I've been at work for a few hours now. Nothing special about that, but what's interesting is what happened on my brief chicken sandwich and soy milk break. That's what I'm here to briefly describe. (And briefly, cause I'm still at work)
I went to Outside In, the University Hospital's main cafeteria at about 10:55 today. I waited behind two girls in line until I could pick up a grilled chicken sandwich. (very basic, a gross old bun with a small chicken breast or part of a chicken breast on it, no frills.) I then picked out a small bottle of soy milk to drink and went to check out. Checking out, I ended up behind the two girls again, as they cut in front of me. I avoided sitting near them, as I figured they would talk about irritating things, and I'm a natural eavesdropper.
This natural eavesdropping is a result of two characteristics I have. One, is my above normal hearing, which allows me to pick up quiet sounds with clarity from a distance. This can't be turned off, as it's a part of my being. The second is my tendency for gawking, which is part of my too-curious about things package. I've learned to mostly avoid turning and looking at people even though it's all I want to do some of the time. I try not to stare or look too much at people because I know that for many, eye-contact is awkward and too personal. So, when I can't gawk with the eyes, I gawk with the ears.
I sat as far as possible from the girls, near a youngish (28 or so) couple. I think they were medical students due to their clothes and stance. They were sitting next to one-another on the same table, facing the cafeteria instead of each other. They talked in bursts, quiet, but as loud and forceful as they could at that decibel level. The man was breaking up with his girlfriend. He talked about how he couldn't be himself around her. She accused him of mocking her. He talked about eye contact, and they slowly fell apart.
Then I ran away.
song of the day: "Dead Finks Don't Talk" - Eno
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Der Schule=Die Nostalgie?
I'm writing an email right now, as I write this blog. It's to an old friend of mine from across the sea, Matthias Emmer. Matthias is one of the more human people I've ever met. The same sort of general humanity that makes a character like Homer Simpson somehow acceptable. Only, in addition to these human frailties (gluttony, lust, etc.) Matthias is extremely intelligent, likable, kindish, funny, confident, and mildly attractive. He and I are returning to email contact after more than a year of silence.
Jon sitze auf ein stuhl. Er schriebst ein E-mail nach der Matthias. Matthias ist ein altes Freund von Deustchland. Matthias hat ein qualitat wie Homer Simpson, aber nicht so faul und dumm, mehr intelligent.
I'm listening to the Libertines, a band I never really listen to. I'm in a mood of sorts, and it's hard to place. It has some nostalgie, and other feelings, the sort of thing that is woken by contact with a past that seemed lost to the mists. Matthias is moving temporarily to Spain to study there for this semester. I'm really happy to hear from him. Also I've heard news about another former major influence in my life, Hisham Khalek.
Hisham is the man who shepherded me through two solid years of Arabic Instruction. He taught me the beauty of the Fus'ha (modern standard Arabic), the poetry of Ancient songs, and the haunting voice of Umm Kul'thum. He's a great professor, who truly knows how to teach, and sees the value in cultural connections.
My news of Hisham came today in my Teaching English as a Second Language class. One of the activities that we had was one of those hideous fake networking things. So, I wandered about the class, asking people what language teaching experience they had, what their L2s were, and their contact information. One of the guys, Nick I think, mentioned taking Arabic. So, I immediately wanted to know if he had taken it in the Twin Cities.
He had, and we proceeded to talk about Hisham. Nick was among the few students to travel with Hisham to his native Lebanon this summer. He lived there at the American University in Beirut, but traveled throughout the country with Hisham. He went from the fundamentalist controlled areas in the North to the Druze mountain villages of Hisham's home, then heading south to view the devastation wrought by the recent wave of Israeli bombing.
This kind of story is the sort to make one jealous. But, that kind of jealousy had little place or time in my heart. The second bit of news about Hisham was significantly more interesting. Hisham Khalek is apparently a virile or quite lucky man. He and his wife conceived another child (at least their 3rd, I know of a high school age daughter and a young son). Conceiving and having a child when in your late 30s or 40s is difficult enough. What makes this more interesting to me, is that his wife had actually just had her tubes tied. He still managed a hat trick though.
School has been pretty amazing so far though. No problems. No alarms, no surprises.
