March 29th, 2004

flaming, angry

It had to happen sooner or later.

You know how your parents sooner or later figure out everything that you're up to? (Most parents. Like, my parents.)

Well, my Angelfire website has a link back to my LJ. And my father is an old-school hacker, from back in the days when there was no such thing as a CS or CIS degree, you just apprenticed, played around with shit, and read up on what books there were. And since I'd actually given them the link to my Angelfire website, and since FatherSir plays around and explores places, and online is no different, he found my journal. And he didn't mention it to me.

So tonight I called my parents, figuring that I'd better, and the subject of weight loss came up, and I mentioned mine, and FatherSir called me on it, referencing the bathing suit that I figured I'd need to lose thirty more pounds to have fit properly. I explained that this was the new, replacement bathing suit, and the old one was due for retirement. And then the Clue Stick hit, because I hadn't written to my parents about the new bathing suit, and in fact, the only place I'd discussed it other than in person with my roommates was in my journal.

So FatherSir and I started discussing stuff from my journal. Evidently he's been lurking for a while. I wonder if he's actually going to get a journal of his own so he can comment? I have anonymous posting disabled because of the problems with same, namely that the people who do post to your journal anonymously are often the ones that you'd like least to be doing that. I mentioned that I'd created a Flaming Asshole user picture, though of course I had to weaselword it because Mama was on the phone too.

And of course FatherSir hasn't seen any of my friends-locked posts, like my plans for what I'm doing this Thursday (which posts are only locked in the very off chance that he-who-must-not-be-named-because-he-prefers-to-remain-more-or-less-anonymous should drop by my journal and read my nefarious and devious plans that involve something just as silly as the dragon boxers). So I caught him up on my plots for Thursday. He suggested the addition of a black marker to the prank, as a do-it-yourself kit.

It was an interesting conversation. So far, I think Mama is the only close relative who hasn't seen my journal.
twilight, Fairbanks to Phoenix, two worlds

Morning & stuff.

I've stretched the limits of the snooze button feature on my alarm clock, and if I want to do that, I might as well lay out the clothes beforehand, because otherwise I'm not going to be dressed quite in time.

It's definitely allergy time again. Ten sneezes in a row in the computer lab is not my idea of a fun morning. I'm glad I keep a handkerchief on me these days.

Right now this is theoretically lab. I suppose I should theoretically open up the page I'm supposed to be working on.

My memories of chronology are a funny thing. FatherSir mentioned the large file of jokes that Guide Dog Aunt had sent around, some of them worse than others. I said that when those things that she sent amused me, I put them in my online journal, rather than filling up the inboxes of my friends. And that's when FatherSir started going into details about this journal. I'd deliberately sent him a link to my more work-safe journal at one point...

The best of the jokes from the latest of the Guide Dog Aunt's forwards (forwards without the content scraped out of the attachments, I might note, which is to say that they're huge and have unnecessary attachments) is this, which I include especially for kellinator:
What's the difference between a northern fairytale and a southern fairytale?
.....A northern fairytale begins "Once upon a time..." A southern fairytale begins "Y'all ain't gonna believe this shit..."
silly, bunny ears


Lab was slow getting started. There was lecture on the proper use of the help files. Lecture was interesting too, mostly about differences between active server pages and passive html, and what winds up on the browser.

The GSU meeting was a non-event. I sat there reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for a while until I was sure no one was going to show up, and then I went into the computer lab.

I hope the day will start looking up.
  • Current Mood
    pensive pensive
documentation, writing, quill

Cast of Characters: Coworkers (hyphenate as [in]appropriate)

trystan_laryssa: Friend I met my first day actually dialing. Fen. Wears a lot of black. Gamer. Somewhere in the vague neighborhood of my age.

dustraven: "The hot blond guy" that I spotted that same day. With trystan_laryssa. Also fen/gamer. Somewhere in the vague neighborhood of my age.

Motley: just Motley, nothing but Motley. Fen, SCA, medically required to have caffiene. Lots of fun. Somewhere in the vague neighborhood of my mother's age.

the Fanboy: a guy I met in the training class. He also worked there at some vague point in the past. He is a fanboy of the book that Mel Gibson's latest, most controversial flick was based on. Age: my best guess is 30s.

Someone Else's Grandpa: A tall man with greying black hair in his fifties or sixties, most notable for his occasional choice in break companions, namely Mr. Arbitrarily Bitter.

Mr. Arbitrarily Bitter: Looks 40. Acts 20. Talks too loud without respect for others. Evidently seeks out the worst in everything. Makes tasteless jokes.

Mr. D&D: A young man in my vague age range (20-30) with messy hair who speaks to no one, sits by himself, and reads game manuals.

