Alive, But Only Just...

So, here's a little bit of what's going on in my corner of this big pond we call life!

At work today, I noticed that a spot on my neck down around where it meets the front of my collarbone was feeling a little sore.  No biggie, I recently got a new electric shaver (cheaper than blades!) and I've noticed a tendency for my skin to get a little irritated if I'm not careful... and it just so happens I shaved this morning.  I have red hair and a rather thin beard, so I can get away with shaving once every two or three days easy, and I was in a hurry this morning, so I musta dug in a bit.  Why is this important?  Follow with me as I tell the tale, my friends!

After work, I hopped in the DuckMobile and headed to my local laundromat.  I'd been putting off doing it for much too long... indeed, far past much too long.  Any reasonable being would have done laundry a couple of weeks ago.  Unreasonable beings would have done it last week.  And then there's me, but at least I was gonna do it today!  I pulled in, pulled the two laundry totes from the trunk, winced at the smell of hot dirty laundry (it was roughly 85 and sunny today), and... discovered that I'm old.  Holy crap, fifty-plus pounds of less-than-fresh duds were quite uncomfortable to drag, let alone carry.  But I did, indeed, get them inside and into washing machines.  Two hours and $17 in quarters later, it was finished.  I broke the zipper on one of the totes, yayforme, and then I began dragging everything back to the DuckMobile.

Did I mention that it was raining hard enough to make fish say "nah, too wet"?  Because it was... and thunder, too!  All that sort of good stuff was happening as I got my no-longer-as-dry-as-it-had-been laundry to the car.  Of course, I was drenched by the time I closed the trunk and got into the driver's seat... and then it REALLY started to rain.  The parking lot of Pond Central had a torrent of water in the gutter, and a helluva lot more was coming down to join it.  I had two choices... 1) I could sit in the car until it stopped, which at the time seemed like sometime Thursday; or B) I could make the run with 50lbs of laundry from the car to the entry portal to the staircase leading to Pond Central.  I chose B).  I chose poorly.  Once I was finally under cover, I was completely soaked... and the laundry totes were wet too, making it very important that I got into Pond Central fast.  Did you know that hauling 50lbs of laundry up a good flight of stairs is quite the workout?  Holy crap.  I got inside without blowing an artery, quickly dumped everything out of the laundrybags, and got out of my wet clothes.  It was then that I got a good look at my neck.

Holy crap.  It may have started out as an irritated spot from my shaver, but it appeared that the collar of my undershirt was working on it all day.  Then came the rain, and suddenly a WET collar was working on it.  There wasn't any blood, but I'll be darned if I know why not... it looks like someone had taken a cheese grater to my neck!  I'm gonna have to wear something loose-fitting tomorrow, that's for darn sure.  But for now, I'm going to sit in my comfy chair, have something to eat, watch something mind-numbing, and relax a bit.  Hopefully you've enjoyed this insight into the so-called life of Wonderduck, your humble host.

Oh.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 08:35 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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You Can't Get THAT Lucky...

I haven't forgotten about y'all.  I know you're out there, looking for that Wonderduck Blend of entertainment and... um... y'know, stuff... that you've come to know and love enjoy like tolerate not despise experience.  I wish I could be giving it to you more right now, but it's very hard to sit in front of a computer for 8-10 hours a day working, then come home and... sit in front of a computer for a couple of hours.  I've found the two-or-three hour nap in the evening then up until 1or 2 in the morning works fairly well for me... but it does leave not as much time for blogging than I would wish for.  Until I can get my speed up over there, I need to be rested and rarin' to go in the morning... I'm not to the point where I can go on autopilot yet.

So until then, bloggin' might be a bit more hither and yon than usual.  Please forgive me, and I'll try to keep up with That There Zombie Show Writeups.  And other stuff, too, when I can.  As is, I've just gotten home from work and dinner with The Librarian, it's nigh on 9pm, and I need to get a nap.  Because I'm old and crotchety and stuff like that.

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I'm A Little Peeved Right Now

I just lost about 2000 words for the Gakkou Gurashi Ep02 writeup.  It was done.  Complete.  All I had to do was add one picture and my final thoughts, and it would be posted.  Then my broadband connection died and when I tried to open the "paste picture" box the entire tab gave me the "session timed out" screen.  Of course, when the internet came back, I went back to the edit screen and everything was gone.  Every.  Stinkin'.  Thing.  Three or four hours of work, vanished.

Did I save at any time?  No, I was too busy having fun.  I want to swear SO badly right now.

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Apologies And Admissions

So.  Last week, I announced that Gakkou Gurashi was to be the subject of my next foray into Episodic Writeup territory.  Further, I declared that "I should have the writeup done on Saturday."  The sharper-eyed of you may have noticed that, in fact, no such thing has occurred.  There is, of course, an obvious and understandable reason for that bit of fail, but it doesn't explain the ever-increasing amount of time that a writeup hasn't been posted.