Yeah
song of the day: "Last Post on The Bugle"-The Libertines
Jon sitze auf ein stuhl. Er schriebst ein E-mail nach der Matthias. Matthias ist ein altes Freund von Deustchland. Matthias hat ein qualitat wie Homer Simpson, aber nicht so faul und dumm, mehr intelligent.
I'm listening to the Libertines, a band I never really listen to. I'm in a mood of sorts, and it's hard to place. It has some nostalgie, and other feelings, the sort of thing that is woken by contact with a past that seemed lost to the mists. Matthias is moving temporarily to Spain to study there for this semester. I'm really happy to hear from him. Also I've heard news about another former major influence in my life, Hisham Khalek.
Hisham is the man who shepherded me through two solid years of Arabic Instruction. He taught me the beauty of the Fus'ha (modern standard Arabic), the poetry of Ancient songs, and the haunting voice of Umm Kul'thum. He's a great professor, who truly knows how to teach, and sees the value in cultural connections.
My news of Hisham came today in my Teaching English as a Second Language class. One of the activities that we had was one of those hideous fake networking things. So, I wandered about the class, asking people what language teaching experience they had, what their L2s were, and their contact information. One of the guys, Nick I think, mentioned taking Arabic. So, I immediately wanted to know if he had taken it in the Twin Cities.
He had, and we proceeded to talk about Hisham. Nick was among the few students to travel with Hisham to his native Lebanon this summer. He lived there at the American University in Beirut, but traveled throughout the country with Hisham. He went from the fundamentalist controlled areas in the North to the Druze mountain villages of Hisham's home, then heading south to view the devastation wrought by the recent wave of Israeli bombing.
This kind of story is the sort to make one jealous. But, that kind of jealousy had little place or time in my heart. The second bit of news about Hisham was significantly more interesting. Hisham Khalek is apparently a virile or quite lucky man. He and his wife conceived another child (at least their 3rd, I know of a high school age daughter and a young son). Conceiving and having a child when in your late 30s or 40s is difficult enough. What makes this more interesting to me, is that his wife had actually just had her tubes tied. He still managed a hat trick though.
School has been pretty amazing so far though. No problems. No alarms, no surprises.
Yeah
song of the day: "Last Post on The Bugle"-The Libertines
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Orange you glad...
So I've started class again. Big whoop. Jon now has more places to walk to then previously. He's only gone to two of them so far though. Insofar as actual class is concerned, Syntax and Semantics were rather easy, with big blocks of time for breaks. Semantics is taught by a professor I've had before, who I previously disliked, but with new subject matter I think he's pretty decent. Syntax is less clear, but it's a very intro-ish course, so I don't have much in the way of worries.
Bizarrely enough my back hurts. I don't know what the cause actually is, but I suspect my poor posture when sitting around at home on a wooden chair could do part of it. (Wooden chair is very spare, simple straight out of Ikea) I sat around looking stuff up on Flickr, pretending to read for class, painting, playing with opensource photoshop and writing for hours. I paused to watch King of The Hill, to eat, to read, etc. But I was monumentally unproductive, because I had no source for productivity.
At 12:20 today I have Historical linguistics, which should prove at least moderately interesting. (Learning about sound shifts, how we know about them, etc.) This is followed up by my externship/class in Teaching English as a Second Language, which I hold considerable anxiety towards.. I think though that my only real anxiety is about what it really means to teach, along with a fear of breaking out of the ordinary half-brained class routine. I have this imagined idea that for this course I will need to travel far and wide to various parts of the city and interact with a multitude of people. Plus, I fear that my classmates will all be teachers seeking their master's degrees. (a less likely fear, unless they are on sabbatical)
Also, I have REM's Orange Crush or at least part of it stuck in my head. It's a bit irritating, which is not to denigrate the song, but I only have a small part of the chorus stuck in my head, which is mostly lyrics I half understand, in a fake Michael Stipe voice (unless my mind can copy it perfectly) The problem here is simple, I wasn't even listening to REM.
huuuuuuh
Bizarrely enough my back hurts. I don't know what the cause actually is, but I suspect my poor posture when sitting around at home on a wooden chair could do part of it. (Wooden chair is very spare, simple straight out of Ikea) I sat around looking stuff up on Flickr, pretending to read for class, painting, playing with opensource photoshop and writing for hours. I paused to watch King of The Hill, to eat, to read, etc. But I was monumentally unproductive, because I had no source for productivity.