Luke Skywalker: Former DeVry student, an acquaintance of mine from the last time I worked there. Likes Star Wars. Very cheerful. Uses a wheelchair. My general age.

the Chatty Lady: Possibly one of the most easy to get along with people in the workplace. She is friendly and nice and will talk your ear off twice over. She doesn't know much about computers, but she's willing to learn. She's also an excellent mood mirror. You're nice to her, she's nice to you. You get snippy with her, she gets snippy with you. If you're nasty to her, she'll even go so far as to be very disgruntled in return. It is commonly believed that the only person in the workplace that she actively dislikes is Mr. Arbitrarily Bitter. She's addicted to Trader Joe's coffee and has two cats and one husband. She's about my mother's age.

the Gossip Queen: in her late 20s to early 40s, she is tiny and always has to know what is going on with everyone. But she does it because she cares about everyone and smiles and always has the best intentions, even if she's grilling you on your course of study in college and telling you that you should be in another field because someone she knew read an article on what the next big thing was. Used to not believe in the accuracy of Tarot readings.

the Stand-Up Comedian Supervisor: Hilarious, controversial, almost everyone loves him, except those who think they should have gotten break cards from him for their hard work.

the Rules Lawyer Monitor: She monitors your work. She hears all. She forgives nothing, not even the job-specific instructions to deviate from the script. Especially the job-specific instructions to deviate from the script.
old school hacker, bug


The Little Fayoumis has been doing worse on the focus issue in class. I think part of it was Spring Break.

Tomorrow he'll be visiting the kindergarten class for the day, just to remind him that he does not want to go back there.

There was a misunderstanding with him vs. the teacher -- when he's upset, he only listens to the most upsetting portions of a statement, and doesn't catch the "This penalty only applies if you keep up the bad work" bits. He has showed steady improvement in most things, but he continues to have focus difficulties.

How apropos that pyrogenic linked to his paper on the Anthopological Dynamics of ADHD today. No wonder I've got the patience of a minor saint when dealing with the Little Fayoumis -- I've been handling far more extreme ADHD cases since I was 15. I started off as volunteer companion for pyrogenic to keep him out of mischief when he went off his meds, and then was the companion of good ol' Shawn throughout the rest of high school. I volunteered through the Gifted & Talented class to tutor kids who needed extra help with their first grade course work when I was in high school as well. Some of those kids were AD[H]D. I just made the personality that I started when I had to deal with that the primary one, when living with a little kid. I've never known the difference...

The Little Fayoumis may or may not have biological attention problems; it may or may not be a phase for that age. His mother struggled with some of the same issues.

We'll work it out.
twilight, Fairbanks to Phoenix, two worlds

Garbage Out

When I was living in my parents' house, we had to sort the trash. This wasn't your standard "recycle this, toss that" sort of sorting, this was a definitely Alaskan sort of sorting.

First there was the chicken bin. Anything edible (well, that the chickens and geese would consider edible) went in there. It was an old large yoghurt tub, generally, and it got replaced after it got too beat up to be used.

Next was the Bucket. As this house had Alaskan plumbing (home-built, and not entirely finished), there was no easy way to dispose of liquid garbage. In a fully plumbed house, you'd pour the glass of slightly off milk down the sink. In the Alaskan house, you dump it in the Bucket, and then the Bucket is in turn dumped -- originally, outside, but when the bathroom was completed, it would be flushed down the toilet.

Anything that could reasonably be burned was put into the Burning Garbage, which was generally a paper grocery bag stood next to the other garbage can. Paper, wood, some plastic (but not too much), anything that would help light the wood stove. No metal. No glass. Nothing that would make an evil mess in the ashes. Since we had wood heat already, it made sense to not consign to the landfill that which could help heat our home. Obsolete homework. Junk mail. Paper towels. Dead rags. Lots of tissue, in snot season. Anything that would burn cleanly.

Anything, that is, except for thin cardboard. That went to the gerbils, when we had gerbils. There had been, at one point, a recycling business in town, called Sandy's Recycling. That business went under, but as one of the gerbils was named Sandy, we thought that giving the cardboard to the gerbils and calling it Sandy's Recycling was hilarious.

All the rest went into the other garbage can, and the bags of garbage were taken to the nearest waste transfer station -- living outside of town, there was no garbage collection service, and we had to transport our own trash a fifteen minute drive to the dumpsters where the FNSB garbage trucks would finally escort them to the landfill.

So much work that went into the garbage. So little that was actually thrown out. I think that my current household throws out seven times what my childhood household threw out, just by not being in a position to burn the paper garbage.
  • Current Mood
    contemplative contemplative