strange, strange day.

Wake up early enough to do something useful with room, which is a flyin' mess. Except that doesn't happen, but what does happen - apartment-hunting on the internet - is also useful. Ouch, it's late! gonna be late for apartment-seeing appointment, apt-appt! Dress in a hurry, shoot out the door, pull up to office about a minute before the set time - oh, I'm so good.

See apartment. Repeat twice.

Sit in office at the Italian department looking for more apartments and contacting people and getting rather sick. Cold-sick, except it's allergies-sick. Don't remember a season of being hit this badly, ever. Ever-ever. Don't usually get hit with seasonal allergies, so this is unexpected and rather annoying. End up setting up some appointments for tomorrow and Monday and going to lunch with good people. At this point, the afternoon meeting with workpeople isn't happening, because only two of the four of us could even make it, and the planned trip to the library is superceded by apartment hunt. Roll with it. Go have amazing burger - have to love my body's ability to tell me whether it wants protein, carbs, green stuff or what at any particular moment. Have tea, also, and realize that yes, definitely, allergies.

Return to office. Look at library catalogue on the web (mmmmmm, 21st century). Look at Computers and Humanities magazine on web. Print. Print some more. Print print print, and then have manymany pages of reading to get through soon.

Late! Again! ARGH! Caffeinatedly jump in car, drive (carefully!) to Somerville, to meet friend. Meeting said friend is yay! Friend has yummy fresh-squeezed juice, which he happily shares. And is yay in general. Search for food. Search for food. Search for... ah, Indian. Sounds good. Sounds better, turns out, than is - is a taaad too spicy. But we brave it, and have good conversation. Then have more conversation, and music, and go to his place for more music and conversation and funky book reading and cuddling and and and then it's past midnight, and time to go home.

Except that there's a car blocking his building's driveway.

"Um, hi, you don't know whose car that is... do you?"

Call tow truck people. They say, if it's parked on the street, call police. Well, damn, the only number we can find for this area is 911, and this certainly isn't emergency-line-tying-up worthy. Find non-emergency number through another town's non-emergency number. They'll send someone over.

z. z. z.

Policeman looking like Chief Wiggum drives up eventually. Takes a look around, calls tow truck people.

The SAME tow truck people we had randomly picked out of the phone book!! How cool is that?!

Truck arrives, and it takes quite a while to wrangle the car out of its cozy little parking spot. In the meantime, the sky just breaks. Rain pouring down. Whoosh.

Finally, the car gets towed away (and we are standing there feeling sorry for the poor schmuck we couldn't find to get his/her car moved). I get driving, in the pouring rain and sleepier than I think I've ever driven before. Just canNOT keep my eyes open. Get home, and am amused and grateful to be alive.

I'd say that's quite enough for one day.

strange, strange day.

Wake up early enough to do something useful with room, which is a flyin' mess. Except that doesn't happen, but what does happen - apartment-hunting on the internet - is also useful. Ouch, it's late! gonna be late for apartment-seeing appointment, apt-appt! Dress in a hurry, shoot out the door, pull up to office about a minute before the set time - oh, I'm so good.

See apartment. Repeat twice.

Sit in office at the Italian department looking for more apartments and contacting people and getting rather sick. Cold-sick, except it's allergies-sick. Don't remember a season of being hit this badly, ever. Ever-ever. Don't usually get hit with seasonal allergies, so this is unexpected and rather annoying. End up setting up some appointments for tomorrow and Monday and going to lunch with good people. At this point, the afternoon meeting with workpeople isn't happening, because only two of the four of us could even make it, and the planned trip to the library is superceded by apartment hunt. Roll with it. Go have amazing burger - have to love my body's ability to tell me whether it wants protein, carbs, green stuff or what at any particular moment. Have tea, also, and realize that yes, definitely, allergies.

Return to office. Look at library catalogue on the web (mmmmmm, 21st century). Look at Computers and Humanities magazine on web. Print. Print some more. Print print print, and then have manymany pages of reading to get through soon.

