TubaOrNotTuba

The city comes with its own dangers. Too many to be counted here (I admit to not knowing all of them, personally, but I have a great imagination). Among those that should be feared are the hungry parking meters. Hiding along the side of city streets, coloured in drabs beige or charcoal tones, the bottomless pocket is ready to accept all your legal coin tender. Only in the dark of night (after moondown), can one let down their guard in the presence of the city’s version of a slot machine.

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I finally have proof that rain falls. Back, just before the onset of winter, I installed a weather station at home, and as nature would have it, cold precipitation is difficult to measure. With great aplomb, I’ve barricaded the house with shovels and piles of snow. My boots have kept me feet dry (mainly). And there has been this niggling doubt about the ability of my equipment to measure rainfall. The statistics have been harsh; no precipitation recorded for the last three months.

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Some things take longer than they should. No reason. You begin a task, confident that this will be as easy as buttering a slice of bread, and you discover that either the butter is frozen into something resembling a yellow rock, or your knife mysteriously has disappeared leaving only an eggbeater as the closest alternative. Think of it as the slippery sidewalk in your life.

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What to do? Most commercial transactions are straightforward. You pay your money and you take (your chances). The buyer and the seller are part (and parcel) in the equation, but guilt isn’t one of the variables. And then there’s the commission sales agent.

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Some days bring unexpected advantages. This one started off in the usual mode. Me running for a bus that would take me, eventually, to the office. There were things to get done today, including changing someone’s computer as quickly as possible to minimize disruption and maximize productivity. My personal favorite reasons for any work related task. I was particularly goal directed, so the welcoming committee at the front door of our building was seen with a jaded eye.

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My mood is introspective (for those that track such things; you know who you are) and there are a plethora of “life’s little mysteries” to ponder. For starters, why is my web browser so slow this evening? The lag when I type is not normal, and “not normal” makes the geek mane rise around my floppy ears. If my fingers were pretending to do Dvorak, it might explain things, but right now I’m waiting for letters to appear. Just like with the postman, if you need an image.

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The red carpet festivities are still some hours away, so I’ve been watching another program that is just as competitive. A sports program, with a movie tie-in: The trivia question for today reads “How many movies have included curling as a plot device?” (IMDB lists an even dozen, including one James Bond flick. Who knew?) Anyhow, the Scotties are underway, and PEI just gave up a match to Quebec. Still a week away from the final end, though.

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The realization that tough economic times was driven home, when the local sandwich shop ran out of bread. No reserves in the back room. No customers waiting for a hot batch of buns in the oven. Just a handlettered sign in the front door. Might as well have declared “Gone out of business”.

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With a full five months to go before vacation, the need for a real donair is increasing. I found myself trying to describe the form and texture and flavour to my seatmate on the bus this morning, but even my enthusiastic rambling doesn’t do justice to what should be marketed as the “real” cultural food of the Maritimes. Forget salt fish and blue potatoes.

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The spillover from work to play means that I’m busily trying virtual computers this evening. In better economic times, a real beige box could be allocated to “research and development”, but this time around free rules. I’ve emulated airplanes and powerful locomotives. I’ve played in Colossal Caves. That’s entertainment in geek terms. Now it’s time to pretend that I can afford the kind of computing power we only used to dream about. Thanks to the friendly folks over at VMWare, the world is my (slimefree) oyster.

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