Part of it is the incredible mental exhaustion I feel when I come home from work.  Claims processing is hard... a lot harder than I expected.  I'm catching on, but it still requires a lot of concentration.  I've learned that a couple hours worth of naptime when I come home is nearly a must for me to have any sort of functionality in the evening.  There's also a general malaise that's come over me the past... oh, lets call it just under a week.  And by "malaise", I mean "screw everything." 

Does it sound like I'm making excuses?  I suppose it should, since I guess I am.  Sorry about all of it.  "Don't be sorry, just do the writeup."  Yeah, it works exactly like that all the time.

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Content Free Posting!

Let me tell you a little something about not a whole lot.  Once upon a time, I was born a poor black child I was very very young indeed when my parents decided to get a pet.  Momzerduck, my father and I lived in an small-ish apartment, converted from the second floor of a house if I remember correctly, and I may not for I was very very young indeed.  Anyway, back then it was still safe to let kids play outside, and we did just that... I clearly remember Big Wheels races down the sidewalk, turn around in a neighbor's driveway, back down the sidewalk, then turn back using the inclined banking of a decorative hill leading into a garage... a dumbbell shape.  I have no idea how I used to do... I was very very young and was not into racing just yet, though one of my clearest memories of childhood was Evel Knievel's attempt to jump the Snake River Canyon in his SkyCycle X-2.  He didn't make it.  I remember watching it on a black-and-white tv... it was 1974.  Kids, ask your parents what a black-and-white tv is.  Parents, laugh at your kids.  Anyway, I would have been six at the time, which gibes with my memory.  But none of this has anything to do with the story of the pet.  Or the Big Wheels races.  Those were fun, until one day a kid showed up with a brand spankin' new Green Machine.  Once he figured out how to steer without flipping over like NASCAR having a bad day at Daytona, nobody could beat him... the built-in "spin-out feature" made the turns a piece of cake, and the straightaways?  Man he was fast.

Yeah, like that.  For all I know the Big Wheels races are still going on back there, though I doubt it.  We moved to Evanston, then Des Plaines, then Duckford, all within the space of a couple of years after that.  But the pet!  Yes, yes, the pet.  We went to the Humane Society, or to the pound, or something like that, and we got a kitten.  Oh, yeah, I would have been even younger when this happened... four years old or thereabouts.  Yes, this is important.  Take notes.  I don't remember the criteria used to select said kitten, but very quickly it became clear that I was smitten with the kitten, and the reverse was more-or-less the case.  It was a kitten, they're really "too much fluff, not enough brain" at that age to be obviously smitten with anything other than food and sleep.  Come to think of it, that really kinda describes me right now.  Hm.  Anyway, it was on the way home that I got to name the kitten.  After looking at it for a little bit, my four-year-old brain sludged up "Marbles."  Because his eyes from the side looked exactly like... marbles.  Cat's-eye marbles, to be exact.  Kids, ask your parents.  Parents, sigh sadly and wonder where you went wrong.  Now, I'm never one to tootle my own horn vigorously, but looking back at my four-year-old self, I have to be impressed by the way I made that connection, even if it wasn't entirely intentional... y'know, four-year-olds are much like kittens: "fluff, brain".   But yet, there I was.  And there we were.

Very few, if any, photographs of Marbles exist, because he was just too awesome for film.  Or we didn't have a camera, one of the two.  Anyway, very quickly he and I became completely inseparable, a friendship that lasted until I was 21 and he was 17.  Marbles was not a "center of attention" cat.  Oh, don't get me wrong, he was more than happy to be skritched for extended periods of time, but he was perfectly content to just hang out with me while I did whatever it was I was doing.  Homework?  He'd be lazing on the table near the books.  Reading on the couch?  He'd be stretched along the top of the couch... or he'd force himself between my leg and the back of the couch, whichever.  Out in the backyard?  He'd be there, keeping an eye on the birds... just in case.  Of course when I went to sleep, he'd curl up against the small of my back.  And when I went to catch the school bus, he'd walk with me to the stop, wait with me until the bus showed up, and then watch the bus pull away.  He did this for years, to the point that I wondered what he did after the bus left.  So one day in my senior year of high school, I found out.  I made arrangements with the bus driver to leave the emergency exit at the back of the bus open.  Yes, it was a different time back then.  Anyway, he'd seen Marbles waiting with me for a few years himself, so he understood what I was talking about... so that day, I got on the bus as normal, walked the length of it, then got out the back door and hid behind a nearby car.  As the bus pulled away, Marbles looked totally normal, but when it turned the corner, he changed.  He got up, tail drooping and looking tired in general, and he walked... trudged... the two blocks back to the Old Home Pond, while I followed a discreet distance behind.  Eventually, he made it to our back yard where he made his way to the vicinity of the back porch and just laid down in a black and grey puddle.  He would have been 14, remember... pretty not young for a cat.  At that point, I stepped into the back yard and said "Hi, Marbles!"  Oh, what a transformation!  He snapped to his feet, his tail went straight up, and he jogged right to me and immediately headbumped my shin.  We spent the entire day in the sun, just doing Calvin-and-Hobbes-style things, with a couple of cans of tuna for him to boot.  It was great.  I was at work today, during a cigarette break (for everybody else... I just sat in the blissfully quiet training room with my eyes closed), when I realized that I missed him.  26 years, and I still remember the way he'd freak out over french fries, or the Great Thanksgiving Turkey Debacle... good times all. 

