No, it's not a '57; it's an Epiphone "Gibson". And it's powder blue (except that it's really more 'toned-down metallic azure'). And my wife who doesn't know a humbucker from a fuddrucker loves me enough to have got it for me.

Next week we can probably start with the reusable diapers. More babby stuff and things inside. Nowt else, just some parked proud papa shitstuff. And things.

Exactly one year ago to this minute I was sitting in the office determined to get myself out of the "I'm single again, now what?" funk I was in. There was that gorgeous redhead the night before who didn't blow me off inside 30 seconds as she did with ever other person -- male or female -- at the expats' Tuesday drinks meet, but she was gone when I came back from my smoke with the friends I was there to see.

Anyway, I didn't have my game back yet. I wasn't on the prowl, the hunt, nada. I just knew I needed to get back out and socialise a bit. There would be an expats' curry house meet that Wednesday and the place was both the best one in Munich and right around the corner from my house. I didn't know the redhead's name and didn't see anything on the curry sign-up sheet to make me think she'd put in an appearance.

I was still in a depression and thinking "Now what?", with a sigh.

A Hot Market

The Panopticon -- designed like a giant greenhouse -- is well over 30° today. I have a massive backlog, more than a dozen callbacks and two full repros I have to build, and fuckwitted baby-talking cow-orkers. No fucking air conditioning. Still, this isn't the worst place in Germany to be working. This is, an office around 300km northwest of here. I could almost feel sorry for Sven Düsterhaus.

Recommended reading poll
x-posted to da brog.