Heart Of My Hearts
Hello World,
What a difference a week makes. We had some warmer weather, and a few sunny days, and in most places, last week's blizzard is just a fond memory. Okay, maybe an unpleasant memory, but at least most of the snow is gone, gone, gone, good-bye, woh-woh, my baby done left me flat like the tires on my rusted-out pickup truck in some bad old country and western song. All right, maybe not exactly like that either, but you get the general idea. Instead of getting up early like last Monday to shovel out cars and risk life and limb in treacherous conditions, Monday this week was not only a holiday for us (HOORAY!!!) but going to work on Tuesday was a snap, with clear skies and smooth sailing all the way. Of course, it was a short week, and held true to form as they always seem to do, but it still had it all over last week, in spite of it all. And I would personally like to take this opportunity to thank Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Lincoln for giving birth to future presidents when they did, because things had reached a point where I really needed a day off, or else it was going to get pretty ugly. Of course, I think they actually gave birth to at least one of them under the old calendar, but let's not open up that whole can of worms again.
Speaking of holidays, we don't want to ignore Valentine's Day last week on Tuesday, which we welcomed with open arms, like we would Greeks bearing gifts and glad of it. The estimable Valentine's Day elves (Cupid-ettes?) brought Bill books, DVDs and junk food, while I was happy to get candy, some nice warm fuzzy gloves and even more hand-made earrings. How any one person can stand so much wonderfulness, I'll never know. Although I do have to admit, especially lately, that having an excess of wonderfulness in my life hasn't exactly been much of a problem around here, and that's putting it mildly.
I did take advantage of the long weekend to plunge ahead and move my desk and computer cart out of the tiny cramped den and into the living room, and without any major disasters. Although I will say that it has not been the most popular thing anyone could do in our house, at least as far as the invisible cats are concerned, because apparently at night, they come out and romp in what they consider their very own big, dark, empty playground. Sharing their space with (gasp!) members of the Enemy Camp is suffered with thinly veiled ill will, and I can feel their steely glares and baleful glowering without actually being able to see them. In fact, it's only the smell of the smoke, as the wheels turn in their diabolical little brains, that makes me realize that they are plotting some dastardly evil revenge for this outrageous invasion of their territory. Unfortunately for me these days, in a battle of wits, I don't care much for my chances against six wily felines, especially of the invisible variety.
Meanwhile at work, after what only seems like six long years in Purgatory, but was actually only six long years in the hottest office in my entire building, I finally couldn't take it any longer and told our Vice President that I had to move into another office before I did anything rash. Heat rash, that is. He suggested the empty one next to mine, and I jumped at the chance. It's slightly larger than mine, and has two big windows plus a cavernous closet (or rather, it would have, if it didn't have a fully decorated Christmas tree in it right now, for some incomprehensible reason) but its main attraction is that it's always cooler than my office, regardless of any other extenuating circumstances. Bill, who as everyone knows, is always willing to pitch in and lend a hand, came with me on Sunday to push some of the furniture around, and during the week I called up the Engineering, Telephone and Computer departments to make arrangements for the electricity, phones and network connections that I would need in my new place. If anyone had asked me, I would have said that I have about as much pull around there as a worn-out girdle (by golly, there's an article of habiliment that's lost on young people nowadays) but not so! They all showed up within days, if not hours, of my calling, and got everything set up and ready for my big move next door. The best part is that because it's so close to my office, I really only have to move with myself and my computer, and I can leave everything else in place and just move it as I need it. Although, I suppose it should be said that the actual best part is that there aren't any invisible cats already in the other office for me to infuriate with this move, unlike at home.
Speaking of work, ya gotta love this story of Murphy's Law in action. People may not believe this, but it was really not our intention with re-programming the phones in the department, to make it impossible for our callers to reach us, although at times, that did turn out to be one of the unintended results. At one point, I had asked the tech to come back and help us make one small change to the system to improve its usefulness, which he did cheerfully and with admirable efficiency. Then he said he was going to make all the lines busy, and see if an incoming call would ring up to our special "emergency number" when he called us, and sure enough, he did and it did, without a hitch. That whole testing process took at the most 15 seconds, when anyone else calling us would not have gotten through during the entire day. He then went on to try a few other things to make sure that everything was working just the way we wanted it, and I was not surprised to see my voicemail light blinking, because I assumed that he had left me a test message as part of his efforts. It was only because I made this assumption that I didn't bother to retrieve that message right away, and was alternately amused and alarmed later when I did listen to it and found that instead of the phone tech, it was no less a personage than the Executive Secretary for the President of the hospital, who chose that 15 second span to call me, and ended up in my voicemail even though I was sitting right there at my desk the whole time. Mind you, Her Executiveness, who wouldn't know me to trip over me in the hallways, probably has a reason to call Purchasing on the average of once every 18 months since I've been working there, and still managed to pick the only 15 seconds of the year when she couldn't reach us even though we were all right there. I tell you, you couldn't have planned that yourself any better, if you'd had a whole year to do it. The phone guy and I enjoyed the guilty pleasure of a big laugh over that one. Who's invisible now, big shot?
