I had a dream where I found myself several generations in the future.  I met an extended family – the Millers – and visited them at their huge house where they all lived together.  Parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents – but not many children.

They seemed normal enough, but every so often I would notice a distortion on their faces and extremities.  Like an illusion breaking down for a moment.

They tell me about a “radiation event” that caused mutations and I realize that they are all able to generate an illusion to present a normal appearance and hide their deformities.  And they keep the children hidden until they are old enough to hide themselves.

They tell me that the radiation – if it’s still around – might mutate me in the same way.  I explain that it’s more likely to just kill me and that their mutations are caused by their parents’ reproductive cells being damaged.  And that the illusion ability must now be a dominant gene since a normal appearance would make it more likely for someone to reproduce.

They are impressed at my reasoning.

One of the women decides to show me what she really looks like  – but decides to put on her wedding gown first. I’m guessing she thought the veil would be dramatic.

Just as she’s about to lift the veil without the illusion, a child wanders in from the neighborhood.  He’s from the Weir family and the Millers don’t want anything to do with him. They shun that entire family.

I’m a little worried about the kid – he seems “off” – and since none of the Millers will help, I offer to try and help him get home.

I take the kid to a neighbor’s house and they offer to help him from there, but based on his behavior and the comments of the neighbors I realize that the Weir family is being shunned because they are cannibals.  And the cannibalism has led to a prion-based disease – like Mad Cow – and that explains the odd behavior.

With the kid on his way home, I head back to the Miller’s house to find they’ve all decided to reveal their true faces to me.

So, all at once, I’m surrounded by monsters.  And I take it pretty much in stride.

Since everyone is dealing with and passing down damaged genes, any child I have would be less mutated (since my genes are clean), but would likely still be able to cast illusions.

I realize that an influx of my DNA might be make me the savior of mankind and I’m considering my destiny as I wake up.

With finally some nice weather, I decided that it was time to do a little yard work.   Now, I generally hate working in the yard. It all seems so contrived and unnatural – and some weeds are really pretty.

But, I live in a neighborhood and there’s an expectation of putting in at least a little work.  In the past, I’ve put in maybe a half-assed job at it. I keep the grass mowed and will occasionally trim – but that’s about it until I rake leaves in the fall.  

This year, though, I’ve decided to strive for at least ¾ assed – or maybe even full-assed if I can get around to it.

And I’m treating yard-work less like yard-work and more like therapy.  After a stressful day at work, a little sunshine and wandering around my yard doing things seems like a fine way to chill out.

I have started out strong in the past with a bout of intense activity – and then I get bored and stop. This time, I’m taking it a little slower and have plans to do a little each day – with a little thought on what small project I’ll tackle the next day to keep the momentum going.

We’ll see how it goes – I’m hoping the neighbors appreciate it.

—————

This evening, though, I got a later start on the yard-work since I had an event to go to.  I’m friends with an elected official ™ and she was having a fund-raiser. It was at a local bar/restaurant and there was going to be food.  So, of course…

I got there just as it started, got some grub (not actual grubs – mostly veggies) and sat down to chat and relax a bit.  I heard rumors of pizza on the horizon, so I didn’t want to get too full on veggies.  And yes, I know how that sounds.

But, when the pizza came out and I opened the box – it was veggie.

Whatever poker face I have – and mine isn’t really great anyway – fell away with the betrayal.

Now, I like most veggies – but pizza?  Really?  That’s a thing?

I went ahead and took a couple slices and it was actually okay.  Carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower – and regular sauce and cheese.  No peppers or onions.

I ate it – but I was disappointed a little.

And then a second pizza came out! And it had pepperoni!  Yea!

I only had one piece – I was already kinda full – and it was excellent.

I met a few new people and shared some origami as we talked and ate.  And then it was time to go home and spread some mulch and dirt and do a little trimming.  A little bit every day – that’s the plan.

So, now, update the blog, take out the trash, and play a video game and read a book until it’s time for bed.  It was kind of a crappy day at work, but the evening made up for it.

I came home the other day to see that my yard had been “flagged”.  As in, there were red and yellow flags marking gas and I think water lines. There was spray paint too and clearly some project was in the planning.

Just not one that I had any idea about.  

I meant to ask my neighbor – we share a driveway – but didn’t get around to it.  A couple days after the yard and driveway got marked, I came home to a new patch of asphalt – on top of the concrete of the driveway – and into the grass.  And what I’m guessing was a new water line shut off. Maybe – it wasn’t clearly marked.

