Babs

Bab started spotting today. I Just though I'd record the date here.

She was born on April 4 so her first spotting is at about 8 months.

I think "John Cubicle" was pretty clever

No one is in the office but me and one other guy. When I'm not being lambasted with question question from coworkers, it turns out, I get my work for the day done withing 2 or 3 hours. For the rest of today I've listened to Spanish music and thought.

Here's what I came up with: I hate cubicles.

I hate cubicles mostly because I can't imagine the purpose they serve. It certainly is not privacy; I consider a space private when I am free to be as might be construed 'inappropriate' without fear of consequences. An even weaker definition of privacy might hold that no one can see what you are doing, or that the sounds you make aren't heard by others. A valedictorian might mention the dictionary's definition of privacy: "the quality of being secluded from the presence or view of others".

Cubicles do none of these things.

So what are cubicles for?

One theory I came up with is to provide the illusion of privacy. "When she is sitting she can't see anything but the top of my head." Like inexperienced post-pubescent children struggling to understand love, john cubicle hopes, the constituents of corporate culture will satisfy themselves with a "cubicle-of-cards", if you will. Happy in their cocoons of privacy the worker will buzz along the path of productivity.

This theory doesn't hold water. It's a waste of money to have cubes to provide the illusion of privacy if no one is falling for it.

The next, more sinister theory is sadly the more plausible. I think cubicles were invented as a means of cutting the chit-chat between employees. They serve as barriers between colleagues so you'll focus on your work rather than the cute blonde across the way.

I'll bet there are studies that state cubicles do indeed increase productivity.

What I don't understand is why cubicles exist in the remarkably cooperative world of software development. The chitchat between employees is a base necessity of the software dev process. People working on a project together /need/ to have the ability to look up and ask their colleague something, or to us them as a furby*, etc, etc. I'll grant that cubicles, in their lackluster performance as privacy borders negligibly affect your ability to call out to someone. But since they aren't actually serving any purpose why are they here?

I've decided to slowly dismantle my cubicle. All I need is an allen wrench and I have one of those at home. First to go is the wall to me left.

*I dunno if anyone outside my team uses this term. Y'know when you are stuck on a problem and you grab someone to help, but in the process of explaining your problem you realize the solution? That person is your furby, because they only listened and never actually offered advice. If you don't code for a living you cannot imagine how often this is the case.

What I want for Christmas

Hey, it worked last time:

http://www.culinarycommunion.com/classes/series-master.html

Time for Leftover planning

I experienced an odd acceptance of my orphaned Thanksgiving. In the days leading up to T-day I guessed I would feel a sort of loss at not being surrounded by my family, I felt no such loss.

In fact I don't believe I had any attention to spare for navel-gazing as the entire day was spent preparing dinner. My much-lamented proclivity toward preparing everything I cook from scratch proved most costly when compounded by several dishes I was unfamiliar with.

Everything right down to the chicken stock was made from point zero and so, technically, I began cooking dinner on Monday (And if you count the stock I already had the beginning point would be sometime last week).

On the flipside my guests each brought a dish so the logistical onus wasn't so great as my Mother's back home.

The Menu:
Turkey (A little under done...sad)
stuffing (Came out very well, had to use eggless bread)
Green Bean Cassorole (decent, though it got the most positive feedback, after cranberry fluff)
Cranberry Fluff (folks liked it)
Corn Bread (Burned to a crisp)
Rolls (big hit! I'm keeping the recipe)
Gravy (I Loved it...I think I might have been the only one though)
Cranberry gravy (I made this up on the spot, I loved it...no one else tried it)
Mashed Potatos (Jonathon brought these. He made them hella spicy)
Pecan Pie (Compliments of blake. Fucking delicious, I had it for breakfast this morning)
Pumpkin Pie ( Nick: He made the whipped cream too. Very impressive)

I learned a lot of things throughout the day:

1. 22 lbs is too much turkey
2. I don't have any serving plates, leastwise one big enough for a turkey
3. I don't have any serving bowls....I don't have any serving anything. My kitchen is well able to prepare most anything, but delivering the product to consumers is outside its charter apparently.
4. Preparing 8 things to be served hot simultaneously is difficult.
5. Wear shoes if you're going to be standing all day
6. I suck at Halo 3....geneva convention.

The whole day was awesome. I love cooking.

Nick Sagan

I'm wrapping up Idlewild right now. The first few chapters, while important setup for the rest of the book, were sort of a chore. The rest of the book acts as the "dinner that was worth it". I highly suggest this guy to anyone who has had even a passing enjoyment of anything cyberpunk.

Also, it's the first in a trilogy, so thats always fun.

-Alfonso

More

I'm currently still thinking about it. Right now. While my tastes are honed and sophisticated they have never been discriminating. I'll eat anything, but when I imagine that brick of fowl flesh landing on a counter with a gelatinous slap it is all I can do to not swear off chicken forever.

How did this blaspheme, this abomination occur in the first place? Did someone swallow a bit stuffing only to look up at his wife and express the thought he'd been harboring in shame for so long: "Y'know, Stuffing is good, honey, but is there a way to make it more meat instead?"

Wives are often made to succor a man's unseemly appetites, and so she shuddered as she stuffed the next turkey with a chicken, silently wishing her husband were cheating on her. It would be a sight easier to look away from that sin. At least she wouldn't be wrist deep in it.

It is her permissive attitude, not his sickness, that is truly to blame. For when another madman crawled forth from their unholy union gastronomy's fate was sealed. The offspring, having been raised in a home where it was all to common to debone two carcasses and stuff on in the other, was well equipped to take it further.

"Mom, how about we add a third bird?"

I weep for her. Truly that moment must have been the end of all joy in her life. Any flicker of hope that she had managed to save her son from his father's abberation would have been snuffed right then.

I like to think she wanted to stop the spread of this dementia, just lacked the strength to do so. I hope she found some peace in the fistful of pills she stuffed her last abomination with.

cont'd

I mean...the concept of stuffing things in that sort of Russian Doll way is actually called a 'farce'. With all the time I spend trying to express myself well through the English language I couldn't hope to so exactly describe this culinary concept.

I'm going to lose sleep over this.

Turducken

I finally looked up turducken. It looks disgusting. I won't be making one.

The fact that you debone each of the constituent birds....

It's essentially several meats combined into a cake sort of....thing...

It's like a poultry hot-dog...

I dunno, I guess the bones are important...

Also, and this is a whole new thing, I don't think I like portmanteaus....

I think I'll just make ham instead. It has a big bone.

Sesquipedalophobia

Being unable to name your debilitating fear would only make it more powerful. It calls forth thoughts of Voldemort.