I realize that I have a reputation, and well-deserved at that, as a Luddite, but things have certainly changed in the wonderful world of shampoo, since the dinosaurs and I used to take ourselves down to the shores of the primordial ooze and wash our hair by beating it against the rocks. Back in the day, there was shampoo, and your choices were to like it or lump it. Then someone decided that we needed different shampoos for Dry, Normal or Oily hair, which you would think would pretty much cover all the bases in terms of hair variety. Naturally not! It wasn't long before they decided that we needed a specialized shampoo for each hair type from extra-fine and limp, to damaged and frizzy, and everything in between. The shampoo aisles are awash with products promising extra body, color protection, special emollients, clarifying, vitamin enriched, hypo-allergenic, volumizing, protein formula, extra shiny, essential oils, herbal extracts and Herbie the Love Bug. Wait a minute, I think I made that last one up. Anyway, I had gotten a couple of new shampoos from the nice folks at Avon of all places, and one of them is their special Energizing formula. I don't mind saying right up front that I do not happen to be of the school that believes that my hair requires any more energy, whatever that means, and in fact, I'm slightly unnerved at the prospect of this potentially over-energized hair keeping me awake at night with its rowdy parties and wild shenanigans, much less carrying on during the day with reckless abandon. And I despair of being able to take it to church, where any evidence of enthusiasm above the level of a polite smile is considered "too Pentecostal" by a bunch of grouchy Lutherans. I admit that I just don't go along with these new-fangled ideas in hair care, and that's a plain fact.
In typical fashion for a short week, we found ourselves beset with noisy youngsters at the diner, and essentially stalked by a woman in CVS, who somehow managed to be underfoot at every turn, no matter where we went. At one point I said to Bill, "The world is too much with us," and he asked what that was from, so I replied, "Shakespeare," since everyone knows I'm such an authority on everything. It turns out instead to be from a William Wordsworth poem of the same name in 1807, and the editors go to great pains to explain that "He revolutionized English poetry with the publication of Lyrical Ballads..." and his determination "...to write in simple, straightforward language for the common man." The whole thing appears to wrap up with this deathless prose:
I'd rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
And I couldn't help but say to Bill that if this is anyone's idea of simple language for the common man, then I should just slink back into the primordial ooze with the rest of the dinosaurs and give it all up as a lost cause. I mean, I can take a joke as well as the next fellow, but don't throw Proteus and Triton at me and say it's for the common man. At least until after I've used my special poetizing shampoo with lyrical ballad extracts.
What a difference a week makes. We had some warmer weather, and a few sunny days, and in most places, last week's blizzard is just a fond memory. Okay, maybe an unpleasant memory, but at least most of the snow is gone, gone, gone, good-bye, woh-woh, my baby done left me flat like the tires on my rusted-out pickup truck in some bad old country and western song. All right, maybe not exactly like that either, but you get the general idea. Instead of getting up early like last Monday to shovel out cars and risk life and limb in treacherous conditions, Monday this week was not only a holiday for us (HOORAY!!!) but going to work on Tuesday was a snap, with clear skies and smooth sailing all the way. Of course, it was a short week, and held true to form as they always seem to do, but it still had it all over last week, in spite of it all. And I would personally like to take this opportunity to thank Mrs. Washington and Mrs. Lincoln for giving birth to future presidents when they did, because things had reached a point where I really needed a day off, or else it was going to get pretty ugly. Of course, I think they actually gave birth to at least one of them under the old calendar, but let's not open up that whole can of worms again.
Speaking of holidays, we don't want to ignore Valentine's Day last week on Tuesday, which we welcomed with open arms, like we would Greeks bearing gifts and glad of it. The estimable Valentine's Day elves (Cupid-ettes?) brought Bill books, DVDs and junk food, while I was happy to get candy, some nice warm fuzzy gloves and even more hand-made earrings. How any one person can stand so much wonderfulness, I'll never know. Although I do have to admit, especially lately, that having an excess of wonderfulness in my life hasn't exactly been much of a problem around here, and that's putting it mildly.
I did take advantage of the long weekend to plunge ahead and move my desk and computer cart out of the tiny cramped den and into the living room, and without any major disasters. Although I will say that it has not been the most popular thing anyone could do in our house, at least as far as the invisible cats are concerned, because apparently at night, they come out and romp in what they consider their very own big, dark, empty playground. Sharing their space with (gasp!) members of the Enemy Camp is suffered with thinly veiled ill will, and I can feel their steely glares and baleful glowering without actually being able to see them. In fact, it's only the smell of the smoke, as the wheels turn in their diabolical little brains, that makes me realize that they are plotting some dastardly evil revenge for this outrageous invasion of their territory. Unfortunately for me these days, in a battle of wits, I don't care much for my chances against six wily felines, especially of the invisible variety.
