This SoBe turn-of-the century ad campaign audio dump train stops here. Just because I only had these. I’m sure you’re very excited. Who knows what adventures tomorrow will bring? Always another obsession, another train: it’s a blessing and a curse.
And there’s always a place for the angry young man With his fist in the air and his head in the sand And he’s never been able to learn from mistakes So he can’t understand why his heart always breaks And is honor is pure, and his courage as well And he’s fair and he’s true, and he’s boring as hell And he’ll go to his grave as an angry old man.
I ran into a former gentleman caller type earlier in the week and was tempted to suggest a friendly and perhaps instructive theme song for him, but no one seems to like WMJ as much as I do, though even I will admit that the laser-keyboard interlude in AYM is maybe a little over the top.
FGCT looks like he could have used a little less being an angry guy and a little more drinking angry guys in the duration between when we last saw each other and now, but the little part of me—the vindictive (and maybe a skosh mean) corner of my lower intestines, where I occasionally keep stinky passing thoughts, kinda felt pretty solid about our present fortunes, given likely improving sorts of trajectories on all sides. I mean, I hope there’s at least a sort of pedagogy to discomforts. Anyhow.
The impulse to ask weird and awkward questions mid-cuddle is probably better than the impulse to bypass hugs via ill-timed, too-close handshakes, right? I wouldn’t know, I am the worst with the handshake impulse. I recently literally said “good game” midshake, as opposed to ANYTHING remotely resemblant of what someone who might have had any scant reproductive notions would have said. Or anyone with an even barely functional grasp of social mores. “Pull it together”, I thought. “This is how the Idiocracy flourishes.” But no. This is the way the world ends; this is the way the world ends; this is the way the world ends—2 out of 10; would not bang.
…Do you ever feel you’ve become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora’s box of all the secret, hateful parts - your arrogance, your spite, your condescension - has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and moving on, you zing them. “Hello, it’s Mr* Nasty.” I’m sure you have no idea what I’m talking about.
(*2014SC1D2; Dr. Nasty, if you’re Janet. No kitten in this conference bag either. *frowny face*.)
2014 Science Conference 1, Day 1:
Numerous close calls for coltish* lady scientists walking around wearing heels clearly not worn since their last professional outing.
*I am clearly the wobbliest of all those evincing foalishness. Not because my legs aren’t strong, but I don’t have a history of the best ankles either. Anyhow, there are enough postural benefits to persevere. And I will work a 3 inch psychological advantage over normal me like some manner of alfalfa-loving warrior scientist princess.
The other day I dumped an old manual back-up hard drive onto my computer which led to the reacquainting of myself with (literally among 10000 other things) artifacts of the curious tastes of a turn-of-the-century ME.
*Fact*: She loved (with the awkward judgement-free adoration of a child of the whole world) both questionable accents and the most ridiculous radio commercials.
Submitted 2 abstracts with the winsome visitor from last week, AND collected data likely securing a fun overseas trip later in the year, AND I handled international training without probably causing any long term incidents (the day is still relatively young!), AND now I have this sound indicating the communiqués from the best people.
(…And this one (via) for work stuff. Because: professional joy ≈ joy.)
Though I have failed to keep my day-to-day log of activities up to date this month, the Friday rundown makes me feel preemptively a lot better about potentially just being a goof on the weekends.
"Although Americans complain rather freely in public, it is polite to act as if you are enjoying yourself, and to devote yourself to helping the people around you be ‘happy.’ Hence the increasingly frequent greeting, ‘Have a nice day.’ We assume that everyone is happy or is trying to be."
I don’t know if it is the best thing, but one of the more edifying and entertaining things about lots of intercultural work is the outsider peeks through little windows to back inside.