Cell phones are like cockroaches where I work. For every one you see glued to somebody's ear or hip, there are bound to be a bunch more lying around inconspicuously, just waiting to make themselves known. I wish I knew the mental chemistry behind it, but when an abandoned cell phone starts ringing, adrenaline and grumpiness-molecules start flooding into my system. My subconscious just gets geared-up for somebody to either answer it or shut it off. The Marco needs a Polo. And we all know that nobody calls an abandoned cell phone just once, right? They've got to hammer that baby like they're pinging out a torpedo lock on an enemy sub. Infinitely repeating encores of your special theme music for everyone to relish--over and over and over.

I hate being cranky, so I usually try to channel my grouch-dorphines into a little bit of lame-but-playful passive aggressiveness. My current M.O. is to plant a CD spindle cover on top of the musical cell phone. If it's particularly loud, I'll wad up some tissue and chuck it in there for extra baffling. It muffles the annoying sound a bit, but mainly, it turns my frown upside down. When the cell phone owner returns to find their glossy little pet barking from inside it's cylindrical plastic prison...well, they usually aren't as amused as I am. The reaction is a little like what happens when somebody breaks wind and you comment on it--they're embarrassed, but they're also irritated that you called them out and made them feel embarrassed.

On the one hand, I feel a little giddy and self-satisfied about my self-appointed role as the Abandoned Cell-phone Sheriff. On the other hand, I'm a little worried about how I'm setting myself up to get called out for all my crummy idiosyncracies: "Hey Perez! How 'bout a mint, wouldya?? Sheesh!"

"Use it on ALL the underwear."

"GROANNNN"

"You know what I'm talking about"

"MOMMM"

"Streaks, stains, splits, splats...all of it"

"AAUUGGHHH" ...

And overnight, we had a nice, manageable snow--about five inches on average in various drifts and dips. Shoveling was not a grueling mess, and only took about a half hour to get in hand. The candy & cookies keep flooding in at work. My pants are starting to hurt again...not as bad as last year, but still.

The drive to work was pretty nice. The roads were mostly deserted, but nicely plowed. I-40 was a vacant wonderland. I shot some photos at home and on the way to work:

As the sun rose, it sported a golden pillar over the snow covered neighborhood.

The fruits of my digging. Our neighbor across the street graciously used his snowblower to plow out my driveway.

I couldn't stop smiling at how aggravated the cat was at having all his prowling spots buried.

The neighborhood field where the kids will be sledding and acting out other snow sports today.

The roads outside our neighborhood were plowed, but the wind made viewing the terrain a little fuzzy.

My journey along an almost deserted interstate.

"Harrison!! Don't make me destroy you."
--RUCKUS RUCKUS--
--pause--
--KER-THUD!!--
"My spleen!"

Gloria and Michaela were at the house when I got home, and Michaela was advising Giselle on anger management. I like the good influences, and this is an area of concern. Meanwhile, Harrison was halfway finished with a rather convincing drawing of hairy legs. After dinner, I read chapter 2 of Dune to the kids, wherein we are introduced to Baron Harkonin. Due to the fact that he is an exceedingly repulsive character, I had to edit a couple lines. It's complex reading, but among other things, I want the kids to appreciate what I mean when I walk in their rooms and gasp that it smells like a Fremen sietch. I must take care though that Giselle does not attempt the Gom Jabbar on Harrison. The boy is fairly susceptible to nerve induction...

I headed out to Sunset Crater last night at 12:30 am to work up a wide Milky Way sketch for the January AN issue. I sketched the star field from Canis Major to Auriga to the Pleiades and back down to Lepus from about 1:00 am to 3:30 am, and then spent the next hour working on the Milky Way itself. It was a beautiful night and the meteors were going mad--maybe 40-50 per hour. I'm not happy with the Milky Way part of the drawing though. I'm going to have to sneak another session in on Friday or Saturday morning between moonset and twilight. On such a broad scale, it was interesting to see how the dome of the sky didn't translate well to flat paper. Practicing cartographic projections in a sketch is pretty ridiculous, but that's apparently what you'd have to do if you wanted everything to come out according to plan on a sketch that covers 60 degrees of the sky.

