Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2014-03-27 12:50 am
azurelunatic) wrote2014-03-27 12:50 am
Sometimes, I do give a flying duck.
Today was variously busy. I tried to get a jump on my inbox before the QUILTBAG meeting started, but that took more time than I thought, and so did the lunch line. So I was running late. Alas. But there were people there! Doing stuff! I need to check my calendar for May.
Then there was follow-up with some of the guys. And then I finished my lemonade with Purple. We chatted about the reason for that nickname (as I showed him a tweet where I quoted him) -- frankly, The Renaissance Man was a mouthful, and I actually couldn't use his actual first name due to overlap with other people of the same name who have pseudonyms to respect their privacy. It might not be googleable in the same way, but I'd know.
Piers Anthony has more puns per square inch than Pratchett; Purple has heard that Pratchett's stuff may not be all that effective when first encountered after adolescence. (At first we thought he meant Piers Anthony, but then there was clarification, and Discworld was the one.) This resulted in a form of my tirade on A Spell for Chameleon, and lb walked up at "... a sexist shitbag of a writer who should be kicked and beaten with sticks." Fortunately lb has heard the front end of this rant before. (And as I mentioned on Twitter: this is hyperbolic violence only, and should not be translated to actual-world beatings, just maybe stop buying those goddamn books.)
More inbox ensued, and then I realized that there was a thing. I collected Purple; lb decided that he was going to sit this one out. I haven't seen the duck for a while, just the drake, so maybe there are little fuzzy stripey peepy bits in the offing. I held chairs while Purple snagged some of the really tasty almond meal petit fours. #teamwork There was massively multiplayer thumb wrestling. Somehow I wound up winning both of my matches.
Jane McG: [stuff about Tetris fucking with image memory formation in a way that can be used to prevent traumatic image flashbacks]
Me: *mentioned this to Purple a few days before*
Purple, leaning close to whisper: "So my takeaway is: Tetris basically causes brain damage."
Me: *stifling giggles*
On the way back, we discussed the way that reality does not like to give you game levels of quality feedback on your progress, and how fucking stubbornness can be a productive character trait in a programmer. I mentioned how sometimes it's hard to tell the productive path from the unproductive one. He agreed, and mentioned that the fucking stubbornness on productive paths is one of the qualities that he looks for when selecting staff. "Is it a dead horse, or do I just need a bigger stick?" Hilarity ensued.
There's a place in the elevator padding that makes a fart noise when you poke it just right (or lean on it just wrong).
O best-beloved, have I told you before the story of Good Ol' Shawn and the Orville Redenbacher popcorn?
I don't believe that I have.
Once upon a time, Good Ol' Shawn mentioned that Orville Redenbacher microwave popcorn was better than sex. This was sometime in 1997. I can pin a date to this for a simple reason: I love bad jokes. The worse the better. I also, when I have the means, love to get just the right gift for the people who are dear to me.
"Don't open this in public," I told Shawn, handing him two small packages taped together, one larger than the other.
Shawn was curious. Shawn ripped the paper on the larger of the two. Inside, Shawn saw a three-pack of microwave popcorn. Orville Redenbacher.
Shawn turned bright pink. Shawn shoved the paper closed. I was roundly hailed for making Shawn blush.
The second package, of course, was a three-pack of condoms.
Naturally, something like this has got to appear in Cutting-Room Floor. I started giggling a few nights back, and then told Purple the source story. There was a bit of creative type bantering, and I decided that the second package was going to contain butter. Possibly a condom-box full of butter, instead of condoms.
This evening, in one of my trips in search of water/ice/soda/clean cups/something, the following approximate exchange took place:
"Aren't you glad I didn't fill your desk with packing peanuts?"
"If you had put up a wall and filled it with peanuts, I'd have told everybody [on my team] that of *course* I was in here, you just couldn't see me, call me, and gone home and enjoyed myself."
*eyebrow*
"Not *that* kind of 'enjoyed myself'!"
*shocked eyebrow*
"I guess you weren't thinking of that kind of 'enjoyed myself' either."
"See if I bring *you* any butter!"
"I'm an adult! I have my *own* butter!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"There is no way this conversation can possibly...!"
"One step further. Puns. 'Ghee, thanks.'"
"I'd say something about churning."
"No whey."
There's been an ongoing project involving a certain software product. The vendor has advised that one of the products under contention will no longer be sold, ending a few months hence. The IT department has pleaded with me for updated documentation on who exactly has this shit on our team. I am trawling back through scads of email which references a source of documentation which is going to disappear later rather than sooner, but eventually, and building that into some sort of fucking spreadsheet. IT had better recognize.
Sometimes "I am nearly out of ducks to give", followed by "s/d/f" is the best way to communicate that it's nearly time to go home, over IM at work.
Somehow, it has become customary for Purple and me to see if we have coordinating departure times, to walk out to our cars, if we've parked anywhere near the same direction. This time we had to split at floors of the same garage, and spent about 45 pleasant minutes wrapping up the things that we still had left to say to each other before we possibly ran into each other tomorrow. Or possibly not, because there's the thing over thattaway tomorrow.