That's all.  No reason for it, just writing about Marbles.  Here's a cute girl for reading this far.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 07:23 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Maintenance Weekend

After the past week, I kinda needed a break.  Here's a little how it went.  First was studying for the  big certification test to become a claims examiner.  Next was actually taking the test, which took me seven hours and I was far from the slowest in the class.  Not only did I pass the darn thing, but I might have discovered an error in how a particular claims situation is handled in the process.  If so, it would save the client company about 1/3rd of the normal payout for this type of claim.  Which is nice, and might very well earn me a pat on the head, but I was more concerned about getting the question right.  So after we all passed the test, we were let loose on actual claims processing.

Four hours later, I had completed eight claims.  The target on the processing floor is about 30 per hour.  Looks like I've got a long way to go.  The second day was actually a little worse, doing 14 claims in eight hours.  The difference was that I was working through my problems on my own, trying to figure out answers to difficulties without asking the trainer... and largely succeeding.  All around me, my classmates were constantly barraging her with questions, and here I was, a pocket of quiet.  While it might have earned me brownie points with the trainer, it was hard.  The system is neither user-friendly or intuitive... for example, to most people "log off" means you're leaving the program altogether, but to this system, it essentially means "go back one page."  Not cool.  So after wrestling with that, the weekend was a welcome arrival.  And I slept.

I actually had stuff I needed to do... I have towels to wash, for example... but I could not bring myself to do them.  There was a four-hour long nap on Saturday evening, and an oh-my-heavens six-hour nap on Sunday.  If I didn't need 'em, they wouldn't have occurred.  Monday morning is coming quickly, with newly added pressure: we're supposed to be released to the production floor this week, and to do that you have to complete two groups of 10 claims perfectly.  And then we're on our own.

It could be worse.  I could be working retail.

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The Pond Turns Ten!

Today, July 8th, 2015, is the 10th birthday of Wonderduck's Pond!

This was actually the second iteration of The Pond, historically enough.  I originally began posting over on Blogger due to the prodding of the Official First Reader of The Pond, Mallory.  At the time, it was almost entirely Formula 1 stuff, with a little "life of a Duck" thrown in as well.  However, soon enough I wrote a little something about Azumanga Daioh, that apparently caught the eye of our Australian magical girl, Pixy Misa.  Pixy took pity on this poor duck and offered him space on the MuNuVia servers and a way out of the Blogger slums.  Of course I jumped at it, and the rest is a decade of history.

Ten years.  A lot has happened since 2005... good and bad... but through it all, the people I joshingly call the "Pond Scum" have been there.  Well, no, that's not entirely true... the Pond didn't take off until I annoyed SDB enough for him to start linking to me.  THEN the Pond Scum arrived.

And I couldn't be happier.  I've had a lot of fun writing the Pond, I've "met" a lot of great people, learned a lot of stuff, and managed to do something that only an infinitesimal percentage of bloggers have done: kept going for 10 years.  The Department of Pulling Statistics Out Of Our Arse tells us that only one out of every thousand blogs make it to their second month, one out of every 100,000 makes it a year... and one out of every gazillion lasts a decade. 

Even better, you guys don't seem to have gotten tired of it yet!   I may not be writing as often or as long as I used to, but the Pond Scum keeps coming back.  I couldn't be luckier.  Thank you, each and every one of you.  Yes, even you.  And you, there in the back holding the grapefruit and chicken.

I hope to have a retrospective post up tonight eventually (I had a seven-hour long certification test at work today.  As a result, I feel slightly less than chipper).  For now, though, let's put on our party hats, have some cake, listen to '80s music, and generally do silly things.  Thanks, guys.    

Posted by: Wonderduck at 01:26 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment
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Holy Crap, This Job...