I went on inside and figured I’d call the city at some point to determine what had happened. Not upset, just a little puzzled.

While I was using the bathroom, the cat wandered in. As he does.

I zipped up, flushed,  and started to walk away when suddenly the toilet made an unexpected noise.

KA-WOOOMPSHHHH!

The cat jump straight up in the air and I stumbled back as I swore.

It settled down and I looked at the cat – who had wisely teleported out of the room.  We were both a little freaked.

I went to wash my hands and the faucet sputtered a bit before it too settled down.

Ah.  The work done had necessitated turning off the water to my house and there was air in the line.  And that was it.

I conferred with my neighbor after that and he agreed – though we were both a little disappointed in the quality of the work done on the driveway.  I’m hoping that the street repair fares better.

———–

Yesterday, I confirmed that the chicken nuggets at my favorite fast food restaurant are made with real chicken.

If your first thought is “uh-oh,” you are on the right track.

I went there at lunch and got a burger, fries, and nuggets. I drove back to the office and ate my burger and fries – saving the nuggets for last since they are the best.

I was on nugget 3 of 4 when I noticed… something.  I had already dipped the nugget in BBQ sauce when I saw something sticking out of the other end.  I took a closer look and tugged on it – causing it to unfurl.

It was a feather!

Now, I know that chicken nuggets don’t grow on nugget trees and that the most stringent controls still aren’t 100% – but it was still damn weird.

I showed my student assistants – one of whom took a picture – and then drove back to the restaurant.  I waited in line with the “feather nugget” in a box until the clerk saw and recognised me. She waved me over and I quietly asked to see the manager.  She got the manager on duty and I then quietly explained what I found. I suggested that they might want to contact their supplier and there was perhaps a bad batch of nuggets.

She thanked me, mortified, and I was on my way.

I don’t blame the restaurant or the cooks – it’s not like are out back killing chickens.  And I didn’t want to make a fuss or get something out of it.

I’ll go back one of these days, though as much as I downplayed it I was still a little weirded out and I won’t be getting the nuggets for a while.  Could have been worse, I supposed.

It might have been a little foot or a beak.  

We had a nice day recently and I decided that my car needed washed.  I could have done it myself – I have a driveway, soap, and a hose – but I also had a coupon for a free car wash.

And it was on my “list of things to do that aren’t super important but that I should eventually get around to doing”

So, after work, I headed to the car wash and realized that this was the first time I’d gone to a car wash where I was the driver.  And solo, no less.

Yes, I lead a sheltered life.

I got my coupon scanned, pulled forward to the correct stop, and put my car in neutral.  And let the machines take over.

It was loud, the suds made it impossible to see, and I was worried something was going to happen to my car.  And of course it was fine, but I was still unnerved by the experience. I skipped the complementary vacuum cleaners and just headed home.

Just… didn’t care for it.

—————

Also on my list of things to (don’t make me retype that), was a trip to the eye doctor.  It’s been a few years since I’ve gone and my glasses are in terrible shape – so, I hit their website and pushed the button for Schedule an Appointment.

I put in my name, phone number and the day, then clicked the next button.  Instead of taking me to a page to select a time, I got a note that said they would call me to finish the appointment.

So, instead of at my convenience, it was now at theirs. Nice.

The office called me a little later and got my info.  They also required my insurance information – which threw me off and I didn’t have.  I dug through my wallet and couldn’t find the card – and without it, they wouldn’t make the appointment.  So, I said I would look it up and call them back.

I went to UA’s HR website and found the provider – then learned/remembered that they don’t issue cards.  I could go to the provider website and get my membership number.

So, I tried to do that.  I tried to create a new account, but apparently already had one.  I tried to reset my password, but didn’t have an email address on file so they couldn’t reset my password.

I had to call them and they told me that my member number was the last four digits of my social security number.  I hung up with them, called the eye doctor back – and the day I wanted was suddenly all booked up.

I picked a different day, gave them my provider info – they didn’t need my number – and then gave them my name twice and what I needed (eye appointment, glasses) twice.

On the day of the appointment I got a text telling me to be there 10 minutes early.  Nice.

When I got there I had to fill up that HIPPA form again and go through all my info and tell them my provider.  Does no one write things down?

