Holy cow, is tomorrow Friday already?
Indeed it is.
We’ve entered the part of work where everything has moved from *AUGH CRAZY* to the creepy silence when you know that the killer is in the basement. Or, at least, it was *SUPPOSED* to, but I somehow got suckered into being the tester for testing test plans. To be sure, my skill set pretty much overlaps with exactly what they’re going for because I can not only say “this didn’t work” but “this won’t work” and “here’s what you need to do to make sure it will work”. That said, eh. It’s a good time of year to be the guy who everybody knows is busy than the guy who everybody knows isn’t busy.
Which means that Friday Night will be devoted to being the guy who everybody knows isn’t busy.
Now, here’s a secret: I’ve been told that my job this weekend is to run interference. Like answer the phone and say “oh, she can’t come to the phone, sorry” which while not my absolute favorite way to spend a weekend, it’s like number four or five (and I haven’t had one of those in months) so, all in all, even through the chores and errands and sweet, sweet laundry, I’m thinking that it will be pretty recuperative.
So… what’s on your docket?
My Friday night will be revealed in tomorrow’s Friday Jukebox.
I can’t come to this thread, sorry. (I will be back once my papers are done.)
Duck hunting on Saturday morning, followed by a history walk (hosted by my uncle) in Louisville’s Schnitzleburg neighborhood. A power nap in the afternoon and UFC tomorrow night.
Sunday will be mostly about rest though I have some food plots at the farm to attend to.
History walks are generally cool.
Saturday: Work
Sunday: Gym, Laundry, Alumni event for my alma mater in the late afternoon
First, a party to celebrate the Autumn Equinox.
Then, Guild Wars 2.
Veg Fest this weekend!!! http://nwveg.org/vegfest
(For those of you who don’t know what that is)
This weekend is the close of my vacation. I may cry. I should check emails before returning to work so I’m not stuck at my computer all day Monday, but that is unlikely.
…wait, you’re vegan?
Vegetarian. I couldn’t commit to no dairy. I have friends who are vegan, vegetarian, and pescatarian.
For some reason I’m heartbroken!
…that said, if you have any good recipes for New Zealand spinach, I’m all ears…I was curious why no one bought any from a stand today and brought some home…
You may be heartbroken due to currently residing in the great sate of Texas (IIRC). Don’t worry, it can be done! I was a vegetarian once there too. Just don’t believe the locals who tell you that chicken is vegetarian; they don’t get it.
As for the New Zealand spinach, I am a terrible cook. If I had a recipe I’d give it to you, but you may not want to take cooking tips from someone who burns canned soup. Yes, it is that bad.
I dunno, I’ve met far too many farmers who like their animals, feel like they’re doing right by them, but are also very proud of their product to stop consuming it…factory farming I can’t get behind, but the way these folks raise their farm animals leaves me thinking chicken counts as a vegetable…
As for burning canned soup, I would offer to cook for you, but I am in Texas.
I understand and respect those who regard animals and their rights and yet continue to consume them. I just have a rough time devouring flesh myself. If I was ever to go back to meat, and I might one day in the distant future because I love the taste, it would have to be an animal I knew lived a full life.
If you ever visit Oregon you are welcome to make me a nice meal. I hear learning to cook vegan and/or vegetarian can be a fun. In my defense, I have other skills. Not everyone needs to be a chef.
There are many days where I’m functionally vegan or vegetarian due to the availability of foodstuffs given how I acquire produce these days. It’s been an interesting experience in figuring out how to get different textures and flavors and the differences in cooking times, timing etc.
…that said, this does sometimes increase my annoyance factor to the point where I will out of spite, go and grab an ethically produced piece of meat to enjoy the simplicity of having a fulfilling meal from 10 minutes of cooking.
Tomorrow morning is doubled-up AYSO (Jack’s at practice right now, actually). Dinner at younger sis so we get to see nephew Benny who – some day soon – will get over stranger danger and hang out with me. Hannah has a birthday party, she’ll be flying solo.
Sunday there’s an AYSO opening ceremony thing (which is seriously the most boring thing ever for anyone who isn’t a kid and psyched up by being in a parade, which tempers “most boring thing ever” enough that I just “don’t want to go, but will go anyway and find it amusing” instead of “maybe I could break my leg and stay home”. Aside from that, I might relax a bit. I might even watch a football game.
I will be tending to The Wife, who sprained her ankle yesterday in an incident involving our dog, some deer and a wet tree root. This also means I will be The Four Year Old’s primary playing partner for the weekend, and most likely will be taking her to lacrosse lessons in Sunday, which in turn means I will be missing the first quarter of the early football games.
Here’s hoping for a quick recovery for Mrs. Zeus!
Lacrosse for four-year-olds?!?!?!
Yup. Well, just lessons. The Wife was a fairly accomplished lax player back in the day, and now coaches one of the local girls’ teams, so it was sort of inevitable that The Four Year Old would be getting the earliest possible lessons.
Completely unrelated, but it was most enjoyable watching Rutgers strike a blow for the Union last night.
Indeed. #23 in the nation!
Hard times in Arkansas. That’s for sure.
Tree removal tomorrow and then, if time allows, into the city for a friend. And football, lots and lots of football. I’m also working on a very cool post… Stay tuned…
Selling viennoiserries at the farmers market tomorrow.
Sunday will probably involve brunch with friends downtown.
That’s the second new word I’ve learned at the League this week. And I get a big kick out of the idea of a Japanese guy selling “things of Vienna” at an American farmer’s market. Globalization is an awesome awesome thing.