So, 4 hours sleep, and I'm getting the familiar and disquieting buzzy feeling in my head. I just had a pretty hefty brain-spark a few minutes ago. Time for a little sleep catchup.

This morning, at the despicable hour of 5:45, the Mercedes car alarm went off, tearing me awake in a fright. How many seconds was it before my shirtless torso heaved down the porch steps and quieted the neighborhood? Just one second of that racket is too much. Even the dogs were too shocked to bark. I hate that car alarm. The Mercedes is an old beast. A clunker. But it's a tank, and I like the thought of Amanda driving the kids around in a hollowed-out steel ingot. But the mechanics say the alarm is part & parcel of the car. Like the seed from which grows the mighty sequoia--you can't have an ancient Mercedes without the Alarm Pod from which it is born. I hear legends of Mercedes car alarms being deactivated, but apparently, it involves dynamite and a lengthy resurrection ceremony. I'm gonna have to save up a little while for that.

Next goal: Walk through the kitchen and not hear the glasses rattling in the cupboard.

I have goals for other people too. Such as getting Harrison to put his shoes on the right feet, and getting Giselle to not leave her knitting hook things embedded in the couch.

Giselle gives me regular shaming sessions that I don't write here like I used to. As my audience got a little more diverse than I anticipated, I realized I couldn't rant and snark about every little thing that came to mind. I am not someone who "doesn't care what other people think". I do. It's so much better if I can talk about them without them knowing.

I went through a pretty massive mental & physical burnout last year about this time. There was an amazing comet that burst to life during the last week of October 2007. I spent a lot of late evenings with it. I ended up with a great collection of details, measurements, drawings and photographs, but I just about killed myself doing it. Gone are the days when I could give up loads of sleep to do something. Heart palpitations, extreme dizzy spells, and an inability to focus or think are not worth sacrificing sleep to accomplish something.

I've had a kind of mourning period over the last year that I can't stay up all hours with the telescope and then carry on with my life as normal otherwise. I've had to ration my time under the night sky, which is a bummer because it's so amazing here in Flagstaff. The pull is always there when I chance a glance upward at that majestic, foaming ocean of stars.

The kids are amazing. As always. Giselle is in 6th grade, a voracious book consumer, and is the keeper of fairness and justice. Harrison is in 3rd grade, is a budding and hilarious cartoonist, and is the most compassionate person I know.

Five years ago, I lost 21 lbs. trying to get rid of my cholesterol problems by avoiding red meat, cheese & fried foods. The weight loss was great, but when I found out it hadn't helped with the cholesterol at all, I got all kinds of frustrated and threw myself straight off the wagon. Which means I gained it all back with interest. Well, I've reached the point that I can't stand it anymore. I hate worrying about what my gut looks like with various combinations of shirts and pants, and the way my head looks like a thumb (lol). Oh man it's killing me. :) Not to mention the other health issues.

So I've been learning how to 'count calories' and control 'portion size'. I'm not giving up foods I like, I'm just trying to be 'aware' of how much I'm actually stuffing in my face. I'm going for 2000 calories per day. I'm riding my bike partway to work three days a week as long as the wind isn't blowing, and that feels good. The process is making sense, I've lost 3 pounds over the last week, and it feels sustainable. It better be. I wanna plunge my hot bod in a swimming pool this summer and not hear the imaginary screams of terror in my head.

OK, that's all for now.

Over the summer, our team of about 16 people and another team of 4 people moved into a new temporary office. This was to allow our previous building to undergo a remodel so that more bodies could be packed into it. Our new residence is being called a "Two Year Camping Trip". It's actually a pretty nice space. But some interesting problems have cropped up--besides the potential for stairway accidents I mentioned a few months ago. You see, with only 20 people here, there is no in-house housekeeping team. We just have a janitorial service that does not: A) wash dishes, B) clean out stinky refrigerators, C) wipe out encrusted microwaves, or D) etc.

