You haven't experienced the true freak that is blogging until ...
... you post a Star Wars parody, and then three minutes later, hear it being played on the computer in the next room.
Five things I had to keep explaining to the guy at REI
I’ll mostly be seated and typing while I wear these shoes
I very rarely leave the house
There’s a paucity of rocks to climb in the Sunset District
I’d prefer shoes that don’t look like “The Visible Man”
These have more than enough “torsion control” for smoking cigars and walking to the Walgreens
I'm done with my proposal, a scant three hours before class. And I tell ya. I pulled this paper out. of my. butt. Seriously. I had no earthly clue what this thing was going to be, even as late as 11 this morning. Suddenly inspiration struck, I visited that Berkeley website again, grabbed some crosstabbed data - two hours later, bingo, it's done.
But my question is, why couldn't this paper have come from my butt a few days ago? Why all this hunching, sweating and cursing in front of the computer all weekend?
Actually I'm not so hedonistic anymore. Just really, really hungry. Pizza! [via Cmdr Sue]
Pissy little thing yesterday, wasn't I?
Stayed home from work today so I can nurse this cold and also get my quantative policy paper in shape. Part of my problem is, I really don't know how to structure the paper. And two pages doesn't sound like a lot of work until you're staring chaos full in the face.
I should call my prof. Why the hell not? He works for me!
So, I'm at my computer, some more, having a near panic attack due to writer's block. I HATE this prospectus assignment. Please understand, I am studying to be a policy analyst. But I intend to be the sort who gets mushy requests and turns them into brilliant analyses. Not the sort who sit around, in a think tank situation, just dreaming up shit to study. I want to be assigned things. I want parameters. I want to work for a team. I know that sounds juvenile but if you're looking for a pioneer in the field you've come to the wrong place.
Maybe it'd be easier to dream up shit to study if I had more adequate raw data than a student version of SPSS. If I'd've known how frustrating this piddly thing would be, I'd've sprung for the full version. Even the UC Berkeley online database is incomprehensible to me because you can't crosstab the thousands of factors just any ol' way you wish. At least I can't. I need help. I need a phone call. I feel a cold coming on, too. I could just cry.
On top of everything, BB put this on the record player: "Hard Day's Night" as styled by Henry Mancini! He came in, smiling, anticipating my reaction. I didn't disappoint. I complained that it was old fart music and I felt like I was in a time-warp, and not in a nice druggy way.
So he replaced it ... with Taco. Taco. Why do we even own a Taco LP? I sat here and stewed through most of the first song. Then I stormed out to the living room. "We are not gay men, and this is not 1984!" I screamed. He actually said he thought I'd like it. My God, it's as if we don't know each other at all. I threatened to walk out and set up at the school library if he didn't put on Vivaldi, pronto. Don't dick with an angry beancounter with a headcold.
I do have one piece of news that's interesting. Yesterday I applied for The Perfect Job.
Applying for The Perfect Job is like holding a lottery ticket. Did you win? Did you lose? You don't know yet. But for a while, you get to carry this secret dream with you everywhere.
BB's away today, taking an employment exam. If I could live on what my daughter can cook - toast and microwaved hotdogs - I wouldn't have to enter the kitchen for the rest of the day. I wouldn't even have to leave this computer except for potty breaks. Tempting!
But no. Must get up and join the 3-D community for a few hours. Get some sun at the park, let Daisy burn off some calories from all those international dog biscuits.
Staples - legal envelopes, paper (Gee, I wonder who's burning through all this paper?)
Grocery store - anything but hotdogs
Then back to the desk.
Say, why aren't you people writing to me? I mean, I have very little to blog about, but I'm at my computer, like, all the time. You're practically guaranteed a quick response if you comment.
Yet there's nothing to comment on. This is friggin' ironic.
I have just a few minutes before I must throw on some work clothes, then make Bunny and myself some breakfast and pack our lunches. One thing I do love about this new job is simply its location: five minutes, literally, from my house. So when I drive my daughter to school, the whole trip is like fifteen minutes. Excellent!
