tuckova

1. I had to go to the doctor last week as a result of the work at the
Prestigious Hospital, who wants to be sure that its employees are fit.
I attempted to argue against it, since I really don't see what my blood
pressure has to do with my ability to edit (I see what editing does to
my blood pressure, but that's different), and also because I
particularly dislike putting on clothes for the purpose of going out and
then taking off my clothes in front of clothed people. This is why I
never pursued a career as an artist's model. Fears and bumbling aside,
the visit to the doctor turned out to be the most low-maintenance visit
I've ever had: for example, he determined my height and weight by asking
me what they were. Neat-o. He said I could come back and take off my
clothes some other time, but a form is a form and let's get this thing
done. So that guy is totally going to be my regular doctor now.

2. I've been thinking about what makes people fall out of like. When
I meet somebody, I either instantly like or dislike them, or I forget
their names. Of the people I remember, I revise my opinion only rarely.
So if I stop liking somebody, there's generally a reason, I mean a thing
I can say, "It is at this point that I stopped liking you/being
interested in you." But I guess for some people they just lose interest
gradually? Or is there always some event, some one thing, however dimly
acknowledged, that causes a break?

3. Inspired by our friends who got Squire to paint a trailer by
paying him, I decided to try that approach at the cottage, and offered
to pay him a really ridiculous amount per nail for pulling nails out of
previously-used wood, so that it could then be safely chainsawed and
used for
firewood. Five crowns a nail, you guys. So he was all excitedly plotting
what he
would do with the money, what he would buy, how many nails he might pull
in an hour, etc. I was like, "Hey, all he needed was some motivation!"
He made it for about 30 minutes, 10 nails. Then he got bored and stomped
around the place for a few hours talking about how he had so much angry
energy he didn't know what to do with himself, oh the horrible
hor-moans! and then he lay on the bed and listened to Percy Jackson and
the Predictables. I pulled out the rest of the nails, though I gave up
counting out loud after 100. Then I stomped around the cottage wondering
who was going to pay ME five crowns a nail, because 500 Kc buys a quite
fine bottle of somethingsomething, which I felt I deserved.

4. Noting typos on the US Census web site is a) an occupational
hazard; b)a sign of too much free time; c) other.

5. I think one
reason I am good at remembering so many facts in general is that I
absolutely cannot store numbers. It has been noted that if some Czech
version of the INS ever came for me, or child services for that matter, I
might be lost. How much did Squire weigh when he was born? I have no
idea. Or Friar's year of birth. Or my current phone number. I do not
remember how old your kids are, and I have on more than one occasion
forgotten how many kids you have, and had to remember by reciting their
names, which I remember. I don't remember your birthday unless I have a
clever mnemonic, though I remember to write it down, so props for me. I
also have trouble performing simple functions, like you don't even want
to know what DST does to my poor tender brain. But anyway: numbers.
Numb-er and numb-er. Is this normal? It goes without saying that I can
tell you phone numbers from my childhood, including radio stations, my
aunt's house, my next-door-neighbor's, but I can't keep new numbers in
my head for beans. I blame trying to switch to metric as an adult. What
do you think?