At 12:20 today I have Historical linguistics, which should prove at least moderately interesting. (Learning about sound shifts, how we know about them, etc.) This is followed up by my externship/class in Teaching English as a Second Language, which I hold considerable anxiety towards.. I think though that my only real anxiety is about what it really means to teach, along with a fear of breaking out of the ordinary half-brained class routine. I have this imagined idea that for this course I will need to travel far and wide to various parts of the city and interact with a multitude of people. Plus, I fear that my classmates will all be teachers seeking their master's degrees. (a less likely fear, unless they are on sabbatical)
Also, I have REM's Orange Crush or at least part of it stuck in my head. It's a bit irritating, which is not to denigrate the song, but I only have a small part of the chorus stuck in my head, which is mostly lyrics I half understand, in a fake Michael Stipe voice (unless my mind can copy it perfectly) The problem here is simple, I wasn't even listening to REM.
huuuuuuh
Thursday, January 17, 2008
1.5 hours
I wake up in bed. Vanessa is there, her dog Ramona is there. I'm wearing her sleep pants, too short for me, made of a black composite material. There are hearts on the legs. I look at the clock, see that it says 7:20, and freak out a bit. I head out to the kitchen, where most of my stuff is, and frantically start getting dressed. I can't find my underwear. I run to the bathroom, search the living room, and then check in the bedroom. All this time I'm running around wearing a jacket, button down shirt, socks and nothing else. Vanessa wakes up for a second, tries to help me by asking where I changed. I go into the kitchen again, and find my underwear bunched up down the leg of my pants. By this point it's 7:28. I quickly throw it on, kiss Vanessa goodbye (she's more or less asleep), and run out the door.
At this point I take out my phone to call metro-transit's hotline. Looking at my phone I realize that I'd forgotten Vanessa's clock is ten minutes fast. I calm down, look out into the darkness and see the express bus coming. It's hard to make out the numbers at first, but eventually my heart returns to a normal pace, and I stop cursing inside my head.
I get on the bus, and keep walking back, hoping for a seat of my own. This doesn't happen, so I end up sitting in the little gallery area, having to look across at a bearded man reading the Chicago Style manual. To my left is an unmemorable nothing, and to my right a pudgy woman with red hair that is clearly turning to gray or white, clutching one of those open top canvas bags. She glares at me when I make eye contact. The lights on the bus are too bright to allow for any sort of real half-sleep, so I just sit trying to ignore my surroundings.
We travel on 94 then 35 briefly, looking out at the city. The bus stops at Anderson Hall, then Coffman union, and finally in front of Moos tower. I hurry off the bus to find that I'm arriving at work at 7:35, ten minutes before my shift. I walk down into the shop, find Dennis and Rex there. I say hi to both of them, then read the onion until the phone rings at about 7:43.
On the phone is Rose somethingorother, one of the clinic supervisors. She tells me about a sterilizer door that is somehow off kilter, and how it needs to be fixed. I write down the information and try to bring it to Rex. But, he and Dennis are embroiled in a discussion about Randy Moss (how he can apparently get away with anything because he's that good) For a while, I listen to this, then Dennis leaves to his workspace.
Apparently, there is no sterilizer in the room that I was told about. So, the three of us go up to the clinic in question (8S), and ask around. Apparently it's the window gate to the dispensing station. The three of us gather around the thing trying to figure out what is wrong with it. Rex runs his finger along his white mustache, Dennis twists his finger around his dark brown curls. I see the problem immediately, but feel no need to mention it, as I assume they have it covered. It's a simple but not possible for us to fix sort of issue.
Next, I get Dennis' advice on fixing a nasty machine that I've never worked on before, a leaky grinding wheel doodle. I go downstairs, grab tools, head up and have it fixed in maybe 10 minutes following his advice to the letter. When I get back downstairs I'm full of triumph, pride, and am congratulated by Dennis for my accomplishment. Even my boss Joyce appears happy enough to see me as I cheerfully take a work order from her hand.
I go up with the intent of picking up this hazardous waste, but realize it can wait for me to quick grab a cup of coffee from the neurology clinic on the first floor of the adjoining tower, Phillips Wangensteen. I take the elevator down after sneaking onto the skybridge between the two buildings and taking a minute to gaze out to the west, at downtown Minneapolis. (The view from this bridge is amazing) And then descend to the depths. In the waiting room of the neurology clinic lies my goal, a gruesome coffee machine with Styrofoam cups and shakers of non-dairy artificial creamer (powder) and sugar. I take my cup of coffee as a trophy, and maneuver out of the room.
