The Isle of Marm
One of many awkward me-affiliated places.
Time-Dependent SemiPublic Memory Bank,
Super Secret Dumping/Proving Ground,
Displaced Miscellany Collection,
3 Hours in the Future (EST)
One of many awkward me-affiliated places.
Time-Dependent SemiPublic Memory Bank,
Super Secret Dumping/Proving Ground,
Displaced Miscellany Collection,
3 Hours in the Future (EST)
I don’t know how this song had gotten stuck in my head the other day, but listening to it in lab ~a couple shy of a hundred times has helped. It does a weird thing with switching from left speaker to right speaker that normally I’m okay with but continuing to listen to without the speakers external to me kind of stresses me out in office/headphones mode.
Trading up from Diaper Genies to Vortex Genies does little to ameliorate my troubled thoughts regarding the abuse of Jinn in contemporary society.
Let them take what crumbs they can find, for there are no crumbs.
Nnnooo Crrummmbs! in Newark.
This was excellent counterpoint to a weekend of awkward interactions with the prelingual, whereupon I found myself relearning caretaking beyond the ever useful
“Why are you screaming?!?
Stop screaming!”
I can tell I spent more than enough time outside this weekend because I apparently look swarthy enough for elderly Spanish women to ask me if I speak Spanish (enough) and what gate does their ticket say they are assigned (Pasco, WA was only just assigned to gate 35), and *am I busy*—or could I help them get there.
I got them onto the transfer shuttle, I do not have the skills to fly a plane. I also briefly paused to remember that “occupada” was not the false cognate for “pregnant”, which was a quick self-esteem check.
Though SFO has a bigger complement of agents; and I split my travels from this coast enough between SFO, OAK, and SJO; I believe I *have* gotten to second with Miss Rosefa Torres before. It’s a memorable enough name.
Also in the security line was a guy with a comically vast array of weird items in his carry-on who looked as if he WANTED to get pulled out of line so he could make a speech about, I don’t know…diversity. (He was Red-Irish* and was glumly putting his laptop/batteries back on top of the 14 prescription drug bottles and 3 books about Islam and the newspaper from Cairo, and the child sized galabiya, and so on, as Torres was not so subtly reaching into the final frontier that is in my pants.)
The guy who drove me to the airport was the nephew of a professor in whose periphery I have been for some 13 years.
These are the voyages.
*Red Irish is one of my favorite JackDonaghyisms, distinguishing Irishness as regards its Red and Black-haired manifestations. I believe he prepended it to “bastard”, but I have no beef with the security line crusader: I just take notes.
While one must ask this question carefully and at the right time, the payoff is great: The S.A.F.E. S.K.I.E.S. on T.S.A. badges is an acronym more secret and contrived than S.H.I.E.L.D. —amazing.
True Weird Science Story: I once dated a guy who made robots that could almost do the one thing I do better than almost everyone. He was pretty much the nicest person (i.e., Canadian,) but—open secretly— a lot of the appeal was the novelty of being the Kelly LeBrock to his Anthony Michael Hall.
My hair still looks like that.
Somewhere over the Rockies, I had pulled the headphones out of my mp3 playing device to tune into what was on the skyTV and plugged in to the armrest while it was still tuned to the ’60s audio programming channel just as Archie and the Drells introduced some music one could tighten up with.
Related—by some glorious turn of fortune after 50 hours of mixed luck— on this second flight, I was seated windowside of a larger gentleman who’d purchased an extra seat and who witnessed from across the margin a sudden palsy development as my chest *did* tighten up because—ugh: feelings.
Now make it mellow, West Coast.
BRUTALITY.
ohman, I just remembered all the Mortal Kombat codes.
BUSTED!
(somehow I remember it being a little more epic than in that video, but that was the immediate place my head went when the lights went on.)
I realized that my life would be much improved with about 8 extra clothes hangers, so I decided to go out to the Family Dollar [Decidedly not my favorite dollar related store, but in practical terms, the closest] while my laundry was washing. I started downstairs but came back up because, despite having my keys and my credit card on me, I didn’t have my licenses and you never know.
Cut to 3 minutes later and a police car turned the corner and ever so gently got into the lane behind me. I realized I didn’t have my lights on so I turned them on. (Despite being a super careful driver, I sometimes can’t tell the difference between the lights on and the lights not on because I was a sloppy welder a little over a decade ago.) Still being tailed. Had my sins caught up with me? The lights and a single siren bloop came on, so I pulled over, and turned off the engine, though for whatever reason I felt that Mssr’s Hall and Oates should stay on. That was basically the soundtrack for this whole affair, despite my initial moment of “BUSTED!”
I thought the sudden aggressive lights on the police-prius’s mirror were a bit excessive, but I have logged …maybe hundreds of hours using mirrors to adjust laser alignments on a smaller scale, so that was quickly dealt with. Which I worried for a second might be taken as antagonism. But uh…how am I gonna fumble for registration if I’m being blinded, right?
