A card circulated around the office this week for an upcoming party. I find I never know what to write for these things, whether it's a birthday, farewell, or some other occasion. We like to celebrate a lot, and thus one of these cards seems to come around at least once a month.
I dimly recall that at a former job someone had an all-purpose catchphrase that s/he would use for these situations. Like "Cheers," or "Rock on!" or I don't know what. But I think that office may have had less of a tendency to circulate cards, so the repetition might be less likely to be noted. Or one's card signing performance may be less important.
Or possibly this didn't really happen and was just something I read in a novel, or should be in a novel someday.
TRACKPAD ATE MY POST
D has had a persistent problem with his laptop's trackpad, namely that if he zigzags his finger to the left and then to the right while in a web browser, it acts as if you've hit the "back" button, and he loses whatever he might have been typing in a web form. It's not a gestures plugin or anything enabled on the browser side.
The other day he had a breakthrough and realized that it was a horizontal scroll feature that was enabled on the trackpad itself. Why anyone would want such a feature is beyond me, but some after a bit more digging he managed to turn it off. He IMed me at work to tell me this earthshattering news.
D (4:52:18 PM): This is a truly great day in computing.
D (4:52:25 PM): I might actually use the trackpad more
AWESOME CIP CATEGORY OF THE WEEK
"Homes and haunts." Whoever came up with this, I want to shake his hand. If, you know, he's not dead. Or creepy, or something.
TUESDAY IS CORN CHOWDER DAY
Yesterday at lunch, L says, "The guy with the mustache at the deli is confusing me. He always wears a Yankees cap, but today he was wearing a Boston cap. I thought about giving him shit about it, but decided against it. Wonder what's going on there, though."
"Maybe he has had a change of heart and finally come over to the side of righteousness."
"Maybe. Or maybe he got told to wear something else by the deli."
"Like, 'You're ruining our image, man.'?"
"Something like that."
"But you'd think, if that were the case, he'd just switch to a neutral cap instead."
"Anyway, if I see him wearing a Yankees cap next time I'm going to totally give him shit about it. I was just too tired to do it today."
ON THE OFF-RAMP
In slowing traffic, I vaguely noticed that the car in front of me had livery plates, which surprised me. It took me a few seconds to figure out why: it wasn't the usual Lincoln Continental or whatever, or anything remotely resembling that shape. On closer inspection, it was a Prius. Cool.
SPAM I WISH I GOT
D's been getting odd emails lately. Looks legit on the surface, except that it's from nobody he knows and is completely unintelligible despite being in English. It's not selling anything, has no links or attachments. This is what he got yesterday:
don't know whether it's just lying there or slowly killing you. Or you couldAnd today:
By the end of three months Jonathan had six other students, Outcasts looked into the open doors. At first I couldn't see anything because of the
Here he came this minute, a blurred gray shape roaring out of a dive,
without question. If someone starts fumbling or asking questions I'll hit globe and you start firing bullets into it. The bullet holes would lie on "Ask the scientists," I said, and slid behind the bathroom door. And now comes Roadside Picnic. . . . In the so-called Golden Age ofWhy am I strangely fascinated by this? I am actually jealous that he is getting these and not me.
ANOTHER HELPFUL SONG IN THE MAKING
In the parking lot at the train station the spaces are numbered, and then you pay by pushing money through a slot with the corresponding number. In the summers, when I get there early, the spaces in the early 400s are still available. As someone who spends entirely too much time on the Web, it amuses me to park in spot 404.
This morning, 404 was taken, so I settled for 403 Forbidden. Since I park in a different spot nearly every day, depending on what's open, I have to remember its number between leaving the car and stuffing the money in the slot. I'll cross the lot repeating "four oh three, four oh three," in my head in rhythm with my shoes hitting the asphalt, often continuing even after I've already paid, and I have to engage in conscious earworm removal.
This morning, NIN's "Only" was on the radio just before I pulled into the lot, and the song's chorus sort of merged with my silent mnemonic chant into something like "There is no you, it is four oh three/ There is no you, it is four oh three...."
On the train, sat next to a woman who smelled of mothballs. She was eating what at first I took to be a strawberry, but turned out to be a cherry tomato.
NOTES ON NOTES
A book I was working earlier this week, a biography, had a page reproduced from one of its subjects' notebooks, and went on to analyze the notes jotted there, and ponder what they indicated about his thinking, motivation, inspiration, and so on.
Note to self: burn all notebooks lest someone spend too much effort trying to attribute significance to the line, "mothballs cherry tomato."
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