I'm supposed to be in Vegas right now. I'm not there, and I won't be there in the foreseeable future, and there's a long story behind all of this which is too boring for words, but the point is that I was supposed to fly out tonight and not come back until Saturday and even though that is no longer in the cards, I still have tomorrow and Friday off.
I was also supposed to be taking motorcycle lessons next weekend. See that past tense back there? That insidious 'was', which until about 2pm today was an 'am'? Reader, you are smart and logical, and I have faith that you can see where this is going.
My parents, however, are still arriving a week from Saturday to visit me for a day or two before heading up to Yosemite. So it is, in fact, very good that all my plans for the next few weekends are wrecked and I have some unforeseen time off which will be spent at home cleaning in preparation for the arrival of my parents.
I have a bit of a history with cleaning, the way my dad has a bit of a history with Rubik's cubes and Oscar has a bit of a history with Felix (although my walls are spaghetti-free for the moment. Antipathy is a learned skill).
My room was never clean growing up. It just didn't seem like a useful way to spend my time. There was enough stuff in my room that even when it was clean, it was cluttered, and it never stayed clean anyway. On one particularly memorable occasion, a neighbor complimented me on the sculptural qualities of the clothing spilling out of my bureau. Occasionally, I'd reach the pile stage, in which the surface area of the stuff on the floor exceeded the surface area of the viable walking space. At this point, Words were exchanged.
I'm sure that my mom offered up more than a few arguments in favor of keeping my room clean, but the one that I remember was, "It's impossible to walk in here!" This was an interesting one because it wasn't entirely true. It was only impossible for anyone else to walk in my room. I managed it quite well because I always knew where everything was. Even at three in the morning in the dark, I could navigate quite well among the hazards that my bedroom floor held for the unwary.
(It occurs to me now that I should clarify the difference between messy, which I am, and dirty, which I am not. Mess equals clutter, and dirt equals life forms. There is no mildew in my bathroom and my kitchen is safe to cook in, although there might be a suspect tupperware in the fridge.)
The big difference between living in my parents' house and living in my own place is that I had basically one room back home. It was a constant wreck, but I kept the door closed, and I tried to keep my clutter out of the rest of the house. But now I've been allowed to spread out. I can't just close one door to hide my homemaking flaws, because all the stuff in this apartment belongs to me. It's all my mess.
In terms of severity, it's not at the pile stage. Not event close. Just cluttered. But you know how it is when the parents visit. You want to give them some sort of reassurance that you can take care of yourself at least adequately, if perhaps not as well as they did. So I will spend some of my long weekend with a vacuum and mop as I try to resolve my cleaning initiative with the other problem of living alone:
Strange noises.
Let me just say that I don't do well with the unknown. I give irrational, baseless fears a lot more credence than they really deserve and when it comes right down to it, I am absolutely spineless, especially in the dark. Strange noises at night will have me lying wide awake in bed, terrified of what might be going on just 2 rooms away. And getting up to go check on things is absolutely out of the question because I might find something. No good. I can tell myself all I want that that creak was just the house settling, or the random tapping is the bush being blown against the window, but I don't actually know this for sure because I just don't know the place well enough. And I live on a very quiet street. There isn't any ambient noise, so I hear everything. I've found the solution is, since my rational mind knows nothing is wrong, to put another pillow over my ears so that I stop hearing things and freaking myself out. But I'm pretty sure the only reason that works is because my apartment is cluttered enough that no actual trouble could happen without me knowing about it. It's like stacking cans in front of a door as an early warning alarm system, except that my defenses are *everywhere*. You might avoid crushing a game system or getting your ankles all tangled up in the laundry I was sorting in front of the TV, but that just means you'll stub your toe on the easel or go face first into my magic cards when you miss the step in the library.
In deference to my parents, and to any other guests who might show up, I'll clean this weekend. I'll do it well. Chemicals will be involved. But you best watch your step coming in the front door, because I probably left a shoe or three scattered around as a trap for the unwary.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Thursday, April 03, 2008
That word... I do not think it means what you think it means
A few weekends ago, I got invited to a... get ready for it... tea party. No joke. A friend from work is a member of a gossip blog which was having a gathering for its San Francisco chapter. They decided to have their event at a combined polo shop and tea house near my apartment. J and I had never been and didn't quite know where it was, but fortunately the shop owners had placed a fake life sized horse outside the door. It was a bit of a tip-off.
The party was enjoyable. We were in an enclosed outdoor garden in back with sun umbrellas, tea, wine, and tea sandwiches for a good 4 hours. And I met quite a few interesting people. The vast majority of the attendees were women and I got to talking with one in particular. I never caught her name, so we'll call her SciFi Sally, because she and I share a lot of tastes in books, scifi and fantasy in particular.
