Colin Timothy Gagnon (sacredspud) wrote,
Colin Timothy Gagnon

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News In Brief 2: Electric Boogaloo

Mike Judge is masquerading as a book critic as evidenced by the first sentence of the newspaper's review of Bill Clinton's book: "Obviously the stake through Bill Clinton's heart was made of the wrong kind of wood." I'm older than twelve. I swear.

The spel Czecher has issues. A few weeks back I made a post containing the "word" "extracirricular." I have my spell-checker to thank for it. This morning, it told me that "defense" has a C instead of an S, and that "fortified" should be spelled -ide, not -ied. I was considering spell-checking everything in Word before I post it, but that sounds like a lot of work. I think I'll just suffer through the occasional spelling error, since I don't make them offin.

Picked up lunch from Noodles & Co. I walked in the door and one of the people behind the counter greeted me with "Pesto to go, no oil, right?" Wow. I eat there maybe once a week, and I'm not sure if I should if I should be impressed, flattered, creeped out, or a combination of these. I wonder what impressed and creeped out would be like. Uh, anyway, while I was waiting for my food, I witnessed an elderly woman mixing all the drinks from fountain for her husband. Then, just as I was being handed my food, I was standing next to a table where a woman was seated with her toddler.

"Oh, you're so messy!" she said.

I (partly) absent-mindedly said, "I know."

"Daddy!" her son blurted.

"Oh dear Lord no," said the woman. "Mommy has standards."

This happened on my way out, which is good because I'm not sure what I would've said next. I should probably be offended, but I've been done with lunch for some time now and I'm still chuckling.

Tomorrow is a Food Day a work. If I bring something other people will eat (say, cheese and sausage), I'll be stuck with leftovers I don't want. If I bring in something I'd eat (hummus, or spinach dip), nobody else will touch it. I refuse to put any appreciable amount of effort into Food Day until they start calling it "pot luck" instead of "food day" (read: "I don't want to cook for my coworkers.").

Will I still have a job tomorrow? Who knows? All that stuff is coming to a head. The AEG says "there is no way in hell" that I'm leaving, but I'll feel safer when it's all over with.

And now the Health Report: I'm fine, thank you.
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