June 1995
Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup.
They slither while they pass, they slip away across the universe.
Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my open mind,
Possessing and caressing me.
--JWOL
Except for a few wise guys, I have gotten very favorable feedback in response to my ongoing saga. (You guys are probably just jealous I haven't written about you yet.) The compliments I have appreciated the most have been from those recipients affectionately known as "Control Hamsters." That is, those of you who don't know my family, childhood friends, or office cohorts, yet still manage to figure out what is happening from context. Of course, familiarity with the Simpsons, Letterman, M*A*S*H, Stripes, All in the Family and other favored references is independent of knowledge of my whimsical past so you still have some chance at comprehension.
In fact, Dad, who knows only some of these references, has liked these reports so much that he suggested I get together with that Delbert [sic] guy at work so he could illustrate my stories! I don't think Dad understands that Dilbert is just a pseudonym and that the comic stripper's real name is Dogbert. In any case, I have been coming up with a list of strip titles. Let's see: BigBert, BertAndErnie. Maybe UncleBert!
Half of what I say is meaningless.
--JWOL
While writing this chapter, I was struggling to find a way to refer to it. My previous editions were trip reports, but since I have not traveled lately, that appellation did not apply here. Eric reminded me that one of my favorite artists, Alexander Calder, invented stabiles when his mobiles weren't going anywhere. I didn't know exactly what he meant, but I thought it was cool, so I wrote it down.
Many of you know that I change the quotation in my email .sig frequently. I have been rapidly compiling a list of more or less meaningful and relevant quotations. I used several of them to parse the following anecdotes.
Each day just goes so fast.
I turn around -- it's past.
You don't have time to hang a sign on me.
--GH
One final comment: like the author of Jonathan Livingston Seagull, I am not sure of the origin of these writings. Somehow, I liken myself to George Harrison after the breakup of the Beatles. Prevented from fully expressing himself by his bandmates, George became very productive and prolific after the breakup. No one has been holding me back, but I feel that these writings are an outlet to creative energies that are not being effectively and completely used elsewhere. I don't know if that made any sense; I always had trouble with the analogy section of the SAT.
Another possibility is that all these thoughts are clogging up my head and if I don't let them out, I'll get a headache the likes of which has not been seen since Stu Sutcliffe, or at least Bill Berry. In any case, here goes!
I'm Back in the USSR.
You don't know how lucky you are boy,
Back in the USSR.
--JPMC
I met a Russian girl who learned English mostly on the streets and by watching television. My kind of person! She was describing to me how bad things are in Russia; one has to wait in long lines for bread, then more long lines for fruit, etc. I told her I related to her plight completely. I had to wait in line for three hours for Rolling Stones tickets! She understood and commiserated.
She also mentioned that she liked to swim but didn't like the . . . uh, . . .uh. . . "Chlorine?" I offered. "Yes," she replied. I told her that chlorine was good because it keeps out the cooties. That she understood! This reminded me of my first trip to Europe when I observed that four of the most common words were virtually identical in every language. These are: taxi, toilet, restaurant, and hotel. Basically: coming, going, eating, and sleeping. I guess I can add cooties to the list.
You can't always get what you want.
But if you try,
Sometimes you just might find,
You get what you need.
--MJ
I went to a BBQ with other local astronaut wannabes. Several things surprised me about the others in attendance. First, they were younger than I expected them to be. All but one were about my age and a few may have been younger. Second, only one other person had gotten as close to being called for an interview as I had. (Coincidentally (?), this was also the person who was 10-15 years older than the rest of us.) I don't mean this in an egotistical way. I'm light years away from being next in line for a Mars mission--you can breathe again, Grandma--I just expected to see mostly people who had been through the interview process and who had bank accounts filled with Stanford degrees. Most of them have medical backgrounds, which I think puts them in better shape than me. Ironically, they encouraged me to get my update in early enough to make the Astronaut Office aware of my work at Pacific Bell. They noted the importance and prominence of the telecommunications industry and tried to assure me of the value and relevance of my work within it. Ordinarily, I would guess that they were just being polite, but they seemed very sincere. Maybe I can emphasize the altitude and risk involved with climbing telephone poles!
