with bad tags, with a fucking gun in the front seat beside you, in the immediate aftermath of a highly-visible bombing, he might never have been caught. He might well be marking this anniversary in some modest house in Montana or Idaho, with the rest of his John Birch-quoting far-right militia fanatics. But he fucked up, we caught him, and he sleeps with the fishes. His accomplice will never see the outside of a prison, but at least has his life left with which to write more tracts about how the gub'mint is after our freedom and our guns (but not in that order).
Let me go on record as saying I don't believe for one minute that the plot to blow up the Murrah building had squat to do with the Branch Davidian stand-off in Waco, Texas, two years earlier. They may have chosen the date for that, so they could use it as an excuse. But I just don't believe a person who considers himself a Biblical Christian is going to get that worked up over an incident involving a man who claimed to be Christ Himself. They might have bristled at the government response (and really– if the party in power were the GOP, Pat Robertson would have been all about them stopping a false messiah, as opposed to oppressing the faithful). But someone committing the ultimate blasphemy and armed to the teeth? I don't see anyone in the Michigan Militia being in a great hurry to join the fight. I thing the Waco excuse was exactly that: an excuse. If it hadn't have been that, it would have been the assault weapons ban, or any other slight (real or perceived).
So today, I'm pretty much keeping quiet and just doing my day job. I'll go home and eat, and relax. And I'll be exceedingly thankful that no one I knew was directly affected. My SO at the time had friends who were hurt, and at least one friend who was a responding EMT. But that was as close as I got. There are 168 families that weren't so lucky.
]]>The day it happened was a Wednesday. I was actually a fairly early riser then, which would surpise most of the people who know me here in California. I was on my way to work at about 9 or so (I tended to get into my seat by 9:30) and had just started driving away from my house. I turned the radio from the local alt-rock station to NPR as I did every morning for my commute. They were talking about an explosion. Untold number dead. Descriptions of the vast damage to the building. Then they mentioned Oklahoma City, and the specific building. I nearly went off the road. Even writing about it now gives me a chill. OKC? WTF?
I spent a day or two getting through to family and friends. The odds of anyone I knew being in that building on the 19th were slim. I did have a lot of elderly family in the city, who might have reason to visit the Social Security Administration office in that building, but none of them would have gone that late in the month. None of my friends were even close to the area at the time. One friend was working an opening shift at a restaurant some number of miles away (I'm estimating it was about 5 miles), and he said that the remnants of the shock wave caused their front doors to swing open, then slowly close. The sound they heard could have been anything, but the doors spooked them.
Then the frenzy and finger-pointing began. Mind you, we're talking just hours here. People were sure they'd seen "Arab-looking" men around. (To be fair, downtown OKC is pretty much white and black, with only a smattering of Asian, Latino and others; someone Middle-Eastern would have been pretty conspicuous.) There was a lot of focus on Islamist possibilities, with "experts" already being interviewed on various radio stations.
Then the real shock came. The first sketches from actual eye-witnesses were of a man of decidedly white complexion. Then, to rub it home, they caught Tim McVeigh.
God help us, had we been attacked by someone with a clue. McVeigh was caught because he was speeding northbound on I-35 in a car with expired tags. When the cop came up to the window, there was a gun sitting on the passenger seat beside McVeigh. So he was taken into custody. And at that point, things started to add up and fall into place. Partial receipts were found. People remembered his face. And one person actually rolled over on him. But had he been blessed with the basic common sense that you don't speed in a car with bad tags, with a fucking gun in the front seat beside you, in the immediate aftermath of a highly-visible bombing, he might never have been caught. He might well be marking this anniversary in some modest house in Montana or Idaho, with the rest of his John Birch-quoting far-right militia fanatics. But he fucked up, we caught him, and he sleeps with the fishes. His accomplice will never see the outside of a prison, but at least has his life left with which to write more tracts about how the gub'mint is after our freedom and our guns (but not in that order).
Let me go on record as saying I don't believe for one minute that the plot to blow up the Murrah building had squat to do with the Branch Davidian stand-off in Waco, Texas, two years earlier. They may have chosen the date for that, so they could use it as an excuse. But I just don't believe a person who considers himself a Biblical Christian is going to get that worked up over an incident involving a man who claimed to be Christ Himself. They might have bristled at the government response (and really– if the party in power were the GOP, Pat Robertson would have been all about them stopping a false messiah, as opposed to oppressing the faithful). But someone committing the ultimate blasphemy and armed to the teeth? I don't see anyone in the Michigan Militia being in a great hurry to join the fight. I thing the Waco excuse was exactly that: an excuse. If it hadn't have been that, it would have been the assault weapons ban, or any other slight (real or perceived).