I'm not going to complain about having a full-time job.  That would be ungrateful and inconsiderate of me, particularly after the past 11 month span where I couldn't find employment of any kind.  So please do understand me when I say I'm incredibly grateful to be employed.  But holy crap, this job.  I haven't even started doing the job I've been hired for yet.  Instead, the past two weeks have been learning the very raw basics on how to do it before they let us start doing it.  "But Wonderduck," I hear you say, because I have microphones scattered around your domicile and oh my god you really shouldn't sing like that in the shower or anywhere else for that matter, "isn't that good?  You'll know what you're doing!"  Sure, you'd think that, but here's what I've been learning:

Medical terminology.  Billing codes.  Billing modifiers.  The medical insurance rules for an entire friggin' state.  What gets billed, how to do it, and how to turn them down.  How to approve, why to approve, and how the hell does ICD-9 427.0 have anything to do with a broken ankle anyway, and how did they manage to bill it like that?  Seriously, I'm asking 'cause that just ain't possible unless you're doing a HicPic D9220.  If you are, I have a request.  And every single day, something changes.  You think I'm kidding.  Believe me, I am being deathly serious.  I want to make something perfectly clear right now: I am a supporter of the Office of the President.  While I may (or may not) be a fan of who is the elected representative of that Office (as this is an American politics-free blog, I refuse to get into it), I respect the position he holds.  However, as a potential Medical Claims Examiner, I find myself in the position of being about to say something I've given others grief for saying: "Thanks, Obama!"  I can only imagine what it was like for those who had this job when the Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act first took effect.  It couldn't have been fun at all, because it sure as heck ain't fun now.

Some sharper-eyed readers amongst the assembled Pond Scum may have noted the word "potential" up there.  That's because I'm not one yet, and won't be until I pass my certification test.  Which involves either knowing everything in that library shown above, or knowing how to find the needed information quickly.  Very quickly.  Because when I'm actually on the floor I'll be paid by the claim, and spending ten minutes trying to figure out the difference between 996.81 and 969.71 would be very bad for my bank account.  And, it must also be said, the patient's bank account if I got them wrong.  Probably.  So everybody in my training class is furiously studying our notes, going through the Binders of Doom, and hoping our cheat sheets are right.  Because you don't want to know what happens to your employment status if you don't pass the test.

As a result of all this, I leave the office feeling like I've been mentally hit by a truck, catapulted into the path of an oncoming train (express, not local), then deposited by the side of the track, there to be munched on by a passing fluffle of bunnies.  Then deposited by the side of the track again a few hours later, because that's how bunnies do.  As an example, I got home Wednesday around 5pm.  By seven, I was in bed, taking a short nap.  I blew through two alarms and woke up around midnight.  Then went back to bed an hour later, and slept until it was time to go back to work.  And then I came home tonight, had something to eat, and started to write this post.  Which, in a strange twist of fate, brings us to this very moment as I type this word.  And this one.  And these over here.  And this bit.  Ooh!  And the whole bunch at the end of this section of words between pictures.

What I'm saying is, holy crap, this job.  I'm sure it was no different when I was starting out at the D**k U B**ks***e, but I'm not used to feeling this stupid.  Stupid, yes, that comes with the territory of being me, totally used to feeling stupid.  But not so stupid that I wonder if I can even tie my own shoes (Wonderduck's note: that may not be the best example, as I actually wasn't able to tie my own shoes in a butterfly knot until I was ten years old.  I possessed perhaps the worst fine motor skills in the world, and to be honest, I never got very good at the trick.  Today, I use shoes with velcro fasteners... these, to be exact, though in black.  Maybe the most comfy shoes I've ever owned, and durable?  I've got one pair that I wore to Orlando two years ago that still feel like new.), let alone be a claims processor.  Dumb as a box of hair, that's me!  Oh, and I'm also godawfully tired, and glad beyond words that this is a three-day weekend.  Speaking of tired, if you don't mind I do believe I'm going to go lie down for a few hours. 

Yup, a nap is just what this lil' ol' Wonderduck is a-needin' 'round 'bout now...

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Oh, Did I Have SUCH Plans...

I truly had great plans for this post.  I had intended to sit down earlier today and write out something that would both create and cement my reputation as a brilliant humorist with a deep philosophical side, a duck of both wisdom and goofiness.  It was to be wide-ranging, but each section would be self-contained to the degree that any part of the post could be read in a manner satisfying to both mind and soul, but to read the entire post together would be a monumentally edifying experience.  But more importantly, it would have been entertaining and fun and perhaps even in some ways actually life-changing.  This was my plan.

For some time, the post would have been treasured by my readers, kept private as a gift from me to my friends, the Pond Scum.  Eventually, inevitably perhaps, one of you would have a friend or family member who desperately needed what the post could offer.  Perhaps the trenchant wit, maybe the poignant sense of understanding, maybe just simply the knowledge that somewhere out there there is a hyperintelligent duck that can type deep and meaningful works of literary art.  Whatever the reason, I could not begrudge them the experience, nor would I want to.  That lone reader would be the starting point; soon thereafter there would be many more from "the outside world" coming to read the post.

