Change The Linen
Friday. Lunch at Harrington's in San Francisco today from noon til four. Roast beef and Guinness, not as much Guinness as my companions - the swine, rubbing my face in the fact they had more room to maneuver on a Friday afternoon than I - but still, a good afternoon followed by staying late to well, you know, actually accomplish something even with a weekend starting.
A message on my phone: “was I interested in a senior techie job as an SMS packager in Pacheco?” No, but nice that someone had recommended me. Pacheco, though. I think I've been there, a small town inland near Martinez. Might be nice, but I no longer have the energy or the interest. No need for you to know what an SMS packager might be. It's an under the hood computer gig for someone younger and more energetic than I. I know what they want, I know how to do what they want, but I hope to retire next year without the need to prove myself in a different company. Besides, I doubt they pay what they pay here in Oakland. Pacheco, after all. Wherever it is.
Is that your epitaph, my friend, an SMS packager?
No, although one epitaph is as good as another. “Nine hundred and forty one women loved him something awful....” might be more to my liking, but then I suspect this is not a unique sentiment. High school fantasies never leave us, somehow, here in Oakland. And, I believe, in your neck of the world either.
Felt good to get home this afternoon. My getting home on a Friday evening routine, no different than any other work day, except I feel even better for the weekend about to come. The News Hour is babbling in the background. Ms. Emmy has given me hell for not cleaning her litter box but is now sleeping what looks to be comfortably in the bedroom, she having been placated with about four minutes effort. Why do I put it off for so long? Four minutes. Poor Ms. Emmy. She knows why I've remained single all these years. So do you, doodle-dee-do, if you've been reading.
Some sort of digital photography work flow class on Sunday in San Francisco. They sent an email at the beginning of the week saying it was a necessary class for anyone with a pulse and a camera and a credit card so I responded. Interesting to see what they're saying these days, how to use all this crap I've been accumulating. With negatives, at least, you knew where they were: in their binders on the shelves next to the computers. With digital images, well, it's easy to lose them. Kind of like kitty litter boxes, they will give you grief if you don't keep them raked and change their linen.
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