azurelunatic: Escher's Order and Chaos drawing: geometric solids and broken things.  (Order and Chaos)
12:13 PM * Azz ambles in a Silly Valley-ward direction
12:25 PM <Purple> hope Azz isn't going to work


Azz was, in fact, going to work. Partly because a conference week is not the world's most bountiful paycheck week (and therefore a four-day week the next week isn't the best choice) and partly because work has air conditioning.

I proceeded to turn on my disco lights and blast* Abney Park while catching up on the paperwork that drives my normal uncanny ability to remember arbitrary weird things.

* for values of "blast" that became nearly inaudible once you reached the bathrooms.

radius was also at work enjoying the air conditioning, as I learned once I checked in on IRC. He'd gone down to Curmudgeon* City to hack on some fun stuff, since it was a weekend.

* They're not jerks per se, but their group's team chat has an honorable history of being displayed in the team area using Microsoft Comic Chat.

The security guy came through and poked at the door, which was unlocking itself, accompanied by irritated beeping when you tried to lock it, again. He was seen on the phone, with some gesticulation. He went away. He returned with a buddy. They both poked at the door, which was no longer doing the thing. They went away.

Eventually it became closer to evening. radius and I made plans for dinner. Sensibly, he proposed that I drive us both, rather than having him go separately on his bike, as bike and dinner dress codes often differ. I was agreeable, but added that I would have to unearth the front seat of the car.

"I can sit on it," he demurred, not having seen what was in the seat.

"No, you cannot," I said, and proceeded to shuffle an amazing number of things out of my front seat: one of those fabric boxes that goes in the big IKEA cube shelves (filled with all manner of road trip snacks and less edible items such as alcohol wipes), any number of soft drink cups, cans, and bottles, a few used napkins, the empty container of blueberries that figured so prominently in Sunday's digestive misadventures*, a box of tampons, several cherry pits, an expended alcohol wipe, a household size fire extinguisher, and about five blueberries that had fallen down behind the snack box. The fire extinguisher wasn't exactly a surprise, because I knew it was there, but I'd sort of glossed over it in my mental accounting, which was mostly "all god's soda cans". radius helped by relaying a few trips to the bins. Mostly the fire extinguisher is in the car because you don't want a car to do something terrible without you have a fire extinguisher; not that I'm expecting him to do something terrible, but it would be just like a car to go ahead and do something like that if you didn't have one handy. So.

* 2 pounds of blueberries eaten over the course of about 11 hours of Saturday without actual solid food? after 2pm-ish? Not my best life choice.

We then went for dinner and gossip. I introduced him to the Book of Wholesome Hobbies. It's starting to get unwieldy, and I may have to start categorizing. There are an awful lot of prohibitions based on fire.

Eventually we traipsed back to work. I spent some more time whacking chunks of text around. The door started doing the thing again, of course when the other security guard wasn't looking. The first guy seemed frustrated. After he left, I went and poked at it myself. I went outside and badged the door, but didn't open it. The unlock window timed out, and the master door locked itself. Somewhat hesitantly, the problem door followed suit. So I may have figured out how to make it stop doing the thing. Next I need to figure out how to make it do the thing on command.

My notes are in better shape. Hooray!

My plans for tomorrow are approximately:

* Make ice.
* Fetch strawberries.
* Wait for evening to set in.
* Take ice, strawberries, liquid, and a lawn chair down the waterfront and set up.
* Watch other people let off fireworks.
* Share strawberries as appropriate.
azurelunatic: Seated baby in incubator shell with electrodes.  (Cyteen)
Called [personal profile] norabombay this morning; she was driving through some spotty coverage areas and it was difficult to hear her cunning fic plans involving a Sherlock + Vanyel the Last Herald-Mage crossover.

The work QUILTBAG club has started up meetings again. The guy who was doing most of the organizing got super busy, yadda yadda, and I think this is the first time I've been able to make a meeting in over a year (and mostly because of lack of meetings). It was lunch and mimosas (bring your own lunch) in the milkshake bunker. I arrived a bit late and slid in at the end of the table. A little later a few other people showed up, making about a dozen of us, and two non-dudes.

We toasted around the table. My friend the usual organizer is nervous of champagne bottles, and somewhere along the line I seem to have become decent at popping the cork with only a little bang and a breath of vapor, given a nice sturdy table to put the thing on. I opened the bottle of strawberry syrup, which made some interesting variations on mimosa.

