Kitten Scribbles

I finally got the laptop! K took 25:56 to beat level 12 of Planarity (damn you, bkleber, for introducing him to it!) and 21:27 to beat level 13, and now I get my computer back.

( San Francisco, the stairmaster city )

Currently posting from K's cousins' place in San Jose. It took a while for us to figure out how the Apple laptop liked to communicate with the wireless network, but K's programmer cousin happily tackled the problem until we finally managed a connection last night.

( trip report, in which we eat. and drive up the coast. and eat. )

Moments from work today...

( grammar problems in the cubicle )

( and too much fun in the lab )

Footnote to the cubicle episode: Further investigation (aka, asking B2) uncovered the fact that, appearances to the contrary, 'an' should not be used before words starting with a consonant sound even though they begin with a vowel. One such example is "unity," which begins with a pronounced "y;" another such is "one," which begins with a pronounced "w." The rule is phonetic* and not typographic.

*which bugs me, because I think typographically. This is why I sometimes insist on knowing how to spell words before I can use them.

I am deeply grateful to N for holding his Lord of the Rings extended-edition marathon. Such a great experience - lovely big screen, with a wonderful surround sound system (though Nazgul screams that sound like they're coming from a spot directly behind one's left shoulder are kind of disorienting). I was amazed at how much the movies gained from being seen all strung together. The themes became a lot more cohesive, the words and actions better justified. And since I had already made my peace with my nitpick points, I was just able to sit back and enjoy.

Kudos also to N and K2 for getting the movies all played within a thirteen-hour period, even including pauses for dog walks, bathroom breaks and pizza. The efficiency was amazing.

( leftover babbling -- and oh, that lovely Rohirric violin theme )

In my squash soup: squash, potato, honey, molasses, cinnamon, apple cider; trace amounts of salt, pepper, coriander, ginger, lemon peel. Partially pureed. Very, very tasty. (We're assuming it's a squash, anyway; thanks go to Hemingway fils for investigative work and cooking tips.)

It's either a squash or a small watermelon-colored pumpkin. I tried to hit the internet to find out what it was, but google persisted in telling me about the sport of squash instead of the plant. The squash was acquired accidentally; I think it belonged to whoever was at the cash register before me, and their bag got left behind. At any rate I found myself with an extra squash and four apples. I feel a bit guilty, but... what can you do?

Home early from work today, first sick leave of the year; I was coughing all morning and my voice changed from a breathy growl to nonexistent and back again. They finally kicked me out when I couldn't communicate across a cubicle. I fell directly into bed and didn't wake until evening, when I roused myself from a dream of destiny, responsibility, and +24V power terminals.

Since I couldn't talk, I signed on to IM. I rarely use the program, but I felt like communicating. Four hours later, I had been instant messaging more or less continuously. It's very draining; I'm not used to keeping track of all the little speech boxes, and the staggered pace of IM conversation took a while to get used to. When I went to answer the phone, it was really odd to hear my own voice twist and rasp out of my throat. I'd been typing for so long, I'd forgotten that I couldn't actually speak.

This afternoon there were facilities people in my cubicle, measuring the ambient temperature.

...59.9 degrees Fahrenheit.

"I see the problem. These vents," one of the men said, "are almost all closed." He was speaking of the air vents in the ceiling, nestled among the tiles.

"Air is still coming out," I said, pointing to the papers pinned to the wall of my cubicle, their corners rippling in the chill breeze.

"Doesn't matter. Those vents are supposed to be fully open. No wonder it's cold here."

"But... look, air is coming out. It's cold air, that's the problem."

"Don't worry," they told me, "we've got it figured out. We'll have the vents fully open tomorrow."

"I'll be really cold tomorrow," I warned.

"Then," said my boss, "we'll file another complaint."

Driving in the fog makes me want to clean my glasses, except I don't wear glasses any more.

When I left this morning and went to work, everything was covered in mist; when I left work and drove home, conditions were the same. Makes me wonder if anything at all burned off during the day; for all I know, the mist sat down and never left.

Makes driving inconvenient, but it's pretty neat to walk through. I imagine it's a sort of fabric parting before me, that I'm wading through something too ephemeral to feel. At night it catches and diffuses the light from the streetlamps, creating a glowing haze outside my living room windows. Everything's much brighter tonight.

Now if only it were bright enough to read by.