A Dixie Carpetbagger

I’ve yet to complete all the things on my To-Do List, I can’t get up with my new room-mates to ensure that I’ll be able to move my stuff in tomorrow, and I have a mere 48 hours until I have to be in the apartment, ready to leave for a class.  I spent New Year’s morn in bed with a massively wrenched back, semi-delusional with pain.  (You know the pain’s bad when you begin having an internal debate about whether or not you’ve been driven insane, and the different personalities can’t come to an agreement.  “The pain’s not that bad… I’m okay… I’m not insane!”  “Yes, yoooou arrrrrrrrre….“)

So, to sum this situation up: I’m running on negative time (as usual), I can’t stay in communication with people I need to stay in communication with (as usual), and I spent a lot of time horizontal… and not in the wink-wink, nudge-nudge way (as usual).

Happy New Year’s!  (Dear God, let this year get better from here…)

Merry Christmas, everyone who’s eating seconds (or thirds)!

Not Santa, me.  Not only was this past semester hectic, the next appears to have the potential of being a whirlwind.  I have three classes, one pair of which is Tuesday night to nine and Wednesday morning at ten.  With a two-hour drive each way, that would give me 9 hours to eat, sleep, eat and get ready for the day.  Not to mention the 750 miles a week in travel.

Enter me renting an apartment, and all that entails.  (Oh boy, getting to know– and trust– new people, moving stuff, maintaining two sets of EVERYTHING, contact info, etc., etc., etc.)  Luckily, a friend of mine knew of a guy moving out of his apartment, so I found one close to campus, cheap, and in a decent location.  (I owe her.  Hmm, let’s see if she’d take range time as a form of repayment… )

So, yes, I’ve been slacking on the writing.  My apologies.

Years later, 5 of the 6 battleships present at the last battlewagon meeting had been bloodied at Pearl Harbor.  “Win through to ultimate victory,” indeed.

Wow.  Umm… okay, I’m still here.  Last week has kicked my butt– four trips to college (grand total: 800 miles) for group meetings, plus work, a presentation, and working on the Paper of Doom and Madness for my Civil War class.

Also, Curt’s family needs some prayers.

If my dear papa were still alive, he’d be 73  years young.

I get to celebrate by taking a couple of finals… but, seeing as it was my father’s dream for me to finish my education, I’ll just treat them as a memorial to him.

Given that: a zombie transfers their zombie-ness through their bite and that most human illnesses can be transferred to animals (and vice-versa).

Question: Is it possible to infect an animal and have them become a zombie?  Like, say a squirrel?  Because zombie squirrels give me the friggin’ heebie-jeebies.

I’ve gathered all of you, the people I email in my business and educational life, here for a little chat today. As you can see, I am the very model of a modern major general student and future business-man.  I am neatly dressed in my suit and tie, my shoes are polished, and I am– by the miracles of modern technology and constant vigilance– in continuous contact with those who need my input on decisions or output on schoolwork.  Oh, I don’t dress like this every day (although, the shades are becoming more and more a part of my wardrobe– shades make any attire cooler), but to use a phrase from one of my favorite writers, I “eat pie with a fork.”

The reason I’ve gathered you here today is to discuss your recent performance.  You see, I have had trouble recently staying in contact with you… or, to be more blunt, keeping you in contact with me.  While I am something of an agoraphobe, and I am not the most sociable person, I am, indeed, available 24/7.  If I happen to be asleep– and I assure you, I do sleep– then a message can be routed to me which will be in front of my eyes or flowing into my ears in less than 8 hours.

Thus, I find in damnably difficult to understand why my messages to you go days or weeks with no response.  For those of you whom I do business with, it looks as if you do not want my business; for those of you whom I work with, it looks as if you do not value my labor and desire me to quit exerting myself to do an excellent job.  In either case, it offends me.

I understand that you have personal and social lives and other efforts needing your attention… but I have found the time to respond to messages during some of the most stressful and harried moments in my life, and it upsets me to think that that effort is not returned on your part.  An email sent at 1 in the morning Thursday saying (in essence) “our classwork is due Monday morning, we have the weekend to do it” is, in fact, a heads up to do the work over the weekend.  I assure you that the work in question will not delay your weekend party (or more likely, parties), and prompt submission of said work will ensure that I do not make your Monday morning more unbearable than the hangover does.

To emphasize my words here, I shall end this little missive with a small graphic to illustrate a possible solution I propose for our little situation:

We allow Aperture Science to recruit on campus:

(In case you want to see the full gallery, One, Two, Three, Four.)

Saw this in the engineering building in the computer science area (naturally).  The number is for Aperture Science.  (No, not really– it’s Valve’s number.)  Which is awesome– it’s actually in an out-of-the-way little spot, so whoever put it there wanted people to look for it.

Which means a certain angry AI is back…

“We’re a lot alike, you and I. You tested me. I tested you. You killed me. I- oh, no, wait. I guess I haven’t killed you yet. Well. Food for thought during this next test.”

To all the veterans who have served and are serving this country, and whom have borne the burden of our defense, I thank you.