Meanwhile at work, after what only seems like six long years in Purgatory, but was actually only six long years in the hottest office in my entire building, I finally couldn't take it any longer and told our Vice President that I had to move into another office before I did anything rash. Heat rash, that is. He suggested the empty one next to mine, and I jumped at the chance. It's slightly larger than mine, and has two big windows plus a cavernous closet (or rather, it would have, if it didn't have a fully decorated Christmas tree in it right now, for some incomprehensible reason) but its main attraction is that it's always cooler than my office, regardless of any other extenuating circumstances. Bill, who as everyone knows, is always willing to pitch in and lend a hand, came with me on Sunday to push some of the furniture around, and during the week I called up the Engineering, Telephone and Computer departments to make arrangements for the electricity, phones and network connections that I would need in my new place. If anyone had asked me, I would have said that I have about as much pull around there as a worn-out girdle (by golly, there's an article of habiliment that's lost on young people nowadays) but not so! They all showed up within days, if not hours, of my calling, and got everything set up and ready for my big move next door. The best part is that because it's so close to my office, I really only have to move with myself and my computer, and I can leave everything else in place and just move it as I need it. Although, I suppose it should be said that the actual best part is that there aren't any invisible cats already in the other office for me to infuriate with this move, unlike at home.
Speaking of work, ya gotta love this story of Murphy's Law in action. People may not believe this, but it was really not our intention with re-programming the phones in the department, to make it impossible for our callers to reach us, although at times, that did turn out to be one of the unintended results. At one point, I had asked the tech to come back and help us make one small change to the system to improve its usefulness, which he did cheerfully and with admirable efficiency. Then he said he was going to make all the lines busy, and see if an incoming call would ring up to our special "emergency number" when he called us, and sure enough, he did and it did, without a hitch. That whole testing process took at the most 15 seconds, when anyone else calling us would not have gotten through during the entire day. He then went on to try a few other things to make sure that everything was working just the way we wanted it, and I was not surprised to see my voicemail light blinking, because I assumed that he had left me a test message as part of his efforts. It was only because I made this assumption that I didn't bother to retrieve that message right away, and was alternately amused and alarmed later when I did listen to it and found that instead of the phone tech, it was no less a personage than the Executive Secretary for the President of the hospital, who chose that 15 second span to call me, and ended up in my voicemail even though I was sitting right there at my desk the whole time. Mind you, Her Executiveness, who wouldn't know me to trip over me in the hallways, probably has a reason to call Purchasing on the average of once every 18 months since I've been working there, and still managed to pick the only 15 seconds of the year when she couldn't reach us even though we were all right there. I tell you, you couldn't have planned that yourself any better, if you'd had a whole year to do it. The phone guy and I enjoyed the guilty pleasure of a big laugh over that one. Who's invisible now, big shot?
I realize that I have a reputation, and well-deserved at that, as a Luddite, but things have certainly changed in the wonderful world of shampoo, since the dinosaurs and I used to take ourselves down to the shores of the primordial ooze and wash our hair by beating it against the rocks. Back in the day, there was shampoo, and your choices were to like it or lump it. Then someone decided that we needed different shampoos for Dry, Normal or Oily hair, which you would think would pretty much cover all the bases in terms of hair variety. Naturally not! It wasn't long before they decided that we needed a specialized shampoo for each hair type from extra-fine and limp, to damaged and frizzy, and everything in between. The shampoo aisles are awash with products promising extra body, color protection, special emollients, clarifying, vitamin enriched, hypo-allergenic, volumizing, protein formula, extra shiny, essential oils, herbal extracts and Herbie the Love Bug. Wait a minute, I think I made that last one up. Anyway, I had gotten a couple of new shampoos from the nice folks at Avon of all places, and one of them is their special Energizing formula. I don't mind saying right up front that I do not happen to be of the school that believes that my hair requires any more energy, whatever that means, and in fact, I'm slightly unnerved at the prospect of this potentially over-energized hair keeping me awake at night with its rowdy parties and wild shenanigans, much less carrying on during the day with reckless abandon. And I despair of being able to take it to church, where any evidence of enthusiasm above the level of a polite smile is considered "too Pentecostal" by a bunch of grouchy Lutherans. I admit that I just don't go along with these new-fangled ideas in hair care, and that's a plain fact.
In typical fashion for a short week, we found ourselves beset with noisy youngsters at the diner, and essentially stalked by a woman in CVS, who somehow managed to be underfoot at every turn, no matter where we went. At one point I said to Bill, "The world is too much with us," and he asked what that was from, so I replied, "Shakespeare," since everyone knows I'm such an authority on everything. It turns out instead to be from a William Wordsworth poem of the same name in 1807, and the editors go to great pains to explain that "He revolutionized English poetry with the publication of Lyrical Ballads..." and his determination "...to write in simple, straightforward language for the common man." The whole thing appears to wrap up with this deathless prose:
I'd rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn,
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
And I couldn't help but say to Bill that if this is anyone's idea of simple language for the common man, then I should just slink back into the primordial ooze with the rest of the dinosaurs and give it all up as a lost cause. I mean, I can take a joke as well as the next fellow, but don't throw Proteus and Triton at me and say it's for the common man. At least until after I've used my special poetizing shampoo with lyrical ballad extracts.
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 9:25 PM
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