So today, I'm pretty much keeping quiet and just doing my day job. I'll go home and eat, and relax. And I'll be exceedingly thankful that no one I knew was directly affected. My SO at the time had friends who were hurt, and at least one friend who was a responding EMT. But that was as close as I got. There are 168 families that weren't so lucky.
]]>First off, I set out lentils three days ago. But the next day I was too busy (and too beat) to make the soup. Only I didn't think about the lentils, and when I looked at them last night, they had sprouted roots. OK, toss those out and start a new bowl soaking for tonight.
Then tonight I'm still home too late, but I don't want to waste another cup of lentils, so I decide to go ahead and make the soup for later eating. Things started out OK, as I timed the chopping of the onions and sweet potato to the heating of the oil. I also put a frozen pizza in the oven for the actual dinner itself.
Now things start going badly.
First of all is the unfortunate blender incident. I'm trying to pureé the lentils with some water, but the lentils are sticking to the side. I get a wooden spoon to try and nudge them downward. I swear I've seen this done before. But clearly I lack the practice and/or general coordination to do this. I hit the spinning blades, and you can just imagine what happened.
Red lentils freakin' everywhere. In the sink. On the countertop. On the floor. On my shirt. I wouldn't be surprised if they were in my hair. It's like a lentil-bomb exploded in my kitchen. Walking to the computer, I looked down and found one on my sock.
But I had enough to go ahead and go forward with the soup. The onions were nicely browned, and the sweet potato lightly so. So I mixed in the rest of the water and added it all to the pot.
It's important to note that that my burner (electric) was on TWO, on a scale of TEN. It had seemed fine when I was browning the onions. I was checking on the soup every so often. But when I checked on it again, it was ruined. In the period between checking, it had all burnt on the bottom of the pot. It was at a raging boil, the soup. At a setting of "two", I really thought it would be simmering, as intended. There's gotta be something wrong with my stove, I guess.
Good thing I had the pizza.
]]>First off, I set out lentils three days ago. But the next day I was too busy (and too beat) to make the soup. Only I didn't think about the lentils, and when I looked at them last night, they had sprouted roots. OK, toss those out and start a new bowl soaking for tonight.
Then tonight I'm still home too late, but I don't want to waste another cup of lentils, so I decide to go ahead and make the soup for later eating. Things started out OK, as I timed the chopping of the onions and sweet potato to the heating of the oil. I also put a frozen pizza in the oven for the actual dinner itself.
Now things start going badly.
First of all is the unfortunate blender incident. I'm trying to pureé the lentils with some water, but the lentils are sticking to the side. I get a wooden spoon to try and nudge them downward. I swear I've seen this done before. But clearly I lack the practice and/or general coordination to do this. I hit the spinning blades, and you can just imagine what happened.
Red lentils freakin' everywhere. In the sink. On the countertop. On the floor. On my shirt. I wouldn't be surprised if they were in my hair. It's like a lentil-bomb exploded in my kitchen. Walking to the computer, I looked down and found one on my sock.
But I had enough to go ahead and go forward with the soup. The onions were nicely browned, and the sweet potato lightly so. So I mixed in the rest of the water and added it all to the pot.
It's important to note that that my burner (electric) was on TWO, on a scale of TEN. It had seemed fine when I was browning the onions. I was checking on the soup every so often. But when I checked on it again, it was ruined. In the period between checking, it had all burnt on the bottom of the pot. It was at a raging boil, the soup. At a setting of "two", I really thought it would be simmering, as intended. There's gotta be something wrong with my stove, I guess.
Good thing I had the pizza.
]]>I got this recipe from the show, "Everyday Food" on the Food Network channel. Since I don't know if it is published in a cookbook anywhere, I don't know if I am treading on a copyright. If I learn that I am, I'll take the post away.
Ingredients:
Combine the yogurt and all the spices. Mix by hand thoroughly until completely blended and smooth.
Place salmon filets on a broiler pan or sheet that has been greased with olive oil or cooking spray. If filets have skin, put the skin side down on the pan. Spread the yogurt/spice mixture over the filets, top only (not on the sides). Spread it thickly, covering the top of each filet as completely as possible.
