Richie Rich screeched to a sudden halt as he passed by my office today.
"What's that?!!"
I glanced around the room, as though trying to figure out what he could be referring to. Looked at my laptop. At the phone. At the post-its. Took my fair time over it. Finally, down at the large ball on which I was perched.
"Oh, this? Heh heh. I've taken to sitting on a fitness ball. Apparently its good for your abs and back."
"Oh," he said. Blinked.
"You don't mind, do you?"
"No, you're cool."
"It doesn't distract from my overall professional veneer, does it?"
He laughed and headed off, shaking his head.
I'd meant the question seriously. Well, kind of, anyway. Until I looked at the scene from his perspective. Taking in my entire office at a glance: the little Batman and Joker dolls perched on the cabinet (someone else's, not mine); the Calvin & Hobbes strips all over my pinboard; the bright purple post-its; and me, clad in jeans and trainers, perched on a bright pink ball.
I guess I should be relieved he just laughed.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Abs to reckon with
Inspired by the large fitness ball in Jenn's apartment, I decided to replace my chair in my office with a fitness ball too. As long as I sit behind my desk, I reasoned with myself, there's no reason why anyone should even notice.
So come Friday lunchtime, I dragged MetroHom to the sports store near work. Headed down to the fitness ball section in the basement. And looked in mild panic at the rows full of deflated, packaged balls. How one can reduce an entire fitness ball to 3 cubic inches in size I will never know.
"Erm, okay," MetroHom glanced at me, trying to decide which one to go for, "55cm, 65cm, or 75?"
"I have NO idea. What do you think?"
"How tall are you?" he asked.
"Erm, 110 cm I think." I have no idea where that came from, other than an absolute inability to translate between the American and metric systems.
"Three feet?? You're three feet tall??"
"Okay okay FINE I don't know!"
In the end my greed got the better of me. I picked the largest of the balls, 75cm. ("I think that might be almost your height," MetroHom snickered.)
Finally, we were back at work. I quickly pumped up the ball, and much to my delight (and luck) it was exactly the right height. So gone is the era of the office chair. From now on, it's going to be all straight backs and taut abs.
Over the course of the afternoon (after only a couple of mishaps), I got quite used to sitting on a ball instead of my normal chair. And as long as I sat behind my desk, facing the door, I didn't think anyone would even notice the difference. But then MetroHom popped his head into my office as he passed on his way to the kitchen. "You do realise you're bopping up and down as you sit, don't you?"
"Oh." I wonder if that detracts somewhat from my credibility at work.
So come Friday lunchtime, I dragged MetroHom to the sports store near work. Headed down to the fitness ball section in the basement. And looked in mild panic at the rows full of deflated, packaged balls. How one can reduce an entire fitness ball to 3 cubic inches in size I will never know.
"Erm, okay," MetroHom glanced at me, trying to decide which one to go for, "55cm, 65cm, or 75?"
"I have NO idea. What do you think?"
"How tall are you?" he asked.
"Erm, 110 cm I think." I have no idea where that came from, other than an absolute inability to translate between the American and metric systems.
"Three feet?? You're three feet tall??"
"Okay okay FINE I don't know!"
In the end my greed got the better of me. I picked the largest of the balls, 75cm. ("I think that might be almost your height," MetroHom snickered.)
Finally, we were back at work. I quickly pumped up the ball, and much to my delight (and luck) it was exactly the right height. So gone is the era of the office chair. From now on, it's going to be all straight backs and taut abs.
Over the course of the afternoon (after only a couple of mishaps), I got quite used to sitting on a ball instead of my normal chair. And as long as I sat behind my desk, facing the door, I didn't think anyone would even notice the difference. But then MetroHom popped his head into my office as he passed on his way to the kitchen. "You do realise you're bopping up and down as you sit, don't you?"
"Oh." I wonder if that detracts somewhat from my credibility at work.
A moment of drama
The other day, I was washing my face after work. Working up a right lather, like I'd been taught as a child. Remembering to go behind the ears and under the chin and round the neck and... when suddenly I realised - wait a minute - my nosering's missing! Now, my nosering, designed with a swooshing looping curl as it is, takes an inhuman amount of persistance and dexterity to remove.
