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Well, this is weird and a problem.

I lost my backpack.

I thought I'd taken it to church, but it was not in the coat closet where I thought I'd left it. So either I left it on the T (which would be an achievement in carelessness even for me) or someone walked off with it (Why???).

And of course it has my work ID in it. So I'm hopin' somebody's gonna contact work (or me directly) to let them know they have it, but failing that, I'm going to need a new ID.

(Yes, I have also considered the scenario where somebody steals my ID in order to break into our deserted office over Presidents' Day weekend, but again, Why???)

ETA: Nope, the MBTA (or at least the Red Line) doesn't have a recently-handed-in blue backpack.
Moreover, on further thought there IS one potentially valuable thing in there, namely an old USB drive. So I guess I have to hope that A) the backpack was pinched by a bum who won't bother to try and make use of the drive, B) It doesn't have a copy of my password list on it, C) they can't get it to work, or D) they can't figure out the codes in the password file...
(Before you ask, my credit card number and SSN won't be on there.)

PPS: Remind me to put a tracker chip on my next backpack. (Kudos to fellow parishioner who studies wearable technology for reminding me of this possibility...)
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Audience: The sitting Vice President of the United States shoots a dude?!?

Pitch: Cheney did it!

Audience [splutters] But... duel?!? And...Hamilton? [ getting more of a grip, briefly ] His former friend/fellow revolutionary war veteran?

Pitch (Ignoring the last question): Look, lots of people fought in duels. Lots of Rev.War veterans were super uptight about their honor. That actually IS how Hamilton died, after all. And we're gonna imagine, like I said, that he despised Burr's lack of rigid adherence to theory, or in fact any adherence at all. And we're gonna spend the first part of this season, like, developing all the ways how these guys each had beef with each other.
... That is, in between looking at how hella weird Washington is at this point. I mean, it's basically a permanent construction site in a swamp, surrounded by hastily-thrown-up boarding houses that are empty half the year, with a couple of pre-existing towns on the outskirts being all wtff. The government was pretty much the same way.

Audience: I'm still not getting over the bit where the sitting VP fuckin' drops a dude like they're gangsta rappers or something. And...Hamilton. He shoots Hamilton in the face.

Pitch: Actually, we're going to have him get shot in the gut.

Audience: [facepalm]
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Saturday: Decided I wasn't feelin' bellringing, so did Adult Stuff. Like go clothes shopping and jogging, and doing laundry and baking cookies. I still need to do my taxes and clean my room, but...

Sunday: We rang a quarter peal today, mostly on the spur of the moment and for the heck of it. It...didn't go great, at one or two points, but we made it back to rounds. Also, super congrats to Kat!
Unfortunately, it left me way too mentally exhausted to do anything more complicated with the rest of my day than go grocery shopping. Plans to bake a Zwiebelkuchen for work will have to be postponed again.
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OK, there's about ten things I should be doing right now, from baking someone a get-well pie to taxes to figuring out housing for the NAGCR AGM. But I got to reading the list of the U.S. presidents as snack foods, which funny and swawesome and you should read it. However, it is much too kind to Millard Fillmore who, in addition to being regularly ranked as America's worst president (present company excepted), had a second career as a professional xenophobe which everyone forgets about...

This, in turn, got me thinking about my tenth-grade history textbook, The American Pageant (edition of, yikes, like 1994.) Generally very good! But had some weird habits, notably consigning certain events to what I'm not sure is damnatio memoriae or whitewashing. Like the picture of crazed Know-Nothings "campaigning for their xenophobic, anti-Catholic candidate"...without noting that that candidate was ex-president Millard Fillmore.
Or the fact that it referred to "the assassin's bullet that killed Hamilton" without noting the famous name of that assassin.
It's like that chunk of the textbook fell out of some alternate universe where somebody else shot Hamilton.*Read more... )
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So apparently the forecast Rainy Grossness has been postponed by a week. huh.
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Meantime, my acid reflux is back. (Or still around, if you will.) And I've made an interesting (though not surprising) discovery, which is that apparently the state of my digestive system has as much to do with the state of my mind as what I put in it.

At the moment, my stomach is once again attempting to digest my esophagus. And this is the result of many things, including that I keep failing to kick the coffee habit. But...

