Timing Is Everything

The Protosaurs arrived Friday night. Their visit has gone pretty well. The Dino menfolk (Spouse and sons) wen shooting with Pa Protosaur to the testosterone-laiden delight of all. (Much appreciation to the nice people at Sharpshooters in Springfield; there is significant speculation as to Dino Spouse’s true identity in light of his success hitting targets.)  Pa Protosaur has effectively galvanized the kids as working party on the projects I gave him, with only limited grumbling.

(Note to any sad soul searching this blog for marital tips: make sure your father only undertakes home-improvement activities involving the kids when their father is out of the house; alternatively, never let dudes who’ve been at the shooting range undertake domestic labor immediately thereafter without adult supervision.)


New Achievements

Today I will attempt to unlock the Parking On College Campus During A Weekday achievement. I missed a test during my travels, so I am taking this afternoon off to take the make-up test. Since I never missed tests or owned a car in college, these are both novel experiences. Then I will come home, make dinner for the Dino Brood, and return to the lab for tonight’s thrilling installment of Biology 101.

It dawned on me last week that I would care a great deal less about finding a meaningful professional purpose in life if I were happier as a person. That being said, I’m still geeking out on cells or whatever it is I’m learning about this week. I guess the main thing I have to try and remember is that it’s not a zero-sum game. Maybe I could be happier and change careers.

Or I could be late for my test. Oops. Bye.

Common Things, Rare To Me

Dallas is full of these birds in certain areas. They are called Grackles. They fascinate me.

I couldn’t wind down to sleep last night when I finally went to bed at 2:30 AM. I was not partying hearty so I will count it as a rare instance of insomnia. It was followed by fitful sleep and strange dreams of librarians in camouflage attempting to rebuild literary society in a post-apocalyptic water world that was part swampy reading room, part a warren of Bronx apartments, and part an imaginary “edge of the world” locale that appeared to be an ancient system of locks for sea navigation. Twisty Faster was the keeper of the swampy reading room and she let me sit with her and a bunch of kittens even though she vaguely disapproved of my ecological mores.

This morning is not being kind to me. Has anyone invented an adrenalin version of the Epi-Pen or caffeinated shower mist? If not, can someone please get on that immediately?

Distractions Continue

My work trip to Dallas has been excellent so far. I got in a couple days’ worth of happy fun time to start, which was an incredible mood boost. My hotel is charming and old-fashioned, combining the fragrance of old wood under multiple coats of paint with a spring breeze smell. It evokes memories of traveling the world in my 20s. That illusion of youth must account for my extreme emotional volatility today. I started the day almost giddy, but now it’s raining and grey. I’m tired and I want a cigarette. I won’t have one, though. I’m gonna eat some bon-bons and look pensively out the window* instead. Take that, world!

* Actually going to do stuff for work on computer until the next event on my schedule. I will not actually stare out the window, but I will sigh and scowl a lot. Chocolate bon-bons will be consumed.


All I wanted was to post about reading The Utopia of Rules: On Technology, Stupidity, and the Secret Joys of Bureaucracy by one of my main brain heroes, David Graeber. (I am reading Utopia in short bursts of delight. It is the only book I have ever pre-ordered.)

Not true: I also wanted to post about the relative merits of attempting to engage with public intellectuals through social media and public comments on their articles and posts. These two topics are not related.*  Watching people attempting to correct each other’s errors on the Internet fills me with a mix of vicarious anxiety, embarrassment, and irritation. I suppose there is no difference between tweeting or commenting and writing letters to the editor except for the element of public performance inherent in social media correspondence. When my great uncle wrote angry letters to politicians back in the day, I didn’t need to bear witness except on the rare occasions that I saw him in person. That’s not the case when someone I follow on Twitter decides to school a more famous stranger about The Way It Ought To Be, The Way Things Are, or What It Really Means. I don’t know why that makes me wince, but it does. I’m embarrassed for them. I’m envious of the conviction that pushes them forward and scornful of it at the same time. What the heck is that about?

But no. I didn’t write about those things. Because it is snowing outside. Instead I spent almost an hour looking for pictures of Elsa from “Frozen” looking like a boss to illustrate my (at that point still non-existent) post. Then I looked for images of Randy from “South Park” channeling Jack Nicholson in “The Shining.” I also made Dino Spouse a sandwich.

* I have interacted with Graeber online, which is to say that he has favorited or replied to a couple of my replies to his tweets; I’m sure he has no idea who I am, and that’s reasonable enough. I have no quarrel with his cyber-manners. In honor of Utopia, I have adopted the WordPress “Big Brother” theme for my blog.