Sally was probably 40ish, which encompasses the range from 35 to 55, because I'm a terrible judge of age. She seemed fairly normal, other than her taste in books. She was a professional of some sort, she dressed well, she spoke with eloquence, and she could discuss literature with more than a modicum of intelligence.
It turns out that I have no patience for people who try to impress me without doing some research. Sally made this mistake. We were talking about restaurants. I love going out to eat at high end restaurants. It's not about pretending to be important or rich for a night; it's about the food. There are very few more satisfying ways to end a work week than by going to Boulevard for some braised short ribs and good wine.
I guess this didn't come across to Sally though. Or maybe it was the rock and roll jeans I was wearing. Or maybe she is really just like this all the time and it wasn't about me at all. Her contribution to this conversation was: "Oh yes, I love going to nice restaurants. I love going with my subversive friends and just being subversive in the upscale places." And I gotta say, I had some trouble with this. Her thought process seemed to be along the lines of "Ooooh young person. Must impress the young person with how cool and hip I am."
I'm not averse to being impressed. I love being swept off my feet, and never more than when someone blows me away with how smart they are. Her statement begs the question, "So, when you say you're subversive, what does that mean?" Unfortunately, the answer was, "Oh, we're just there. Just the act of us being there is subversive." Oh really?
(You know how you get to a point in a conversation where you're so disenchanted with what the other person is saying that you start needling them out of sheer boredom? "I gotta say, I'm not really into the subversive thing anymore. I mean, it was cool once, but I've outgrown it. It's a little immature, don't you think?" Sorry Mom, Dad, and Miss Manners.)
That's not subversive.
Getting a good chunk of your coworkers to equip themselves with Carpet Slides? That's subversive.
I was surfing the net on Monday and found this article and video. They amused me. I sent them to a coworker, saying "We need these." I was half kidding. Only half kidding, but there was a definite joke element there. I got back a "HELL YES!!"
Long story short, the video went around the office, and we bought all of Amazon's stock (they had next day delivery, and we needed them RIGHT NOW). And now, we have carpet skates.
I know you're all waiting for a video, but the time line looks like this: Monday -- order carpet skates. Tuesday -- carpet skates arrive. Monday night -- sustain horrible ankle sprain, severely limiting my ability to test the carpet slides. I'm getting better though. Hopefully by next week, I'll have some tricks worked out.
Unfortunately, there were not enough pairs at Amazon to satisfy the needs of the office, and I think one of the guys who couldn't get a pair was jealous. He's started a tally of Carpet Skate WipeOuts. We're up to 4, the most spectacular of which occurred when a Carpet Skate newbie (even newer than the rest of us) decided that for his first jump, he'd try to clear a trash can. I think he was going for 360 degree rotation as well. The resulting crash was amazingly dramatic.
Up until now, you've been thinking, "Yes Hal, this is cool, but this is what software developers do anyway. It's not subversive. It's just sort of dumb and cute." Firstly, I entreat the naysayers to trust me just a little bit. You've seen some of the more dramatic tricks, but you haven't seen the subtleties of movement that these suckers offer. With barely a push off one toe, you can do a casual sideways slide for about 3 feet. Now, you don't just go to meetings, you arrive at meetings, Arthur Fonzarelli style. You are just that cool.
Secondly, y'all don't know about the pocket bikes and the crazy PM with the toolkit.
One of the other teams has a pair of what they call pocket bikes. They are electric motorcycles, probably 1/4 scale, and they're actually ride-able indoors. They don't emit exhaust, as far as I can tell. Occasionally you'll see people zipping up and down aisles on the bikes.
Except that right now, the bikes are both broken. One was working up until a few days ago when someone got all macho with the throttle and broke the handle.
Also, we have this PM, who is, for lack of a better descriptor, an experience. He's very upbeat and happy and likes to get his hands dirty. He looked at the Carpet Skates and looked at the pocket bikes and immediately envisioned a motocross/waterski scenario. Upon hearing that the bikes were out of commission, he immediately vowed to bring in his own toolkit to fix them personally so that we can have carpet skiing competitions.
The lesson to take away here, obviously, is that if you're going to talk to me about being subversive in restaurants, then I want to hear stories about you not only carpet skiing through the dining area, but then subsequently convincing the wait staff that all meals should arrive via carpet skiing waiter.
