Uber Boxen

Our apartment is nothing but large awkward pieces of furniture, and boxes. The TV is still plugged in, so we watched Price is Right while we ate microwaved crap. From here on in, it's restaurants baby.

We're going to get So Fat.

If Vinny needs internet, he has to come to my office. But of the two of us, as you might predict, only one ever *needs* internet, and that's me. He's pretty blasé about it most times.

Vinny mixed Keith's and Diet Coke at lunch. Ew.

Work

Me, in short email to schedulers for Toronto and London-Kitchener-area: "Any news on how I'm going to be used once I move into the neighbourhood?"

Toronto scheduler: "You're in Kitchener, so London owns you, d00d."

London scheduler: "I didn't know anything about this transfer, what the hell, when where what agagagagagagaggahaahh!!!" (paraphrased)

London scheduler, to my boss: "general freakout aaaaaaa aaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaa aaaaaaaack!" (paraphrased)

My boss, to me: "Why did you tell the whole company you're being transferred?!?!"

I swear I want to just hit them all with crowbars.

Electronic Voting

It amazes me that the same people who push no-paper-trail, unverifiable electronic voting, are also often the same people who get upset when the talking paperclip shows up on the screen. Don't they understand it's the same computer, and the same fallible human programmers, working on both?



Visit the Electronic Frontier Foundation (EFF) to learn more.

Disaconnecteda

Well, the computer's in a box. I don't even know which box. And Vinny wouldn't tell me if I asked, I bet. Luckily I have this work laptop. No certainty of *work*, mind you, but I do have the work laptop. So here I sit at Second Cup, puttering away sur l'intarweb, putting off going back to the apartment of many boxes and little else.

With luck, a friend will come over and entertain us. Or something.

We may not have internet until the second week of September, but I'll be checking somehow, somewhere. Everybody be good, and be sure to post about your lives so I can catch up once I have that option.

Haligonians: I might be sent back to Halifax to teach September 20th! We must party.

2nd cup is playing mournful death marches or some other godawful i'm-sure-it's-beautiful-but-i-just-want-to-rip-the-speakers-out-of-the-wall music. So we shall be leaving shortly.