So, I have a question. Do you think it's possible for one person to be repelled by another due to phermones?
I mean, phermones are credited for people falling in love at first sight. Couldn't it be possible that the opposite extreme happens?
No research went into the making of this blog post. Just tossin' it out there for consideration.
strapped for blog content whimsical and full of affection am I, that when I read it just now, I jumped up to get a bone for the dog.
Sometimes two classes come together in such a way that you can sort of cruise through one while concentrating on the other. That's the way this semester is going. In Environment of Politics, we scan articles the prof assigns, then show up to class and let him lead us in Socratic discussions about past presidential administrations. The concepts I am absorbing take up a back room in my brain where they can do little harm until it's time to write a paper.
Meanwhile, I am concentrating heavily on Quantitative so I don't get behind. Also because statistics is kind of a gas. Who knew? Well, Meg knew. Wise Meg!
Last week, there came series of promotions at my agency, that run both horizontally across departments, and vertically in terms of money, power and prestige. But down at the near-bottom of the power structure is my poor supervisor. And she is being made to fill a void as supervisor to another unit, in another building, in another part of this city. They're making her commute between her two jobs every day.
I was appalled when I found out. This is a majorly large agency, folks. We're talkin' Delaware-large. And I keep wondering, was there nobody else who could step in temporarily?
"How long are they making you do this?" ::shruuuug:: She no say. Or she no want to say. Eeesh. I bet she volunteered. Paying your dues sucks sometimes, man.
On a more personal note, this is the first time I've worried about another living soul in this stupid office. A heroic exertion. Ow! - I think I'm getting a nosebleed.
No matter how disillusioned or alienated you feel in your job, it could be worse: you could have nothing better to do on a Tuesday morning than try and find a missing show dog using nothing but the POWER OF YOUR MIND.
First of all, every weekend should be a three-day weekend. Are you with me?
Secondly, this is my kid, learning how to make a patchwork quilt! She's cutting out five-inch squares with a rotary cutter and mat. The quilt will be primarily made with fabric she picked out herself at the store, augmented with the brightest fabric I carry in my stash. We're aiming for a lap-sized item - for now.
Later today, barring a rotary cutter-related trip to the emergency room, I'll have to teach her how to use the sewing machine, where the real magic begins. Or frustration and copious tears. Tricky device, the sewing machine. Especially the bobbin.
Later: Heck. I didn't think this project through very carefully. Now she's taken over my sewing room, and I've had to move my laptop and books to the kitchen table.
Bloggers e, Badger, Debra, and many others are spending the weekend at the fabu and talented
Malcolm's Grace's house, discussing weighty blog, writing, and art-related matters. Oh, and taking pictures. And drinking what looks like copious amounts of wine, holy mother of pearl ...
Me, I'm under self-imposed academic house arrest; if I leave the county I have a warrant to kick my own ass. And I was okay with this, I was, until I saw a picture of all the wine. Heh.
At least the campers are attemptinng to publish what passes for livestreaming.
'Cause it's tax time, yeah it's tax tiiime. BB had the taxes done this morning. The verdict is, we're due a huge refund this year. This was expected, as we lived on just one paycheck for half a year. But a relief. This'll help replenish our savings.
A younger BB, in this situation, would already be petitioning to buy a brand-new, expensive stereo receiver with the refund, even in light of our limited funds. Our own receiver is toast, you see - all the channels are gone except the one you use to listen to LPs. But Present Time BB has more respectible priorities. He wants to shop around for a used receiver for a few hundred bucks and call it good. It is judgment like this that makes Present Time BB way easier to get along with than any previous incarnation was.
I'm thinking we'll visit a museum this afternoon. Bunny is learning about the Donner Party, and there's a new exhibit on display at Sutter's Fort. Must take advantage of the unexpectedly sunny day, before I have to sequester myself and work on SPSS again.
Lunch first! Yes!