As with any piece of art, reactions would likely be mixed.  Some would be unable or unwilling to see beyond the superficial words to the deep meaning behind them.  Some would be too willing to do just that and thus miss the point of the post altogether.  Some relative few, however, would understand the spirit of the post and become welcome members of the Pond Scum indeed.  The immense influx of readers would forever change The Pond.  Every post before, and every new post forevermore would be closely examined for the deeper meaning behind that which I had planned for today.  Along the way, there would be some interesting consequences... Rio Rainbow Gate! would become the best-selling anime of the last ten years.  Formula 1 fandom would finally take off across the United States.  Rubber ducks would skyrocket in popularity.  And the so-called pseudonym "Wonderduck" would be thought of as a literary giant in the same vein as Hemingway, Heinlein, Clemens, Poe, Clancy and Royko all in one.  Yet such fame, would like as not, ruin The Pond.  Quietly, a Second Pond would open, known only to those who were the Original Pond Scum.  There, we could go back to reading writeups of bad anime and the occasional WWII post.  But it could never truly be the same, and with great sadness all that was The Pond would quietly fade away.

In hindsight, it's probably better that I took a nap and watched a dumb movie instead of following my plans.

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Days Two and Three

More book learnin'.  I now know more about medical coding than I ever knew existed, ever dreamed could possibly exist.  Dear god, Dan Brown would be weeping with horror about the infodump we're dealing with... and there's still two days of basic training left before we start in on our specialty stuff.  To give you an idea about how much there is of that, they handed us brand new three-inch binders yesterday.  Occasionally, someone walks in with twelve sets of newly-printed pages for us to put in the binders.  Our binders are already half-full, with assurances that they'll be full tomorrow.  These are the instructions and rules and laws and dos and don'ts for what will be our specialty.  Or, more correctly, the first HALF of our instructions and rules and laws and dos and don'ts for our specialty.

But other than my brain overheating from all the stuff being... um... stuffed into it, it's certainly not difficult.  No more difficult than sitting in a college class.  For eight hours.  I know, I know, construction workers weep at the mere thought.  Really, the hard part is having to get up at 615am to be there by 8am.  I know me.  I know that I can get up, do the morning stuff, get dressed and get out the door in a half-hour if I really needed to, but I'd get to work with a toothbrush in my ear, half my face unshaven, and socks on the outside of my shoes.  So, I give myself time.  It bit me on Tuesday... I came home, had something to eat, checked e-mail, and decided to take a short nap before watching the new episode of Hibike! Euphonium.  My head hit pillow at 830pm.  I woke up around 130am, and was back to sleep by 215am.  When my alarm went off four hours later, the only reason I didn't roll over and hit snooze was because my bladder was acting like it was the Upper Geyser Basin, and there had just been an earthquake.  Well, that and I want to keep this job.

Your Weekly Asuka should be up later tonight, after I have dinner with Vaucaunson's Duck and his lovely wife Geese.

UPDATE: Dinner was great, conversation was grand, and after having watched Hib!Euph, I'm not sure what to say.  So I'm going to stew on it until tomorrow.  Because reasons.  And sleep.

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Day One

Knowing that I needed to get plenty of rest before the events of Monday, I went to bed at the early time of 115am.  Oh, sure, to most people that's not early, that's late... but most people haven't been engaged in less-than-sufficient-employment-status for the past 11 months.  My normal sleepy-bye time for most of the past few months has been closer to 4am.  So yes, I went to bed early!

Which is not to say I actually slept.  Oh heavens no.  That wouldn't be the Wonderduck Way^®!  That would have been the easy way of doing things, and when it comes to the way Wonderduck deals with stuff like this, it ain't never easy.  But I went to bed early!  I flipped and flopped and flooped and checked to see what time it was over and over again ("oh, good, 10 minutes after I checked the last time... I'm doomed.").  Eventually, Chronos took pity on me.  No, not by letting me sleep, but he did eventually make it be 616am, the duly authorized time for my phone alarm to start its caterwauling.  A couple of minutes later, my clock radio clicked to life for the first time in 11 months, unused since the morning of my booting from the Duck U Bookstore.  Approximately 25 years old, the damn thing just keeps working.  I can only imagine the amount of dust inside of it.

After hoisting myself out of bed, all the usual things a middle-aged duck does in the morning followed along quickly.  By the time all that sort of thing was done, it was 7am and I was busy pulling on various bits and pieces of clothing.  Surprisingly, I got them all on my body in the correct order ("boxers, then t-shirt, then socks, then dress shirt, then finally pants."  It's never a good thing when those get mixed up... people begin to get ideas about you, not all of them complimentary), and with a good half-hour before the drop-dead leave time to boot!  After wandering around the interwebs for a little while... oh good, hot and humid until around 5pm, when it's gonna rain... I headed for the door. 