Put under a broiler for 12-14 minutes, or until filets are cooked through. Remove from oven and serve. The mixture should form a sort of "shell" on the top of the fish.
]]>I got this recipe from the show, "Everyday Food" on the Food Network channel. Since I don't know if it is published in a cookbook anywhere, I don't know if I am treading on a copyright. If I learn that I am, I'll take the post away.
Ingredients:
Combine the yogurt and all the spices. Mix by hand thoroughly until completely blended and smooth.
Place salmon filets on a broiler pan or sheet that has been greased with olive oil or cooking spray. If filets have skin, put the skin side down on the pan. Spread the yogurt/spice mixture over the filets, top only (not on the sides). Spread it thickly, covering the top of each filet as completely as possible.
Put under a broiler for 12-14 minutes, or until filets are cooked through. Remove from oven and serve. The mixture should form a sort of "shell" on the top of the fish.
]]>The subject was heteronyms, words that have different pronunciations and different meanings, but the same spelling. So I followed along on each of the six questions. They gave the two definitions, and you had to get the word(s). And I just sucked pond water. For someone so comfortable in his command of the language, I could not figure out even one of them. Oy.
]]>The subject was heteronyms, words that have different pronunciations and different meanings, but the same spelling. So I followed along on each of the six questions. They gave the two definitions, and you had to get the word(s). And I just sucked pond water. For someone so comfortable in his command of the language, I could not figure out even one of them. Oy.
]]>On top of that, I was picked as an alternate presenter for the O'Reilly Open Source Convention this year, after someone had to drop out. So I'm also working up a paper/presentation that I'd already given up on and stopped researching.
So, with the exception of a small number of regular engagements, I'm probably going to be effectively invisible for at least the next 8 weeks or so. If anyone gets worried, feel free to e-mail me. Odds are about 3-to-1 that I'm online at that very moment...
]]>On top of that, I was picked as an alternate presenter for the O'Reilly Open Source Convention this year, after someone had to drop out. So I'm also working up a paper/presentation that I'd already given up on and stopped researching.
So, with the exception of a small number of regular engagements, I'm probably going to be effectively invisible for at least the next 8 weeks or so. If anyone gets worried, feel free to e-mail me. Odds are about 3-to-1 that I'm online at that very moment...
]]>When I moved to California in 1997, I had to leave behind the cat I had in Denver. Before I got settled in to my own apartment, the other cat (whom I called Constantine after the conqueror, not the comic book character) was adopted by a nice gay couple. So I set out to share my apartment with a new companion, one who was in need of a good home. I visited the local rescue organization, CARE (Companion Animal Rescue Effort), in search of a suitable pet.
People told me ahead of time that I shouldn't be so set on kittens, but I was. I'm more of a cat person than a dog person, mainly because I live alone and cats seem more capable of entertaining themselves with my long work hours. So off I went in search of baby cats.
I got to their weekend open-adoption one nice Sunday afternoon. No kittens. They explained that it was early in the year, since kittens usually resulted from people letting their un-fixed cats out when the weather improved around March and April. Just as I was ready to say "See you in May", I saw him.
In a cage was a big adult cat, all-black. I was still dallying in the goth scene at the time, so an all-black cat was worth serious goth points. I asked to hold him. After all, I was dead-set on kittens. But it wouldn't hurt to pet the cat, right? From the moment I picked him up, I was done for. This cat immediately put his front paws on my shoulder and simple laid his head against my chest, with his cheek in the hollow of my collarbone. I was his, hook line and sinker. I was totally 0wnx0r3d. I told them I'd be back next week with the adoption fee and everything else I needed.
The cat was named "Blackie" by his previous keeper, but I couldn't keep that name. I chose Bosch, after my favorite artist. But it wasn't long before his true nature came out: he was a talker. Everything he did was punctuated with vocalizations. He even talked in his sleep. So, taking a cue from an excellent film, I named him Verbal. It suited him so much better, after all.
His affectionate nature wasn't just a ruse to get adopted. From the day I brought him home, he would purr at the drop of a hat. If I sat down anywhere, he was there for his pettin's. Even when I went to sleep at night, he would climb up beside me and snuggle up. If I made a cup of my hand, he would use it as a pillow. He would be there the next morning when I woke up.
He was lonely when I went to work. He came from a household of a lot of cats, as his owner was one of CARE's foster-care staff. So after it was clear how lonely he was getting during the days, I went back to CARE and adopted a companion for him. They were inseperable. You would think Marie, the newer cat, was Verbal's own kitten. They groomed each other, they slept in a lop-sided yin-yang pattern. Rarely would they be more than 4 feet apart. When I slept at night, both would be on the bed with me.
