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Wednesday,
March 13, 2002
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well, except somebody sold it on ebay
"Words are, of course, the
most powerful drug used by mankind."
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caffeine In spite of my early to bed, it is about seven before I get up. FFP brings me a cup of coffee from the Capresso while I'm in the shower, tripping over my hiking boots in the process, swearing softly. While I'm getting dressed, I decide to make another cup. The cleaning light is on but the rules say you can make a few more cups. The cup doesn't fill. FFP comes down, gets out a cleaning pill and starts the cleaning process. It start of chews up the pill rather than dissolving it and it starts backing up water on the counter and he has to mop that up. So, our glorious Capresso machine, coffee love of our lives, is going to be shipped off to some Swiss watchmakers somewhere for yet another overhaul. This will be the third. We treated it kindly, we really did. Well, maybe. We did make hundreds and hundreds of cups. It didn't last long since the last fix. They promise to fix it again for free when FFP calls. Of course, he has to pack it up and ship it off. I don't bother making a drip pot, but go off to work for free coffee. There is that about working. They even have a one cup at a time machine. It isn't Capresso but it isn't horrible. They actually have several types of one at a time machines. One downstairs makes horrid flavored coffees and I avoid it. It is all free. They also have juice, sodas, ice, popcorn, drugs (just Motrin and Tylenol!), fruit, pretzels, potato chips, tortilla chips, hot sauce, horrid cups of microwave soup stuff that is seven times your daily need for sodium, teas and, of course, cream-like substance, sugar, stirrers, styro cups. It takes a staff to keep all the kitchens going. They provide refrigerator space for people's lunches, too, and the kitchens have microwaves and toasters and some random dishes and dish washers. It's the culture thing, you know. We have a gym, too. I pay ten bucks a month so that I could use it and the showers. I never do.
I work. I have several meetings. I have a meeting that seems to have been usurped by a pep rally in the same room. I try to concentrate on what I'm doing. At the end of the day I spend an hour writing up a QA overview for a project. I seem to have volunteered in a meeting. It isn't hard although I'm not sure I do a good job.
I go by my parents for lunch. Dad has salad stuff out and various leftovers and has made some gravy to go with the leftover lamb roast. Mom doesn't like the meat. She has made some baked sweet potatoes, too. And banana pudding. The food is OK, just a little boring. She had a problem with her email but she has fixed it herself although she is not quite sure how. I sit with them a bit, working the crossword in their paper. Mom says she can't work them because of modern things she can't keep up with. Dad has finished all the books I've loaned him. Now I have to find some more. You would think that this wouldn't be difficult in our house. But once you have eliminated books on wine and food, travel guides, FFP's collection of conspiracy, foreign language stuff, novels he probably wouldn't like, literature (is Phillip Roth literature), computer books and assorted other oddities he'd have no interest in ('how to' writing books, Bridge fiction, etc., letters from obscure and not-so people, books of essays) then it is surprisingly hard to find novels or biographies or memoirs that would interest him. I've been stretching him pretty hard as it is. He did say, however, that he was going to buy Under the Tuscan Sun for a friend, having read my copy. Dad also says that he's been planting Amaryllis bulbs. Mom has been painting some miniatures in spite of feeling poorly and having been given another round of antibiotics. Just stay busy, I say.
I stay a little late to finish the QA overview, just a two-pager on environment and tactics for doing the testing (quality assurance) on something one of my colleagues is writing. When I get home, FFP has salad stuff out and is headint some chicken Wellingtons from Cooper's. It's OK. Not very exciting, filling. The TV in the kitchen is rambling on with some sitcom and as I sit there after FFP has cleaned up the plates (I usually do it) I see that it would be real, real easy to just sit and watch it. I'm kind of caught in the grasp. I don't. I work on the computer a little, work the NY Times crossword online, read a little of other people's journals. I look around for books for Dad to read. I fix some things up for FFP on his WEB pages for clients. And, suddenly, it's 10PM. How does that happen? Time flies whether you are getting anything done or not.
After my last trip upstairs to help FFP, I get in my chair and read a little newspaper and flip channels (the bio channel on Hemingway, the travel channel on amazing bathrooms) and doze.
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179
JUST
TYPING