So much for the rain coming in the evening.  While it rained the entire six-minute drive to my new place of employ, the pitter-patter of moisture on the windshield providing a counterpoint to Mark Ronson telling me to funk on it, wonder of wonders it stopped just as I exited the DuckMobile!  I chose to take that as an good omen as I headed in to work.

During the next eight hours, it poured rain like nobody's business.  Small tornadoes popped up south of Duckford, hail the size of walnuts plummeted from the heavens, the wind was reported to have been gustifying up to 70mph at the Duckford International Airport, and as the training room was part of what used to be a warehouse, we heard every second of it.  Clearly.  Back when I went to Orlando for a biz conference with my previous employer, the opening ceremonies were going on when a Florida t-storm rolled in.  What was funny was that you could tell the managers from Midwestern states because we were the ones looking for the sturdy bits of the room to hide under when the storm got BAD.  Everybody else was like "what's this noise we hear?"  That's kinda the way we were all reacting today... "there's no basement, but this computer desk is pretty sturdy.  Hey, the trainer's desk is one of those old-fashioned steel jobbies, ain't nuthin' gonna crush that... we'll just have to go through her to get to it..." 

I'm not proud of that thought, by the way.

Eventually, the day came to an end, and as I walked out to my car, tired from being subjected to the usual battery of introductory forms and quizzes and "don't do this!" stuff, I had a sudden realization.  I had gone from spending all day in front of the computer, sitting in a comfy chair, to spending all day in front of a computer, sitting in a decidedly uncomfy chair.  But there's one huge difference... I was now being paid to do it.  And that makes all the difference in the world.  And Day Two is just a few hours away!

Posted by: Wonderduck at 10:47 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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No Stress. NO STRESS! Damn.

A couple of days ago, I began to feel a little under the weather.  Nothing terribad, just slightly unwell.  Felt the same way on Wednesday and Thursday, too.  I wasn't feeling at the peak of my game.  Still, nothing everybody hasn't dealt with before, particularly those of us of an older persuasion.  Sometimes, for no reason whatsoever, you don't feel as great as you did.  It happens.

However, this time came with an added complication.  All day Thursday, not only did I feel blech, but I was also bloody emotional.  Example: I watched an episode of Later... with Jules Holland that I had DVR'd that had a great lineup of acts: Norah Jones, Sting, Jay-Z, a Canadian hammer-style guitarist that just was impressive as hell, a generic group that sounded perfect for coffeehouses around the world... and the Foo Fighters, who were the real reason I was there.  All of them on the same soundstage at one time.  Jones did a couple of songs that I recognized from the Duck U Bookstore and they sounded much like their studio recordings.  Sting's just weird.  Jay-Z did a really slick version of "Empire State of Mind" with a live band that moved him up a few notches in my estimation.  But the Foos just killed it.  They played three songs while everybody else got two, and every single time they began playing, I began crying.  Not  "teenage girls at a Beatles concert" crying, just "too much damn emotion" crying.  Hell, earlier that day I saw a particularly cute picture of a cat, I said "kitty!" and bawled my eyes out for a few minutes.  That stuff ain't right.

But why?  I mean, yeah, I wasn't feeling great, but that doesn't make me all weepy.  I mean, it's not like the flu includes that in its symptoms: nausea, headache, runny nose, weepyness, body aches, lethargy....  And then I woke up Friday morning.  I had a headache.  Joint pain and muscle aches.  Ah.  Yay.  I really am unwell, it's not entirely in my mind.  Spiffy.  And then it hit me... I start the new job on Monday.  Could this be my brain's reaction to that?  I mean, the past 11 months have been... really, not so bad.  Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't really care to repeat them anytime soon, not without having so much money in the bank account that I'd never have to work ever again, but y'know?  Its been kinda cool not having to do anything for a year.  But the end is coming up fast, and my brain might be reacting.  Crap.

I don't have time to be stressed.  I need to be 100% for Monday.  I can't be sick.  I need to do laundry.  I need to go shopping for little incidental stuff.  I... I need my year back.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 11:57 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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Dynasty ! ! !

The Chicago Blackhawks just won Lord Stanley's Cup for the third time since 2010.

I'm not going to say I'm a hockey fan, because I'm really not.  I like the 'Hawks, of course, but it's not like I go out of my way to watch games.  I pay attention to the team, however, and I feel at least a little bit more "plugged in" to them than your average highlights watcher.

