We spend money like it might suddenly rot. At the Tyson's Corners mall, my tired mind alternated between "What an orgy of consumerism!" and "This bird flu will certainly kill us all."
I was sure the index case was lurking around somewhere. At least the new car and flat panel t.v. will keep us numb until we die, raving feverishly and shitting out our own intestines. Also, she got a lovely cashmere sweater.

About an hour ago, my boss' boss walked in and informed me that the new office at DCA would need parts. Imagine that. An aircraft maintenance facility might need to stock aircraft parts. He also informed me that he didn't know what parts to get, or how to get them there, or how to account for the inventory. (That darn F.A.A. is so picky about aircraft parts and their whereabouts.) He decidied that at 0300, I should drop what I was doing and get him a nice, well-planned inventory in a tidy box for this station that opens Wednesday. I don't want to whine, but everyone has known that we were opening a station for six months now. Additionally, at least three people are on the totem pole above me, and jobs like this are squarely in their purview. They are specifically not in mine. So fuck them in the ass with a pointed stick.
(I'll probably do it, but I'd better get another fat raise.)

Tonight I browsed through some old pictures in my phone. I like this one, but it makes feel guilty because I haven't talked to this guy in a while. I guess that's easy enough to remedy.

My car is fucked up. I do not look forward to tearing it apart tomorrow. Which is why I've been glomming rides off co-workers and friends for two weeks.

Motorcycle or expensive symbolic jewelry? The decision has been made...

Gas station food for dinner every night: I love taquitos and Icees.
Gas station food for dinner every night: My stomach hurts as if I have been bayonetted.

I am proud to work for a Canadian company. As soon as I learn French, I'm moving to Montreal.

Hello, blog. I would say that I've missed you, but we both know that that would be a lie. I've been so busy, but for some reason, I feel guilty about offering the details to you as a consolation prize.
I can tell you that West Virginia is pretty around this time of year, and you'd have to believe me.
I might mention that I now know a bit more about a certain airplane, and quite a lot more about inter-company politics, and you couldn't question me.
My eight-ball game is absolutely ripping. You can't deny it.
I am a year older. My car is broken. We are buying a garage. M- started a new job, and will soon be traveling to it in a brand-new car. My parents are divorced. My father is basically unemployed. My brother is building an airplane. One of my best friends is getting married soon. My ten-year high school reunion is being planned as we speak.
These are facts. But they won't console you in my absence. You want to know how I feel.
I am alternately elated and apprehensive.
But mostly, I feel fine.

Highlights for the week include: her return to the states, and more importantly, our home; time spent together; meals enjoyed; my first trip to Atlantic City; her miraculous repair of my ipod.
The blooper reel for the week includes: indigestion; losing money in Atlantic City (okay, I kind of expected that); ipod malfunction.

Really, it's a resounding victory for the "pros", and an utterly humiliating defeat for the "cons". Take that, you stupid cons!

She comes home tomorrow. Actually she comes home later today. I let the robot vacuum the floors when I left for work, put the sheets in the dryer, and generally tried to not mess the place up too bad. I think I feel a fake cold coming on for Tuesday night.

Friday night- after cleaning the house all day, friends from work came over to play some Madden 2006. For twelve and a half hours. It was fun, though. We drunkenly destroyed the living room and kitchen that I'd lovingly prepared for my beloved's return. I even put the PS2 on-line and we took turns playing random 14 year olds from New Jersey, while the non-playing two of us took turns talking trash on the headset. A good, but extremely dorky, time was had by all.

Someone has told me that the new Bret Easton Ellis novel is good. I really respect this person's opinion, so I guess I'll buy it. I only wrote this as a reminder to myself. Now I just need to put a reminder to blog in my refrigirator, and a reminder to buy groceries in my car, and I'll be a functioning member of society.

The ever-increasing awkwardness and tension around certain members of my family put a damper on my visit, but Saturday night more than made up for it.
Something as common as "drinks at the Gravity" shouldn't really be able to change your outlook on life, and it didn't. But drinks at the Gravity with a certain few people seems to have done it. I don't think I can express how much these people mean to me, and how happy I felt there.
I miss all of you guys, and thank you for making me feel so good.