We talked about where we'd been when we heard about the decision. I'd been at Open Source Bridge, of course, and I'd woken up around 7:30 and I saw the news on Twitter, and I was delighted. [personal profile] kareila came in and told me there was good news. We squeed about it for a bit. That, of course, was the morning after Thursday night; on Thursday night after the code push, some of us had wound up in [personal profile] kaberett and [personal profile] me_and and [personal profile] woggy's hotel room talking until about two-ish, and I'd been up until about three-ish. So after chatting with [personal profile] kareila for a bit, I went promptly back to sleep.

I was not tight as an owl when I traipsed back down the hill, but I was a tad giggly.

I promptly found myself in the middle of the wrap-up meeting for the conference. I have proposed that the search for external speakers commence basically immediately, since that part takes the longest and caused quite a bit of angst last time around.

Readers, if you ever ask a group of which I am a member a question shaped like "What's the minimum amount of work I have to do in order to make my software 508 compliant? Asking for a friend!" -- please do not be surprised if you find yourself in receipt of a broadside from the Accessibility Cannon that begins something like "THE FUCK YOU SAY. HOW ABOUT YOU STOP TRYING TO DO THE MINIMUM AMOUNT OF WORK NECESSARY TO COMPLY WITH THE LETTER OF THE LAW AND START THINKING ABOUT 'HEY IF I'M A USER WITH THESE CONSTRAINTS, CAN I USE THE FUCKING SOFTWARE?' P.S. THINKING ABOUT IT AS IMAGES WILL DOOM YOU TO FAILURE, THINK ABOUT IT AS INFORMATION THAT THE USER CAN CONSUME IN A FORMAT OF THEIR CHOICE. ENJOY THE USER EXPERIENCE OFFICE HOURS." As it happens, I got a (public and somewhat defensive) response that they were doing things right really, it's just that they were in review phase and they wanted to know what to expect/brace for, and then I got a (directly to me, from someone else) response dancing around the concept that maybe I could be less of a blistering asshole about it up front.

I topped that off by running into someone who thought that the slide-video based training system was the equivalent of documentation, and wrote "$TRAININGVIDEOSYSTEM is not a substitute for documentation" several times on not!Facebook, with a few points which documentation has that $TRAININGVIDEOSYSTEM doesn't:
* Does not require registration
* Does not require completing a course
* Renders on a maximum number of browsers, ideally in plain ol' HTML
* Explains how to do various tasks without starting at 101 each time
* Doesn't require a title card, theme music, or (necessarily) images

At which point I paused, contemplated life for a bit, and then opened up the Aleve jar on the grounds that I was about to have cramps from hell, because clearly my period was about to hit. (And it did.)

Purple skived off early for the weekend when a friend of his wanted to do something. I didn't stay too late, and wound up back on the correct side of the Bay before Costco closed. I chatted with Nora again, who had made it home safely.

I have had various things from Abney Park in my head all day, because yesterday I introduced them to Mr. Sub-tle and the Dean. I have a long game in mind.
azurelunatic: A spray of $CELEBRATORY_FIZZY_BEVERAGE from a beribboned bottle caught in the moment just after the cork pops. (bubbly)
Today was another day of catching up. It started out not entirely well-omened, with the shadows of distressing dreams, and too hot, to the point that wearing one of the normal thickness cardigans was making me panic at the thought of overheating, badly enough that I wouldn't be able to leave. So I dug through the laundry until I found the thin soft black cardigan, the previously maligned one with the "drop pockets" which drop things out of them reliably. (Bare arms wouldn't have done either: sun, and I have some body-shyness with my upper arms. Though I'm becoming okay with going bare-armed around my team, indoors, out of the sun.)

The rest of Purple's crew had been delayed, so it was just us outside at one of the little umbrella tables for four that we usually cram with at least six, sometimes up to ten.

We'd run into R on our way out; she'd regaled us with tales of horror and woe. She's going to Colorado for a couple weeks to spend time with her ailing mother.

"No meetings this afternoon?" she'd asked Purple, indicating the onions on his tacos. That hadn't really been a consideration for him.

An irreverent onion-related poll )

One of the guys had been trying to poll for dinner soonish, and hoped to get some of the things hashed out over a milkshake. So we went up to the milkshake bunker.

