2012 — 31 August: Friday
As August grinds to an end, it's time to celebrate? mark? young Michael's milestone... the big "six, oh", no less. We've arranged a return to the Indian restaurant (Rimjhim's out at Colden Common) we last visited two years ago. (Though Len and I have also lunched there some time in the last year or so.)
Where does all this slippery Time stuff disappear to?1
I've always thought...
... rushing around just for the halibut is a bit fishy. So I shall have some breakfast before my next supplies foray. (I need a small surplus as I'm not sure whether Peter and Peter's g/f are staying this weekend or are just on a drive-by.)
Last night, science fiction. This morning, Science Frictions. Nice piece here on SJ Gould. (He's been dead for a decade already!)
"Shame is overrated"
When I read this depressing piece in the "NYT", I was reminded not only of my recent enjoyment of Aaron Sorkin's "Newsroom" but of an item written by Richard Dawkins in the "Washington Post" just one year ago: "There is surely something wrong with a system for choosing a leader when, given a pool of such talent and a process that occupies more than a year and consumes billions of dollars, what rises to the top of the heap is George W Bush."
Call centres in India
"Why are you calling me?"
"It's a verification call, sir."
"Why are you calling me?"
"It's a verification call, sir."
"Why are you calling me?"
"If you don't answer the question you will get calls every day, sir. Bye-bye."
I'm sure that classes as a nuisance call, but how the hell can I stop them? Simply not answer my phone? I think I shall make that my new policy.
In the likely continued absence...
... of dear Mama, who (in any case) swore a mighty oath nearly two decades ago never to spend another day under my roof2 and discounting Big Bro, who is seemingly (or, at least, politely) impervious to high levels of domestic entropy in my house (though not, judging by various photos I've seen, in his palatial farmhouse / executive pad) there's only one close blood relative left for whom I feel any great need to tidy up before the arrival of (as it were). And I won't know for sure his travel plans until both the builders who are currently soliciting his business have (as it were) been and gone again tomorrow morning.
Nonetheless, being keen to promote my image as a doting parent (rather than one simply in his dotage) I have not only tidied up here and there (trying in doing so to hide most of the useful stuff that he might feel inclined to liberate) but have also released the grass strimmer thingy from its long-term imprisonment in one of the sheds, and spent nearly five minutes getting rid of all the weed seeds that stuck to my trousers while I was out in the jungle doing this. Fecund Nature, heh?
Time marches on, however, and I now need to get ready to set off on my taxi-duties escorting both the Birthday Boy and Our Mutual Friend to our foody destination. It's 17:14 and, having been quite busy, I must squeeze in a shower, I strongly suspect, before I'm once again fit for their civilised company.