(no subject)
I'm still getting used to having long working days on a regular basis. It's that time of year again at work, the Busy Season, where the only time I see the sun is when I'm on the clock. I can deal with long days, no problem, but the 5 or 6 day stretches of 12, 13 and 14-hour days force my body to readjust from its winter metabolism abruptly and unpleasantly. I went to do the paperwork at the end of our second job today, and the sweat dripping off my shirt soiled the Bill Of Lading. Time to bring more water, an extra shirt or two, and sunscreen (yeeowch). I am wondering if fromenergy is experiencing New Guy Forearm Burn yet, or if he's too much of a juggernaut (bitch) to have so trivial a complaint. On the record: my forearms STILL hurt from my first month of moving. :)
I was in a penthouse apartment today on the 42nd floor of a Boston tower... which was actually the 41st floor, because "officially" there was no 13th floor in this building. Is it just me, or is that stupid? An extremely silly superstition, given such creedence that it makes builders and designers arbitrarily pretend that the number doesn't exist for public consumption. I pointed it out to my Romanian colleagues in the elevator, and they were mystified. "But, is still thirteen floor, is just says 'fourteen'," noted Calin. I explained to him that many Americans take comfort in mislabelling things they find unpleasant or awkward. "Healthy Forests", "Clear Skies", "Climate Change", "No Child Left Behind", "The PATRIOT Act", "Mission Accomplished", "Turning Point", "Compassionate Conservatism" etc. When phrased this way, he immediately understood what I was getting at, despite our language barrier. In a way, it was nice to know this isn't strictly an American phenomenon, and in another sense it was extremely depressing to think that it probably happens everywhere else, too.
I got to listen to some hot Club Reggae in the truck today. I love Club Reggae. No, really. I'm not even ashamed.
Piper insinuated herself into a plastic bag and Sandy picked it up. Piper conformed to the shape of the bag perfectly, like a load of partially solidified gelatin. Piper has Found the Way of Water, proving that it is she who made my copy of "Go Rin No Sho" disappear.
To the soldiers: Happy Memorial Day, you guys. To those of you still living, I'll do whatever I can within legal limits to make sure that you don't have to get shipped from a foreign desert, overseeing people who hate us, to a local desert, overseeing people who hate us. Thanks Grandpa Moat, Grandpa Fyfe, Madman Mike, Scott, and everybody else who served.
I was in a penthouse apartment today on the 42nd floor of a Boston tower... which was actually the 41st floor, because "officially" there was no 13th floor in this building. Is it just me, or is that stupid? An extremely silly superstition, given such creedence that it makes builders and designers arbitrarily pretend that the number doesn't exist for public consumption. I pointed it out to my Romanian colleagues in the elevator, and they were mystified. "But, is still thirteen floor, is just says 'fourteen'," noted Calin. I explained to him that many Americans take comfort in mislabelling things they find unpleasant or awkward. "Healthy Forests", "Clear Skies", "Climate Change", "No Child Left Behind", "The PATRIOT Act", "Mission Accomplished", "Turning Point", "Compassionate Conservatism" etc. When phrased this way, he immediately understood what I was getting at, despite our language barrier. In a way, it was nice to know this isn't strictly an American phenomenon, and in another sense it was extremely depressing to think that it probably happens everywhere else, too.
I got to listen to some hot Club Reggae in the truck today. I love Club Reggae. No, really. I'm not even ashamed.
Piper insinuated herself into a plastic bag and Sandy picked it up. Piper conformed to the shape of the bag perfectly, like a load of partially solidified gelatin. Piper has Found the Way of Water, proving that it is she who made my copy of "Go Rin No Sho" disappear.
To the soldiers: Happy Memorial Day, you guys. To those of you still living, I'll do whatever I can within legal limits to make sure that you don't have to get shipped from a foreign desert, overseeing people who hate us, to a local desert, overseeing people who hate us. Thanks Grandpa Moat, Grandpa Fyfe, Madman Mike, Scott, and everybody else who served.