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Some highlights
Oct. 21st, 2015 12:24 am(I was headed to bed, but then my brain was full.)
Woke up, stopped by aunt's but she wasn't there, got coffee, took morning pills, picked up prescription, hit work. Realized that having taken morning pills on 40g carb which was *also liquid and coffee* was not a suitable "snack"; effects were to make me owlish with a -17 modifier to my DEX. Fortunately I was rolling 19s pretty consistently until I got food, at which point the handicap started dropping precipitiously.
Purple and his crew opted for lunch inside Purple's building; Mr. Tux and I joined the three of them.
Even now, the ghost of Brad haunts us. I explained the 90% programmer (yet again): the one who says "This is 90% done, someone else can complete the other 10%" and the person/people tasked to complete the other 10% say: "What the shit were you smoking? This is 10% done." "But it's working!" "It's not usable." "*I* can use it!" "You're not a user."
I proceeded through my inbox, and popped out of my building with coffee at the appointed time. Two people from a friend's department were due a ducking in the duck pond. Two ducks were present, which I felt was a good omen. They did not fly off.
The first guy asked was he going to have to duck himself??? Eventually they got things straightened out, and people picked him up, waded out with him, and tossed him in. The other guy couldn't go actually in the duck pond for health reasons, but had cheerfully agreed to a "virtual ducking", where they took pictures in front of the pond, paraded him into the adjacent building and doused him in the convenient shower, then brought him back out for more pictures. I came down to offer both gentlemen cellophane-wrapped packets of boozecandies, and fairly terrible slide whistles.
One of the apparent traditions is also that the team provides dry clothing, often of a hilarious nature. Mr. Zune's Overlord, a dyed-in-the-wool Stanford man, had been given sports attire of a rival institution. One of the guys came out of the building wearing a red Angry Bird costume -- a red sack with a surly face on his belly -- with violently orange shorts. The other guy came out in a giant cigarette box and plaid pajama pants. He held the slide whistle in his teeth and clutched the packet of boozecandy, giving the effect of a box of cigarettes who was also smoking.
#3 suggested that I come back for cake, but I had a meeting and also blood sugar that said no.
The meeting was button construction with the Commandant. ( Breast cancer awareness! )
Exchange's message for when you accidentally put a period at the end of an email address contains, in point of fact, a period directly after the example of what an email address should look like. Since I had copied the address (period and all) from not!Facebook's email integration helpy dialog, I submitted a suggestion to the not!Facebook gods to risk the wrath of the commafuckers and remove the period from the email integration dialog (to help the careless copiers).
There will be a meeting tomorrow morning. I will be taking notes. I coaxed Purple out before the hour got too late.
Since every employee who chooses to go to the Halloween extravaganza gets to bring two guests, Purple had claimed a wristband for me (as well as his own and one for his buddy from the condo board) and dropped it on my desk while I was off with the Commandant. I tried it on. Wow, was it tight. I concluded from that and from something someone said on [off-topic] that the guest wristbands were sized for kids. I left feedback, that maybe there should be some non-kid-sized wristbands next year. The person replied (in a way that wouldn't inform anyone else of what to do) that in fact there were two sizes. So I wandered down to the security office to swap mine for a grown-up sized wristband. The security guy hadn't realized there were two sizes.
Purple and I are comfortable enough to twit each other about gender a bit. He showed up to walk out, and I mentioned that I'd got the wristband thing sorted out. "What kind of woman are you?" he teased.
"I'm a man," I declared in my lowest comfortable speaking voice.
Purple busted out laughing in sheer surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. Mind, he didn't know what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been that.
My gender is a miasma of incandescent plasma.
Woke up, stopped by aunt's but she wasn't there, got coffee, took morning pills, picked up prescription, hit work. Realized that having taken morning pills on 40g carb which was *also liquid and coffee* was not a suitable "snack"; effects were to make me owlish with a -17 modifier to my DEX. Fortunately I was rolling 19s pretty consistently until I got food, at which point the handicap started dropping precipitiously.
Purple and his crew opted for lunch inside Purple's building; Mr. Tux and I joined the three of them.
Even now, the ghost of Brad haunts us. I explained the 90% programmer (yet again): the one who says "This is 90% done, someone else can complete the other 10%" and the person/people tasked to complete the other 10% say: "What the shit were you smoking? This is 10% done." "But it's working!" "It's not usable." "*I* can use it!" "You're not a user."
I proceeded through my inbox, and popped out of my building with coffee at the appointed time. Two people from a friend's department were due a ducking in the duck pond. Two ducks were present, which I felt was a good omen. They did not fly off.
The first guy asked was he going to have to duck himself??? Eventually they got things straightened out, and people picked him up, waded out with him, and tossed him in. The other guy couldn't go actually in the duck pond for health reasons, but had cheerfully agreed to a "virtual ducking", where they took pictures in front of the pond, paraded him into the adjacent building and doused him in the convenient shower, then brought him back out for more pictures. I came down to offer both gentlemen cellophane-wrapped packets of boozecandies, and fairly terrible slide whistles.
One of the apparent traditions is also that the team provides dry clothing, often of a hilarious nature. Mr. Zune's Overlord, a dyed-in-the-wool Stanford man, had been given sports attire of a rival institution. One of the guys came out of the building wearing a red Angry Bird costume -- a red sack with a surly face on his belly -- with violently orange shorts. The other guy came out in a giant cigarette box and plaid pajama pants. He held the slide whistle in his teeth and clutched the packet of boozecandy, giving the effect of a box of cigarettes who was also smoking.
#3 suggested that I come back for cake, but I had a meeting and also blood sugar that said no.
The meeting was button construction with the Commandant. ( Breast cancer awareness! )
Exchange's message for when you accidentally put a period at the end of an email address contains, in point of fact, a period directly after the example of what an email address should look like. Since I had copied the address (period and all) from not!Facebook's email integration helpy dialog, I submitted a suggestion to the not!Facebook gods to risk the wrath of the commafuckers and remove the period from the email integration dialog (to help the careless copiers).
There will be a meeting tomorrow morning. I will be taking notes. I coaxed Purple out before the hour got too late.
Since every employee who chooses to go to the Halloween extravaganza gets to bring two guests, Purple had claimed a wristband for me (as well as his own and one for his buddy from the condo board) and dropped it on my desk while I was off with the Commandant. I tried it on. Wow, was it tight. I concluded from that and from something someone said on [off-topic] that the guest wristbands were sized for kids. I left feedback, that maybe there should be some non-kid-sized wristbands next year. The person replied (in a way that wouldn't inform anyone else of what to do) that in fact there were two sizes. So I wandered down to the security office to swap mine for a grown-up sized wristband. The security guy hadn't realized there were two sizes.
Purple and I are comfortable enough to twit each other about gender a bit. He showed up to walk out, and I mentioned that I'd got the wristband thing sorted out. "What kind of woman are you?" he teased.
"I'm a man," I declared in my lowest comfortable speaking voice.
Purple busted out laughing in sheer surprise. He hadn't been expecting that. Mind, he didn't know what he had been expecting, but it hadn't been that.
My gender is a miasma of incandescent plasma.