I saw the tech pretty quickly and got the preliminary testing done.  Then I waited. And waited. And Waited.

Fortunately, I had plenty of paper.  Finally, the door opened and… an intern came in.  She was maybe 14 years old, I think.

She checked my eyes and did the “better one or two, better two or three”.  Then she used a prism to shine the sun directly into my eyes for a while – which was impressive considering it was raining outside.

She left and I waited some more.  And more. And still more.

It was a full hour from my appointment time and I was down to my last few sheets of paper when the doctor finally came in and did the same tests the intern did.  She said I might be headed towards glaucoma or bifocals – and suggested two pairs of glasses that I would have to swap back and forth when using a computer.

Sigh.

The exam done, I was directed to pick out some new frames and even with my really great insurance it was still stupid expensive out of pocket.

And then it was back out into the rain with a headache and partially dilated eyes.   I went home and took a nap. In 7-10 days, I’ll have new glasses and I’m hoping I look amazing and can see through lead for all the trouble it was.

—————————

In both cases, I felt like I should have had more control.  Driving my car, using a computer, using…well… my eyes. I’m okay when giving up control is my choice and when that happens I’m pretty chill.  When it’s taken away – and it’s stupid (so stupid) – I don’t do so well.

Maybe I need some more art therapy?

I’ve had a note on my “things to do that I should get around to but aren’t critical” board to secure my website.  This involves getting a security certificate so that traffic is encrypted – not that this a big deal for me, but Google is pretty fired up about it.

So, I finally decided to get this set up last night.

I brewed a strong cup of tea, then logged into my hosting company’s portal.  I noted my plan – Shared/Hatchling (it’s a small site) – and then clicked on the link for SSL Certificate.

And promptly got a message, “The Hosting panel is only for Shared accounts,”

(and the white zone it for the immediate loading and unloading of passengers. there’s no stopping in the red zone.)

Hmmm…

I wandered through the site a bit and kept getting tossed back to the same screen.  So, I fired up a chat window and asked what’s up.

Turns out, the Hosting panel – and access to set up an SSL cert – is only for Shared/Baby accounts – or higher.

Sigh.

So, I needed to upgrade my hosting plan and that was going to cost me a pro-rated $40.  I went over to the account settings, clicked the Upgrade button, and used the credit card on file to pay the $40.  With some grumbling.

With that done, I went back to the panel and got started on the SSL.  There was a lot of jargon and fine print – and when I got through that, there was a fee.  So, I fired up the saved credit card again.

And got denied.

Hmmm… so, I’ve either hit a daily limit – which I doubted, it wasn’t that much – or Something Has Gone Wrong.

I got out the physical card and called the number on the back.   After I verified my identity, they checked and found that my upgrade payment had tripped up the Fraud Detectors.  

Even though I’ve used that same card every year to pay for my site renewals, it still looked suspicious.   (Turns out the fraud department had called me, but my phone was on vibrate and I didn’t know I had a voice mail.)

They got things cleared for me and I went back to the hosting company site to finish up the SSL Cert.

And… it works!

https://thunderofwade.com/

Note the httpS – that’s the big deal.

I’m not entirely done yet – I still have to figure out how to route the traffic over to that side automatically – but I’m close.

And then I can cross that off the list.

Kind of ironic that me setting up the security on my website tripped up the security settings on my credit card.

Part of my job is provide training and support for our web system on campus.  I’ve taught a lot of people and most of them take to editing the pages pretty easily.

There are exceptions, of course.  Including a very small few that might be unteachable – ironic for a university.

Not that they can’t learn – they really just don’t want to.

But, I’m me, and I don’t give up on them.  By slow degrees and email after email, I can usually bring them around and get the least amount of work out of them as possible.

One of my current projects is a staff member in an academic department that has told me that she literally cries when she has to update a webpage.   I’m pretty sure that’s not literal and I’m also pretty sure she’s hoping that she’ll just be so bad at it that I’ll give up and just do the work for her.

We’re not there yet, but getting close.

Recently, she was having trouble updating a professor’s name on their bio.

Really?  Once you get to the right part of the system – which I’ve shown her, like, a lot – it’s the easiest thing.  Some days it would take longer to get logged in than do that kind of update – depending on the network.

I sighed, then prepared to rewrite the instructions for her again.  I took a look at the professor’s email that my troublesome editor had forwarded to me and it was utterly lacking in the actual problem.  It was “wrong” – but no details on what was wrong about it.

