... I'm still learning. Today's lessons:
- A recently-used toaster oven is not, repeat not, an optimal hand-warming device.
- Minor burns, like paper cuts, sting all out of proportion.
I sent a $6 check for the repair/replacement of my headphones. They confirm that they really think they were paid $6, but my bank only charged my account $4.
I was very late to lunch because my meeting was not the time I thought it was, and they were putting all the food away but let me take back a spoon and grab stuff from the open pasta bar that was today's special. I asked whether the sauces had meat stuff in them, and they were very nice with their speculations about maybe chicken stock in this one and possible cross-contamination from the meatballs and such, so when I paid they knew I hadn't taken any of the meat products ... so they only charged me $3 instead of $4.50, even though no price difference had been advertised.
I would think I might have a get-rich-quick scheme to leverage here, but $3.50 over two hours isn't going to make me a millionaire. Still, unexpected money, so yay.
Sirens screamed, a chilling sound
And three marked squad cars came around
So closely spaced that when one slowed,
The second almost felt Three's nose.
They navigated corners tight
And zoomed away, right out of sight
To make their quick way, bit by bit
Into the complex opposite.
Then several more did come along,
On their way to right some wrong:
Marked car, unmarked, marked again,
Then one with lights but no siren.
They stayed a while, then left again
With no sign what had passed within.
I watched until the last was gone,
And wondered what was going on.
What need was there for such amount
(That's seven, if you didn't count)
Of police cars, at bright midday?
I couldn't see so cannot say.
The Mystery on Hillside grows --
"Of Hillcrest Acres", I suppose.
(Where'd they get these "hill" names at?
If that's a hill, I'll eat my hat.)
My garden plot, it grows but slow,
But at least I got a show.
The wondering helped pass the time.
But now all day I'll think in rhyme!
Poetry is not my fight.
My scansion's off, my rhymes are trite.
See, this is why I stick to prose!
In retrospect, this poem ... um, never mind.
I have a new weather guideline: If the temperature is equal to the day-of-month, I will be unhappy. If the temperature is less than half the day-of-month, something is just wrong.
Thirteen pathetic degrees at 8am.
And of course I had to go out. It's a telecommute day, and ordinarily I wouldn't leave the house until tomorrow morning in this kind of weather, but I had to go release my brother's stuff from the storage facility. (At 9am. My request for an afternoon appointment worked out so well!) Three layers of pants, four layers of tops plus a heavy jacket, heavy socks, gloves, hat.
And my winter hiking boots. I haven't worn them in months, since they're too warm for most of my hiking and I don't generally spend much time outside in the cold anyway. The right boot felt odd as I stuck my foot in, and at first I thought my sock was just bunched strangely, but I couldn't level the uneven spot with my toes. So I removed my foot, stuck my hand in instead ... and extracted a soy sauce packet.
... I have no idea.
(Note: For those who don't recognize the title quote -- it's from Whose Line Is It Anyway?, featuring Greg Proops as Not Hot but Spicy! Man in an Unlikely Superheroes segment.)