We Value Your Feedback

OK, so I like comments. They're like crack but not able to be detected by the employer drug testing program that I happen to be enrolled in. And I will basically do anything for a comment. (I would say I'm a comment-whore, but I hate expressions like that, kind of like how I hate when people say "shit-ton.") For example, in my second-to-last post, I shamelessly threw in a concluding sentence that had absolutely nothing to do with the rest of what I had written (like I said, my new writing style is "high school freshman"), but it was a sentence that I thought was somewhat shocking, at least compared to the boring crap I usually write about. I thought for sure that by throwing in that "I hit a car with the duck" someone would say something, like maybe an OMG or a "what?" or a "For serious?"

Feels just like I'm walking on broken glass.

So Much To Write About

When it rains, it pours. Actually, it usually doesn't pour here in Seattle, just a constant drizzle. Except when I have out-of-town visitors. Because of course Pam's first 24 hours in Seattle should include the heaviest downpour I've seen since I got here since I told her it never rains in Seattle in the summer to convince her she should come here. And I don't think I would have ultimately been successful in convincing Caroline and Peggy to stay an extra day in Seattle even if it had been beautiful and sunny and 70° F (21.1° C) like it had been for the previous two weeks. But we did make the most of our 12 hours together by not wasting really any of it on sleeping but instead lots of sushi, beer, a woman dancing with a sword (the w may or may not be silent) on her head, another beer(s) and a shot that may have been red or cranberry flavored, but probably not, followed by Caroline's karaoke rendition of some song that we made her do and she agreed to on the condition that Peggy and I would "harmonize" and I don't remember what song she chose but I remember as being vaguely 80's and I was only vaguely familiar with it, but I think we made up for the lack of harmony it with our spectacular dancing. So, in conclusion, it was amazing. And when it rains, it pours.

Another example of this cliche being true is my jobs. (I am now going to start writing in the style of a high school freshman. I can't decide whether that is better or worse than a non-native English speaking applied math professor--you be the judge.) After complaining about not having a job forever I am now overemployed. But not overpaid, fortunately :-P (omg, I now think in emoticons, among other things, like AIM abbreviations, apparently.) And the best part about my jobs is, as Alisa realized the other day, both of them require me to talk all the time (and maintain an unreasonable level of peppiness) while her job is not talking at all, except for occasionally repeating words in a questioning tone. We need to change this.

Oh, and I hit a car with the duck the other day.

I'm a Winner (But You Knew That)

Getting hopelessly lost is something I do quite often. Although usually I don't have a duckload of people along for the ride.

Anyway, so, there was a Mariners game tonight. I knew this. I had been driving past the stadium all day and had seen everyone setting up. I had made jokes about how I hoped they beat the Yankees again tonight. But I'm on automatic pilot after three tours already that day. As soon as I take the turn and see the ocean of people, I knew I had made a terrible mistake. It's like driving a duck down Yawkey Way during a Sox game.

So I finally get through the mob and it would have been salvageable, except I try to circle around to what I think will lead me to Pioneer Square. Only it shoots me right back into the mess again. At this point, I have been silent for what feels like hours-- no witty banter, no music, no nothing. I'm freaking out. I want to cry. I turn on "Born to Be Wild." "Get your motor running, head out on the highway . . ." We are stopped dead in traffic. So at this point we're like forty five minutes into the tour. I'm going to have to bypass the rest of downtown and just get on Highway 99 to shoot up to Lake Union so we can go in the fucking water. Only I drive parallel to 99 for a couple miles and there is no on-ramp At this point we are so far from downtown we are bouncing over dilapidated railroad tracks, past abandoned warehouses in the industrial area south of downtown. By the time I get onto the highway, I have almost run out of bad music. I play "Love Shack." I play "Tequila." I want to jump out the window. I play "Smokey and the Bandit." I don't even know what Smokey and the Bandit is.

We eventually make it back to the parking lot. I actually made more significantly more in tips than I had on my previous three tours. So sad on so many levels.

*I apologize for the flagrant lack of consistency with tense here. I don't feel like editing. 'Cause basically this is the online equivalent of me going "arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh."

Low/highlights (5.9.07)

• Waking up
  
• Creeping up the final (not-even-that-steep-)hill of my commute (in granny gear) this morning when one of my students passes me on his single speed
• A personal phone call from Mr. Ride the Ducks himself . . . telling me I was off to a good start and even had the potential to be a candidate for Rookie of the Year. I have to check my copy of the 2 page handout we got at the staff meeting last Thursday, but I think that might actually be an award category in the new supercomplex bonus system they set up to encourage captains to actually show up to work on time. More on that later.
  
• Realizing that with each passing day I am coming closer and closer to the limit of my remedial Spanish comfort zone and soon will have to pretend that I remember the preterite tense, not to mention the subjunctive . . .
  
• Getting my first package in the mail at my new house. It contained a bag of chocolate chips, a couple spatulas, a pair of fuzzy dice (actually requested, although it is something my mom would throw in a package randomly) and a package-within-a-package of mix CDs (from Karen sent via Massachusetts--thank god for the constancy of the parental PO Box)
• Diet Coke with Lime
• Seattle weather. 70 and sunny. Seriously.
  
• Getting a text message this afternoon from my housemate saying the internet had been set up

So yes, after 3 months of withdrawal, I am back with regular internet access. And not only that, but I can access it from anywhere (in my 10' x 20' room)-- no need to crouch at the Window of Knowledge. Of course, now that I am working 60 hours a week (12 hours of teaching tomorrow and a weekend chock full o' duck tours), I can't promise that I will post as much as I should. But it's got to be better than the last few weeks.