But I'm not a hockey fan, and I won't claim to be.  But my heavens, this is a cool feeling.  I don't really remember the Bulls run all that well... that ended 20 years ago, and my only real memory of it was thinking that having Michael Jordan on the team made it all unfair.  In retrospect, that was a stupid thing to think, but that's the way I thought.  The Bears Super Bowl was 30 years ago... I remember being more impressed by the big-screen TV I was watching the game on than by the game itself.  I left the party before the game ended and watched the rest at home.  And when the White Sox won in 2005, I hated the experience for a couple of reasons: first, it was the damn White Sox.  Second, and perhaps more importantly, I had just had my cardiac incident and was afraid that I was going to die at any moment.  But the Blackhawks won in 2010, which was fun.  They won again in 2013, which was even more fun... I was in Orlando for a couple of the games, and there was a lively rivalry going between the Boston-area and Chicago-area store managers.  This was unintentionally promulgated by the company itself when they gave us all iPads and allowed us to post e-messages to huge screens hung around the conference area with them.  Of course, the company is based in the Chicago 'burbs, too.  And now there's this one.

I either listened to or watched at least some of each game the Blackhawks played this playoff season, and it's an amazing feeling to have that attachment to a championship team.  No, it's not the same as what a REAL fan would be experiencing right now, but it's pretty darn cool nevertheless.  And they got to win it at home for the first time since 1938. 

Crawford.  Toews.  Kane.  Keith.  Hossa.  Chicago, you want the Cup?  They, and the rest of the Blackhawks, got it done.  And they've created a dynasty in the process.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 10:16 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Achievement Unlocked

So there I was, asleep.  Peacefully, blissfully, sleepily asleep.  Totally asleep.  And then, at 854am, everything changed.  Because at 854am, my cellphone rang.  Immediately, I snapped awake... not because I'm really good at waking up, but because the phone was about six inches from my ear, and the ringer was ridiculously obnoxious.  Intentionally, of course, just on the off chance that this exact occurrence... um... occurred.  I looked at the listed number, and didn't recognize it... except for the area code.  It was the code for Duckford, and pretty much anybody who would be calling me from Duckford was programmed into the phone already... and I started to get excited.

A couple of weeks ago, an e-mail came through my inbox.  It was from the company that interviewed me back in March, and turned me down for a position because I apparently had a giant pulsating brain.  They didn't want giant pulsating brains on staff for fear they'd be bored with the job.  They were looking for more staff, and would I be interested in re-interviewing?  I failed to see what the point would be since I hadn't gotten much stupider in a couple of months, but it's not like dozens of other companies were beating down my door... and maybe if I drooled on myself during the interview, I could convince them that I was what they were looking for.

This was actually when I took a weekend off, by the way.  Part of the laundry I got done was my bestest dress shirt, don'tchaknow.  A couple of days later, I found myself at the job location attempting to look like a well-dressed simpleton.  I'm not entirely convinced I managed to pull off either of those two things, but at least I was wearing a suit and tie.  That matched.  Intentionally!  After I had been standing in the reception area for a few minutes, my interviewer popped up and I felt a moment of growing hope: it wasn't the person that had interviewed me in March.  After we chatted for maybe ten minutes, doing the usual interview routine ("oh, you were a paid assassin?  Interesting... would you have problems doing office work?"), the moment I had feared came to pass.  She looked at her notes and said "You're very smart."

If I had managed to keep that hidden up to this point in the interview, my response pretty much blew the camouflage right off.  "That's what the tests say, at any rate."  I then gave a short speech on how I felt that I had lost my chance at the previous position because of my giant pulsating brain, and that I wanted to assure her that it really wouldn't be a problem.  And then she said the magic words: "I agree.  My team does different, more difficult tasks.  Being smart isn't a drawback, because I can train you on more things."

Even with those assurances ringing in my ears, I was loathe to rejoice quite yet.  We talked for another fifteen minutes or so, then she said there's going to be a background check, of course.  For whatever reason, background checks fill me with terror.  No, there's no secrets in my history, no more than any other person that is.  But who's to say that the traffic ticket I got 27 years ago won't be enough to tell them not to hire me... or that the Powers That Be that ran the Duck U Bookstore wouldn't jab another pencil into my brain?  So I left the interview, picked up something for lunch, and returned to Pond Central.  And spent the next seven days waiting to hear something.  When it reached seven days, I began to rationalize.  When it hit eight days, I figured I was out of luck again and had a pleasant Mexican dinner with The Librarian.  That was last night.

So there I was, asleep.  Peacefully, blissfully, sleepily asleep.  Totally asleep.  And then, at 854am, everything changed.  Because at 854am, my cellphone rang.  It was the head of Human Resources at the place I had interviewed, saying those words I'd almost given up on ever hearing again: "we think you'd be a great fit with us and would like to offer you a position in our company."  I start June 22nd.
I feel more a sense of relief than joy.  Strangely, the feeling I have now is similar to the one I had when I got canned almost exactly 11 months ago.  Without the whole "getting canned" part, that is.  I'm certainly looking forward to feeling like a productive member of society again.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 11:37 PM | Comments (29) | Add Comment
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You Don't See THAT Every Darn Day...

