I think, after having moved hosts twice and blog packages once, I’ve finally finished fixing all the broken links and images floating around here. As such, if you haven’t had a chance to really catch up on some of the better entries, I can’t more highly recommend that you start at the beginning and check it out. I’ve had a good time reviewing a few of these, but maybe that’s more from the sense of a comedian laughing at his own jokes (which I would do, were I a comedian).

I also noticed while going through the past posts that I used to do a lot more in the way of getting pictures up here, so I think I’l make a concerted effort at thinking about doing that again. Now that I don’t have a commute, I don’t really see Traffic Assholes as much. That said, it might be good to take pictures of other random stuff I’m talking about, just to help you guys out.

After a long day of pressure washing my house, Jenn and I took the evening and went to Sylvia’s for dinner and a show.

I had never been to a dinner theatre before, so it was an interesting experience. I’ve been to stage productions of all types - from grade school productions to Broadway (well, Broadway productions that come touring, at least) - so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Dinner was served about 6:30p. Jenn and I both opted for the pork loin medallions in apple bourbon sauce, given a fixed menu and the other two options not looking to our liking. We started with a drink each, followed by a salad. Neither Jenn nor I are real salad-eaters, and neither of us had eaten much that day, so while the salads were being served, we gorged ourselves on the bread on the table.

When the salads arrived, we each tried to eat them (Jenn did a better job than I did) but we weren’t too successful. Jenn actually started feeling a little ill, almost as though the bread and alcohol in her stomach were combating the health factors of the salad, Adam Sandler style.

Salad: I will make you strong and healthy! Bread and Alcohol: Fuck that, Salad! We’re gonna beat you down!

Dinner arrived and it was okay. I wouldn’t say this is the best restaurant in the entire world or anything, but I was there more for the entertainment than the food.

Speaking of entertainment, I started looking around at the people attending. Now, I don’t mean to get all bourgeois on you, but this was definitely a proletariat crowd hanging out. I understand flip-flops are (for some unknown reason) “in” lately, but with jeans, a button up shirt, and a blazer? Tack-ay! Put some shoes on, for God’s sake. Where’s your mother?

We finished up dinner, and dessert was a poppy seed cake with raspberry frosting. Tasty! Jenn was feeling ill, but in a Homer Simpson moment decided she wasn’t ill enough to not eat dessert. “Oh, man, Trav, I’m not feeling so good… my stomach is rumbling and- OOOO! CAKE!”

After dessert was cleared, the show started (around 8:30p or so). The show we saw was called Monky Business, a musical about some monks trying to save their monastery from being torn down by having a radio telethon. It was really clever and well played. I liked it a lot.

All in all, a good experience. I’d recommend you check it out. I think Jenn and I will try to make it again for the next show (they do four different shows each year).

I moved my cube today, from the second floor in the lap of relative luxury, to the first floor in a veal pen about the size of a refrigerator box.

Sigh.

I started at Corillian four years ago on the third floor in a medium sized cube. Then I moved to the second floor (when I moved to IT) and traveled from cube to cube, generally increasing size until about four months ago when I moved and lost some space. It wasn’t so bad then, since I really was still in a 12’x12’ luxury apartment.

Now I’m in a cube that’s maybe 6’x8’ and I’m dying, I tell you. I had to take all of my Legos home, I don’t have too many pictures up… ugh. Ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.

I’ve made it home-y, though, as much as I can. I still have some pictures, my coffee maker, my refrigerator, and some toys. It’s just… tiny. Maybe this is how the rest of the world lives. Maybe I’m seeing the other side.

I suppose it could be worse. I could have a support column or something in here.

I don’t know where to go from here, though. I’ve been on all three floors of the building - three, two, one - and there’s no basement. I can’t move any farther down. Now what? New building? Telecommute?

In other news, I think I’m going to pressure wash my house tomorrow. We have vinyl siding and it’s starting to look a little dingy with dirt so it’s time to break down and do it. I’m not really looking forward to it, and I know it’s going to be a day-long job.

Oh, and we watched The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen last night on On-Demand. It was okay; I don’t know why people complained so much about it. It wasn’t the best movie ever made, but it wasn’t really bad, either.