By all rights, I should have had the second-worst acid reflux of my career whilst at Arisia. As tends to happen, I mostly lived on snacks and coffee, with occasional expeditions out for burritos (or breakfast with yet more coffee). Instead, by the end of the con., my acid reflux was gone.

It came back once I wasn't seeing friends every day, in between dancing and sword fighting and Feeling Useful.
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Wait, he just decided to reopen the federal government for three weeks, apparently on a whim?
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Back from Arisia. Actually, I've been back for like 24 hours now, but most of the intervening time has been asleep or at work. (Or digging my car out of a couple of inches of ice and snow.)

Uh... It was the con. of the malfunctioning elevators. I'm still in post-con hangover mode. I should sleep.
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Planar Fasciitis, now was...not a good time for a visit.
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And as usual everything I want to do at Arisia is happening at the same time. (In this case, Scottish Country Dancing ft. [personal profile] sorcyress and "What we DIDN'T steal from Tolkien" with [personal profile] sovay.)
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Coming back from vacation when you have most of a week's worth of backlog tasks to deal with and a week's worth of email to sift through? Enough to make you regret taking a vacation.
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Some background on bells and clappers: )
So the first thing to note about The Time Wot The Clapper Fell Off The Bell is that I wasn’t actually there. I was at home with Peter, and only found out when [personal profile] sorcyress texted me that I was “missing an Exciting Day at bells today!”
The second thing to note is that it was still, pretty much, my fault.

Read More )
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At the airport, waiting for Peter’s flight to take off. Free WiFi, but phones aren’t the best for drafting serious posts.
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2:00, on the pond.

Dad's fallen once, and whacked his head badly enough that he said he was going to stop skating. Then got up, and sat down for a bit, and then decided he wanted to hit the ice after all.

Peter, of course, is tearing around on his new skates at top speed and with no concern for danger, perhaps because while he falls over with fair frequency, he somehow manages to do so without damaging himself at all. (So far.)

And so I'm watching them both. Skating cautiously (unlike either of them, I never learned properly); skates pulling muscles in ways they're not used to. Watching the ice, which has frozen and thawed and frozen again and thawed again, and sortof froze last night but now has puddles on it. And thinking about shedding my coat, because it's like 40 degrees out.

Keeping an eye on my kid. Keeping an eye on my parent. Too darn warm for January.

Æ 40, Å 19. This is what being middle aged is now; this is 2019.
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I should write about
The Science Museum
What you do when the clapper falls out of one of your bells.
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I stand below,
call her to me:
she turns around,
I hear her sing.Read more... )
choco_frosh: (Default)
OK, everyone remind me Not to go to midnight service again any time it involves more than one form of public transport.
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Apparently I have borscht now.


It is a quiet day at the office: I mean, we have a lot to do, but half of everyone's out and the reception desk is gonna close at two, and after that people tend to start drifting away. One of my Russian-Jewish* coworkers from Accounting had apparently brought in borscht for someone else who failed to show up, so she decided that I should have it instead, either in thanks for my holiday Stollen baking for the office or on the basis of the fact that I look like the guy who never turns down free food. (Accurate.**)

A few flakes of snow are drifting out of the sky: not enough to stick, surely not enough for a white Christmas, but better than nothing.

* I mean, I'm assuming that's what they both are. If you speak Russian but have an extremely German-sounding last name. That we have MULTIPLE Russian-Jewish immigrants in Accounting seems to me a rather remarkable coincidence that I assume has some kind of weird backstory.

** One of many habits I picked up in grad. school and never grew out of. Up there with drinking too much coffee, occasionally peppering my conversation with German words and phrases, and using the sort of vocab. that my coworkers sometimes need a dictionary for wait I've done that since probably High School.
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Ugh, WHY did the "towels" option on the washer have to be right next to "delicates"?
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Just to say that this weather is disgusting.

#notsupposedtobe66degrees #snowmiser

Also, I think that today, for once, the rest of my department was in the position of not being in the mood to actually get any work done.
Unfortunately, of course, everyone wants their contracts and subcontracts renewed OMGNOW, so next going to be busy.


choco_frosh: (Default)

February 2019



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