Once, I was at a dental appointment, and the dentist asked me to take my nosering off so he could take a successful x-ray of my teeth. And I pulled and twisted and cursed and wrung my nose, but the darned thing just clung on like a barnacle, until the dentist finally had to ask me to reschedule the appointment. That's how difficult it is to take nosering off.
It's no wonder, therefore, that it didn't at first register with me when I was washing my face, that my nosering could have fallen off. The possibility just didn't exist within my parameters of reality. It took a moment to realise there wasn't a ring on my nose. Then I reached up with my other hand, to confirm the findings of the first. Nope, still no ring. Glanced around the sink, squinting through the soap. Still no ring. And then my eye fell upon the gaping crater of a drainhole at the bottom of the sink. And in that instant, my heart leapt into my mouth.
No.
It took another moment (or two) for ye ol' instincts to kick in, but when they did, I turned off the tap pretty nifty like. Luckily, having lost things in the sink before, I knew about the U-shaped trap under the sink. I called the building Maintenance. "I, uhmm, lost, I mean, my nosering washed down my sink. Is there someone available to come check the drain??"
But I received a stoic "Ma'am, it's after hours, and this doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."
"But it is an emergency for me!!"
"Ma'am, it doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."
My face felt naked without the ring. And I couldn't just let it go. It was a ring.
So I called Delta, "I was washing my face, and my ring fell in, and it washed away, and the Maintenance guy won't come, and - "
Sigh.
So Delta came over, spanner in hand. (Or wrench. Or nutcracker. Or some unidentifiable tool.) And pried apart our plumbing, emptied the trap, and there gushed out my nosering. All safe and sound. "Thank you! thank you!" I couldn't stop gasping as he put the pipes together again.
It was only as I tried to slip the ring back in my nose, after the plumbing had been taken care of, that I realised it wouldn't go in anymore. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the tip of the ring through my nosehole.
"The hole couldn't have closed, could it?!" I asked Ilajna, "in half an hour?"
"Yep," she confirmed.
And so it grew into a full-blown operation. Ice and an earring to re-pierce my nose. ("Yikes, I can't watch this," said the panicking Delta and hid himself in my room.) And I must admit, there was a fair share of groaning. And painful hissing. And frustrated yelping. But finally, two icecubes later, the ring was back in. I came back out into the lounge, still touching my nose gingerly. Yep, ring was back in nose. Yep, nose was still on face.
So there I was, back to original. But golly, what a moment of drama.
Once, I was at a dental appointment, and the dentist asked me to take my nosering off so he could take a successful x-ray of my teeth. And I pulled and twisted and cursed and wrung my nose, but the darned thing just clung on like a barnacle, until the dentist finally had to ask me to reschedule the appointment. That's how difficult it is to take nosering off.
It's no wonder, therefore, that it didn't at first register with me when I was washing my face, that my nosering could have fallen off. The possibility just didn't exist within my parameters of reality. It took a moment to realise there wasn't a ring on my nose. Then I reached up with my other hand, to confirm the findings of the first. Nope, still no ring. Glanced around the sink, squinting through the soap. Still no ring. And then my eye fell upon the gaping crater of a drainhole at the bottom of the sink. And in that instant, my heart leapt into my mouth.
No.
It took another moment (or two) for ye ol' instincts to kick in, but when they did, I turned off the tap pretty nifty like. Luckily, having lost things in the sink before, I knew about the U-shaped trap under the sink. I called the building Maintenance. "I, uhmm, lost, I mean, my nosering washed down my sink. Is there someone available to come check the drain??"
But I received a stoic "Ma'am, it's after hours, and this doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."
"But it is an emergency for me!!"
"Ma'am, it doesn't count as a plumbing emergency."
My face felt naked without the ring. And I couldn't just let it go. It was a ring.
So I called Delta, "I was washing my face, and my ring fell in, and it washed away, and the Maintenance guy won't come, and - "
Sigh.
