Sew Much for That Idea

I had intended to go through the old sewing machine repair store and our storage building with my punch list on Wednesday, to see if the buildings were ready for us to take occupancy. I didn't get to it until Thursday, because a Tuesday night storm took out another tree by the headmaster's house, and some branches throughout campus. (I did get to do it on Thursday.)

I skipped my workout on Wednesday, thinking that toting logs and limbs was enough exercise for one day. On Thursday, I thought maybe I could do Wednesday's workout a day late, etc. Then I found out that I'm being sent to Charlotte, NC next week, to help a company team survey the school system (125 schools!) for a grounds maintenance bid. So, between learning where I'm supposed to be and when and how to get there, and learning that the company's travel reservation process had completely changed in the past two years in which I haven't done any business traveling (so I have to learn something completely different), and waiting for Skippy not to arrive when he said he would and tell me something -- anything -- about it (after half an hour, I left), I missed working out again.

I won't get to work out this afternoon, either. Since I won't be in town most of next week, and since my car registration expires next Thursday, I'm going to spend this afternoon trying to find the county clerk's office, trying to find a place to park, and trying not to be overly aggravated by whatever stupid process they have in place.

I wonder if they'll save my spot in line so I can nip down and feed more quarters into the parking meter? (I guess I'll need to go to the bank for quarters, too.)

Nose to the Wheel, Shoulder to the Grindstone

After a relaxing (but tiring) birthday week's vacation, I'm back to work. Not only do I have to motivate myself to work again (although wasting two hours reading all the e-mails that arrived in my absence should be a gentle transition), I have to motivate myself to tell you about everything I did. It shouldn't take more than a couple of weeks.

Adios, Jack Benny

Today is the 11th anniversary of my 29th birthday. (I decided years ago not to age past 29.) Alternatively, I could say that I'm not getting old, I'm just two years shy of being the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. (That's something to look forward to, isn't it?) One thing I won't say -- and you're not allowed to, either -- is my actual age. I'm afraid that, if I mention it, I'm going to feel it. I wish I had warned my brothers about that; one of them already e-mailed me birthday greetings and included the number. (On the other hand, he passed that age some time ago, and he assured me he could still remember it and that it was painless.)

It should be a continuation of a pleasant time, too. My friend Robomarkov came to town last Friday for a week's vacation (and to celebrate his life, the universe, and everything birthday on Saturday), and we've been keeping busy. I found a barber shop that would give him the straight razor shave he's been wanting since his bachelor party 14 years ago. Yesterday, I accompanied him to a place called Coker Creek for a little gold prospecting. I found a local chain of gyms for a trial membership, and it has a sauna which he also likes. (Other than reminiscing about summers in New Mexico, I see no reason to sit in a room at 168 F.)

My mom's best friend, before she retired the second time, would always take the day off work on her birthday because she didn't want her coworkers putting balloons and flowers and such on her desk. I thought that was a little silly, since they could always do it the day before or the day after. I definitely recommend taking the entire week to have fun with a friend. (I'll have to post at another time about everything we've done.)

In the meantime, I need to get ready for the appointment with a trainer at the trial gym, and we're going to use more of my free meal coupons from restaurants' e-clubs, and we need (Robomarkov's word) to restock with beer. I think there's a lot of other stuff we'll be doing (more touristy trap crap tomorrow), so I'll just need to jot down notes for my next blog post. Dang, is my memory going already? I just turned... that age. Nope, not gonna happen. I've just been busy, that's all.

Confessions of a Book Slut

Am I using that word correctly? The way I see it, a whore sleeps with anyone for money, whereas a slut can be more selective. I don't pay more than I want for used books; I'm just cheap. :)

The school's library is moving one floor down, and the offices in that space are moving one floor up, so the librarian e-mailed the campus about a book sale to dispose of older volumes (instead of sending them to recycling) for just $1 each.

"Sure," I thought. "I'll be safe, since I donate to them, not vice versa. Besides, what could they offer that I'd rather have on my shelf than theirs?" Oops.

Hey, is that a bound collection of all of Nathaniel Hawthorne's works? That means I won't have to hunt out separate volumes at the used bookstores!

Hey, that looks like two sets of all of Charles Dickens's works. (I chose the one that had not been rebound, even though it wasn't as pretty as the set that had.)

I also picked out an "old" (1966) dictionary for my office, a couple of old (1920's) children's books for my mom because they looked like the type of thing her mother would've bought her, some books I think my friends Betty and Gimpy might like, and The Dictionary of Cliches.

So what if I walked out of there (um, staggered might be a better word, considering how heavy the boxes were) with 47 books? They were only a dollar each!

Oh, and I took my friend Robomarkov (visiting the Noog for a week's vacation) to my preferred used bookstore and the mega used bookstore today. I did well. All right, I bought one more volume than my preset spending total, but that's not too bad, is it?

Grab an atlas and sing along.

I don't know if I want to create a theme of summer music posts, but here's one I remember fondly. I didn't hear it as often growing up in southern NJ as one would expect, but its chorus is catchy enough to stick with me more than /ahem/ years later.

Darn, I'm all out of pretzels.

For more than a week, coworkers have been whining how hot it has been, and I've been whining how humid it has been. The temperature made it up to 97 F yesterday, with 45% humidity. I finally admitted yesterday that it's hot. I think my border for "hot" is anything above 95 F. I don't know if I'll ever figure out how low my humidity resistance is, since it rarely drops below 50% here.

In the meantime, I woke up with this song stuck in my head.