Late! Again! ARGH! Caffeinatedly jump in car, drive (carefully!) to Somerville, to meet friend. Meeting said friend is yay! Friend has yummy fresh-squeezed juice, which he happily shares. And is yay in general. Search for food. Search for food. Search for... ah, Indian. Sounds good. Sounds better, turns out, than is - is a taaad too spicy. But we brave it, and have good conversation. Then have more conversation, and music, and go to his place for more music and conversation and funky book reading and cuddling and and and then it's past midnight, and time to go home.

Except that there's a car blocking his building's driveway.

"Um, hi, you don't know whose car that is... do you?"

Call tow truck people. They say, if it's parked on the street, call police. Well, damn, the only number we can find for this area is 911, and this certainly isn't emergency-line-tying-up worthy. Find non-emergency number through another town's non-emergency number. They'll send someone over.

z. z. z.

Policeman looking like Chief Wiggum drives up eventually. Takes a look around, calls tow truck people.

The SAME tow truck people we had randomly picked out of the phone book!! How cool is that?!

Truck arrives, and it takes quite a while to wrangle the car out of its cozy little parking spot. In the meantime, the sky just breaks. Rain pouring down. Whoosh.

Finally, the car gets towed away (and we are standing there feeling sorry for the poor schmuck we couldn't find to get his/her car moved). I get driving, in the pouring rain and sleepier than I think I've ever driven before. Just canNOT keep my eyes open. Get home, and am amused and grateful to be alive.

I'd say that's quite enough for one day.

Mmm, Jim.

This is by Jim Infantino. Hope he doesn't get mad at me if he comes across this, but it's just soooo calm-sunny, I had to share. Well, I *am* crediting him, and it *is* on his website.

( read pome )

Mmm, Jim.

This is by Jim Infantino. Hope he doesn't get mad at me if he comes across this, but it's just soooo calm-sunny, I had to share. Well, I *am* crediting him, and it *is* on his website.

( read pome )

(no subject)

It is a sad condition. My only remaining parental unit and I have a decent relationship, usually. But for... nine years, now, she's been doing everything she can to make me feel bad about myself on account of one particular aspect of my physical appearance. At about age 19 or 20 I began refusing to speak to her on the topic, or to listen to her tell me things like "no boy will ever date/marry you because of X." She still brings it up from time to time, sometimes more often, sometimes less. The result is always the same: I refuse to speak about it, she insists, I tell her we'll have a conflict, she insists, we have conflict.

Now, two questions. One, does she really honestly think that the decision to never discuss something with her was easy for me, or is somehow the result of brattiness that doesn't manifest itself in any other way? And two, what the flying fuck is she trying to accomplish?

(I am not, for the record, worried about what boys - or girls - think of me.)

(no subject)

It is a sad condition. My only remaining parental unit and I have a decent relationship, usually. But for... nine years, now, she's been doing everything she can to make me feel bad about myself on account of one particular aspect of my physical appearance. At about age 19 or 20 I began refusing to speak to her on the topic, or to listen to her tell me things like "no boy will ever date/marry you because of X." She still brings it up from time to time, sometimes more often, sometimes less. The result is always the same: I refuse to speak about it, she insists, I tell her we'll have a conflict, she insists, we have conflict.

Now, two questions. One, does she really honestly think that the decision to never discuss something with her was easy for me, or is somehow the result of brattiness that doesn't manifest itself in any other way? And two, what the flying fuck is she trying to accomplish?

(I am not, for the record, worried about what boys - or girls - think of me.)

Blue Company!!

Is a... novella, I suppose. A story e-mailed to you. In a month's worth of e-mail. I'd subscribed last year, when this premiered, and it was phenomenal. This year they are charging for it, not a lot - $15 - and I just subscribed again. This time there's a nifty poster.

Tank20 is here. You can click on "Tank20 Presents" and get to the Blue Company pages. Duuude. I love Rob Wittig's writing.

Blue Company!!

Is a... novella, I suppose. A story e-mailed to you. In a month's worth of e-mail. I'd subscribed last year, when this premiered, and it was phenomenal. This year they are charging for it, not a lot - $15 - and I just subscribed again. This time there's a nifty poster.

Tank20 is here. You can click on "Tank20 Presents" and get to the Blue Company pages. Duuude. I love Rob Wittig's writing.