So Delta came over, spanner in hand. (Or wrench. Or nutcracker. Or some unidentifiable tool.) And pried apart our plumbing, emptied the trap, and there gushed out my nosering. All safe and sound. "Thank you! thank you!" I couldn't stop gasping as he put the pipes together again.
It was only as I tried to slip the ring back in my nose, after the plumbing had been taken care of, that I realised it wouldn't go in anymore. Try as I might, I just couldn't get the tip of the ring through my nosehole.
"The hole couldn't have closed, could it?!" I asked Ilajna, "in half an hour?"
"Yep," she confirmed.
And so it grew into a full-blown operation. Ice and an earring to re-pierce my nose. ("Yikes, I can't watch this," said the panicking Delta and hid himself in my room.) And I must admit, there was a fair share of groaning. And painful hissing. And frustrated yelping. But finally, two icecubes later, the ring was back in. I came back out into the lounge, still touching my nose gingerly. Yep, ring was back in nose. Yep, nose was still on face.
So there I was, back to original. But golly, what a moment of drama.
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Yesss!!!! I knew it!
Today, I realised, I have the ability to turn invisible.
I was strolling through the supermarket to pick up lunch this afternoon. Drifting innocently down one of the aisles, when a passerby thwocked me one in the eye with her elbow. Not an accidental passing graze, but a full-on collision as though she didn't even know I'd been there. She was bigger than me, so I didn't say anything. Oh boy, I've learnt the rules of this world.
Turned round the corner, still rubbing my eye, when a woman wielding a pram almost ran me over. Gone are the days when I used to look at a woman with a pram and think 'oh how cute'.
Finally, I reached the soup counter (relatively) unscathed. Well, alive, at any rate.
Reached out to get my daily soup (turkey chilli and a seven grain dinner roll, my new standard lunch). And a man approached from behind me and simply cut me off, elbowing me out of the way and hogging the soup tureen himself. I mean, what. It's not like the worlds supply of turkey chilli is running out, you know.
And then it occurred to me, wouldn't it be funny if the reason people kept bumping into me was that I was invisible? I chuckled out loud.
Grabbing my soup and dinner roll, I headed to the cashier to check out.
"Hello," I greeted the girl at the cash register, with a friendly grin.
No response.
She scanned my goodies, and as she put them in the bag, I handed her my credit card. "Credit, please," I said helpfully.
No response.
She handed me the bag, and I signed the cheque. "All right, see you later, have a good one!"
No response.
How rude, I thought at first. And then, suddenly, I stopped short in my tracks. OMG I really AM invisible!!
On the way back to the office, a car almost ran me over. Bumped right into my leg. Not that I was jay-walking, nope it was my right of way. Just that the driver felt like barraging right through me I suppose. I raised my fist in anger, but to be honest, I'm not sure he could actually see me over the hood of the car if truth be told. That's the thing with being a diminutive soul. But more than that, this to me was the final bit of proof that I had turned invisible.
I reached work in a panic. Called Delta.
"I think I'm invisible."
"No you can't be, I can hear you."
Hmm. Glad I feel reassured now.
I was strolling through the supermarket to pick up lunch this afternoon. Drifting innocently down one of the aisles, when a passerby thwocked me one in the eye with her elbow. Not an accidental passing graze, but a full-on collision as though she didn't even know I'd been there. She was bigger than me, so I didn't say anything. Oh boy, I've learnt the rules of this world.
Turned round the corner, still rubbing my eye, when a woman wielding a pram almost ran me over. Gone are the days when I used to look at a woman with a pram and think 'oh how cute'.
Finally, I reached the soup counter (relatively) unscathed. Well, alive, at any rate.
Reached out to get my daily soup (turkey chilli and a seven grain dinner roll, my new standard lunch). And a man approached from behind me and simply cut me off, elbowing me out of the way and hogging the soup tureen himself. I mean, what. It's not like the worlds supply of turkey chilli is running out, you know.
And then it occurred to me, wouldn't it be funny if the reason people kept bumping into me was that I was invisible? I chuckled out loud.
Grabbing my soup and dinner roll, I headed to the cashier to check out.
