What do normal people do?

After repeated pleas for help with the donation drive, more people are gradually signing on to do stuff. But they are signing on for the trivial tasks, like putting up posters. No one is signing on to coordinate things like getting collection bins from the charities, which we need for there to be a need to put up posters.

I am sure if I asked them to take on something bigger, they would say they don't have time due to work commitments. I would tell them I understand. I would also be thinking that I have 10x more work than they do. And I will still probably be stuck with the bigger tasks.

I now have so much work that it is pushing out social commitments. I have to rearrange my classes and still skip some to boot.

I now have so much work that I don't get enough sleep. This is because I insist on squeezing in a little reading or television, anything to keep my sanity.

Hell, I now have so much work I didn't do the dishes this morning. Keep this up and the drain will get slimy and there will be a layer of filth covering the floors.

It's not for you.

J's latest reminded me of something that happened a couple years ago. Back then, a group of us went to dinner once a week since we were all new to the area and we wanted to explore the restaurant scene. Besides me, the group consisted of A1, A2, and D. It was A1's idea to meet for dinner, and A2's idea to explore dives. D and I share A2's enthusiasm for dives and A1's for eating.

That week, A2 chose a Mexican place just south of downtown. Admittedly, the place wasn't a total dive, but parts of the menu were quite authentic. We saw some interesting items on the menu, including either burritos or tacos containing your choice of filling. Included among the standard carnitas or chicken was something that probably translated to either offal or sausage. Possibly from a cow. A2 had learned French in school, and my command of Spanish doesn't include many useful words. We asked the owner/waitress what it was, and her only reply was, "It's not for you." Meaning we wouldn't like it. I'm sure our group actually would have, but she was insistent and her answer was well-worded, so we dropped it.

The dishes we finally ordered were fantastic, by the way.

This one's for the gEEks

I am looking for instructions for a peanut butter and jelly fab. Have never done the workshop myself (otherwise I'd have the instructions) but have heard it described several times over. Last night I heard it in gory detail for the first time. It sounds like a nice compliment to basic circuits, assuming you have some knowledge of IC manufacturing. It would be heresy to mix up the various oxide layers and get the reticle wrong.

I tried Googling variants of this phrase only to find many peanut butter aficionadoes and sellers of various baked goods and snacks. I found detailed instructions for the cookie fab, which is not the same thing.

The idea behind the cookie fab is to demonstrate IC manufacturing with cookies. A sugar cookie is the wafer. Frostings are oxide layers, and sprinkles are dopants. Etching steps require brushes and plastic knives which must be decontaminated and isolated to prevent cross-contamination.

With the PB&J IC is you start with a large cracker as your wafer. The first layer of peanut butter is oxide. Jelly forms the reticle. You use your finger as the etch step, already making this workshop superior to the cookie fab. Then you must remove the reticle, and apparently the most effective way is to lick it off. I would imagine there are sprinkle, chocolate chip, or raisin dopants, but the description kind of stopped at etch.

On the plus side, peanut butter is much healthier than frosting.

But what shall we name it?

The other night the "Iron Chef" aired a neat idea for the 3S. The idea actually came from the challenger's side. The theme was eggs. The challenger made a white pepper ice cream using some egg yolks. The ice cream in of itself sounds intriguing, but the neat part was the presentation. He whipped up the egg whites with a little sugar into a merengue. Then he shaped mountain-like mounds of the merengue and floated them on boiling water until they cooked through. To serve, he placed a round scoop of the ice cream onto the plate and pressed the merengue mountain onto it. Sort of like finding the treasure in the mountain. He drizzled fresh raspberry sauce on the plate and covered the mountain with an eggy custard sauce. I forget the final name of the dish. I wonder if it would flambe well.

Now who can I blame?

It's all my fault, isn't it?