From Merriam Webster:
subvert (transitive verb): to overturn or overthrow from the foundation
The party was enjoyable. We were in an enclosed outdoor garden in back with sun umbrellas, tea, wine, and tea sandwiches for a good 4 hours. And I met quite a few interesting people. The vast majority of the attendees were women and I got to talking with one in particular. I never caught her name, so we'll call her SciFi Sally, because she and I share a lot of tastes in books, scifi and fantasy in particular.
Sally was probably 40ish, which encompasses the range from 35 to 55, because I'm a terrible judge of age. She seemed fairly normal, other than her taste in books. She was a professional of some sort, she dressed well, she spoke with eloquence, and she could discuss literature with more than a modicum of intelligence.
It turns out that I have no patience for people who try to impress me without doing some research. Sally made this mistake. We were talking about restaurants. I love going out to eat at high end restaurants. It's not about pretending to be important or rich for a night; it's about the food. There are very few more satisfying ways to end a work week than by going to Boulevard for some braised short ribs and good wine.
I guess this didn't come across to Sally though. Or maybe it was the rock and roll jeans I was wearing. Or maybe she is really just like this all the time and it wasn't about me at all. Her contribution to this conversation was: "Oh yes, I love going to nice restaurants. I love going with my subversive friends and just being subversive in the upscale places." And I gotta say, I had some trouble with this. Her thought process seemed to be along the lines of "Ooooh young person. Must impress the young person with how cool and hip I am."
I'm not averse to being impressed. I love being swept off my feet, and never more than when someone blows me away with how smart they are. Her statement begs the question, "So, when you say you're subversive, what does that mean?" Unfortunately, the answer was, "Oh, we're just there. Just the act of us being there is subversive." Oh really?
(You know how you get to a point in a conversation where you're so disenchanted with what the other person is saying that you start needling them out of sheer boredom? "I gotta say, I'm not really into the subversive thing anymore. I mean, it was cool once, but I've outgrown it. It's a little immature, don't you think?" Sorry Mom, Dad, and Miss Manners.)
That's not subversive.
Getting a good chunk of your coworkers to equip themselves with Carpet Slides? That's subversive.
I was surfing the net on Monday and found this article and video. They amused me. I sent them to a coworker, saying "We need these." I was half kidding. Only half kidding, but there was a definite joke element there. I got back a "HELL YES!!"
Long story short, the video went around the office, and we bought all of Amazon's stock (they had next day delivery, and we needed them RIGHT NOW). And now, we have carpet skates.
I know you're all waiting for a video, but the time line looks like this: Monday -- order carpet skates. Tuesday -- carpet skates arrive. Monday night -- sustain horrible ankle sprain, severely limiting my ability to test the carpet slides. I'm getting better though. Hopefully by next week, I'll have some tricks worked out.
Unfortunately, there were not enough pairs at Amazon to satisfy the needs of the office, and I think one of the guys who couldn't get a pair was jealous. He's started a tally of Carpet Skate WipeOuts. We're up to 4, the most spectacular of which occurred when a Carpet Skate newbie (even newer than the rest of us) decided that for his first jump, he'd try to clear a trash can. I think he was going for 360 degree rotation as well. The resulting crash was amazingly dramatic.
Up until now, you've been thinking, "Yes Hal, this is cool, but this is what software developers do anyway. It's not subversive. It's just sort of dumb and cute." Firstly, I entreat the naysayers to trust me just a little bit. You've seen some of the more dramatic tricks, but you haven't seen the subtleties of movement that these suckers offer. With barely a push off one toe, you can do a casual sideways slide for about 3 feet. Now, you don't just go to meetings, you arrive at meetings, Arthur Fonzarelli style. You are just that cool.
Secondly, y'all don't know about the pocket bikes and the crazy PM with the toolkit.
One of the other teams has a pair of what they call pocket bikes. They are electric motorcycles, probably 1/4 scale, and they're actually ride-able indoors. They don't emit exhaust, as far as I can tell. Occasionally you'll see people zipping up and down aisles on the bikes.
Except that right now, the bikes are both broken. One was working up until a few days ago when someone got all macho with the throttle and broke the handle.
Also, we have this PM, who is, for lack of a better descriptor, an experience. He's very upbeat and happy and likes to get his hands dirty. He looked at the Carpet Skates and looked at the pocket bikes and immediately envisioned a motocross/waterski scenario. Upon hearing that the bikes were out of commission, he immediately vowed to bring in his own toolkit to fix them personally so that we can have carpet skiing competitions.
The lesson to take away here, obviously, is that if you're going to talk to me about being subversive in restaurants, then I want to hear stories about you not only carpet skiing through the dining area, but then subsequently convincing the wait staff that all meals should arrive via carpet skiing waiter.
From Merriam Webster:
subvert (transitive verb): to overturn or overthrow from the foundation
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