So all those college-days, disgruntled-roommate issues have started to crest the levees of civility. So I, in my cowardly desire to avoid all conflict, have sworn off using any of the supplied dishes, and use the refrigerator and microwave only as an act of last-resort. That way I can float on my lonely, self-righteous little island of 'Not-My-Problem'. But the opportunity to make light of a ridiculous situation is hard for me to resist--even if it means reaching out and touching 'the conflict'.

Last week, the disgruntlement over the wretched refrigerator/microwave and accusations of a dirty panini grill reached a pinnacle. I'd like to share non-confidential snippets of a little email exchange that took place. (Names-except mine-have been changed and quotes reworded to protect fellow sensibilities).

Cheryl:	And while we are speaking about crusted stuff, has anyone looked at the Panini grill lately????? It looks like a health code violation I'm just sayin'............
Mark:	Trust me! I always make sure the grill is clean after I use it. However, before you clean it, you need to give it at least a half hour to cool (unless you want second degree burns).
Jeremy:	;-)
Mark:	I challenge you to test it!
Jeremy:	ahhh!!
Mark:	Now you're in deep with the law for fabricating evidence!
Jeremy:	Oh the humanity!!!
Mark:	I'll wager the forks and spoons in the lunchroom aren't as clean as that dog's tongue!
Jeremy:	oh trust me!

And that's about where the Panini email saga ended.

To tackle the refrigerator problem, my cube neighbor suggested a weekly rotation of two-people-per-Friday to throw out old stuff from the fridge. In a cheap display of 'maturity', I volunteered to help with the kick-off cleaning last Friday. There were definitely some nasty artifacts in there. I even had the shame of finding one of my old salsa jars tucked away in the back of the bottom shelf (it was tightly sealed and I could detect no odors leaking--but still--shame shame!). It was a ripe garbage can we left behind, but the janitorial service would arrive in about an hour and seal its fate.

Or so we thought.

I walked in the lunchroom door this morning and about gagged on the thick air. So much for janitorial duties. Someone had already called the building maintenance guy. They asked him to check the plumbing, under the assumption that somebody had choked up the flusher. He knew better though when he got here, and took out the trash for us, bless his heart. The fumes have gradually dissipated and I feel I can now retreat back to my secluded little island. Maybe we can tackle the thrashed-newspaper problem next!

The cat.

OK, here's the deal with the cat. And let me start by saying, as I think I have before, that I like cats (and dogs). Really, I do. What I don't like is loose hair, cleaning up dookie, and tracking down ellusive ammonia smells in my house. I'm pretty sure I don't like vet bills either.

For the last few years, there has been this neighborhood cat that doesn't really 'belong' to anyone. Well, it belonged to someone at some point, seeing as how it was neutered, but for some unspoken reason in its dark past, it was on the run. At first, it wandered around and sought what pittances the various households on the block were willing to bequeath it. Eventually, it acquired the name 'Hobo'. Out of mercy, our next door neighbors ended up taking stewardship of Hobo. They never outright claimed him, but they were the main food & garage-shelter providers. This was nice. The kids could strop the cat and give it treats when it made its rounds, but there were no real strings attached.

Well, the neighbors moved away a couple months ago and were not taking the cat with them. By that time, we had become concerned enough about Hobo's welfare that we arranged to accept the food & shelter baton. I was worried, but things have gone pretty well so far. My stipulation: No indoor cats. Amanda and Harrison's allergies, and my aversion to the leave-behinds of fur-bearing critters sealed that deal. The cat can come in to eat, drink and be petted, but it must stay on the hard kitchen floor, and then it must go right back out.

So we made an insulated shelter for him in the carport, got a little fuzzy cat mat to recline on when indoors, and secured a big bag of hand-me-down cat food from the neighbors. Hobo has gradually learned that leaving the kitchen results in being dumped outside, which is pretty cool. He does not use his cat shelter for some reason. He prefers to perch on top of the recycling bin and puff up like a snow bird. Suit yerself, I figure.