"Hello," I greeted the girl at the cash register, with a friendly grin.
No response.
She scanned my goodies, and as she put them in the bag, I handed her my credit card. "Credit, please," I said helpfully.
No response.
She handed me the bag, and I signed the cheque. "All right, see you later, have a good one!"
No response.
How rude, I thought at first. And then, suddenly, I stopped short in my tracks. OMG I really AM invisible!!
On the way back to the office, a car almost ran me over. Bumped right into my leg. Not that I was jay-walking, nope it was my right of way. Just that the driver felt like barraging right through me I suppose. I raised my fist in anger, but to be honest, I'm not sure he could actually see me over the hood of the car if truth be told. That's the thing with being a diminutive soul. But more than that, this to me was the final bit of proof that I had turned invisible.
I reached work in a panic. Called Delta.
"I think I'm invisible."
"No you can't be, I can hear you."
Hmm. Glad I feel reassured now.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Prematurely senile
I was walking home from work the other day, caught up in my own thoughts. Everything that was happening at work at the moment, friends I had spoken to recently, friends I hadn't spoken to in a while. Lost in my thoughts, caught in a world merged between fantasy and memory. Flashes of thought zipping through my mind on hyperactive neurons.
I hadn't realised how deeply I was lost in thought. How far away I was from the reality around me. Or how I was gesticulating fervently in line with my thoughts. Until I startled a poor innocent passerby.
"Aah!" He threw me a panicked look and shuffled quickly to the other end of the sidewalk. I remember the exact moment in my thoughts. I'd been going over an incident that occured earlier that morning, and thinking 'But why?! WHY?!'. And I'd subconsciously raised my arms in a dramatic gesture of questionning, startling the bejeezus out of poor Johnny D walking by me at that moment.
The look he shot me said clearly, omg you're mad.
And I wasn't about to take that. I mean, I'm not mad. Well, not classified as such anyway. So I had to pretend that the sudden hand gesture was not the movement of a woman enraptured by her own ranting thoughts.
Infact, I took it a step further. I pretended the movement had been a deliberate movement, to stretch my arm, as though it had I was gingerly stretching out a pulled muscle or something. So I deliberately, slowly repeated the gesture again. And again. And again.
See, I'm just stretching my poor wounded arm. And splaying my fingers. It may LOOK as though I'm doing a mad gesture, but really its just an exercise, see. Aah, feels better now, I can stop.
I cast a sideways glance at the man, to see if he had noticed my redeeming gestures. He wasn't looking at me (in fact had probably long forgotten about me), but just incase he too was casting a sideways glance at me, I did one more stretch. For good measure.
It was only after I turned the corner and was off on my own path that I thought back through the incident and realised how I had inadvertantly converted his suspicions to reality through my subsequent actions. Maybe I am really going mad.
I hadn't realised how deeply I was lost in thought. How far away I was from the reality around me. Or how I was gesticulating fervently in line with my thoughts. Until I startled a poor innocent passerby.
"Aah!" He threw me a panicked look and shuffled quickly to the other end of the sidewalk. I remember the exact moment in my thoughts. I'd been going over an incident that occured earlier that morning, and thinking 'But why?! WHY?!'. And I'd subconsciously raised my arms in a dramatic gesture of questionning, startling the bejeezus out of poor Johnny D walking by me at that moment.
The look he shot me said clearly, omg you're mad.
And I wasn't about to take that. I mean, I'm not mad. Well, not classified as such anyway. So I had to pretend that the sudden hand gesture was not the movement of a woman enraptured by her own ranting thoughts.
Infact, I took it a step further. I pretended the movement had been a deliberate movement, to stretch my arm, as though it had I was gingerly stretching out a pulled muscle or something. So I deliberately, slowly repeated the gesture again. And again. And again.
See, I'm just stretching my poor wounded arm. And splaying my fingers. It may LOOK as though I'm doing a mad gesture, but really its just an exercise, see. Aah, feels better now, I can stop.
