That orange tape measure

There was that dream where I had an orange tape measure and I liked going around measuring the property lines of neighbors' yards and then telling them the results and it was surprising that Wes Craven cared so much about a 3/4" difference on the south side of his front yard, and it was even more surprising that I didn't think it was weird that Wes Craven was my neighbor but I went ahead and measured the boat dock out back where those teenagers disappeared last summer and Wes told me not to tell anyone but he said the teenagers were dead because they had sex.

Daily Ambivalence - there's that guy with the whipcow again

I'm riding the train and there's that guy with the whipcow again.

By me using the word whipcow, you might assume I got that job I mentioned earlier. And you'd be right. I actually did have that job for a few days.

The pay was decent and my boss was nice, but the first day by the water cooler I threw out for a topic of conversation the Third Punic War and it's impact by Rome on the Mediterranean. No one was interested.

Now who can work under conditions like that?

There's that guy with the whipcow again . . . eh.

Solar panels

There was that dream where solar panels became an economically feasible form of power production because their upfront cost was dropped to a nickel and a carton of peaches but I didn't thin the peaches in my tree early in the year so most of the branches broke off and I was left with only one peach but it was frickin' huge and instead of buying solar panels I entered the county fair and won the blue ribbon but the picture of me in the paper was awful because I didn't have power for my hair dryer.

Daily Ambivalence - whenever I get a manicure

That's one way I could start a post if I ever got a manicure. I've never had a manicure though.

That guy across from me on the train has. And he's not really the kind you would expect to have nice fingernails. He's kind of scruffy and he's wearing a hat that's kind of a cross between a cowboy hat and an Indiana Jones fedora.

What do they call those kinds of hats?

And speaking of "they," how do you even get a job where you are the "they" who gets to come up with the name for a hat that's a cross between a cowboy hat and an Indiana Jones fedora?

I totally want that job. I'd call that guy's hat a whipcow.

Whenever I get a manicure. . . eh.

Daily Ambivalence - I always play the girl in video games

It occurred to me the other day that I always play the girl in video games.

Not really sure what that says about my inner child.

Do I have a latent need to accessorize more than I do? That's the only thing I can think of that makes sense. My wife buys most of my clothes and I usually put on whatever's the least wrinkled in my closet. So, yeah, there's probably some part of me that wants to be more involved in matching my belt to my socks.

Strange how something like a need to accessorize can manifest itself in a desire to virtually strap on tight leather clothes and shoot monsters and bad guys with a sniper rifle. Doesn't seem logical that head shots would be any more satisfying when you're sporting a pigtail vs. a handlebar mustache, but there you go.

There's just something tremendously empowering about, you know, girl power. And to think, ninety-five years ago girls didn't even have the right to vote. Now they're kickin' A on a daily basis with a rifle as long as a minivan.

I always play the girl in video games . . . eh.

Daily Ambivalence - so you're standing in a crowd and some stranger asks to borrow your cell phone

This is one of those questions I'm asking from the point-of-view of 20/20 hindsight.

When it happened to me the other day I panicked and ran away from the guy.

Even at the time, panicking and running away seemed like the wrong thing to do, but it was like that one time at Thanksgiving where I forgot to buy cranberry sauce and it was the only thing I was supposed to bring to Thanksgiving but 7-eleven doesn't sell cranberry sauce and if you take cherry Slurpee and add some shredded beef jerky to it to, well, to thicken it, it doesn't taste much like cranberry sauce.

Or so I was told.

I hate cranberry sauce so I didn't try it.

So you're standing in a crowd and some stranger asks to borrow your cell phone . . . eh.