The big question is, where is he easing nature these days? I do not know if it's going to be possible to set up an outdoor litter box and 'train' him to use it. Somebody may end up donating a nice fresh bowl of antifreeze to him one day, thus completing the circle of life.

Any suggestions are welcome.

Here's to tufts of quickly vacuumed hair.

But the other night, it held together, and I tried to work on developing some additional 'powers'. My attackers came at me and I lofted upward only to be thwarted by a ceiling. Before my thankfully gunless nemeses could thwack me with a coat rack or a throwing knife, I decided I should tap some offensive skills. Disrupting the molecules of the head thug seemed like as good a plan as any. So I strained my dream knuckles into a clutching posture and commanded my disruptor powers. But, much like trying to push a cat from one room to another, the attempt failed miserably. The scene kept skipping and replaying as I tried again and again to fry my opponent while my dream pressed the 'cancel' button.

Rationalizing that my foe must be invincible, I swooped down, scooped him up, blew through a convenient ventilation shaft, and headed skyward. Into the sun with you, you indestructible villain! That's when I analyzed the whole thing to death and woke up.

As we flew toward the tenuous limits of the upper atmosphere (I figured I should be indestructible to vacuum too!), I tried to remember what Earth's escape velocity is. No sense in the bad guy eventually falling back, trudging out of the Marianas Trench and starting more trouble. I pulled a figure of 17,500 mph outta somewhere (it's actually 25,000 mph you see) and as that number came to mind, the dream started to flicker. I then thought, how will I know when I've reached the right velocity? I decided I would only be able to carry this dastardly fellow at 1g acceleration as I lofted him to his solar oblivion (I didn't consider summoning super-strength). So, how long does it take to accelerate to escape velocity at 32ft/sec^2? That's when the acceleration functions v^2=2ad and d=.5at^2 started to drift in, and the dream was finally analyzed to smithereens. What a sad way to go.

I have nothing more now, and my regrets & condolences on this cruddy post. Hopefully something better will occur to me soon.

If I may wrap up the two paragraphs of complaining I just deleted into one simple sentence, let me simply say: "I am not the copier repair expert."

I am also not an expert in:
Using chopsticks
Carpentry
Speed-dial programming
Barfed-on carpet cleanup
Ceiling fan installation
Using Microsoft Office products
or Toilet bowl scrubbing

Please note that, yes, I have done all of these things. And I will continue to do them as duty and misery dictate. But "expert" is not a title I want applied to any of them.

Need help with some oozing tarpit of a problem? Give me a shout! I'll come help out. Just leave the "expert" title to the copier technician I just placed a service call with.

Oh rats. I just spilled a soda all over my desk.

...you never think it will happen to you...

:'(

Perhaps the survival of my Mestizo ancestors didn't depend on clarity when scaling steep inclines, but rather depended on holding tight to their corn cobs and yams when face-planting into the rich Central American mudflats. Or was it the tittering Irish ancestors with their heaping handfuls of potatoes and gently sloping moores?

In any case, the stairs and escalators of the 20th & 21st centuries have so far failed to eliminate this line of genetic material.

I had a dream last night that I was Darth Vader on a commando mission inside enemy territory. I, as DV, had to duck behind corners and hang over the edge of balconies to escape notice. I got to use my Force jumping abilities here & there which was pretty fun as things in dreams go.

That's about 5 or 6 seconds right there.

But if you absolutely must squeeze other info in there like who your emergency contact is or your cell number or when you're coming back from vacation, then have mercy and be snappy about it. Chop-chop!

I had to listen to what must've been a 30 second voice mail intro this morning with a whole flow chart of info describing what steps to take and who to call for this or that and when to try back, just so I could leave a four second message to call me back at such-n-such number. You know how you do that hand rolling gesture with your free hand like you're trying to get the wheels moving faster? Well, I shouldn't have to do that. It doesn't work anyway.

You're doing that right now while you're reading this aren't you.

Okay then.