(no subject)

SO COLD IN THEATRE OMG

HEATER AND HOT WATER BOTH GONE OUT

SEND SNUGGLY BLANKETS AND COCOA STAT

Actually, it's kind of interesting because the repairman is here and has uncovered this bizarre secret passageway to the basement that looks like it was probably some kind of speakeasy escape hatch at one time. The escape hatch goes to whole other buildings, all of whom apparently share one basement with the heaters and hot water boilers in. It's like some kind of grotty urban Phantom of the Opera where he diversified into Phantom of the Theatre, Local Pub, Drycleaners, and Burger Stand.

Also, the person who will actually be my boss if I get this job called me today to see if we could "not interview...just chat" next week. They're just toying with me now!

And I'm being called away to help untangle the two eight-port cable splitters, fifteen power cords, and four phone lines that power basically our entire administrative office and were cannily hidden behind the secret door to the speakeasy escape hatch in case they need to bring a new water heater into the Phantom's basement.

I do not have a suitable icon for my state of mind. Perhaps because there is no suitable adjective.

(no subject)

I am going to kill that kid.

Mum bought Bernard a round-trip ticket home to tie up his affairs and see his parents again. She told him she wanted to help him explain to his fiancee's family that he was going home for a visit, and he told her that he'd spoken to "everyone" and they said he shouldn't go home, so he's not going to use the ticket.

It's not that I couldn't see this disaster coming a mile away, but it's still unpleasant to see her hurt and to see the way he's stringing her along. She's never going to stop making overtures and he's never going to stop stomping on her; I told her in no uncertain terms that she should not for a moment consider sending all his things to him by mail as he asked, but should instead charge him storage for them. I expect to hear tomorrow that she shipped him all his things.

I know the hardest thing in the world for a parent is to lose their child, but I have no problem wishing him dead. At least that'd be one sharp shock and done.

(no subject)

And then R's car got broken into.

Poor man, he was befuddled for a while. I asked him if anything had been stolen and he said "My videocamera!" though I pointed out that his videocamera was still in its box on the kitchen counter.

We eventually discerned that while one window had been broken and his glovebox rifled, his amps and computer monitor were untouched. My current theory is that they got over the fence and came through the access door to get to the garage, broke in through the back window of the car intending to steal it, and rifled the glovebox to try and find the garage-door opener (which R keeps in his pocket, bright lad). When they didn't find the garage-door opener, they split. Either that or someone scared them off.

Anyway, we went around and doorknocked the neighbours to let them know to take their valuables out of their cars, and now he's trying to get his celphone charged enough to call his mum and find out what the next step is.

COME ON, WORLD. WHAT THE HELL.

(no subject)

So then we made hamburgers.

Well, it seemed the thing to do. R was bummed and I had this pound of ground beef I didn't know what to do with, so I mixed it up with an egg, some breadcrumbs, and a crapload of Weber Kettle Hamburger Spice, made two burger patties, and fried them in a pan. There was a veritable downpour of melted cheese and barbecue sauce, I broke out the lime tostitos with sour cream, and now we're watching the Orange Bowl and mocking the quarterback.

R: Coach! Coach! It's raining! My hands are small!
Sam: His hands shrink when it rains, trufax.
R: Coach! What about my small hands?
Sam: Well, you know what they say about men with small hands.
R: They have trouble gripping the football in the rain?
Sam: You read my mind.

R is beautifully impartial about football, for someone who used to play. He watches for excitement and never roots for anyone and only shouts in outrage when a bad flag is thrown on a play. It's like when he watches football it's not Virginia Tech versus Kansas but Good Football versus Stupid Football. Which is a nicely balanced attitude, to my mind.