Tags: a day in the life

General-Food-Seitan, Seitan

Easy money

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.

A meditation, in couplet form

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.

Febrrrrrrrary. "Not hot but spicy!"

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.)

Clue Error 404: Clue not found. Please try again.

I went in to the office on Wednesday, as usual, and spent most of the day there. I mentioned a few times that I would be on call that evening, as I had volunteered to take the shift from someone who didn't want it. I wanted the money. Late in the day, since my brother and his wife were due in town at some point, I got permission to go home and finish the day from home.

When I got in the house, I noticed that the clocks were blinking. This meant the power had gone out at some point. The alarm clock always resets to midnight when the power comes back, so judging by its display, the power had been back for about five hours. As it happened, it was near to 5pm when I noticed this.

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I'm hoping this was some Thanksgiving-related anomaly, or that there's some mystical process in which I had to have a lot of bad luck today because I'm about to win the lottery or something. Because otherwise, I've just about exhibited a perfect storm of stupidity. I really don't want to believe that this could be a *normal* day for me.

Maybe I just need a CB radio instead ...

I have a cell phone. I bought it for emergency use, and while I don't reserve it only for that purpose, I don't use it all that much. "Should I get milk?", sure; required customer communication when I'm stuck with an on-call, fine; trying to coordinate buying a house while touring the Newport coastline with my mother, well, who *doesn't* have to do that occasionally?; random chatting, no. I try to deal with the reason for the call and then get off the line. I don't find it the most comfortable method of communication.

So it's not unusual for me to go weeks without using my cell. I don't even always remember to plug it in at night, if I carried it in a bag rather than a pocket. That was actually the case last night, though I do try to be careful about that, because my talk time on the second day isn't as secure as I like, and if an emergency should occur, I certainly don't want to cut out just as I'm giving my location.

But as I said, I don't actually use much of my talk time. Two calls in one day, when neither one has to do with, say, grocery shopping, is rather unusual.

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The patient died in routine surgery

So I took my '04 Prius in for service. It has a 12-gallon fuel tank, but I've never gotten more than 8 gallons in, though I wait until the car tells me to add fuel. (I know that's a bad habit, and I'm trying to get out of it.) Toyota knows about this problem, and enough people have complained that they have a "TSB". This is a type of campaign in which you only get service if you complain about the specific problem.

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I never even found a name for my car. (I had considered "Illyria", because it's blue and it's ... not like the other children.) That might be for the best-- will it even be the same "person" after a brain transplant??

Excuse me. I have to go weep inconsolably now.