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My name is (Who?) My name is (What?)
Mar. 22nd, 2003 10:43 pmScattered and fragmented report, as befits my current state of mind.
The country is 'at war', the terrorism threat color is hotter, there's probably an actual increase in probability of terrorism against us, Bush is working on keeping documents secret longer, they're cutting my hours at work and G*d only knows if I'll have a job depending on what happens with United, I'm probably moving in the next several weeks, I have almost enough money to get by.... and what I'm afraid of is catching SARS.
I used to get pneumonia every winter, and so I know my respiratory system is fragile. I work in an airport. Quite a few of my cow-orkers travel to China on a regular basis. So this is not an idle fear, I suppose. But still.
I met a nice lady from Atlanta named Emily Taylor. She was trying to fly to Sacramento and she was very nice to me. She had a pretty cowrie-shell choker, and dressed sharply, and had a very striking shaven head. I'll keep an eye out for her on her return trip.
I stole this from Jules' post, and was very moved by the quote from Lt. Col. Collins. I wish him well. (The Nielsen-Haydens appear to be quite neat folk. I should try to meet them if I can get to the next OryCon and they are there. They were at one, but I failed to get myself introduced.)
There are few things that are worse for my temperment than eight straight hours of enforced 'War' coverage. "Now... this is the night scene in Baghdad. There are... I think I hear sirens. Yes. There are sirens. .... We're going to hold on this for a few moments.... So you can see.... If you're in Baghdad, or you're one of Sadam Hussein's supporters, this is what you're seeing right now. .... I think the sirens have stopped. .... No. No, there are still sirens."
The mighty expotition to the One True Weekend has set out. House is quiet and empty. Except the cats. "Maowararglrblaow!" yodels the confused kitty, who has detected the absence of Mom. "Maowaow?"
I'll have Anne come over tomorrow to blunt the empty house, and in the meantime I'll get caught up on TiVo.
Mmmm. Willow and Fred and Faith. All at once. And scruffy realpolitik ass kicking Wesley. And, of course, "Don't kick the god damn baby."
Oh, and as a final note. I spent about nine hours today tidying files on the computer, and as a semi-direct result of that have finished the rough draft of 'Git in Mah Belly' and have burned an mp3 disc.
The country is 'at war', the terrorism threat color is hotter, there's probably an actual increase in probability of terrorism against us, Bush is working on keeping documents secret longer, they're cutting my hours at work and G*d only knows if I'll have a job depending on what happens with United, I'm probably moving in the next several weeks, I have almost enough money to get by.... and what I'm afraid of is catching SARS.
I used to get pneumonia every winter, and so I know my respiratory system is fragile. I work in an airport. Quite a few of my cow-orkers travel to China on a regular basis. So this is not an idle fear, I suppose. But still.
I met a nice lady from Atlanta named Emily Taylor. She was trying to fly to Sacramento and she was very nice to me. She had a pretty cowrie-shell choker, and dressed sharply, and had a very striking shaven head. I'll keep an eye out for her on her return trip.
I stole this from Jules' post, and was very moved by the quote from Lt. Col. Collins. I wish him well. (The Nielsen-Haydens appear to be quite neat folk. I should try to meet them if I can get to the next OryCon and they are there. They were at one, but I failed to get myself introduced.)
There are few things that are worse for my temperment than eight straight hours of enforced 'War' coverage. "Now... this is the night scene in Baghdad. There are... I think I hear sirens. Yes. There are sirens. .... We're going to hold on this for a few moments.... So you can see.... If you're in Baghdad, or you're one of Sadam Hussein's supporters, this is what you're seeing right now. .... I think the sirens have stopped. .... No. No, there are still sirens."
The mighty expotition to the One True Weekend has set out. House is quiet and empty. Except the cats. "Maowararglrblaow!" yodels the confused kitty, who has detected the absence of Mom. "Maowaow?"
I'll have Anne come over tomorrow to blunt the empty house, and in the meantime I'll get caught up on TiVo.
Mmmm. Willow and Fred and Faith. All at once. And scruffy realpolitik ass kicking Wesley. And, of course, "Don't kick the god damn baby."
Oh, and as a final note. I spent about nine hours today tidying files on the computer, and as a semi-direct result of that have finished the rough draft of 'Git in Mah Belly' and have burned an mp3 disc.