It pleases me that Purple does not set off my People alarms. It pleases me to have a friend who I can awkwardly pat on the head. It pleases me to have a friend who sometimes hugs me goodnight.
Then there was follow-up with some of the guys. And then I finished my lemonade with Purple. We chatted about the reason for that nickname (as I showed him a tweet where I quoted him) -- frankly, The Renaissance Man was a mouthful, and I actually couldn't use his actual first name due to overlap with other people of the same name who have pseudonyms to respect their privacy. It might not be googleable in the same way, but I'd know.
Piers Anthony has more puns per square inch than Pratchett; Purple has heard that Pratchett's stuff may not be all that effective when first encountered after adolescence. (At first we thought he meant Piers Anthony, but then there was clarification, and Discworld was the one.) This resulted in a form of my tirade on A Spell for Chameleon, and lb walked up at "... a sexist shitbag of a writer who should be kicked and beaten with sticks." Fortunately lb has heard the front end of this rant before. (And as I mentioned on Twitter: this is hyperbolic violence only, and should not be translated to actual-world beatings, just maybe stop buying those goddamn books.)
More inbox ensued, and then I realized that there was a thing. I collected Purple; lb decided that he was going to sit this one out. I haven't seen the duck for a while, just the drake, so maybe there are little fuzzy stripey peepy bits in the offing. I held chairs while Purple snagged some of the really tasty almond meal petit fours. #teamwork There was massively multiplayer thumb wrestling. Somehow I wound up winning both of my matches.
Jane McG: [stuff about Tetris fucking with image memory formation in a way that can be used to prevent traumatic image flashbacks]
Me: *mentioned this to Purple a few days before*
Purple, leaning close to whisper: "So my takeaway is: Tetris basically causes brain damage."
Me: *stifling giggles*
On the way back, we discussed the way that reality does not like to give you game levels of quality feedback on your progress, and how fucking stubbornness can be a productive character trait in a programmer. I mentioned how sometimes it's hard to tell the productive path from the unproductive one. He agreed, and mentioned that the fucking stubbornness on productive paths is one of the qualities that he looks for when selecting staff. "Is it a dead horse, or do I just need a bigger stick?" Hilarity ensued.
There's a place in the elevator padding that makes a fart noise when you poke it just right (or lean on it just wrong).
O best-beloved, have I told you before the story of Good Ol' Shawn and the Orville Redenbacher popcorn?
I don't believe that I have.
Once upon a time, Good Ol' Shawn mentioned that Orville Redenbacher microwave popcorn was better than sex. This was sometime in 1997. I can pin a date to this for a simple reason: I love bad jokes. The worse the better. I also, when I have the means, love to get just the right gift for the people who are dear to me.
"Don't open this in public," I told Shawn, handing him two small packages taped together, one larger than the other.
Shawn was curious. Shawn ripped the paper on the larger of the two. Inside, Shawn saw a three-pack of microwave popcorn. Orville Redenbacher.
Shawn turned bright pink. Shawn shoved the paper closed. I was roundly hailed for making Shawn blush.
The second package, of course, was a three-pack of condoms.
Naturally, something like this has got to appear in Cutting-Room Floor. I started giggling a few nights back, and then told Purple the source story. There was a bit of creative type bantering, and I decided that the second package was going to contain butter. Possibly a condom-box full of butter, instead of condoms.
This evening, in one of my trips in search of water/ice/soda/clean cups/something, the following approximate exchange took place:
"Aren't you glad I didn't fill your desk with packing peanuts?"
"If you had put up a wall and filled it with peanuts, I'd have told everybody [on my team] that of *course* I was in here, you just couldn't see me, call me, and gone home and enjoyed myself."
*eyebrow*
"Not *that* kind of 'enjoyed myself'!"
*shocked eyebrow*
"I guess you weren't thinking of that kind of 'enjoyed myself' either."
"See if I bring *you* any butter!"
"I'm an adult! I have my *own* butter!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"There is no way this conversation can possibly...!"
"One step further. Puns. 'Ghee, thanks.'"
"I'd say something about churning."
"No whey."
There's been an ongoing project involving a certain software product. The vendor has advised that one of the products under contention will no longer be sold, ending a few months hence. The IT department has pleaded with me for updated documentation on who exactly has this shit on our team. I am trawling back through scads of email which references a source of documentation which is going to disappear later rather than sooner, but eventually, and building that into some sort of fucking spreadsheet. IT had better recognize.
Sometimes "I am nearly out of ducks to give", followed by "s/d/f" is the best way to communicate that it's nearly time to go home, over IM at work.
Somehow, it has become customary for Purple and me to see if we have coordinating departure times, to walk out to our cars, if we've parked anywhere near the same direction. This time we had to split at floors of the same garage, and spent about 45 pleasant minutes wrapping up the things that we still had left to say to each other before we possibly ran into each other tomorrow. Or possibly not, because there's the thing over thattaway tomorrow.
It pleases me that Purple does not set off my People alarms. It pleases me to have a friend who I can awkwardly pat on the head. It pleases me to have a friend who sometimes hugs me goodnight.
no subject
no subject
But the awesome ones are really great and everyone should have one.