Remember what the dormouse said:
"Feed your head."
--GS
For a summer solstice celebration, the Drs. K and I (plus one surprise write-in candidate) finally went out for wings. Between Dr. K being on the Wing Wagon, and me being on the alcohol wagon, it had been a long time since we had gone on a divide-and-conquer wing mission to St. James Infirmary. (I was honored to learn that the future Dr. K refers to it as St. Adam's Infirmary. That must explain that halo that keeps getting between my pillow and me!) I had been chanting it up all day at work, "wings, wings, wings. . ." in much the same way that I enlisted my tennis buddies to "Storm the castle!" at Pajaro Dunes. In preparation, all I ate for lunch was a few carrots and a bowl of Fisherman's chowder from the cafeteria. The Fisherman's chowder looked an awful lot like the Reuben chowder from the day before, but I was too distracted with wings on the brain to ask any questions. Besides, I don't want to lose favor with my friends in the cafeteria, who enjoy watching me eat almost as much as Grandma does, and provide me with bags of leftovers for dinner.
Thinking ahead, I asked each of my colleagues to provide me with a number between 20 and 60. None of them hesitated, or seemed at all surprised by the request, and the numbers were readily delivered. Actually, before Dr. E would comply, I had to promise her that if this were for the lottery, and I won, I had to give her one-sixth of my winnings. That was an easy promise to make (and keep!)
Thinking further ahead, I asked Dr. N what time she goes to sleep. Without any concern or hesitation, she replied "9:30." (No wonder she's oblivious to Letterman!) Upon hearing this second peculiar request, Dr. E started getting suspicious. I explained that I was going for all-you-can-swallow wings and I wanted to know how late I could call in case I got a tummy ache as I did the previous time. Since Dr. N is the only one with school age children, I figured she would have the most up to date remedy for this malady. She said that all she does is tell her patient to "Go lie down." That seemed sensible to me, but somehow I had hoped there was more involved.
Just before leaving for the day, I spent an extra 10 minutes doing aerobic exercises in the gym, which I figured would earn me an extra couple of wings. Fortunately, the Simpson trial recently yielded to Moneyline on CNN so this was not as hard to do as it could have been. With the battle cry of "Forward wings," Dr. K and I left the building.
Dr. K and Master A arrived at the Infirmary before the rest of the team, so to loosen up we did a few rounds of peanuts, nachos & yellow paint, and avoid-the-pool-stick. For additional entertainment, I displayed my recent pictures of Denver, Boulder, DC, and NY. You've read the book, now see the movie!
When the others arrived, we spent a surprising amount of time solving simultaneous algebraic equations to determine the combination of the different sizes of wing buckets that would give us the number closest to what we expected to consume. Although we all call ourselves engineers, I was the only one with a real engineering degree (and thus was the only one who could legitimately do the math). However, I tried to not get too involved since I was privy to everybody's (unwitting) consumption guesses and I wanted to remain impartial.
To be brief, we wasted too much capacity on the pre-wing hors d'oeuvres to conquer as many as at least I had hoped. In any case, Dr. N was very proud to have won the consumption pool. I had brought in some leftover wings and bleu cheese dressing to award to her, but I couldn't find her all day so I was forced to finish them myself. I hate it when that happens!
Three days at the lobster festival . . . never got to the lobster!
--BFP
The following week, we had a picnic at work. I think the $11 fee kept many people away, but I figured that was a small price to pay to get out of the office for a day and stuff my face. I was very proud to have won the water balloon toss and surreptitiously saved the surviving ammo for one of my favorite antagonists. I knew I would get in trouble if I picked a fight with her, so I paraded around in front of her until she targeted me. I then used a combination of self defense and temporary insanity to justify my drenching her. To further my case, I've also figured out how to dispute the DNA evidence and make it look like the gloves don't fit. Machiavelli would have been proud.
They had a wonderful bounty of BBQ chicken and ribs and I won the clean plate award . . . three times! My tummy hurt for two days. Too bad Dr. N was on vacation. I needed a Mommy's advice again.
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