On my way out I pass a liver-spotted man with a countenance much like an elderly, Hmong version of the comedian Gilbert Gottfried. He looks at me for a second as I pass by, and I can't help but imagining him speaking in Gottfried's shrill voice. But then he disappears, and I do too.
At this point I take out my phone to call metro-transit's hotline. Looking at my phone I realize that I'd forgotten Vanessa's clock is ten minutes fast. I calm down, look out into the darkness and see the express bus coming. It's hard to make out the numbers at first, but eventually my heart returns to a normal pace, and I stop cursing inside my head.
I get on the bus, and keep walking back, hoping for a seat of my own. This doesn't happen, so I end up sitting in the little gallery area, having to look across at a bearded man reading the Chicago Style manual. To my left is an unmemorable nothing, and to my right a pudgy woman with red hair that is clearly turning to gray or white, clutching one of those open top canvas bags. She glares at me when I make eye contact. The lights on the bus are too bright to allow for any sort of real half-sleep, so I just sit trying to ignore my surroundings.
We travel on 94 then 35 briefly, looking out at the city. The bus stops at Anderson Hall, then Coffman union, and finally in front of Moos tower. I hurry off the bus to find that I'm arriving at work at 7:35, ten minutes before my shift. I walk down into the shop, find Dennis and Rex there. I say hi to both of them, then read the onion until the phone rings at about 7:43.
On the phone is Rose somethingorother, one of the clinic supervisors. She tells me about a sterilizer door that is somehow off kilter, and how it needs to be fixed. I write down the information and try to bring it to Rex. But, he and Dennis are embroiled in a discussion about Randy Moss (how he can apparently get away with anything because he's that good) For a while, I listen to this, then Dennis leaves to his workspace.
Apparently, there is no sterilizer in the room that I was told about. So, the three of us go up to the clinic in question (8S), and ask around. Apparently it's the window gate to the dispensing station. The three of us gather around the thing trying to figure out what is wrong with it. Rex runs his finger along his white mustache, Dennis twists his finger around his dark brown curls. I see the problem immediately, but feel no need to mention it, as I assume they have it covered. It's a simple but not possible for us to fix sort of issue.
Next, I get Dennis' advice on fixing a nasty machine that I've never worked on before, a leaky grinding wheel doodle. I go downstairs, grab tools, head up and have it fixed in maybe 10 minutes following his advice to the letter. When I get back downstairs I'm full of triumph, pride, and am congratulated by Dennis for my accomplishment. Even my boss Joyce appears happy enough to see me as I cheerfully take a work order from her hand.
I go up with the intent of picking up this hazardous waste, but realize it can wait for me to quick grab a cup of coffee from the neurology clinic on the first floor of the adjoining tower, Phillips Wangensteen. I take the elevator down after sneaking onto the skybridge between the two buildings and taking a minute to gaze out to the west, at downtown Minneapolis. (The view from this bridge is amazing) And then descend to the depths. In the waiting room of the neurology clinic lies my goal, a gruesome coffee machine with Styrofoam cups and shakers of non-dairy artificial creamer (powder) and sugar. I take my cup of coffee as a trophy, and maneuver out of the room.
On my way out I pass a liver-spotted man with a countenance much like an elderly, Hmong version of the comedian Gilbert Gottfried. He looks at me for a second as I pass by, and I can't help but imagining him speaking in Gottfried's shrill voice. But then he disappears, and I do too.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Overhyped Terrifying Life Experience
This saturday I went through a couple of different terrifying life experiences. One by choice, kind of to face a stupid fear.The other was not by choice at all, so it felt a bit like a violation.I will discuss both of these terrifying experiences now that I've had a couple of days to mull over my reactions to them, as I now understand a bit more about why I reacted as I did. I'm a firm believer in the value of a little bit of time when it comes to understanding a problem.
First comes the experience that I chose to undergo.Ever since I've been a seventeen year old vegetarian, I've developed a somewhat natural fear of "strange meat:" I came to placing the fear though, when I was reading Phillip David-Guerovitch's account of the Rwandan Genocide: "We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families" that the meat I feared eating the most (outside of raw fish a fear I conquered already) is goat. I'm not sure why, probably some kind of lame American imperialist idea of the meat not being clean, or being inherently poor. I had this idea that it would be gruesome, that the texture would be wrong, and any other kind of worry.
