Workworkwork.

Well, now, that was some more sort of meeting. We usually try to limit the number of cases to no more than fifteen per meeting, but since we just had the one meeting last month and since the economy is picking up again we were flush with folks. Twenty-two cases, ranging from changing out a pole sign at a gas station to a huge city block development for a federal investigatory bureau (which must remain nameless due to national security concerns, although I can say categorically that Stephanie Zimbalist’s dad no longer works there).

All done in two hours, which is pretty darned good for any sort of deliberative committee. I mentioned to one of our members that they made good time, especially considering that they’ve spent just as much time on half the number of cases in some meetings. He just kind of grinned—I think he was still a bit shocky.

Further excitement came in the form of a note passed to me toward the end of the meeting as I was furiously scribbling crib notes—

“Terry, you got a call, I said you were in a meeting. They said that’s OK. But I asked if this was your daughter. She said yes. She got sick at school. I asked if you should pick her up & she said yes.”

Great. Even though I have three daughters, there is only one who gets “sick” on a regular basis at school and starts calling around to her parents wanting to be checked out. I know it sounds pretty flippant, but after a number of past dashes across town to check her out, only to have her make a miraculous recovery upon arrival at home, we have been taught to take such dire phone calls with a grain of salt. The meeting got over about ten minutes later and I started getting together all the papers and junk that gets left behind, with the intention of going back to my office and calling the school to see what the problem was. I made it to the front counter only to be flagged down to answer call number TWO. Wow. She might really be feeling bad. I got on the phone and she used her tiny sick voice and she said she had tried to call Mom but she was gone. ”Gone!?” “Well, her voice mail picked up the phone.” Ah. I talked to the nurse, whom I have come to know as well as anyone else I talk to on the telephone on a regular basis, and she gave her stock assessment—“Oh, you know, it’s just so hard to tell…” She’s nice and doesn’t want to just come out and say that the kids at school are a pile of malingering sandbaggers, and so our usual routine is to tell Oldest that since she doesn’t have a fever to eat some saltines and go on back to class and tough it out.

But, today, it seemed like maybe, just maybe, she was feeling worse than usual. Thankfully, Reba’s mom was available today and just lives up the road from the school, so we imposed on her to play ambulance driver and paramedic. I imagine Ashley will make an even speedier recovery than usual, although tempered by the fact that she won’t be able to pile up in her own bed and read books and watch movies.

And now it’s time for some typing.

BUT!! BEFORE I GO, I did mention earlier about an honor I found out about this morning. A kindly visitor named Tony Grant with a U.K. ISP found Possumblog and rousted Chet the E-Mail Boy this morning with the following:

i am writing to congratualte you on being the proud owner of your very own google whack! "giblets dodecahedron". […] type "giblets dodecahedron" in to google.com and you will only receive one result your very on blog!
well done!
Tony

Kinda gets you right here, don’t it. As I mentioned to Tony, one of the things that makes writing Possumblog so incredibly rewarding is this sort of recognition--I have spent years perfecting the giblets dodecahedron, and finally, FINALLY my work has made the impression I had hoped!

Not everyone appreciates a good set of twelve-sided guts anymore, you know.

(And no, I have no idea why anyone would think to search for “giblets dodecahedron”. I figure it must have been some sort of odd Limey drinking game.)

Anyway, as I searched back through the referrer logs from this morning and yesterday to see when the “giblets dodecahedron” hit came in, I noticed a much higher than normal set of odd search strings—I assume that my astounding lack of regular posting must have driven all the regulars away, and opened the door for some other folks to find out just how poorly a blog can be written and still manage to attract guests.

Like, ferinstance, a hearty Canuck wanting to know about yack en dander. No, I have no idea about this one either, aside from the fact that it just sounds funny to say yackendander.

Next up, we have a nice person wanting to know about "bolshevik anarchists". Well, it is Christmastime and all, and what says “Holiday Cheer” like a bunch of bomb-throwing Reds?

Of course, Possumblog being such a racy sort of site means I get all kinds of hits from folks looking for things like sela ward the day after tomorrow nude. I hadn’t heard anything about this, but I can let you in on a secret I found out a while ago, which is that the raven-haired former ‘Bama cheerleader walks around completely nekkid under her clothing. That bit of knowledge always makes the day go by quicker, so the day after tomorrow will be here in no time at all.

Not only do we get inquiries like that, but being that I am the nation’s foremost expert in small appliances, I also get my share of searches like this:kenmore vacuum cleaner complaints as well as, kenmore stove lawsuit. First, let me say that I hate all vacuum cleaners, not just those produced by the fine Kenmore company. Second, I don’t hate stoves at all, but am willing to if I can grab a piece of a big class action settlement.

Onward, then, to someone who came to Possumblog with possibly the most succinct and accurate seach string ever: hammered crap. My friend, have you ever come to the right place. Five days a week, eight hours a day, more than you would ever be able to find anywhere else. It’s just part of what makes this a special place.

Of course, this being the Internet and all, we do get our share of freaks, such as this Yahooligan looking for information about aspirin recipe skin razor make –eating. Trust me, this is a bad idea right out of the gate. Just go get a bottle of generic from the drug store, and we won’t have to tell anyone about this.

In a similar over-the-counter pharmaceutical/scientific exploration sort of field (because, you know, I am also the most scientificky writer around), we had this young student show up here wanting to know What will happen if I put a half of an alka-seltzer into a test tube fill half way with water,. Ahhh, a ‘tube fill half way’ sort of person—well, being an optimist, too, I would like to think that a magical genie will appear and grant me three wishes. Realistically, I think you will witness bubbles running all over your hand—you know, just like at Neverland.

From science, to science fiction--flying saucers fix up the building Terry's apartment. I just wish they would get through—there’s one with a leak in the crankcase and it keeps leaving a big puddle out in the street.

From science fiction to higher learning: "Purdue is bad". Now, nobody get upset—if you follow the link, you’ll notice the whole quote is, “Not that Purdue is bad or anything—they do have cheerleaders, after all.” So I wasn’t knocking Purdue. They make great boilers, and they have solo twirlers, and a big drum.

SO, there you go!
posted by Terry at 12:06:00 PM