Sclerotic

Driving along the freeway as I often do, I have found that traffic seems to clump together. Every quarter mile or so, there will be a little bunch of cars, all tooling along, slowly accumulating cars from behind as the clump moves forward at approximately 85% of the cruising velocity of most cars on the road.

Weaving through traffic (like a madman, probably), you can get out in front of that clump, and then shoot another quarter mile at a normal speed before you find another clump.

The interesting thing is that every single clump, every single time there is an inexplicable backup on the freeway, it is because of a car with a Pennsylvanial license plate doing fifty-five in the far left lane. Is there some sort of extra, hidden, curriculum in the Pennsylvania driver education system? "Do not respect the passing lane! You must Impede Traffic! Do it especially while you go to Delaware to purchase items with no sales taxes! Travel to and from your shopping expeditions in the left lane, slowly!"

I just don't get it.

Singularity

You might not see them at all. They only do business on certain days, and those days follow No Fixed Schedule. It is possible that there is a pattern to when they are there and when they are not, but deciphering that pattern is likely the first challenge they give neophytes who wish to join their ranks. They are the Amish Pretzel Bakers. These people dedicate their lives to the creation of Soft Pretzels; they've given up television and all modern convenience. They have no room for vanity in their Way of the Pretzel, only humility and dedication to the Pretzel.

These people spend years training and learning the Way before they even are allowed out into the world in a sales role. Those who successfully sell The Pretzel for a number of years develop an instinctive knowledge of how to properly make The Pretzel, just by observing those who enjoy it. Once they have learned this, they give up speaking forever, for those who know do not tell, and those who tell do not know. From that moment on, they live in isolation, each day devoted to the creation of The Pretzel.

None of these Amish Pretzel Bakers has ever tasted The Pretzel. No, to do so would be vanity unto blasphemy. But you can taste The Pretzel, and believe me, when they ask you if you want butter on it, you say yes, say yes

Figures

We had just signed the papers, the house was ours. On a related note, it was somewhat anticlimactic. I had expected to have to shake hands or have the lawyer say something like "by the power vested in me...", but I digress. The house was ours, and we were going to have a good shower, dangitall. The showerhead was one of those cheapo heads you can buy for four dollars, and it leaked to boot. So we went out and got a roll of teflon tape and a fancy schmancy showerhead that cost all of twenty-five dollars (we're living it up whole hog now, folks!).

The damn thing still leaks.

So I get out the wrench, and tighten away.

Still leaking.

One last tighten, this time for sure.

I turn the water on, and now the whole showerhead flies off of the pipe and lands in the tub. Oops, looks like I broke the house.

Upon investigation, I find out that the showerhead to pipe interface is (or, more properly, was) mediated by a little piece of threading that attached to the end of the shower pipe. This threading was what was leaking, and now in my zealous overtightening, I have stripped it right off of the end of the pipe.

I had the damn house for less than an hour, and I already broke it. I forgot to keep the receipt, so no returns either. Time to call a plumber, I suppose.

Embiggen

Yesterday, on my way into the bathroom, I bumped into someone. Literally. Neither of us were really looking where we were going, and we kind of bumped into each other. We quickly apologized and went our separate ways, I was going in and he was going out.

Shortly later I realized that the guy I had bumped into was wearing the same sweater I was. Actually, he looked a lot like me. Same haircut, glasses, and sweater. He looked a bit older than me, though. I thought, "Wow, I just bumped into Future Me!"

Later, as I write this, I come to the realization that Future Me couldn't really be Future Me, because Future Me had about eight inches of height on me, and I'm done growing. Oh well.

Understated

Heard on the teevee, "Now that's a nice improvement on the normal Death Spiral you see so much of nowadays." Seriously, man, what could be an improvement on a Death Spiral? Ninja Laser Death Spiral Monkeys? With a kung-fu grip? We thought we were powerful. We thought we could improve on the Death Spiral, but we were wrong. Adding monkeys to the Death Spiral was something that science should never have done. Now we have to live with our Death Spiral monkeys, sitting in on the Pairs Short Program, throwing their feces on the ice. When will science learn? Some things were never meant to be hybridized with monkeys.

Departure

Today, I noticed it. A puddle of water had formed under my coffeepot. At first, I thought it was a spill. I wanted it to be a spill. I needed it to be a spill. I didn't really want to consider the alternative.

After a brief investigation, however, I discovered a fatal flaw in the coffeepot. The water reservoir had just had it. A crack had developed at the bottom, where various planes of plastic came together and were fused to form a waterproof seal. There is nothing to be done for it, I don't want epoxy residue getting into my coffee.

So, ladies and gentlemen, raise a toast to my coffeepot, which has been with me since I started graduate school (it was my first purchase, before I even bought books or anything). Some quick and rough estimates lead me to believe I've brewed about a thousand gallons of coffee in it. That's about one cubic me: a cube that has sides the length of me. So, I guess that the pot has served me well. Time to get a new one.

Reminisce

You think back, recalling all the conversations you've been in today. With whom have you spoken? What did you say? Who else did you wave to as you walked down the hall? Could your fly really have been open that whole time? Wow. Better remember to check more often.

Evolution

We're sitting in a train, the Blue line Metro in Washington. A woman gets on the train, sits and immediately takes off her shoes. Odd. She follows up by taking off her socks, and taking a pair of fancy shoes from her bag. Reshod, she touches up her makeup, switches around her scarf, and heads out into the cold, winter air.

Artery

True story. I'm walking down the road, trying to find that happy medium between the muddy shoulder and getting run over. So one foot is muddy, and the other is four inches higher and on asphalt. The whole time, I keep thinking to myself, "Dangit, dangit, dangit". And then I wonder, why the heck am I using standins for expletives? What the heck is wrong with me, even my internal monologue is PG.

Innocence

We went boldly into our new home, leaving behind the hangers and hangups of old spaces. In particular, we left behind the wire hangers we had accumulated throughout a life of collecting. "Leave them, leave them, leave them. We will get new ones in our new home." Trusting in the ubiquity of wire hangers, we left our hangers in our old space. In our new space, we are exploding with possibilities, but if we want wire hangers, we have to get something dry-cleaned, because they just don't sell wire hangers at the store.