Sunday Sundry

It's not over. Merely continuing to evolve, and more interestingly in these interesting times. Serves me right for getting personal on a blog, now I feel like I owe updates.

Really hating on meetings. As I type this I am online with Tokyo and Penang. The subject is not exactly trivial. But I am deeply annoyed at the level of detail people need to launch into. Especially technical detail about a couple of options the customer might choose that we all know in fact the customer will not choose (the customer is a well-known OEM). Oh, management needs to know all the angles! But no, they fucking don't, not if they have any god damn common sense. And they often do, actually. But due diligence is expected of the troops anyway. Maybe I'm just old and cranky and no longer have the patience to weigh all that wasted time against the corporation's expectation that we all execute as programmed.

My neighborhood is not THAT good. The man across the creek who started his own company must for various complex business and personal reasons put his house on the market. That's of interest to the rest of us who wonder what our homes might be worth. But I think we all agree that the price he's asking is a we-e-ee bit of a stretch. Two thirds of it, maybe. If not half. Of course, I wish them every penny of success. And granted, it's a hell of a lot nicer property than ours. But at that price I don't expect any change in neighbors before spring.

Good thing I love classical music. No one else wanted my father's four linear feet of phonograph records. The eye-catchers are classical records with album covers designed in the 1970s. Very colorful, even psychedelic, but still the music of Vaughan Williams, Shostakovich, Dukas, Respighi, et al. Since these records are worth approximately nothing in the vinyl market, my only plan is to digitize them so they might get listened to again, by me. I only mean to do it once in awhile so the project will probably take decades. Is there something else I could do with them?

Not why I got sick! You take your own cup around Burning Man in case someone is serving drinks. By the end of the week mine had held multiple samples of beer, vodka, whisky, wine, coffee and tea. Oh, and water. Other than that I never bothered to wash it. And stuffed into the water bottle holder on my bike, it was also subject to the elements, i.e. a thousand square miles worth of dust blowing around. This is what it looked like by the time we got home. I still think I got sick from talking to some dude who liked leaning in and tended to splutter.