I sighed again, then did some checking.  The bio in question had a feminine first name, but the professor’s email signature had that same first name – but missing a letter in a way that still worked, but made it more… ummm… generic?  Or at least non-gender specific.

They also included (he/him/his) after the name.

Ah, okay.  

I would imagine one of the struggles in being a transgender individual would be in getting other people to get your name right.  I don’t know that that was the case here, but I figured I could err on the side of compassion and help him directly instead of going back and forth with the reluctant editor. Which, based on prior experience, could have taken literally weeks.  

So, I checked the People Directory – since this would show the legal name as far as the University/HR was concerned – and made the updates.  I contacted him directly by email and explained the changes, asked if other changes were needed, and offered to upload a new CV since I saw that was inaccurate as well.

He thanked me for my help and sent along a corrected document and a new photo which I uploaded.

And that was that.

I can’t really relate to what this professor was going through as transgender.  I’m a dude and I love being a dude and can’t imagine not being a dude.  My inherent dudeness is, well, not something I’ve ever questioned.

But, it doesn’t mean that I can’t recognize when someone is frustrated and maybe help things go a little more smoothly. Especially when it’s something as fundamental to a person as their name.

I’ve got a reoccurring theme in my dreams about elevators.  Usually, it’s some kind of physics or geometry defying thing where the whole thing turns on its side and spins or it goes sideways or the doors open on a floor in a different building.

You know, the usual.

I was telling Jim about one such dream and – being a counselor – he tried to help me understand what the dream means.

“Imagine that I’ve just woken up from a coma and can’t remember anything,” he said.  “How would you describe an elevator to me?”

I thought about it for a moment, then replied:

“An elevator is cubical metal box with horizontally opening doors that transports people and materials vertically through a multi-story structure using a system of cables and pulleys,”

He glanced over at me (he was driving at the time) and shook his head.

“I have no idea what your dream meant,” he said, “But if I really did wake up from a coma and had no memory, I’d want you to explain everything to me,”

I laughed out loud.

“That’s awesome,” I told him, “Because that’s exactly how I see myself,”

There’s a dose of ego there, to be sure, but I really can explain a lot of stuff.  And even if I don’t have all the answers, I do a fair job of mixing conjecture, patterns, and bullshit into an impressive melange.

BAM!  Vocab word!

Unfortunately, it makes me immune to dream analysis in any useful way. A little later I got out my phone and asked for “Dream Dictionary: elevators”, but Jim stopped me before I got too far – those sites are far too general to be useful.

So, if you ever need anything explained – especially if you wake up from a coma with no memory of anything- let me know and I’ll be happy to help.  Me and Clarissa.

Just don’t ask me what my dream means – I got nothing there. 🙂

Oh, and the other night I had a dream I was fighting Dracula in Hawaii while wearing a bed-sheet like a cape.   He transformed into a duck-billed platypus to escape, but I grabbed him by the tail and dragged him into the sun – where he exploded into dust.  I was trying to gather up the remains into large McDonald’s cups to bury separately (to keep him from coming back), when I woke up.

I got a notice of a certified letter waiting for me at the post office, so I headed there on my lunch hour to pick it up.

And it was almost stereo-typically bad.  The line was long, no one was ready, the guy in front me had a long and involved conversation with the clerk about people they knew and someone’s third wedding, and the clerk himself appeared to be legally blind.

When I finally got the letter I was running late and only had time to glance at the return address – the treasury department for the City of Akron.   I groaned and thought it was something tax related (audit? shudder), then headed back to work.

Later, I opened it up and saw that it wasn’t about taxes.  It was a notice that I was being assessed for street repairs.

Wait, isn’t that a Community Chest card from Monopoly? Huh.

I read through it and saw that my street was on the list of those being repaired as part of the current project for repaving.  And, based on the amount of property, it was going to cost me about $266. They won’t have the final cost for a while and it wasn’t a bill – just an estimate and a notice.

I had mixed feelings about that.  I would have liked it to have just been part of the property taxes and not this additional assessment, but it could have been worse.

And, well, it’s part of being a homeowner and being in a community.   That’s the deal. I’m not even that bummed about paying taxes – though I don’t always agree with how that money is spent.  And the actual process of paying those is terrible.

But, as I said, it could have been worse.  And though it’ll be crazy when they are actually working on it, I’ll have a nice street when they are done.