On saturday night I tried goat meat for the first time at the "Bombay Bistro" in downtown Minneapolis. I ordered a Goat Korma, basically goat meat in a really tasty hot curry sauce. The dish was red, or at least redish.
I got an order of Naan with it, basically indian flatbread, or as Vanessa and her brother referred to it, an Indian Tortilla. (Also note the similarities to Ethiopian and Somali food.) The sauce was amazing, complex, and hot enough to force sweat to collect on my brow. I dipped my bread in it alot, and ate as much of the sauce as I could.
My approval for the meat though, wasn't really there. I wasn't prepared for it, and was a bit stunned by the consistency. There were tendons, fat, tough muscle and even the bone. It felt the most like eating a real animal, a former living thing of any meat I've had in years. More than beef knuckle, more than a whole roast turkey.
It was good, alot of it. I'm a little sensitive to texture, so the sudden switch from fat to connective tissue to muscle was jarring, but I ate a lot of it. I enjoyed it, but just couldn't bring myself to finish it.
Once I had faced the goat devil. The money devil came. I don't know what creates more anxiety than money, so it's probably the most boring thing to mention. It did cause a problem though. When we finished, I quickly gave my check card to the waiter, he went over and ran it, and told me there had been an "error" with my card. I took that to mean it had been declined, and slipped into a sort of deadbeat zone of terror that I haven't been in since I was 15 trying to use a giftcard for something worth more than the card.
I was worried that somehow the 800-some dollars in my checking account were gone, the result of some bad decision on my part. Vanessa had to pick up the bill. I felt emasculated, weak, and like a child in a place for adults. I left angry, claiming I wouldn't come back to the Bistro (not to the waiter but to Vanessa) almost in a tantrum.
My cards strip is just bad. I have no money problems. They probably could have gotten it. I was worried over basically nothing, and the goat was a worthwhile thing to try, and has taught me that I should try a vegetarian or chicken Korma next time. In retrospect I realize I was being a bit of a baby.
song of the day: Muppet Babies Theme
First comes the experience that I chose to undergo.Ever since I've been a seventeen year old vegetarian, I've developed a somewhat natural fear of "strange meat:" I came to placing the fear though, when I was reading Phillip David-Guerovitch's account of the Rwandan Genocide: "We Wish to Inform You That Tomorrow We Will be Killed With Our Families" that the meat I feared eating the most (outside of raw fish a fear I conquered already) is goat. I'm not sure why, probably some kind of lame American imperialist idea of the meat not being clean, or being inherently poor. I had this idea that it would be gruesome, that the texture would be wrong, and any other kind of worry.
On saturday night I tried goat meat for the first time at the "Bombay Bistro" in downtown Minneapolis. I ordered a Goat Korma, basically goat meat in a really tasty hot curry sauce. The dish was red, or at least redish.
I got an order of Naan with it, basically indian flatbread, or as Vanessa and her brother referred to it, an Indian Tortilla. (Also note the similarities to Ethiopian and Somali food.) The sauce was amazing, complex, and hot enough to force sweat to collect on my brow. I dipped my bread in it alot, and ate as much of the sauce as I could.
My approval for the meat though, wasn't really there. I wasn't prepared for it, and was a bit stunned by the consistency. There were tendons, fat, tough muscle and even the bone. It felt the most like eating a real animal, a former living thing of any meat I've had in years. More than beef knuckle, more than a whole roast turkey.
It was good, alot of it. I'm a little sensitive to texture, so the sudden switch from fat to connective tissue to muscle was jarring, but I ate a lot of it. I enjoyed it, but just couldn't bring myself to finish it.
Once I had faced the goat devil. The money devil came. I don't know what creates more anxiety than money, so it's probably the most boring thing to mention. It did cause a problem though. When we finished, I quickly gave my check card to the waiter, he went over and ran it, and told me there had been an "error" with my card. I took that to mean it had been declined, and slipped into a sort of deadbeat zone of terror that I haven't been in since I was 15 trying to use a giftcard for something worth more than the card.