So, hooray for the fact that I went back for my license, right? Even the homely one. I had lowered my window and was looking the other way for about 5 minutes before a light shone down from the sun roof on passenger side.
“Ma’am, I’m on this side. Could you lower this window?…”
whoops.
“Ma’am, do you know why we pulled you over?”
“no?” <—This was completely honest because there were about 10 equally legitimate and plausible reasons I could think of at the moment.
“This CA plate on your car expired over 2 years ago.”
“oh. That guy.”
(I probably should not revel in my semi-charmed kind of life so much. If it helps, about 20 minutes later when I DID get to the Family Dollar it was closed for the night. I did have the right plates in the back window and was encouraged to mount them more appropriately. No citations, no charge!)
Here in my pants/
I know I’ve started to think/
About leaving tonight/
Although nothing seems right/
In pants
—
old me was not a misunderstood genius. (parse that as you will.)
What’s in the box?
(h)wət’s in thə baäks?!?
(Appropriately enough, this was right next to a house of cards, also on the counter. Spoiler alert: in the box is mostly just all the paperwork a head of household of one requires for tax purposes.)
“T-Rex, you don’t have to do dishes!”
As of this weekend I am fooling around with painting again. Panel 2 of Ryan North’s Dinosaur Comics has always been my favorite. I could link to myself saying that back in 2004ish but I am lazy. However, there it is in watercolor on styrofoam (2013) and aluminum on glass (2006?). Also, I don’t know why reptiles and lizards (thunder or otherwise) always end up in the kitchen. But, between T-Rex, Lizard T. Brainworth, and Socrates Tortoise (the little guy next to the faucet), there is clearly a pattern emergent.
Judging by my mustard handling, you might imagine I have better cursive than I actually do. Point of fact*: my weak penmanship was one of the reasons I didn’t commit to professional forgery.
(Among the things I would study were I a social scientist is orthogonal skills acquisition. But, more importantly, this 9th replicate of turkey-broccoli soup might finally be parameter space optimized to the point of turning an art into a science.)
I know “hell”,
and “damn”,
and “get bent”…
*with a broad interpretation of “fact”, including— plausibly— not fact. Everyone has LOTS of reasons.
Jim Cramer’s best song about sitting on one’s own hand?
Perhaps.
(Favorite part: the spelling of “Tokyo Dome” in the video title.
Least Favorite part: missing whistle based outro. Which I’m pretty sure exists.)
There is a kind of person who would tail a gyro truck for 51 (Fifty-One!) blocks in order to find out a source for non-mobile shawarmanimals, only to get caught at a red light, lose the scent, and just turn around and go back to work. She’ll dwell on her actions for much of an afternoon, wondering if she’s lost her edge AND wondering if there is a slippery slope to “are these the actions of a man who had *all* he could eat?”. Maybe.
Also: did the truck also sell pez? Bizarre.
![AL: Yeah, I took the Jobbo, and I think at that time… I probably wanted more than anything to be a cosmetic surgeon. MM: [glottal wheeze followed by chuckles]SS: I love you.AL: Does that sound—SS: I *love* you so much. MM: Ohhh, Hey Adam, Adam, why did you want to be a cosmetic surgeon?AL: Is that what it’s called? A cosmetic surgeon, I forgetSS: LIke a plastic surgeon kind of thing? MM: I think maybe they call it a lady—AL: Plastic surgeon, cosmetic, elective surgery on ladies, I wanted…MM: La— Lady prettier. AL: Make ladies prettier. ‘Cause I knew somebody who was and he was just so cool and he had a huge house.
There’s maybe some implicit vocational judgment here, but that’s pretty clearly a baby who’s aiming higher than “butler”.](http://24.media.tumblr.com/ec252c6d56d4adb4e0af52132ea85825/tumblr_mleta1e7E21qza3e8o1_500.jpg)
AL: Yeah, I took the Jobbo, and I think at that time… I probably wanted more than anything to be a cosmetic surgeon.
MM: [glottal wheeze followed by chuckles]
SS: I love you.
AL: Does that sound—
SS: I *love* you so much.
MM: Ohhh, Hey Adam, Adam, why did you want to be a cosmetic surgeon?
AL: Is that what it’s called? A cosmetic surgeon, I forget
SS: LIke a plastic surgeon kind of thing?
MM: I think maybe they call it a lady—
AL: Plastic surgeon, cosmetic, elective surgery on ladies, I wanted…
MM: La— Lady prettier.
AL: Make ladies prettier. ‘Cause I knew somebody who was and he was just so cool and he had a huge house.
There’s maybe some implicit vocational judgment here, but that’s pretty clearly a baby who’s aiming higher than “butler”.
(Source: theinternetaccordingtoadrian)
