I have found peace, and it is at Target. Despite unruly throngs of holiday desperation, the automotive section at holds strong as a bastion against the cruel Hell that is shopping. There, men find solace from wives and children (their own and others’), wandering in with the vaguest of intents, staring in gentle contemplation at shelves of windshield wiper fluid, content with this brief respite from noise and obligation.
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It’s on the street.
Sometimes life is like a sitcom. Like today’s episode, in which our well-meaning but often befuddled protagonist awakes to a 50F cold house, determines that the heat isn’t working, calls the pretty young landlady who comes in as the pretty younger wife tries to distract her from the pile of (albeit clean) dishes in the sink, calls in to work saying he’ll be late, goes out to the 3F unbearably cold car, drives to work wondering why his allegedly insulated boots aren’t keeping his toes any warmer than if he wore ice-blocks in their stead, gets to his 70F warm cube, starts to feel sick from the wild temperature swings, vows to stay indoors for the entire day, pours himself a cup of coffee, sets to working, then makes a face at the camera when the fire alarm goes off.
It’s coming.
The gauntlet of the mall has been run several times over, and with success. Guestlists have been cemented within reasonable margins. Nog abounds. My home is primed for Christmas, but what does one do with the few days between now and then? Being ready early creates a quiet, smoldering stress, the feeling that you should be doing something. Do we have the right tablecloth? Should we pick up those swizzle-sticks? Since during this season all are expected to be rushing around getting ready, the entire engine of the US is set towards that one goal. There’s nothing else to do. So, I will sit quietly in my home, letting the dulling glow of the tree distract me.
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This big.
I’m no fisherman, but I caught a decent-sized fish once, and put the picture up in my cube. I recommend doing this. Take something from your personal life and post it for the visitors to see. Why, you ask? Here’s an example.
Today, someone came to my office. This poor guy has being trying to get some info out of me via phone for a few weeks, but I’ve been too busy to find the answer he’s looking for. So, in he comes. I turn to my PC, making extempore ingratiating sounds and “pulling him up” to make a good show of it. When I turn back to tell him I haven’t done anything for him, he interrupts me to ask about the fish. Is that a tiger muskie? What lake is that? Have you ever fished Lake Youveneverheardof? Et cetera. He left satisfied that I was indeed busy and not just blowing him off, dreaming of grandiose fish.
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Double bogey
3 strikes and you’re out. Everybody knows this. You get three tries, and if you screw it up all three times, you’re in trouble. But does the rest of the world follow the same rule, since they don’t play baseball? Do British people get six tries at everything, because you get six overs in cricket? Do the Scots measure everything in par? “It took you five times to get this right, Wilson. It’s a 3-par. Take a hike”.
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Iceman / Lightning Boy / Magic Dude
Saw an odd thing on this Geek Day. A Domino’s delivery vehicle. Why odd? Any native Buffalo pizza place on its worst day beats the highest quality Domino’s has ever or will ever provide. What kind of sick individual orders Domino’s around here? Stockholders? Why Geek Day? The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King Special Edition DVD is released tonight at midnight. Every nerd in America is sitting at his computer right now, considering whether or not to wait. This in and of itself is more of a Geek Observance than a full Geek Day, but the fact that the Sci-Fi original feature Earthsea, based on the books of Ursula LeGuin, is also coming out today takes us out of Ordinary Time and in to the holiday.
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= negative cred
Been hitting the links pretty hard for the last few days. On the last hole of an already supremely dominant game (14 under par, suckers), I was all the way on the other side of the heavily slanted green. I measured it out best I could and putted, prepared to putt again. But no. The ball made a beautiful curve and dropped quietly into the hole. Just then, I was distracted by music and women, and missed my chance to save the replay. As screen after screen of accolades for broken records came up, all I could do was bemoan the loss of what is sure to be my career’s greatest shot.
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Just one lump.
When people rent, one of the attributes they consider in an apartment is often summarized as “character”. This can be roughly translated to “looks old”. My apartment, for example, has one of the quaint, old-timey round analog thermostats. It doesn’t work. The heat is either on or off, and does not stop when the assigned temperature has been reached. This makes for some very cold mornings, since there’s no one awake to turn the heat on and off every couple of hours. The morning shave has become a trial of fire. The good news is, the milk stays very cool in my cereal, and I believe I am becoming hardened to the cold. Don’t worry, I won’t rub it in.
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Eagle? Dormie? No idea.
The latest addition to the cheap-assed gamer’s collection is EA’s Tiger Woods 2003. Having never played any other golf games, unless you count some denomination of Golden Tee, a four-hole free demo I downloaded for my PDA, or an old math game for the C64, I can’t really tell you if there is/are more/better courses/players/equipment, and having never played real-world golf I can’t make any comparison to actual experience, but I can tell you it’s grand fun. The Samurai Jack mini-cutscenes that play when you hit a long drive are worth it in and of themselves.
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Go get ’em, Tiger.
Press conference at the hospital today. You see, we bought this robot. The surgeon sits down and moves a controller around, and then the robot mimics the movements on a much smaller scale. As my betters got up in front of the cameras explaining the benefits of less invasive surgery methods and the long-terms cost savings, my stare could not be averted from the motionless arms of the robot, silent and poised. I had a meeting to go to, and thus did not get to see the merged-man-machine in action. From the lack of alarms, I inferred that my fear that the robot would take control of its master and go on a rampage, committing wanton acts of healthcare in accordance to its programming throughout the downtown area until well-meaning law enforcement personnel were forced to shoot the misunderstood beast down was not founded. And by “fear”, I mean “hope”.