I cast a sideways glance at the man, to see if he had noticed my redeeming gestures. He wasn't looking at me (in fact had probably long forgotten about me), but just incase he too was casting a sideways glance at me, I did one more stretch. For good measure.
It was only after I turned the corner and was off on my own path that I thought back through the incident and realised how I had inadvertantly converted his suspicions to reality through my subsequent actions. Maybe I am really going mad.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Mortified
Absolutely mortified.
Bobbis, Ilajna, Delta and I were supposed to have dinner together this Saturday. Then Jeet dropped me an email:
Time: 5.00 pm
From: Jeet
To: Ficali
Subject: Birthday Karaoke and Dinner
__________________________
Are you free on Saturday January 27th to have a karaoke/dinner do? - Jeet
And of course - it was Jeet's birthday do! How could I NOT go?! So I wrote to Ilajna and Bobbis:
Time: 5.02pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Sorry guys, it's Jeet's birthday bash on Saturday, so Delta and I might have to cancel on our dinner. Sorry! - FmP
And then I read Jeet's email again (with care this time), and realised that she was talking about Saturday the 27th, not THIS saturday. So I wrote to Ilajna and Bobbis again:
Time: 5.05pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: FW: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Never mind, igore my previous email! Read the date wrong on Jeet's wedding invite, it is on the following Saturday! So Delta and I are back on for dinner! - FmP
And then, just as I saw the email minimize from my screen into cyber oblivion, I realised what I'd written with horror.
Time: 5.06pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: FW: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Eeks!! I meant birthday invite! Not wedding! This is the last email from me.
And I got this back from Ilajna:
Time: 5.08pm
From: Ilajna
To: Ficali
Subject: RE: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
This reminds me of the suitcase incident you and Delta had outside the UN. With a briefcase and a statue.
1. Face difficult situation
2. Have discussion to come to a solution
3. Realize your mistake
4. Feel silly. :)
Hilarious. Frickin' hilarious.
Bobbis, Ilajna, Delta and I were supposed to have dinner together this Saturday. Then Jeet dropped me an email:
Time: 5.00 pm
From: Jeet
To: Ficali
Subject: Birthday Karaoke and Dinner
__________________________
Are you free on Saturday January 27th to have a karaoke/dinner do? - Jeet
And of course - it was Jeet's birthday do! How could I NOT go?! So I wrote to Ilajna and Bobbis:
Time: 5.02pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Sorry guys, it's Jeet's birthday bash on Saturday, so Delta and I might have to cancel on our dinner. Sorry! - FmP
And then I read Jeet's email again (with care this time), and realised that she was talking about Saturday the 27th, not THIS saturday. So I wrote to Ilajna and Bobbis again:
Time: 5.05pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: FW: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Never mind, igore my previous email! Read the date wrong on Jeet's wedding invite, it is on the following Saturday! So Delta and I are back on for dinner! - FmP
And then, just as I saw the email minimize from my screen into cyber oblivion, I realised what I'd written with horror.
Time: 5.06pm
From: Ficali
To: Ilajna, Bobbis
Subject: FW: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
Eeks!! I meant birthday invite! Not wedding! This is the last email from me.
And I got this back from Ilajna:
Time: 5.08pm
From: Ilajna
To: Ficali
Subject: RE: Dinner this Saturday
_____________________
This reminds me of the suitcase incident you and Delta had outside the UN. With a briefcase and a statue.
1. Face difficult situation
2. Have discussion to come to a solution
3. Realize your mistake
4. Feel silly. :)
Hilarious. Frickin' hilarious.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A year gone by
Sunday marked the end of Ilajna's birthweek. Now, one might construe from 'birthweek' that she, as a child, caused a week of painful labour before bursting forth triumphantly. Nope, its just that preparations, celebrations, inebriations and reparations continued for seven days (just like the start of the world, what do you know).
Which suddenly brought home to me how quickly the year had slipped by, since Ilajna's last birthday. Last year, Doobie and I had bought Death-By-Chocolate-Ilajna a cakebook, apron, oven mitts, the works. Everything to encourage her to practice her baking on us helpless guinea pigs. I mean, we even bookmarked pages in the cakebook with the cake(s) we particularly preferred - how much easier can one make someone's life?!