This guy, the new guy, is one of the guys in that notable corner office with the mommy and daddy bananas, the minion, and ET. The office also has 7 of 9, and enough booze to intoxicate an entire Borg cube.

There are plans to renovate the milkshake bunker and add a genius bar. The locals are dubious. I inquired, and got back reassurances that the milkshake bunker will still be good for milkshakes during most of the swapping around, the genius bar is going into the now former catering office, and the catering office is moving into the nearby conference room (I think). They're swapping furniture around as well. We shall see.

There was various hilarity, including wireless networking problems, UK and Australia vs. US electrical woes, a new face comparison for the Australia plugs that is not horrible and is in fact the Scary Movie mask, and accidental desk hockey. Purple and Mr. Zune had been playing with their ice cream cups, and skidding them across the table a bit. Mr. Zune accidentally flung his across the table between Purple's arms. This was declared a goal, despite Purple declaring that he wasn't playing hockey. Then Purple licked his spoon, wiped it off on his pants, and began brushing at the table with it, declaring that he was curling.

I spent a good amount of last week laughing. Today's milkshake walk filled this week's laughter quota.

Shortly thereafter, the Dean showed up. He very nearly threw himself onto the table and slid down it, which would have been exactly perfect. I promptly lost the words that I was looking for to communicate that we needed to set up plans for the ... the ... I gestured a rolling ball, a hat, a whip. The thirteen-year-olds I was with interpreted it all as BDSM. Thanks, thirteen-year-olds. After the Dean headed off, I found words again. "INDIANA JONES." The "You perverts." was unspoken. <3

The guy from the office of the suspiciously gendered bananas has an implanted medical device, and therefore needs to avoid hobbies like arc welding, making tesla coils, and being in the vicinity of that former Hitachi magic wand of mine that interfered with that keyboard. We never did get the dinner plans nailed down.

The attempt to get my entire team on versions of Adobe Creative Suite from the century of the fruitbat continues. Still.

Rocky's father-in-law died last week. The Stage Manager sent a fruit basket, which will do a large part to help Rocky's wife survive the memorial, as her mother does not really keep fruit around and she basically lives on it. I expressed my condolences, and he talked about things.

The weather changed, enough that it could be felt inside. I felt much better, although still sticky.

In advance of the latest round of helldesk software improvements, I tried to order my thoughts onto a wiki page. It took me about fifteen bullet points before the lack of horizontal scrollbars (when content would otherwise get cut off by a narrow aperture) caused me to emit grawlix and promise to publicly embarrass myself and everyone else if it happened one more time. I shared this wiki page with main-channel of internal IRC, and that was when the usually patient guy on a friend's team (who has been watching this whole thing unfold and getting steadily less patient) apparently first got his hands on my wiki page of sortable grousing. I could see him going point by point down the list of tickets and getting steadily more frothy.

There was, at one point, a survey sent around. He expressed disappointment at not getting to see the output of said survey. "Oh, they posted it," I said. "It was a real $NAME special." Then I linked to the not!Facebook post about same, commenting that this was the one where Purple had re-balanced the survey, and everything no longer came up Milhouse.

Dude was not pleased with our now-ex C-level SaaSmonger. To the point where I started explaining the gospel of the Unimportant Fire. And the usual accompaniment of same, the importance of conserving one's water for the important fires. At which point some of the usual suspects started talking about mulch, and that if a certain ex-exec did not care for mulch on his head, well, he could file a ticket.

On that cheery and salubrious note, Purple emerged from the depths of his cave and swooped me off into the parking lot. We chatted about various things, including various people we had known who did not come to particularly great ends. Cheery topic. Also lunch plans for tomorrow -- the QUILTBAGPIPE group is meeting for lunch (bring your own lunch) in the milkshake bunker, and while Mr. Sub-tle couldn't be there himself, he did authorize the organizing principle to expense the champagne for the mimosas. All of which is to say that while Purple is getting lunch, I was going to be waltzing back down, tight as an owl.

"What does that even mean? I grew up in Ohio! I'm familiar with owls!"