So I was browsing the Flickrs earlier today, looking for fodder for computer desktops, when I stumbled upon this:

"Engines of Change" indeed... or, more likely, change of engines.  Union Pacific UPY2644 is a RP20BD, which is itself a rebuild of an older General Electric B23-7.  The original unit was Southern Pacific 5111, built in 1980, one of 15 owned by Southern Pacific.  It was acquired, along with the rest of SP's fleet, when Union Pacific took control of SP's assets in 1996.

The conversion took place in early 2007 at a company called "SuperSteel" in New York.  These RP20BDs seem to make their home in Texas, based out of San Antonio, Houston and Fort Worth.  As switchers, they probably don't venture too far away from those yards so you'll probably not want to hustle down to your nearest Union Pacific right of way to see them go by... Avatar, Ubu, and Ben, however, should grab their cameras.

The RP20BDs are what's called a "genset" unit.  Instead of one big power unit, they have instead three smaller power generators that can be used (or not used) as needed.  These save on fuel and cut way down on emissions/pollution in the process.  I can only assume that 2644 either is having a major service performed on it, or it finally wore out and is in the process of being scrapped.  Either way, I can't claim to have seen a picture like that one at top before.  Kinda disturbing.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 11:40 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Weekender

This is going to sound strange coming from a person who has a sub-optimal employment status, but I took the weekend off.

This is not as far-fetched as it seems.  Normally my days are colored by an underlying tinge of horror and a growing hint of desperation as I dig deeper and deeper for a job, watch a bank account dwindle away, AND attempt to do something... anything... to keep myself from noticing my growing feeling of failure.  It's affecting everything I do from the moment I wake up to the point I finally pack it in for the night, which is really most likely to be early enough to hear the birds chirping in the impending sunrise.  So to do myself a favor, I allowed myself a holiday from all that.

I got a haircut for the first time in six months.  It may be normal for some people to have their hair long enough to touch the underside of their nose, but not for me.  It was the longest its been since  that horrible welding accident in grad school.  I spent three hours doing about 40 pounds of laundry... it took up one triple-load and two double-load washers... and I didn't care about the time because I had a book with me.  When I finished that, I listened to a bunch of techno-swing and modern throwback music (...and thanks to my brother in feathers for the Caro Emerald!) at a volume guaranteed to annoy my upstairs neighbors had they been home as a cold rain pelted down outside.  Eventually, I went to sleep.  Today was spent watching the replay of the Blackhawks' victory over Anaheim to go back to the Stanley Cup Finals, and might I just say that whoever it was that came up with the idea of using an entire hockey rink as a projection screen, they were taking their genius pills that day.  And then I took a nap.  And here we are.

I know this would be pretty much normal, every day stuff for most people.  I count it as a triumph that I made it through the weekend without fearing what the world thinks of me... or, more correctly, not caring.  I'll be back to my abnormal norms on Monday I suspect, but for a couple of days there, I almost felt like a regular part of humanity.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 09:53 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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From The People Who Brought You "Waffle Falling Over"...

...comes "Pickled herring sliding down a cut straw attached to a half potato."

It's not as dramatic as "Waffle".  Can't fault the effort, however.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 10:59 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Loss

That just says it all, doesn't it?

I'm sorry.  I'm trying, I really am. 

Posted by: Wonderduck at 08:14 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Not So Good

I can't explain.  I can't.  Not without whining.  It's my fault anyway.  Way to go, Wonderduck.

Posted by: Wonderduck at 06:42 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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War Thunder Ground Forces

I got very frustrated with the game War Thunder, the player community as a whole, and most importantly, its match-maker (which I've learned much more about than what I mention at that link).  Roughly, vehicles have Battle Ratings, or BR.  When you're looking to join a match, the game looks only at your highest BR score, and matches you with a maximum 1.0 BR spread.  So if you have a BR plane of 3.0, you may be matched against a 4.0 BR plane.  In this situation, you would NOT be matched against anything lower than 3.0, though, because then the gap to the 4.0 plane would be too large.  The important thing is that you're only compared via the top rating in your lineup of three planes/tanks/whatever, so if you have a Corsair, a Buffalo and a Peashooter, you're matched up via the Corsair... which means you're going to be sealclubbed after your Corsair is gone.  Further, as you play you earn improvements for your plane... you get a new engine instead of one rebuilt and repaired; you get fresh machine guns instead of ones with worn-out barrels, that sort of thing... but the BR doesn't change.  The difference between a stock plane and one that's fully improved (or "spaded" in player terminology) is huge.  So, you have a stock P-38 Lightning and you're flying against a spaded FW-190D (or whatever)... and you're on the ground, upside down and burning before you know what hit you.

Finally, I said enough was enough.  I'm not having fun with the airplanes anymore, and Avatar's been extolling the virtues of the game's Ground Forces feature... eh, what the hell, let's give it a shot.

more...

Posted by: Wonderduck at 11:08 AM | Comments (17) | Add Comment
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