Well, she's off to the Continent, and I am alone. Utterly alone. I must dedicate this time to good, and not evil. Although I think I should be allowed to partake in some evil when I'm in the ATL this weekend.
Then, in short order: back to work, clean the house, paint the living room (my own little While You Were Out-style presentation), water plants, ensure continuing life functions of cat, put away approximately a shitload of books that I'll ship to myself from Georgia, call cousin, plan trip to Atlantic City.
No sweat.

A spaceship is here. I missed it flying in, but it is over at the museum now. I will be going to see it soon. Very soon.

Not much going on. I did take my FCC General Radiotelephone Operator's License test on Thursday. A tip: the name of the mechanically rotatable variable RF transformer device of a Very High Frequency Omnidirectional Range (VOR) station that is used to generate the amplitude modulated variable phase signal used in aircraft navigation is a goniometer. Not a gorgonzolameter, which is what was highlighted as the correct answer in one of the study guides we used.
Clearly, the gorgonzolameter is far beyond our earthly technology, and not part of the terrestrial purview of the FCC. I imagine it works somewhat like a nose, but with more beeping. And acronyms.

Last night:
Fun times with B- and J-, this summer's must-see duo. And Mel and I are responsible for their meeting! What is is about matchmaking that is so satisfactory? Also, finally decided, once and for all, that the best thirst-quenching summertime brew is PBR. No further research or discussion is required. This hangover is a mother, though.
One note- if you are playing acoustic instruments, then there is no need to amplify them to glass-shattering levels. Especially in a smallish bar with an audience of approximately three people. I mean, if the fucking Who was in there, playing My Generation at stratospheric decibel levels, well, that's one thing. But you, sir, are no Pete Townshend. And no one should have blood coming out of their ears after a rendition of Michael Rowed the Boat Ashore.

He stood on the shoulders of other great engineers of his homeland. Men like James Watt, John McAdam, and James Dewar. He attended the Academy, but left midway to find his true calling, and after a few brief stints on lesser vessels, became Chief Engineer on the most distinguished ship in the fleet...NCC-1701.
I always knew Scotty was the baddest ass on the ship. I could tell he was my father's favorite, too, and as shared admirations go, we could have done worse. Sure, Kirk got to boss everyone around and always got the alien poontang. Sure, Spock was probably smarter, Sulu got to drive, Checkhov got to shoot, and Bones....well, Bones didn't really have anything cool to do. But these guys were all lightweights. Monty Scott could pull warp 9.5 out of the cores designed for a measly warp 8. Scotty could drink 'em all under the table. Jefferies tube clogged? Scotty is on the motherfucker. Eight to beam up, you say? And you're under fire and can't hold still? This kilt-wearing bastard has got that shit.
Really, who else would you want on your away team? Sulu? Please.
So, this man, who had a small but definite impact on my choice of career, is gone. Maybe there is an Elysian Fields somewhere for engineers and mechanics, and if there is, I hope he's there. He will be missed.
James Doohan 1920-2005

I don't know which is worse- wanting to eat because I'm bored, or being too lazy to go out and get some damn food.
I am a lost cause.

If the Northwest Airlines mechanics strike, they'll be crushed. This will probably be the end of organized labor as a force in the airline industry. I mean, the company already has scabs on the payroll. And, if that's not enough, there are plenty of mechanics from Delta and United that have been laid off, are consequently disgusted with unions, and will cross that picket line without looking over their shoulders.
My father is supposed to retire in November. He is possibly the unluckiest man I've ever met.

Last night: a jaunt with someone I didn't know very well to a place I've never been. Vague enough? The person is a friend of my significant other, who I was charged with entertaining while Her Majesty planned her forthcoming Trip to Europe. The place was the "Laughing Lizard Lounge" in Alexandria. It was like a speakeasy. They hadn't done much to strip the place of its essential "house-ness", so it was kind of like playing pool and drinking at a frat party, although with only a fraction of the hysterical sorority girls on hand.
Also, they had PBR. So today I'm hung over.

After a year at this job, I've realized that there are two speeds, slow and utter chaos. Since I'm wasting time here, guess which one tonight was. I just woke up from my nap.
I love this job.
Unfortunately, with all the free time, I tend to get involved in side projects. Like this evening, when I determined that at my current level of retirement contribution, with a desired retirement income of 70k, I can retire in 82 years. On the plus side, I'm sure that the Social Security retirement age will be set at 110 by then, so I'll only have a year to wait.