Methinks someone at the Journal may have had one too many at the cookout yesterday…
I’d always heard that people need less sleep as they get older. I don’t find that to be the case for me. When I was 25 or so, I could function just fine on five or six hours sleep, although not for days at a time. I could even do so hung over, although it might have been a little less comfortable…
Nowadays, I feel like crap if I don’t get enough sleep. And “enough” means at least seven hours. And it’s not even a case of my aging body revolting against various abuses, since I don’t even drink or smoke anymore…
But the really sucky thing is that it’s also harder for me to GET that required sleep these days, since I can’t seem to keep my eyes closed past seven or eight in the morning anymore…
Yawn…
Farewell, little buddy…
Just got home from the Charlotte Observer Cattle Call Career Fair downtown. For those of you who have never attended one of these shindigs, it’s an event where several thousand unemployed people wait in a long line to get into a big room where they then wait in multiple smaller lines so that prospective employers can tell them they need to apply online rather than there in person…
Which, of course, may make you wonder why thousands of people show up at these things when they could just as easily have stayed home in front of their computers rather than putting on suits and ties and paying two bucks for parking. Me too…
I did, however, land an interview with a pimp temp agency next week…
My first (rather small) set of Charlotte photos is now online, should you be interested in seeing them…
I took one of my patented very long drives today and wound up in Shelby, after also passing through King’s Mountain and a fair chunk of Gaston County. I always liked the sort of dowdy mill towns around Gastonia when I lived here before, and I still do. While big cities in the south often look somewhat smaller and less urban than their counterparts in California, I’ve always found it interesting that the small towns read much bigger and more dense than similarly-sized towns in California. I’m not entirely sure why this is, but I’m guessing it has a lot to do with the fact that many small towns in North Carolina are somewhat more industrial than agricultural in character…
Shelby is nice. I hadn’t been there since about 1988, and it was nice to give it a more thorough once-over this time around. I have also developed a slight obsession with the broccoli casserole at Jackson’s Cafeteria (three inconvenient locations to serve you: Gastonia, Rock Hill, and Shelby) and I was able to have it for dinner again tonight…
I may have more musings later about small towns, cafeteria ladies, white teenagers, and other things. Right now, I’m gonna watch some TV, take a shower, and go to bed without my favorite cuddle toy again…
Sigh…
A lot of people who have never lived in California don’t quite understand the system of ballot initiatives used there, not to mention in numerous other western states. An important aspect of this system is the provision that laws passed through inititiatives (e.g. Proposition 22) cannot be rescinded by legislative action, and may be repealed only through a subsequent ballot initiative or a judicial ruling…
Thus, the Governator — of whom I am most decidedly not a fan — was absolutely correct in his assertion that the recent marriage bill passed in California is unconstitutional. ANY legislative action which would overturn a ballot initiative is, by definition, unconstitutional in California, even though the original initiative itself may ALSO be unconstitutional. It was not an arbitrary decision in this case, although it may seem ironic to some to have a conservative argue that “juducial activism” IS one of the only appropriate paths to same-sex marriage…
Granted, he might have pursued other alternatives, but his basic (stated) premise was sound. However, the courts have yet to rule on whether Proposition 22 itself is unconstitutional. I believe they will find that it is, which is the only way it will be legally overturned anytime soon…
Sorry. I’m as big a proponent of same-sex marriage as anyone, but it annoys me (and does “the cause” no good whatsoever) when uninformed people start making invalid and irrelevlant arguments about a process they don’t understand…
This may or may not be the last update ever at Planet SOMA…
I’ve just returned from my temp agency interview and assorted tests. Oddly enough, the whole process proved rather beneficial to my recently-plummeting self-esteem…
I wasn’t too surprised to find that I scored quite highly on the Excel test, because I actually like using Excel and think it’s pretty much the only software Microsoft has gotten right in the past fifteen years. I WAS surprised, though, that I scored even higher on Word, which I hate and only use under duress…
And I was absolutely stunned that, even though I am a two-finger typist who wouldn’t be able to learn touch typing now if my life depended on it, I somehow manage to plug along at forty words per minute with 98 per cent accuracy. Who knew?
Whether or not any of this will land me a job remains anyone’s guess, but I’m a little more optmistic than I was this morning, anyhow…
OK, so this is the creepiest dream ever:
I’m sitting in a very nice restaurant with close relatives and maybe a friend or two (although I don’t remember WHO). We’re all about to have dinner, and I’m a little peeved that one of my friends and I will be supplying the random organ meat which will be the appetizer. From our own bodies. It apparently isn’t going to kill us or cause us big health problems, but will just be something of an inconvenience…
No wonder I’m a little pissed off, huh?
So I get all passive-aggressive and leave the table, asking (a bit sacrcastically) whether anyone minds if — seeing as how I’m going to BE dinner rather than be SERVED dinner — I run down to Burger King and get a snack, so I can have something to eat too…
As I walk down the street toward the Burger King, which seems to be a mile or so away, they keep calling after me. Which apparently wakes me up…
In retrospect, two things worry me about this dream:
- Why was I pissed off enough to do the whole passive-agrgressive thing, but not pissed off enough just to say “No, you’re NOT eating my spleen for dinner, goddammit!”?
- If they were going to eat my body parts, couldn’t they at least have had the common courtesy to FEED me first? How rude…