For nearly 7 years, I've loved this animal. But lately, he was starting to show signs of age. He couldn't jump onto the bed anymore (it's a 3-foot jump). But he never lost his affectionate nature. Any time I sat at the computer, he wanted up in my lap. When I sat on the cushions in front of my coffee table, he would curl up at my feet and purr. Anytime I let him up in lap, he would lay his paws on my shoulder and snuggle against my neck, just like he did that first day.
I noticed recently that he'd lost a tremendous amount of weight. He wasn't eating, and barely drinking. I was worried, very worried. But I was also dead broke. So when it was clear that he needed to go to the vet, I decided that the very next paycheck, he was going.
That would have been tomorrow.
Instead, I came home tonight, way later than I should have, and found him passed.
I'm so, so sorry, my dear Verbal. I hope you are at peace.
]]>When I moved to California in 1997, I had to leave behind the cat I had in Denver. Before I got settled in to my own apartment, the other cat (whom I called Constantine after the conqueror, not the comic book character) was adopted by a nice gay couple. So I set out to share my apartment with a new companion, one who was in need of a good home. I visited the local rescue organization, CARE (Companion Animal Rescue Effort), in search of a suitable pet.
People told me ahead of time that I shouldn't be so set on kittens, but I was. I'm more of a cat person than a dog person, mainly because I live alone and cats seem more capable of entertaining themselves with my long work hours. So off I went in search of baby cats.
I got to their weekend open-adoption one nice Sunday afternoon. No kittens. They explained that it was early in the year, since kittens usually resulted from people letting their un-fixed cats out when the weather improved around March and April. Just as I was ready to say "See you in May", I saw him.
In a cage was a big adult cat, all-black. I was still dallying in the goth scene at the time, so an all-black cat was worth serious goth points. I asked to hold him. After all, I was dead-set on kittens. But it wouldn't hurt to pet the cat, right? From the moment I picked him up, I was done for. This cat immediately put his front paws on my shoulder and simple laid his head against my chest, with his cheek in the hollow of my collarbone. I was his, hook line and sinker. I was totally 0wnx0r3d. I told them I'd be back next week with the adoption fee and everything else I needed.
The cat was named "Blackie" by his previous keeper, but I couldn't keep that name. I chose Bosch, after my favorite artist. But it wasn't long before his true nature came out: he was a talker. Everything he did was punctuated with vocalizations. He even talked in his sleep. So, taking a cue from an excellent film, I named him Verbal. It suited him so much better, after all.
His affectionate nature wasn't just a ruse to get adopted. From the day I brought him home, he would purr at the drop of a hat. If I sat down anywhere, he was there for his pettin's. Even when I went to sleep at night, he would climb up beside me and snuggle up. If I made a cup of my hand, he would use it as a pillow. He would be there the next morning when I woke up.
He was lonely when I went to work. He came from a household of a lot of cats, as his owner was one of CARE's foster-care staff. So after it was clear how lonely he was getting during the days, I went back to CARE and adopted a companion for him. They were inseperable. You would think Marie, the newer cat, was Verbal's own kitten. They groomed each other, they slept in a lop-sided yin-yang pattern. Rarely would they be more than 4 feet apart. When I slept at night, both would be on the bed with me.
For nearly 7 years, I've loved this animal. But lately, he was starting to show signs of age. He couldn't jump onto the bed anymore (it's a 3-foot jump). But he never lost his affectionate nature. Any time I sat at the computer, he wanted up in my lap. When I sat on the cushions in front of my coffee table, he would curl up at my feet and purr. Anytime I let him up in lap, he would lay his paws on my shoulder and snuggle against my neck, just like he did that first day.
I noticed recently that he'd lost a tremendous amount of weight. He wasn't eating, and barely drinking. I was worried, very worried. But I was also dead broke. So when it was clear that he needed to go to the vet, I decided that the very next paycheck, he was going.
That would have been tomorrow.
Instead, I came home tonight, way later than I should have, and found him passed.
I'm so, so sorry, my dear Verbal. I hope you are at peace.
]]>After tiring of always living paycheck-to-paycheck, I've spent some serious time on reviewing my finances, and trying to make a more realistic, effective budget. What I've found has been awfully depressing, though.
