April 13th, 2008

treo

Mouthwash

The annoying thing about my enormous bottle of mouthwash is that, well, it is enormous. It won't easily go through TSA security checks when I fly to NH this evening. It is medical, but because the dentist just gave it to me instead of prescribing it, there is no pharmacy label. They may let it through, but I'm sure it will be a hassle. On the other hand, I am NOT checking my luggage for mouthwash!

The good thing about it is that it includes the receipe on the label, so maybe I can just fix up a new batch when I land.
Photo_041308_001.jpg


duke-juggle

Catch Up

A mother, father, and baby tomato were walking along the road. The baby started to fall behind, so the father tomato walked back and stepped on him, saying, "Catch up!"

(say it out loud if it's not amusing yet)

This silly little joke became an inside thing with a friend of mine years ago, and we would occasionally make the other laugh by saying randomly, not even the punchline, but the sound a tomato being stepped on would make. squish!

So, a little catching-up-on-my-life post. I'm terribly behind, but still alive and well. In fact, life is pretty good right now.

Another Book
11. Wicked, the Life and Time of the Wicked Witch of the West, by Gregory Maguire (An entertaining retelling of the story of Oz from the perspective of the witch as the protagonist.)

Where's Rennie?
I'm off to Lebanon New Hampshire tonight, and I'll be there until saturday morning. It will be for a week's worth of sprint planning and software design, and it will be grueling but hopefully fun also. Please do not use this information for stalking or house-robbing purposes. I have attack cats.

Saturday, when I return, I intend to go to Penguicon. I will have special ribbons (the same kind as at ConFusion, for those who have seen them) for people who want to donate to breast cancer research.

Who don't you post anymore?
I don't know! I have all kinds of stories in my head, but they haven't been making their way out through my fingers as much as they used to. I hope to remedy that soon.

What else is up?
My mouth is still a bit hurty, but worlds better than last week so that's cool.

I saw girlfriends from my old job last night, and we sat around drinking wine, eating pizza, and catching up on life for hours. It was wonderful.

M and I saw an excellent movie two nights ago, Vantage Point, and we both really liked it. We realized that (1) we haven't seen a movie separately or together since we saw In Bruges seven weeks ago, and (2) we have no "couple" sort of traditions that we do together. We have thus decided to form a tradition, known hereafter as the "colo tradition". The friday before I go on a business "colocated planning session", we will go on a dinner-and-a-movie date. This will happen every seven weeks. It's good to have habits!

I should finish packing and get out of here.
treo

On the Plane

I sit I my windowseat on the plane, watching the world drop away from us. There is a girl next to me, perhaps in her early twenties. She wears a t-shirt and gray sweatpants, looking ready for a long flight, gym class, or perhaps bedtime.

When she sat down, she turned on the fan. I was mildly surprised, given her short sleeves. But probably she was hurrying to get to the gate, carrying luggage, and was warm from the exertion.

An airplane is such a strange place. I sit inches from this girl, and we haven't exchanged words. We politely make an effort not to accidentally touch.

I am feeling a bit chilly. Not cold, but a little chilled. Not a big deal, but I prefer to be warmer when I have a choice. My seat fan is not on, but my neighbor's fan blows onto her seat, and my shoulder right next to her can feel the air.

I steal a glance at her. She is asleep, sitting upright with her arms crossed and her jaw relaxed, mouth open. I always hate it when I catch myself with my mouth hanging open like that, as I think it must be unflattering. It doesn't look all that bad.

I contemplate turing off her fan. After all in just a t-shirt, surely she doesn't want it any longer. I rationalize it to myself: she is just sleeping, so she hasn't been alert enough to turn it off. Then I picture her waking up, too warm, and wondering why her fan is off.

I discretely look her over, deciding that if I can see goosebumps on her bare arms then I am justified in turning it off. There are no bumps. She must not be cold.

Briefly I wonder how that can be, that she in her short sleeves can be comfortable with air on her skin, while I in my sweatshirt am chilled. I also fret briefly about the fact that I have left my scarf at home. Then I shrug internally and pull out my library book. Nothing can be done about any of it now; time to read the flight away.