Purple had never heard that phrase before. It is an old one, but not apparently super well known. http://freaky_freya.tripod.com/Drunktionary/T-Z.html#tight

So that was Wednesday.
azurelunatic: Azz and best friend grabbing each other's noses.  (Default)
Feeling not quite as terrible but still under the weather. (poor thermoregulation, poor appetite, some pain)
Not allowed to attempt to pick up strange men at conferences.
Not socially acceptable to inquire about polyamory (see above).
I got into the Lem section at Powell's. Oops.
Still need to unpack car.
Still need to do laundry.
Moderators comparing notes and a strong bunch of them having the same problem with the same person is important.
Slack has pros and cons.
I pointed someone to Crystal Singer at the bookstore.
azurelunatic: Warning: participating in #dw may result in blacking out and discovering yourself as head of a project team. (#dw warning: department head)
Today I gave my Community Moderation: you can't always halt a flamewar with one raised eyebrow (but it rarely hurts to try) talk.

I have already identified things that I might do differently next time, but I think it went OK overall and I had a great chat with someone who is currently looking at the fact that one of her communities hasn't got any rules and right now it's an intentional community who all have the same general goals but if Things Happen they wouldn't know where to start.

I always recommend starting with rules or at least general concrete principles that you'd like the community to embody, for the record.

I had fun and I hope everyone else did too, and I sadly ran long enough that there wasn't much time for Q&A. My favorite under-discussed tool is hellbanning.
azurelunatic: Azz and best friend grabbing each other's noses.  (Default)
0:
Left garage just before 6am.
Started out from having refueled 6:30.
Arrived Portland 7:30ish pm.
Arrived hotel 8:30ish after some gps-based listless in the high tunnels.
Arrived to a roomful of DW peeps. Yay!
Eventually ordered pizza as some people needed food.
An hour later the pizza had not arrived.
Brought label maker. Kat promptly labeled Kab's face. Kab promptly labeled the label maker.
D went down to smoke. We inquired at the desk re: pizza. Only one of the desk guys had heard of them & the context was: at 4 am some guy had come down to complain the pizza was 4 hours late. As he complained the pizza guy arrived reeking of weed. 1 piece was missing from the pizza.
Ours was only 1 hour late, non-reeking, intact.

Had trouble falling asleep.

1:
Slept late. Brought caffeination & chocolate. Worked on slides.

"Gibberishit" is a thing now.

Many tired, crashing early.
azurelunatic: Azz and best friend grabbing each other's noses.  (Default)
Hotel key.
Phone & charger.
Backpack with laptop.
Call desk to have car brought around.
Caffeine.
Water.
???
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Objectively, as popular culture would assess him, Purple is a kind of funny-looking personage. No matter how carefully he trims it, his beard will always tend to the scruffy. He is unfashionably plump for anyone but a bear, though he's not into guys. His hair is long but mostly bald on top.

Last night he lamented his flat ass and I looked in every direction that wasn't him. It does not aesthetically offend me, because it's his. (Had I praised it, he would have disbelieved.) Later, I allowed as how it did not go in any abstract and unexpected directions under his pants. "It's not Cubist or anything."

Tonight his looks are up again. He has something funny and self-deprecating to say about his hairline.

He will always be handsome to me. I mutter something about Cubism and look anywhere but at him. I expect a warm, witty person who makes friends laugh, and not a collection of elementary shapes smashed together to approximate a human shape. I am never disappointed.

It would be crass of me to go too far into the details of what I like about his appearance to him, but he's learning to appreciate the sentiment when I turn pink and mutter about cubists.
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* Up early
* Dress nicely (swish skirt, tank top, light cardigan)
* Leave early
* OK to stop for coffee
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  • Tue, 00:34: I may have accidentally introduced my friend Mr. Zune to Homestuck.
  • Tue, 04:30: Photoset: gailsimone: iliaora: exgynocraticgrrl: Breaking The Male Code: After Steubenville, A Call To... http://t.co/j9hjlJIfW8
  • Tue, 06:16: OH MOTHERFUCKER THE CAUSE OF MY BLUETOOTH FLAKINESS WAS PEBBLE DIALER 3RD PARTY APP SET TO TOGGLE SPEAKERPHONE ON SHAKE. JESUS.
  • Tue, 06:31: @shopbiblela Dude, that tweet of mine you just faved is about a minister who acts pious in public and screams at family in private.
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azurelunatic: Azz and best friend grabbing each other's noses.  (Default)
Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz - bolt of blue - infovore)

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