I was worried that somehow the 800-some dollars in my checking account were gone, the result of some bad decision on my part. Vanessa had to pick up the bill. I felt emasculated, weak, and like a child in a place for adults. I left angry, claiming I wouldn't come back to the Bistro (not to the waiter but to Vanessa) almost in a tantrum.
My cards strip is just bad. I have no money problems. They probably could have gotten it. I was worried over basically nothing, and the goat was a worthwhile thing to try, and has taught me that I should try a vegetarian or chicken Korma next time. In retrospect I realize I was being a bit of a baby.
song of the day: Muppet Babies Theme
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
How long does it take to move a legacy
Precisely one hour, twelve minutes and thirty eight seconds. That's how long it took me to move all of the effects of a deceased dental pioneer today. There's something perverse and voyeuristic about it, looking at their collected things, everything they decided to decorate their office with, dozens of personal letters, family photos, hunting trophies, ancient glass slides of teeth, cards with dirty jokes from the mid 70s, etc. It would have taken longer, had the work not been started months ago when the good doctor fell seriously ill.
I didn't realize at that time, that I was boxing up things that he would never look at again. I spent time laboriously cataloging various journals, slides, papers, etc with the hope that this former dean would return, or that his relatives would at least come and get his things for him. His things languished in our storage area for about 4 months, awaiting pickup, until last week the good former dean died. I don't know what he died of, other than the fact that he was ancient and past life expectancy, and that he was ill.
So, today my boss had me move all of these boxes out of our storage, to another area, a forgotten room up on the 15th floor (administrative) that is undergoing a remodeling. So, now this dead mans effects are up in an empty, forgotten room, along with furniture no-one wants, and a comfortable carpet.
It's just kind of strange.
I didn't realize at that time, that I was boxing up things that he would never look at again. I spent time laboriously cataloging various journals, slides, papers, etc with the hope that this former dean would return, or that his relatives would at least come and get his things for him. His things languished in our storage area for about 4 months, awaiting pickup, until last week the good former dean died. I don't know what he died of, other than the fact that he was ancient and past life expectancy, and that he was ill.
So, today my boss had me move all of these boxes out of our storage, to another area, a forgotten room up on the 15th floor (administrative) that is undergoing a remodeling. So, now this dead mans effects are up in an empty, forgotten room, along with furniture no-one wants, and a comfortable carpet.
It's just kind of strange.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Sinus Headache... real work
Yesterday I felt utterly terrible all day. Miserable even, as I was congested, stuffy, dry and in pain. My head hurt, my throat ached, and even my eyes couldn't being handle much light without significant fatigue. What I did accomplish yesterday was quite minor. I read about 10 pages of a novel, wrote a little bit, watched the movie "Big" with my room mates, went to Best Buy and Rainbow foods, and cooked a little bit. Otherwise, I accomplished next to nothing. What I consider my non-accomplishments from yesterday include:
1. Reading about the "Predator" series of movies, comics and other media for about 45 minutes on Wikipedia.
2. Reading about the Red Lake Reservation on Wikipedia
3. Thinking about buying a flash drive, then not buying it.
4. Taking a "candidate 2008 match test" on Ok-Cupid
5. Being Snappy on the phone (cranky)
6. Watching American Gladiators, Drinking Beer and eating Bologna
7. Listening to my room mates play "Rock Band" on the playstation
I then had intense dreams about real people in my life, including a return to the bizarre traveling odyssey dream that I had starting this weekend, involving a trip around the central/southern midwest with various family members and not quite right looking friends. My cousin Dylan was involved this time. My dad was a smoker again, and did it in the car (which he never did while I was a child.) Also, my grandfather who died this year was alive in the dream, but fearing for his life. He didn't look exactly like how I remember, but younger, maybe only 55 or so, with a salt and pepper beard and carefully trimmed moustache.
There was the idea that we were all in danger, and this "Bose Buch" that he had was somehow responsible for it and helping us avoid it as we drove through seemingly endless fields of corn on the outskirts of Lincoln or Omaha. How queer.
Today was a bit more productive, and after a bit of aspirin and a lot of water the headache disappeared completely. At work, I was more productive than usual, or at least putting in more effort than usual, as I had to figure out things I hadn't done before, and help someone move her office to another floor, while she was busy checking in patients.
