Tuesday Morning Questions

Overcaffeinated Owl Says WHOOOOOOO

  1. Is French press coffee is just pretentious cowboy coffee with a fancy strainer and no eggshells?
  2. Will anyone notice that I’m wearing dark brown woven slacks and black shoes?  Will they care?  Do I care that no one cares?
  3. When did waiting for other people to exit an elevator before entering it become an optional thing?  Forget common courtesy—it’s common sense, right?
  4. If you clip the feathers of wereduck’s wing, do his fingernails get shorter?
  5. How much is my book budget this fiscal?  How much?  Seriously?
  6. Why couldn’t Helen Mirren have been the next Doctor Who?
  7. Can I use the description “ventiest venti ever brewed” in a story without running afoul of Starbucks’ legal department?
  8. Why do I have three pencils behind my ear?  Why did I only notice this when I tried to add a fourth pencil?
  9. Why does the Admin photocopier always jam when I have a hundred copies to make and ten minutes to make ‘em?
  10. How expensive would were-proof silver handcuffs be?
  11. Where’s the &$*^# public restroom key?
  12. Is there any place nearby that I can get the venteist venti ever brewed?
  13. Did I see a sort of Mongolian death worm plot on CSI a couple years ago when a chef killed a woman with a baby octopus?  Would it seem derivative or like a fresh new twist on fugu poisoning?
  14. Since I had Janie’s leftover oatmeal for breakfast, I deserve something nutritionally bereft for lunch, right?
  15. Does this curl-enhancing mousse make me look like a poodle from the ‘eighties?  Since it takes ten minutes off my morning routine, keeps my bangs out of my eyes, and seems to be humidity proof, do I really care?
  16. How long until lunch?
  17. Why am I not disturbed by the concept of a “fresh new twist on fugu poisoning?”
  18. Does a list of questions count as a blog post?
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Silver Linings on a Slapstick Day

This morning has been one long slapstick routine.

First thing I did—well, third, but the less about that, the better—was go twenty rounds* with my e-mail system, which does not understand why I might want margins and line breaks in the writing samples I need to send out.  I finally registered with a format-friendlier new e-mail provider and went ten more rounds with it before realizing that if I sent the samples to someone using the same provider, I didn’t need to use any of my usual fixes.

It was about this time that I decided to nudge “caffeine” and “waking up” a tad higher on my daily To Do list.

But it all worked out just before I had to turf the kids out of bed.  My beloved offspring responded to my cheerful order to rise and shine—or at least rise, I’m not a total despot—by  leaping into action like slugs after a molasses binge.** I bribed them to breakfast with their choice of poison from a cereal multi-pack and told them, repeatedly, that I was leaving at quarter after.  Big hand on the 3.

Does everyone understand?  I am not waiting for you this morning.  Lucky charm

Yes, Mommy.

It’s my first day back after a week away and I have to be on time.  If you aren’t ready, I’m leaving without you.

Okay, Mommy.  Oooo, look—a marshmallow rainbow!

When we finally left the house, fed, brushed, and shod, the big hand was on the six and the big vein was pulsing on the forehead.

And it was raining.

But I was armed with extra coffee in a travel mug and an umbrella,  and both kids gave me big hugs at the entrance to their day camp—even Janie, who is starting to exhibit public sensitivity to parental cooties —before they ran one way and I ran the other.

I parked in the library lot only ten minutes behind my planned schedule, opened my umbrella with a smug flair, and walked with professional purpose across the street to the staff entrance . . . just as I remembered  my coffee.  I went back to my car, retrieved my travel mug and spent some time juggling it, my bag, my keys, and the umbrella, until I finally figured out how to work the lock without dropping anything.  Much.

As I was braving the cross traffic for the third time, a small gust of wind hit the umbrella, which promptly exploded into bare spines and flapping cloth, leaving me holding aloft what looked like the red and white foot of an enormous dead duck, but was far less useful for keeping off the sudden torrential downpour.***

I couldn’t just leave it there—there were witnesses, laughing as they drove by—so I carried it to the library and abandoned it in the small airlock space because there’s a security camera there and beating it to shreds against the floor wouldn’t look good to admin, which tries to maintain a sort of mutually beneficial DODT when it comes to staff sanity.

When I reached my work area, I found that my coworkers had considerately filled it with newspapers and books and magazines so that I wouldn’t feel as though I wasn’t needed.

I set my travel mug carefully next to a stack of newspapers so I could unbury my chair.

My phone rang, and without thinking, I picked up the receiver.^

Which pulled the cord.

Which was under the newspapers.

Next to my mug.

Yeah.

Luckily, from a preservationist’s view, the coffee missed the papers and the books.  And my shirt was wet from the rain, anyway.

There are worse things to smell like than vanilla hazelnut.  And brown goes with green, right?

Plus, I got a blog post out of it.

Silver linings, guys.  Silver linings.

So . . . How is your Monday Tuesday going?

__________________________

*round (\rau̇nd\) : sending an email containing writing samples to one’s own e-mail account to make sure they will arrive with the intended formatting instead of extra line breaks, spaces, weird fonts/colors/sizes, graffiti from random cybergremlins, and, eventually, the swearwords inadvisably added during round seven.

** While prying Sunny out of bed, I found a book under her pillow.  Coincidence?  I think not.  Mom, I know you’re snickering—stop it.

***Not that I’ve ever tried using a duck foot to keep dry, but anything—a flyswatter, a colander, a water balloon—would have worked better at that point.

^It was our maintenance guy, wondering if that was my dead umbrella at the staff entrance.  “Yes,” I said.  “ . . . Again?” he said.

We’re sorry: the brain you have reached has been disconnected . . .

Me neither.

My brainwheel is spinning so quickly today that it’s all I can do to keep my fingers from typing sdrawkcab, but I’m sadly lacking in traction and the poor hamster fell off about an hour ago.

Methinks it’s time to take a blog day off and—to radically switch metaphors—get the alligators off my ankles before they climb any higher.  Or decide to try trampolines.

See you tomorrow.

Something Hemispheric

“The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant.”
—Albert Einstein

Psychiatrist Iain McGilchrist speaks on the divided brain, while superlative  artist Conánn Fitzpatrick keeps up beautifully:

The entire lecture can be found on the website of the RSA—The Royal Society for the Encouragement of Arts, Manufactures and Commerce—where I believe I’ll be spending a lot of time in the future.

And, yeah, there’s an app for that.