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Trappings of the Weird - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Trappings of the Weird
No post yesterday; long day- from leaving here not long past 7 for an 8:30 a.m. Rochester appointment that never happened, to getting home past 9 p.m. after the annual office party for the firm there.  Said party basically consists of three things:

- good company, much of it under the age of four, as the younger employees bring their itty-bitties;

- way too much food, as my doggie box from last night was still too much to finish at lunch today; and

- a totally evil gift exchange.

This is not your father's Secret Santa. Secret Satan is more like it. Every participant draws a number; mine was five. Each picks and opens a gift from the table, which is theirs, subject to the right of each subsequent participant to steal from the opened stash.  One through four consisted of electronic equipment, a fuzzy blanket, a DVD, and, right before my turn, a bratty kid's claim of a copy of the Exploding Kittens card game.  I saw that and instantly said, Mine.  As did the bratty kid holding Number Six, who stole it right out from under me- leaving me no choice but the only big box on the table that wasn't the one I'd brought.  It turned out to be a Sharper Image candy machine which now dispenses Skittles at my Buffalo office and invariably drops at least three of said candies on the carpet.

That left the final victim to claim the bag I'd contributed, from the coolest record shop on earth. I'd struggled with where to score a gift for the party, much less what gift, before realizing I was a block away from Record Archive- which sells records, duh, and CDs and other formats, but also keeps alive in the land of Amazon and Spotify by selling sooooo much different and better shit.

I posted a mere picture of one display:

Within an hour, a co-worker of mine from my other office basically begged me to claim the Lebowski-Jesus candle for her. Instantly, I changed my plans from the traditional (booze for everyone) to the new (books or BN gift cards for everyone) to a collection of these candles for almost everyone in my local office.

Besides Jesus, I gathered a Mr. Rogers for our paralegal from Pittsburgh, a Mr. T for the other real estate paralegal who's pretty badass, and a Lincoln saint for his boss's nephew. I kept Saint Carl Sagan for myself:)

All were well-received today. The disciple of Jesus will be taking a road trip with me at some point to experience the rest of the ambience.


Yesterday was also my first road trip in JARVIS.  He did well, despite the cold and iced-over morning temps, but we have some things to get used to.

One, his range.  I left the dealer with a seemingly full tank on Friday, and he stayed home for most of the next two days other than getting stuck in our driveway (hasn't happened since:),  but by the time I left the Rochester party, his gauge was down to 20 percent fuel.  This car does not have a range setting as such; I'm told that when it gets to 10 percent or so, it starts to count down the remaining gallons.  I preferred not to test that, and so filled him before heading home:

Just over eleven bucks, as in just under five gallons.  That's consistent with his MPG displays, but it also suggests a fairly small tank. By tonight, which lowered his tank by the ride home, two trips out to Transit and one downtown, he was back to halfway again. His sticker says has a 420-mile range, which I didn't come close to half of,  but I may just have to learn how picky the gauge is.

I will also have to learn how not to use my key in a felonious manner.

JARVIS has a key fob that's a key AND a fob.  Watch:

I'm still getting used to it. My thumb keeps hitting the metal when I flick the button and it pops out.  But that's not my biggest worry:

This is.

In 1958, state legislators banned knives that had a blade that fell out of the handle when the user pointed it at the ground and pushed a lever. The same law bans weapons like brass knuckles and “Kung Fu stars.” But the modern knives sold in countless stores bear little resemblance to the knives that were the original subjects of the ban. Many people, including carpenters, construction workers and stagehands, have no idea that their knives can be made to open with a flick of a wrist — a skill many New York police officers have developed. Most don’t know that simply possessing such a knife breaks the law.

I know- it's a fucking key, not a shiv. But if some Trump SS officer sees me flicking JARVIS's Bic from across a street, I may be stopped, frisked, and possibly sent off to Guantanamo.

There's a clear solution, or rather an unclear one: duct-taping the damn thing in place.

Until I can do that, at least I have some hope: there are no exploding kittens in my possession.
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angledge From: angledge Date: December 22nd, 2016 07:28 pm (UTC) (Link)
I think I need a Saint Carl candle!
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