So far today I've consumed: 7 styrofoam cups of water, 3 cups of shitty coffee, 1 turtle mocha, 2 aspirin, 2 cups of fountain pop (a citrus blend of lemonade and sprite), a Chipotle Burrito (Barbacoa, Black beans, Tomatillo red, sour cream, guac, cheese, rice) and a handful of dry Life cereal. I'm off work in about 20 minutes.
Song of the day: "Mind"-Talking Heads
1. Reading about the "Predator" series of movies, comics and other media for about 45 minutes on Wikipedia.
2. Reading about the Red Lake Reservation on Wikipedia
3. Thinking about buying a flash drive, then not buying it.
4. Taking a "candidate 2008 match test" on Ok-Cupid
5. Being Snappy on the phone (cranky)
6. Watching American Gladiators, Drinking Beer and eating Bologna
7. Listening to my room mates play "Rock Band" on the playstation
I then had intense dreams about real people in my life, including a return to the bizarre traveling odyssey dream that I had starting this weekend, involving a trip around the central/southern midwest with various family members and not quite right looking friends. My cousin Dylan was involved this time. My dad was a smoker again, and did it in the car (which he never did while I was a child.) Also, my grandfather who died this year was alive in the dream, but fearing for his life. He didn't look exactly like how I remember, but younger, maybe only 55 or so, with a salt and pepper beard and carefully trimmed moustache.
There was the idea that we were all in danger, and this "Bose Buch" that he had was somehow responsible for it and helping us avoid it as we drove through seemingly endless fields of corn on the outskirts of Lincoln or Omaha. How queer.
Today was a bit more productive, and after a bit of aspirin and a lot of water the headache disappeared completely. At work, I was more productive than usual, or at least putting in more effort than usual, as I had to figure out things I hadn't done before, and help someone move her office to another floor, while she was busy checking in patients.
So far today I've consumed: 7 styrofoam cups of water, 3 cups of shitty coffee, 1 turtle mocha, 2 aspirin, 2 cups of fountain pop (a citrus blend of lemonade and sprite), a Chipotle Burrito (Barbacoa, Black beans, Tomatillo red, sour cream, guac, cheese, rice) and a handful of dry Life cereal. I'm off work in about 20 minutes.
Song of the day: "Mind"-Talking Heads
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Work, illness.
I'm at work again today. As a result, I've been waking up around 6:45 every day. I don't mind though, I kind of like the feeling of being half-asleep on the bus and watching that dead looking winter morning sky. Today I don't feel terribly tired, and I'm half-excited to be here, as the Dental students are coming back. I'm not sleepy.
I found out yesterday that two of my coworkers are in very bad shape, are terribly ill. They've both been gone quite a bit, but I wasn't aware of how dire the situation actually is.
One of them, he actually collapsed recently, and was in intensive care. None of us in the shop know exactly what is wrong with him, but there's a suspicion that he may have a liver problem. He's likely to not come back for some time, and it may lead to a bit of chaos around the shop, since he is one of only three skilled technicians working. That means that the work that he would normally be doing gets shifted onto the two remaining technicians and me. The hope is that he is ok.
Also, our receptionist went to get re-constructive surgery following her triumph over breast cancer. She went in for her operation perhaps 2 weeks ago and is still laid up. Apparently the surgery went badly, and she is in a terrible state of health. I have no idea exactly what's wrong, since I only get information like this passively, by eavesdropping.
This all just means that there are fewer people around in the shop. There are normally 7 of us, now down to 5, an almost third reduction. It should be interesting, and I hope these people get better.
I found out yesterday that two of my coworkers are in very bad shape, are terribly ill. They've both been gone quite a bit, but I wasn't aware of how dire the situation actually is.
One of them, he actually collapsed recently, and was in intensive care. None of us in the shop know exactly what is wrong with him, but there's a suspicion that he may have a liver problem. He's likely to not come back for some time, and it may lead to a bit of chaos around the shop, since he is one of only three skilled technicians working. That means that the work that he would normally be doing gets shifted onto the two remaining technicians and me. The hope is that he is ok.
Also, our receptionist went to get re-constructive surgery following her triumph over breast cancer. She went in for her operation perhaps 2 weeks ago and is still laid up. Apparently the surgery went badly, and she is in a terrible state of health. I have no idea exactly what's wrong, since I only get information like this passively, by eavesdropping.
This all just means that there are fewer people around in the shop. There are normally 7 of us, now down to 5, an almost third reduction. It should be interesting, and I hope these people get better.
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