For the last several months, I've been trying to get by even though I have had a lot of unplanned expenses. To this end, I've really simply not noticed as one thing after another got added to the list of things I was dragging from month to month as either late-paid bills or borrowing forward (my bank allows me to get advances on my direct deposit). Now that I have a budget and a list of the outstanding expenses, I've come to the realization of just how dire my situation is.
Firstly, my outstanding debts (not to be confused with monthly credit card bills or anything, these are the the things I keep carrying-over from month to month). About $2400, I estimate. Depending on how well I juggle my next paycheck or two, I should be able to get a good part of this taken care of.
But in the longer-term, I have bigger problems. I've recently started a new therapy course in the form of a weekly group-session "skills class". While it may sound unusual, it has a lot of potential to help me, especially in light of a recent diagnosis (Asperger's Syndrome). But it isn't cheap, and I can't really get mental-health expenses covered by my health insurance. With this, added to my existing weekly sessions (and it is a requirement of the class that I maintain weekly one-on-one counseling), makes the therapy bills come to nearly 20% of my monthly take-home pay by themselves. In the rough budget I drew up last night, I realized that I was looking at having maybe $600 a month for food, gas, any unexpected expenses, and any effort to save anything. This isn't tenable.
The most obvious cut to make is the therapy. But it seems like such bad timing to be doing that: it took seven months to get my schedule to mesh with the skills group scheduling. With the newer diagnosis, and the skills group, I feel like I have the best chance yet and developing the coping and management skills I need to overcome the limitations I've set upon myself. One person suggested that I simply take six months or so off from therapy, then resume it and the skills group. But I fear that if I do so, I'll never actually return at all. That concern, with the very real potential for progress that is facing me right now, makes me very, very reticent to consider this option.
I've taken a few steps to cut costs in some areas. I've already been developing the habit of cooking more and eating out less. I just need to apply it more consistently. I've changed my cell phone plan so that the risk of overages is greatly reduced (they've been killing me some months). I may be able to reduce the impact of the therapy expenses with a medical savings account, but I have to talk to the HR person about that. Unfortunately for me, one thing I had counted on isn't going to happen: my company isn't giving bonuses this year. They're positioning themselves for IPO, so they decided to give people (meager) raises this year, in lieu of bonuses. I won't go into details here, but the raise I got is about 40% of the bonus I got last year, it amounts to about 1.09% (less than half of a "cost of living" increase), and best of all I'll have to stay here for the next 12 months to get it, which makes it a pretty poor substitute for a lump-sum bonus that supposedly rewards performance for the previous year. I know this trick– U S West Communications pulled it on us one year, during the time I was there. I'm pretty sure my boss sees through this as well, but he's doing the best he can. (I had some serious misgivings when he took me over in August, but I've come to respect him a great deal the last few months. Plus, he has mad skilz and wicked-long hacker cred.)
I don't think I can do enough, though. Not without moonlighting or ramping up the writing and trying to sell some articles and/or a new book. I may become the Amazing Invisible Randy for a few months.
]]>After tiring of always living paycheck-to-paycheck, I've spent some serious time on reviewing my finances, and trying to make a more realistic, effective budget. What I've found has been awfully depressing, though.
For the last several months, I've been trying to get by even though I have had a lot of unplanned expenses. To this end, I've really simply not noticed as one thing after another got added to the list of things I was dragging from month to month as either late-paid bills or borrowing forward (my bank allows me to get advances on my direct deposit). Now that I have a budget and a list of the outstanding expenses, I've come to the realization of just how dire my situation is.
Firstly, my outstanding debts (not to be confused with monthly credit card bills or anything, these are the the things I keep carrying-over from month to month). About $2400, I estimate. Depending on how well I juggle my next paycheck or two, I should be able to get a good part of this taken care of.
But in the longer-term, I have bigger problems. I've recently started a new therapy course in the form of a weekly group-session "skills class". While it may sound unusual, it has a lot of potential to help me, especially in light of a recent diagnosis (Asperger's Syndrome). But it isn't cheap, and I can't really get mental-health expenses covered by my health insurance. With this, added to my existing weekly sessions (and it is a requirement of the class that I maintain weekly one-on-one counseling), makes the therapy bills come to nearly 20% of my monthly take-home pay by themselves. In the rough budget I drew up last night, I realized that I was looking at having maybe $600 a month for food, gas, any unexpected expenses, and any effort to save anything. This isn't tenable.
