One of the programs we use for email lists at work keeps a log of error messages and activity. I needed to dig around in there to fix a problem, but ran into a problem with the date.
The program was developed in Europe and it was looking for a date range in the day/month/year format. And for the life of me I could not get those numbers turned around in my head. Even with a helpful example of 23/5/2016 – I mean, that’s clearly the 23rd day of the 5th month in the year 2016. We don’t have 23 months, obviously. Duh.
And yet, I couldn’t turn the 3rd day of the 10th month around. A date is auto pilot, Month/Day/Year. Well, once I get into about March and stop having to guess what year it is, anyway.
And our format doesn’t make much sense. Unless it has something to do with the months being names after Roman gods or something.
Okay, yes they do. I just googled it. But the days of the week are named after Norse gods so you’d think they’d get priority.
I mean, do you really want to piss off the god of thunder?
Still, like the metric system, I don’t get why we’re such a freaking backward county when it comes to international standards of things that make sense.
I blame the entire country and the education system for the headache I got trying to switch the date around in my head to match the format we clearly should be using anyway.
I didn’t have to write it down – though it was close. And I got my logs, which didn’t solve the problem, but made me feel better anyway.
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I had dinner this week with the Younger of the Ladies Who Are Heading Back to New York. Not the city, fortunately, but near enough. Dinner was good, but she’s worried about her mom not being able to handle the stress of the move.
The weirdest bit was when I asked her what her son thought about the move. He – my former room-mate – doesn’t think it’s a good idea either. And the notion that all three of us actually agree on the same thing nearly destroyed the know universe in a terrible paradox. I mean, it didn’t, but it was close.
I’ll try to see them again before they leave. And I’m making them a wreath as a house-warming gift for their new place. It’s not much, but it’s something.
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In random news… I invented a new sport. Cross-country shot-put. The further you throw the ball – and more accurately to avoid trees – the fewer times you have to stop and pick it up. I don’t know where I’m going with this, but it seemed interesting to play. But maybe kinda boring – but dangerous, depending on where you stand – to watch.
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Finally, the last of my tree got picked up today. I heard the chipper running a bit this morning when I woke up and by the time I looked out my window, the bundles of branches were gone. Sort of like Christmas. In reverse. With branches. And not presents.
I say the last, but it’s really not quite the last. I’ve still got a stump to deal with which – according to the directions on the Stump-B-Gone container – will be basically my career for the next 18 months. I mean, really?
And I saved one good sized branch that was in excellent shape. It’s just big enough to smite someone with. I mean, if I was the kind of person that considering smiting people.
Which I am.
I have a list.