Now, if only we could do something about how many people park on the street.  Seriously, people, have you heard of a driveway? It’s like driving through a gauntlet to get to my house.

With all the news about facebook recently I decided to do a “Data Download” of my content from there.  People have reported all the terrible and invasive things they’ve found there, but my experience was a little different.  There were no surprises other than a couple Likes that I don’t remember doing. Of course, this isn’t the really scary stuff about societal engineering and deep tracking, but it was no more or less than I expected from the process.

One thing I did note was that there wasn’t a lot there.  The photos took up a few megs but I was able to review the rest of the text in a few minutes.  I don’t post a lot directly to facebook and most of my online presence is in my blog or my tumblr – or, rarely, my twitter of Haiku’s.

With the talk about #deleteFacebook, I gave some thought to what that would mean to me.  I’d still write in my blog and twitter and still post my art on tumblr, but I’ve have to do more with my site to get what I create out into the world – depending on how important I find that to be.  

I’d miss the connections I have with my friends and family, but I wouldn’t miss the ads and politics.  Most of the time I’m on Facebook I feel like I’m reading People magazine – pretty pictures, but not very filling.

So, for now, I’m still going to be inherently cautious about what I post on Facebook – and more cautious believing what I see there.

I was rude to someone today.

Now, I might seethe with an undying contempt and hatred for all of humanity (sorry), but I don’t let that out.  I keep that contempt locked up nice and tight with only the occasional glare or growl slipping out.

But, today, I was rude.

I was at work having a full on Monday (note, today is actually Tuesday), when my cell phone rang.  I didn’t recognize the number, but answered it anyway.

The caller asked for “Becky” and I sighed and told him it was the wrong number.  It was actually with a bit of relief – “Yea! Not a robot calling me about my student loans!”

His reply was, “Oh, sorry, maybe you can help me…” and went on with a spiel about donating money to something.

I honestly don’t know what I was supposed to donate to – I was way too angry.  When he finally paused, I replied:

“You start off with a bait and switch and then expect me to help you?  Are you kidding? There’s no way,”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and just as I hit the button to hang up the call I heard him say, “Have a nice day,”

And then I felt bad.  He was just some guy trying to do a job.  A shitty job, but a job nonetheless. I could have been a lot more rude – didn’t even swear – but, still…

Now, there’s no earthly way I’m going to support whatever he was asking me to support.  I mean, if it starts off with a ploy, it’s going to go downhill into some really shady territory.   But, I’m kinda hoping he calls back so I can apologize.  And then get taken off the damn list.

—————-

It’s getting close to Maker Faire time and I’ve been on the fence about participating again.  As in, I’ve known about the sign-up deadline for months and I’m less than a week away. Not normally how I roll, but it’s been a tough call.

I like demonstrating origami and teaching people – and I like talking about and sharing my craft.  But the Maker Faire last year was rough. It was about 8 hours of folding with kid after kid at my table – usually 3 deep – and no breaks.

I was exhausted when I was done.  My hands ached and my back was sore from leaning over the table.  And even though my friends and family stopped by, I didn’t really have much time to interact with them.  So, even with the crowds, it was a little lonely – especially when it was time to take down my display and load up my car.

There’s a little magic when a crane’s wings flap the first time or a cube comes together – but…yeah… it was rough.

So, making the actual decision to slog through that enormous registration form – seriously, my Humanities in the Western Tradition final wasn’t as rough – was not something I’d do lightly.  If I was going to do this, I was going to do it well and go all in.

In the end, it came down to two things.

1. I have a tendency to “not” – as in, just not do things.  I don’t know you could call me an introvert – see: polar bear jump, AANR member, silly hats, kilts, etc. – but if given a choice about participating in things I’d usually just rather not.  And I’m trying to work on that.
2. I could just sit in my living room and fold paper while watching a DVD.  And then post a picture on my website. And that could be the limit of my interaction.  Or I could get out there and share this with… scores…of easily distracted kids who really just want to walk away with something free.  Sigh.

So, last night, I signed up.  If I don’t get selected, well, I’ll be okay with that. If I do, well, I’ll be ready.  I’ve got stacks of paper and plenty of models to demo. I’ll insist on a break for lunch or the bathroom as needed.  

And I’ll teach a whole bunch of people something really cool and watch them light up.

I’ll be exhausted, but it’s the right thing to do.