Sigh. You can lead a horse to the water but you can't force it to drink. A year has gone by, and we're still waiting on the first cake. THAT's how quickly this year has gone.
Which suddenly brought home to me how quickly the year had slipped by, since Ilajna's last birthday. Last year, Doobie and I had bought Death-By-Chocolate-Ilajna a cakebook, apron, oven mitts, the works. Everything to encourage her to practice her baking on us helpless guinea pigs. I mean, we even bookmarked pages in the cakebook with the cake(s) we particularly preferred - how much easier can one make someone's life?!
Sigh. You can lead a horse to the water but you can't force it to drink. A year has gone by, and we're still waiting on the first cake. THAT's how quickly this year has gone.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Only in New York
There's a screech, a scream, then silent panic like a dream.
A cyclist cuts across an intersection, skipping a red light. The taxi entering the intersection tries to screech to a halt, but there is no way for it to avoid the collision that follows. No time even to blow the horn. A sound of scrunching metal. The bike disappears under the car. The cyclist flies through the air, his crumpled body falling inert a few feet away.
For a moment, the world freezes. Time staggers in milliseconds. The taxi driver sits frozen behind the wheel.
Then he notices that the cyclist is stirring (and therefore not dead), and immediately leans out the window and starts yelling at the cyclist.
Not the concerned "are you okay?!" kind of questionning, oh no. The "What-the-F-are-you-doing-its-my-right-of-way!" kind of berating. The type of invective that one might, for instance, anywhere other than New York, choose NOT to give someone they had almost killed.
The taxi driver continues his face-reddening, fist-shaking tirade. The cyclist gets up slowly, shakily. Realizes that he is, after all, still alive. Mounts his cycle, and continues on his way, without so much as an acknowledgement of the surrounding scene. The crowd, visibly released from its frozen poise, heaves a sigh of collective relief. A moment's pause, out of respect for the horror which could easily have been, and then everyone continues on their way.
A brief pause, a gasp of shock, a glance to make sure everyone's still alive, and the world continues on, without so much as missing a step.
A cyclist cuts across an intersection, skipping a red light. The taxi entering the intersection tries to screech to a halt, but there is no way for it to avoid the collision that follows. No time even to blow the horn. A sound of scrunching metal. The bike disappears under the car. The cyclist flies through the air, his crumpled body falling inert a few feet away.
For a moment, the world freezes. Time staggers in milliseconds. The taxi driver sits frozen behind the wheel.
Then he notices that the cyclist is stirring (and therefore not dead), and immediately leans out the window and starts yelling at the cyclist.
Not the concerned "are you okay?!" kind of questionning, oh no. The "What-the-F-are-you-doing-its-my-right-of-way!" kind of berating. The type of invective that one might, for instance, anywhere other than New York, choose NOT to give someone they had almost killed.
The taxi driver continues his face-reddening, fist-shaking tirade. The cyclist gets up slowly, shakily. Realizes that he is, after all, still alive. Mounts his cycle, and continues on his way, without so much as an acknowledgement of the surrounding scene. The crowd, visibly released from its frozen poise, heaves a sigh of collective relief. A moment's pause, out of respect for the horror which could easily have been, and then everyone continues on their way.
A brief pause, a gasp of shock, a glance to make sure everyone's still alive, and the world continues on, without so much as missing a step.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
A general sense of angst
So I don't know if it's the balmy faux-winter New York's experiencing at the moment, but something prompted me to finally to watch the Al Gore film on global warming, An Inconvenient Truth. And since then, I've been living life in a general state of continous panic.
The world is ending, and in fifty years it will all be gone. There'll be global warming and ice age and waterworld all in one, and it's all coming at us now.
I spoke to a number of people about the findings on the documentary, and to my horror, at least half of them reacted with a, "Oh I don't want to think about it, don't talk about global warming!"
WHAT. Don't talk about it? Don't we HAVE to talk about it? How else will we ever DO anything?