“Hebetude” was a new one on me. Before looking it up, I thought the game was either about youths or Jews.
Yeah, I just saw that and thought, wow, is Jaybird being anti-Semitic? So now, three words. Go League.
Also “things of Vienna” from France, made by a French Chef at an American farmers market.
That makes me smile.
The fact that I was explaining the etymology of the kouign amann and the linguistic history of Brittany (and the fact that Breton is a celtic language, etc. etc.) to a wide variety of American citizens ranging from lily white to an indian-american woman wearing a sari should also be somewhat entertaining.
Trying to get over a bad bout of asthma (mid-summer drought makes for late-summer ragweed from hell), and taking daughter number 2 to her cross-country meet (worst. spectator. sport. ever.)
worst. spectator. sport. ever.
Agreed. Both kids ran X-country in high school. At least my son, who went to high school in The City [1], often raced in Golden Gate Park.
1. No apologies.
Well, any excuse to hang out at Golden Gate Park is a good one. I spent many pleasant hours there.
Picking Preludes and Nocturnes up at the library later today, and eagerly awaiting the start of the book club.
Also eagerly awaiting the clinching of the National League West.
Yes, I’m thinking we’ll announce that we’re *ALMOST* getting started with the for real bookclub (we need a one word title to distinguish it from Fringe, however) on Tuesday… and we’ll probably devote Wednesday night/Thursday to the post discussing the books. (And that will probably start the first week of October).
Katherine! Can you email me?
Emailed you.
Finished reading Seasons of Mists. Also finished A Clash of Kings (Game of Throne book 2).
Did SoM live up to the hype for you, Katherine?
No, but it was good.
Aw, I hope I didn’t help set yr expectations too high. Nobody’s better at ruining something for everybody else than a fan 🙁
Glad it was still good though.
And it was not a disappointment.
We rented a place on Tybee Island for the week with my parents. First time seeing an ocean for Mom and Dad, baby girl doesn’t remember her first visit. The whole trip has been worth it already to see all that joy at running around in the surf.
Southbound to NOLA.
Standing in the kitchen, holding C and her brother’s hands, a permanent moment. “Best of friends, best of friends” I said. A final kiss, climbing into the little truck again, backing out onto the highway as before, when I lived this way. Now it’s a permanent move, I’ve finally taken a permanent job. C is staying to finish up her degree, flying down as time allows, moving down in May.
The firm’s make moving everything easy, the completeness of their relocation firm bowled me over. Everyone’s been so nice to me. I’m not used to such treatment. Big change, from solo consulting to employee status.
Reset the odometer. Merged on I-94 and began the run
Night driving clears out the mind. Past the Osseo exit I’d have taken back to Augusta, like as not never to return to that happy place. So much of my life has been lived looking in the rear view mirror, the road before me, each moment unspooling with each rotation of the tires. The road becomes the present, the route becomes the future.
Crossed into Illinois around 0200, the toll clerk took my two dollars. Illinois, the Land o’ Tolls. I could have come through Rockford and avoided the toll. Too much bother I thought. Rolling southbound, crossing the latitude of my old home, now in the distant past, the glow of Chicago illuminating the eastern sky. The astronomers call it light pollution. Little towns I once bicycled through appear on the exit signs. Listening to the Brandenburgs, played by Boston Baroque and Martin Pearlman.
Pulling off for fuel and to stretch my legs. Old truck drivers sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and talking. Don’t eat truck stop food. It’s routinely awful stuff. On the road, I’ll eat dry snack bars and drink McDonald’s coffee. I greatly fear being alone when I’m sick or injured. Worst episode was on the way to Durham NC, food poisoning from a truck stop.
The longer I do this, the easier it gets. The Chicago to Louisville run was 360 miles each way and that’s where I got used to doing the long haul runs. Back then, about 250 miles and I’d start getting itchy. I crossed the Mississippi River at St Louis at daybreak, got south of the city when it began to rain. Pulled off into a rest stop, put down my good down pillow and slept for about an hour, woken by a call from C. Couldn’t get back to sleep, the rain petered out and I just started rolling again.
Two sausage and egg patties at Mickey D’s and a gigantic cup of coffee. Sat there with the geezer crowd which always seems to form up in the early morning at every McDonald’s I’ve ever known. Discussed the fine arts of automobile air conditioning with an old gent who regaled me with tales of the worst mechanic he’d ever known.
Filled up, checked my tire pressure yet again. I’m obsessive about tire pressure on a long run. Hit a bump or two, you should check. Save your life, a blowout at speed and you’ll turn turtle and start rolling. Saw it happen exactly once.
Skirting around Memphis, through that little bit of Tennessee, rolling into Mississippi. Cotton fields, white bolls peering out through brown leaves, it’s warm here, getting downright hot. My old farmer’s jacket long since consigned to the back, it’s t-shirt weather. Oleander in bloom and the last of the roses.
Four o’clock in the afternoon, finally feeling like sleep. Pull into Jackson, Mississippi and find a hotel. A shower, some fried chicken and two Heineken beers later, I sleep like the dead. I get in trouble with C: my phone battery died and she couldn’t reach me. I hadn’t turned on the power inverter back on after the last refueling I plugged the phone into the charger at the hotel but forgot to actually turn on the phone. Sigh.
A dip in the hotel pool, get some sun, on through the rest of Mississippi and into Louisiana. Crossing the Manchac, mile after mile of raised expressway through the swamp, Lake Maurepas glittering in the west, Pontchartrain to the east. Herons and songbirds flying overhead, a thrill of remembrance. I’m back.
Welcome back. Good luck.