In my world, 8 hours of sleep every night are necessary to function properly. It prevents excessive grouchiness and makes for a very nice day. But 8 hours of sleep also cuts into waking hours, which I need to do stuff like make a dent in my ever-increasing book working set. It has an odd habit of increasing faster than it decreases. This is all my fault. I wish I could blame other people, but it really is my fault. When I buy books for the book club on Amazon, I have to buy additional ones to make the free shipping limit. When I go to the farmers' market, I inevitably visit Books Inc. and their excellent bargain book shelves. And when Christmas or my birthday roll around, I am not intelligent enough to ask for much besides books. (Well, there is method behind the madness, which I won't divulge here.) During the gift-giving season, I feel like Baldrick. (What would he do with money? Buy a turnip. What would he do with lots of money? Buy a really big turnip.)

Which brings me to my point. I stayed up late reading a couple books. This caused me to wake up late, leaving no time to make a decent cup of tea. I instead substituted a latte and now I feel way too good. Wheeeee!

Another odd dream.

In this one, I was outside a house, possibly mowing the lawn. This house was clearly no house I've ever visited or lived in. There was loudish nondescript (it was distinct at the time, but I have since forgotten the tune, so it's probably one of many pop tunes) music playing. The music paused twice to let through the sound of a doorbell. I remember wondering how the doorbell could sound so loud and clear when I was outside of the house. I also wondered where the music was coming from and why it paused so distinctly for the doorbell.

I awoke to find my alarm radio going off, but neither the music nor the static noise (it's a cheap radio) matched anything I heard in my dream.

There's hope for me yet!

Or: that's your definition of hope?

I've decided I would make a good lawyer. Lawyers are suposed to think of every possible worst-case scenario and plan for it. They'll have appeals all ready to go in their briefcases even before their client is indicted. Stuff like that.

I personally am cynical and I worry about every possible scenario. I pick over details and nail down several possible gameplans. All of this to the point of frustrating the freer of spirit.

Meaning there's an alternate path for me out there that doesn't necessarily include engineering. Or trying to collect on insurance money for 3S. Or trying to convince grade-school kids that I'm cool, something teachers must do every day.

Being a rock star, historian, custodian, or friendly customer service representative were already out.

M the misfit

For some time now, I've been wondering how people meet compatible people of the opposite gender. Obviously I am doing something wrong.

It would be wrong to date an immediate coworker.

I'm not sure I'd want to hang out with someone I found in a bar because they'd probably enjoy bars, and I don't.

The bookstore is an expensive proposition given my weakness for the magazine rack. And I've seen many rather sketchy people at the library.

The coffeeshop isn't bad, except I have tried being wired all the time and it didn't work out.

A Magazine once suggested a pickup line that involved finding an exotic vegetable and asking the closest single how to cook it. I find this extremely creepy, and I would therefore not go out with someone who followed advice from A Magazine or hung out in supermarket produce departments.

The smoothie place is deafening. The chance of companionship is not worth my hearing.

The gym, perhaps. When I'm motivated to go. But not a sweaty freeweight hog. And not those guys who work out in front of the mirror. And not someone who leaves the machine settings on a heavy weight to try to impress the next person who uses the machine.

The windows are clean.

Well, they're cleaner. At least they have been rinsed off with a hose. The water washed out the dust trapped in the bug screens and removed the layer of filth covering the windows. Now the air coming through the open windows is gloriously clean. It makes the air at work feel disgusting by comparison--I thought my annual allergies were back this morning. At night, the moon is nice and clear, not the furry patch of light it was before.

Now if only the temperature would drop below 90 degrees it would actually be comfortable to have the windows open instead of having the air conditioner on. That sounds terribly bourgeois, doesn't it, fussing about the air conditioner and destroying the environment in the process?

To sleep, perchance to dream.

I think I may have sleep apnea. This will likely go unconfirmed since it's costly (both in money and time) to visit a sleep clinic.

I say this because last night I had the strangest dream. For some reason, I was idly milling about in a corner of a swimming pool. It was a bright, sunny day and the water was a brilliant shade of blue thanks to the pool. I was bobbing up and down with my eyes open. Once in a while, I'd duck low enough for the water to come over my head as this is very refreshing on a hot day.

Normally when you submerge yourself underwater, you hold your breath. Otherwise your sinuses fill up with chlorinated water. When I hold my breath underwater, the sensation I get is of water in my nose that stops just short of the sinuses.

Interestingly enough, in my dream, I was holding my breath properly and the water was stopping short of my sinuses. And I could feel this happening.