This morning, I picked up a sandwich for lunch, and it came in: Paper packaging 1 --> paper packaging 2 --> plastic carrier bag 1 --> plastic carrier bag 2 --> 50 paper tissues. Does it seriously call for this level of armoured security to bring a sandwich back from the store? Global warming is now one degree higher.
I was just working myself into a right old panic about global warming, when Delta and I watched a different documentary about Yellowstone being about to erupt. So apparently Yellowstone is a latent volcano which erupts every 600-650,000 years. And apparently it's been 640,000 years since the last eruption. And scientists have measured increased heat, more frequent geyser bursts and rising ground levels in the park over the past two years. Go figure.
So then I stopped panicking about global warming and started focusing on the more imminent threat of the Yellowstone apocalypse.
I suppose the good thing about this, at least I've stopped panicking about retirement savings and the 401k.
The world is ending, and in fifty years it will all be gone. There'll be global warming and ice age and waterworld all in one, and it's all coming at us now.
I spoke to a number of people about the findings on the documentary, and to my horror, at least half of them reacted with a, "Oh I don't want to think about it, don't talk about global warming!"
WHAT. Don't talk about it? Don't we HAVE to talk about it? How else will we ever DO anything?
This morning, I picked up a sandwich for lunch, and it came in: Paper packaging 1 --> paper packaging 2 --> plastic carrier bag 1 --> plastic carrier bag 2 --> 50 paper tissues. Does it seriously call for this level of armoured security to bring a sandwich back from the store? Global warming is now one degree higher.
I was just working myself into a right old panic about global warming, when Delta and I watched a different documentary about Yellowstone being about to erupt. So apparently Yellowstone is a latent volcano which erupts every 600-650,000 years. And apparently it's been 640,000 years since the last eruption. And scientists have measured increased heat, more frequent geyser bursts and rising ground levels in the park over the past two years. Go figure.
So then I stopped panicking about global warming and started focusing on the more imminent threat of the Yellowstone apocalypse.
I suppose the good thing about this, at least I've stopped panicking about retirement savings and the 401k.
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
New Years Non-Party
Boy, the world makes a bit of a kerfuffle about New Years, doesn't it?
So it came about on New Years Eve that the world was abuzz with talks of different bars in the the city. Yours truly however, averse to trendy bars at the best of times, found the whole thought of celebrating New Years in a public house of collective inebriated inanery rather perturbing. So by the morning before New Years Eve, a plan still hadn't transpired, and I looked at Delta in mild panic. "What are we going to do?!!!"
So I called Doobs: "Are you going to that bar you were talking about??"
"Nope, decided I didn't want to spend that much money."
And I called Anj: "What's your plans for New Years??"
"Nothing at the moment - you?"
And we called Vish: "Anything on??"
"No, I was hoping someone would call!"
And we called Jenn and Sarah: "Want to come over to our place for New Years?"
"Yay!"
And so we pulled together a non-party, for those who didn't have any party plans. A bottle of bubbly (or two), a bottle of wine (or ten), a bottle of beer (or twenty). A lot of general cheer and goodwill. Some party poppers and an avid photographereer. I mean, what more does a celebration need?!
So it came about on New Years Eve that the world was abuzz with talks of different bars in the the city. Yours truly however, averse to trendy bars at the best of times, found the whole thought of celebrating New Years in a public house of collective inebriated inanery rather perturbing. So by the morning before New Years Eve, a plan still hadn't transpired, and I looked at Delta in mild panic. "What are we going to do?!!!"
So I called Doobs: "Are you going to that bar you were talking about??"
"Nope, decided I didn't want to spend that much money."
And I called Anj: "What's your plans for New Years??"
"Nothing at the moment - you?"
And we called Vish: "Anything on??"
"No, I was hoping someone would call!"
And we called Jenn and Sarah: "Want to come over to our place for New Years?"
"Yay!"
And so we pulled together a non-party, for those who didn't have any party plans. A bottle of bubbly (or two), a bottle of wine (or ten), a bottle of beer (or twenty). A lot of general cheer and goodwill. Some party poppers and an avid photographereer. I mean, what more does a celebration need?!
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