The most obvious cut to make is the therapy. But it seems like such bad timing to be doing that: it took seven months to get my schedule to mesh with the skills group scheduling. With the newer diagnosis, and the skills group, I feel like I have the best chance yet and developing the coping and management skills I need to overcome the limitations I've set upon myself. One person suggested that I simply take six months or so off from therapy, then resume it and the skills group. But I fear that if I do so, I'll never actually return at all. That concern, with the very real potential for progress that is facing me right now, makes me very, very reticent to consider this option.
I've taken a few steps to cut costs in some areas. I've already been developing the habit of cooking more and eating out less. I just need to apply it more consistently. I've changed my cell phone plan so that the risk of overages is greatly reduced (they've been killing me some months). I may be able to reduce the impact of the therapy expenses with a medical savings account, but I have to talk to the HR person about that. Unfortunately for me, one thing I had counted on isn't going to happen: my company isn't giving bonuses this year. They're positioning themselves for IPO, so they decided to give people (meager) raises this year, in lieu of bonuses. I won't go into details here, but the raise I got is about 40% of the bonus I got last year, it amounts to about 1.09% (less than half of a "cost of living" increase), and best of all I'll have to stay here for the next 12 months to get it, which makes it a pretty poor substitute for a lump-sum bonus that supposedly rewards performance for the previous year. I know this trick– U S West Communications pulled it on us one year, during the time I was there. I'm pretty sure my boss sees through this as well, but he's doing the best he can. (I had some serious misgivings when he took me over in August, but I've come to respect him a great deal the last few months. Plus, he has mad skilz and wicked-long hacker cred.)
I don't think I can do enough, though. Not without moonlighting or ramping up the writing and trying to sell some articles and/or a new book. I may become the Amazing Invisible Randy for a few months.
]]>Fever broke last night. That was what I noticed when I woke up– either the fever had broken, or my waterbed mattress had been rent length-wise. At least I could rule out having wet the bed (no odor).
I'm still under doctor's directions to minimize outside contact until I've worked my way through the prescription I was given. As I said prior, this is apparently a big problem across the county so they're being extra-paranoid about potential transmission. I wouldn't mind, normally. A few days off to write open-source stuff and work on my models, rock on! But I'm unfocused (though with the fever down, that may improve by later today) and the muscle aches make my hands shakey. So all I've been doing is watching TiVo and going to the bathroom.
I was arrogant-enough to think that the break of the fever was akin to an "all-clear" signal. I dared prepare myself something normal (though not spicy or containing dairy, just in case) for lunch. From the first bite, though, it was clear that eating is still not in my immediate future. As diet programs go, this has been brutal but effective. Can't say I recommend it, though.
]]>Fever broke last night. That was what I noticed when I woke up– either the fever had broken, or my waterbed mattress had been rent length-wise. At least I could rule out having wet the bed (no odor).
I'm still under doctor's directions to minimize outside contact until I've worked my way through the prescription I was given. As I said prior, this is apparently a big problem across the county so they're being extra-paranoid about potential transmission. I wouldn't mind, normally. A few days off to write open-source stuff and work on my models, rock on! But I'm unfocused (though with the fever down, that may improve by later today) and the muscle aches make my hands shakey. So all I've been doing is watching TiVo and going to the bathroom.
I was arrogant-enough to think that the break of the fever was akin to an "all-clear" signal. I dared prepare myself something normal (though not spicy or containing dairy, just in case) for lunch. From the first bite, though, it was clear that eating is still not in my immediate future. As diet programs go, this has been brutal but effective. Can't say I recommend it, though.
]]>I thought they were content with just razzing me at the shop, but later at the restaurant, I paid my bill and was about to leave when the night-shift manager told me I shouldn't leave yet. I should, in fact, go sit back down for a bit. So I did. And a few minutes later, out comes the treat. I was expecting cake. What I got was two generous scoops of ice cream, completely covered in whipped cream, with cherries on top of each one. The candles were stuck in the cherries.
I got a pair of vanilla boobs with cherry nipples for my birthday. This year is looking up already.
]]>I thought they were content with just razzing me at the shop, but later at the restaurant, I paid my bill and was about to leave when the night-shift manager told me I shouldn't leave yet. I should, in fact, go sit back down for a bit. So I did. And a few minutes later, out comes the treat. I was expecting cake. What I got was two generous scoops of ice cream, completely covered in whipped cream, with cherries on top of each one. The candles were stuck in the cherries.
I got a pair of vanilla boobs with cherry nipples for my birthday. This year is looking up already.
]]>