Before I really get into other things, I realize, looking back, that I didn’t say anything about the fact that the Oregon Air Show was this past weekend. Living near the Hillsboro Airport hasn’t ever been a problem (I don’t ever hear any air traffic - I’m not that close), but in cases like this it’s actually a benefit. My parents, Jenn’s parents, Jenn’s sister, and Jenn’s niece all came over and we barbecued and watched the show. It was cool - the Blue Angels flew close to rooftop level (low enough you could read the writing on the plane) right over my house and down my street.

Anyway.

Lots of change going on at work.

I’ve had this Wireless IntelliMouse Explorer (cordless USB mouse) I’ve been using for the past few months. I like the wireless mouse thing, but I’ve noticed that this one seems to suck up batteries pretty quickly, on the order of a pair of batteries every three weeks or so. When the batteries get low (which I’m sure means they’re at half-strength), the mouse response gets crappy, like there’s signal interference or something.

After a few months of that, I’ve had enough and have switched back to a corded mouse. It’s the same mouse, just with a cord. Now I need to get a decent rechargeable wireless mouse. Not the highest of priorities, but definitely on the list.

I’ve also changed jobs. As of Monday, August 16, I’m officially moved out of the Corporate Information Technologies department and now I’m in Applications Engineering. I’ll be working on actual product code now instead of corporate internal applications, which I think will be a Cool Thing. I’ve been doing mostly product-related stuff anyway lately, might as well do it officially. I move my stuff to a new cube in the Engineering area tomorrow. I’ve already taken down the Harry Potter Legos… my cube is looking very empty. Of course, the new cube is like half the size of my current one, so I don’t have room for all of my toys.

I suppose this sort of falls into a similar vein as my previous smell memory post, regarding the way certain smells trigger memories (and wouldn’t it be nice if we could really capitalize on that?).

I have fond childhood memories of visiting my dad’s office. He’s a central office engineer at an independent phone company and has worked there for, I think, longer than I’ve been alive. While he’s been in actual offices and so on, most of the time he’s sat at a desk in the central office itself, surrounded by the equipment. When I was a kid, going to visit his work fascinated me. There were teletypes and huge racks of equipment with all sorts of wires sticking out; stacks of paper and books everywhere; sliding ladders attached to rails in the ceiling; blinking lights and buttons and VT100 terminals; spinning magnetic tape reels and cables running in tracks all over the place. The amount of cool stuff packed in there was astounding, especially when you’re in grade school. Overwhelming, almost, because you can’t touch anything, you just have to look.

Honestly, I think that sort of contributed to my fascination with technology and gadgets. Some could argue it’s a genetic thing - guys like gizmos with buttons - but I’d like to think Dad had some good influence there.

One thing I remember very vividly from visiting Dad’s office is the smell. I’ve never really been able to put a finger on what it is that smells, just that it’s very distinctive. It smells like paper and wire and electronics all combined in a sterile aroma that really can’t be described precisely. Regardless, that smell is Dad’s office. I tried to explain it to him one time but I think he’s been working there too long and doesn’t notice it anymore. He also doesn’t notice that his lunchbox smells like overripe bananas and mint chewing gum, but I guess that’s neither here nor there.

A couple of weeks ago they painted the concrete stairwells at my work with some sort of industrial-strength paint that can stand up to foot traffic. After they finished, allowing a couple of days to let it air out, they let people back into the stairwells. You know what?

It smelled just like Dad’s office.

I had to stop and stand there for a few seconds to get myself back together. It was an odd feeling, standing on the stairs and smelling Dad’s work. Like a miniature transporter had temporarily beamed me to his office and back again really quickly. Like I had just reclaimed about five seconds of my childhood.

I called Dad and asked him if they have concrete floors at his work that get painted, but they have tile floor. The walls are concrete, so that might be it, or it might be the metal support beams - if I remember right, those have paint on them, too. Maybe it’s not even paint at all, but some similar chemical that the paint has that’s also in something at Dad’s work.

Crazy how something like that can make you remember things.