J.P.

So I just stopped at the gas station to fill up the car. I swiped my debit card, punched in my zip code, told the pump I wanted a receipt and started pumping. Two things happened that irked me. First of all, I had to hold the handle because New York State (at least this part) doesn’t allow you to use the little latch that holds the pump in an on position. They want you to stand right there and hold that handle yourself, regardless of the weather (and it gets mighty cold in these parts). This is undoubtedly because someone downstate (I’m projecting here) probably screwed up and doused themselves with gas and then lit themselves on fire and it was deemed dangerous to let the pump do it’s thing itself; they’d rather you stayed right there and sucked in as many gas fumes as possible. I project this onto downstate because they’re next to New Jersey where you’re not even allowed to touch the gas pump, you have to have the well paid Fuel Attendant do it while he’s enjoying a smoke.

Secondly, the pump stopped pumping at $0.04 and promptly spit out a receipt. So not only did I get no more than three drops of gas into the car before cashing out, I had to hold the handle for every drop of that four cents worth of gas.

I swiped my card again and went through the whole rigmarole where the pump claimed I had a full tank at 10 gallons but I knew better and was able to squeeze another 1.5 gallons into the tank. I figured if I had to hold the handle the entire time I was going to get every last drop into that tank that I could. It’s kind of like shaking it in the bathroom.

Because the OCD in me can’t stand to pump gas to an uneven amount (I either go to the nearest dollar or nickel, or something cute like $34.56), I had to go to a weird amount that was off by $.04 so I could compensate for the other receipt I had.

I’ll let Earl figure out the bookkeeping.

The oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico makes me sick to my stomach. This morning on the drive in I heard discussion about the merits of using a “nuclear detonation” to seal the hole off to stop the leak. There were doubts as to whether this would actually be done, however, the merits were being discussed. That approach can’t be too healthy for any living things around the spill site.

I tweeted yesterday that I thought that any person that goes to a BP gas station is a fucktard. (I’ve been using that word a lot lately). I stand by that belief.

BP’s approach to stopping the spill is to make sure they can tap into the same oil by drilling close by. While we are an oil dependent nation, it’s probably not going to do us a lot of good if we don’t have a planet to live on.

I need to buy a hybrid.

Earl, Jamie and I are sitting in the back patio with a blazing fire in the fire pit. We are sitting on our new patio furniture as we just finished putting together the dining table for our “beach view set” from Lowe’s. The landscaping has been cleaned up and relit courtesy of new solar landscape lighting. We are officially ready to entertain this summer. I encourage folks to come up to our neck of the woods for a visit.

We were originally going to head to my Dad’s tonight for his annual Memorial Day weekend bonfire, but our projects took up more time than anticipated, so Jamie fired up the fire pit we’ve only used once in four years. The fire is quite nice. All that is missing are S’mores.

We went to the local BBQ joint for dinner tonight but they closed (at 8:00 p.m.) just before we arrived. I found this odd; they are a bar and supposedly a North Carolina style BBQ place. I find closing at 8:00 p.m. to be a little much. I now consider them fucktards. It’s a nasty word but the description is apt.

We ended up eating at the Chinese buffet that I affectionately call “China Nazi”, because they bark at you as the seat you, “YOU SIT HERE!”. We ate 90 minutes ago. I’m already eager to graze through the refrigerator. I don’t know what it is about Chinese food but it’s not North Carolina BBQ. I really wanted barbecue tonight. The fire is a good substitute.

I think we might purchase a few more things for the rejuvenated patio before the weekend is done. I’m happy it’s the unofficial beginning of summer, because it’s relaxing moments like this that make me smile.

We are a bunch of geeks.

So I have been shuttling my new laptop back and forth to work so that I can use it during my lunch hour whilst taking advantage of the city-wide wi-fi that is available courtesy of the company I work for. It’s a nice arrangement and now that I have settled on Linux (again!) on this laptop, I am quite content.

I am using the duffle bag that I used for my MacBook Pro and it’s predecessor, my old PowerBook G4 back in the day. All three of these computers have or had 15-inch screens so using the same bag has been a no-brainer. The bag is quite comfortable and roomy and I like the way it feels. Plus, we’ve been geeks together for a long while and it feels like an old friend.

I have gotten in the habit of not using the strap inside the case that secures the laptop down. I figured that if the case was zipped up the laptop was safe. So last night after pulling in the driveway from work I pulled my duffle bag out of the car and slung it over my shoulder like I always do.

That’s when I heard a crash on the pavement of the driveway.

I looked down and saw my two-week old laptop sitting on the pavement, DVD-ROM popped with the cover to that strewn aside.

My heart sank.

I picked up the new laptop, dusted it off, noting the new chinks in the cover and brought all the pieces into the house, where I assembled everything back together again.

Like a trouper, my new laptop fired up right where I left off at lunch. It survived.

I’m not happy about what I have done to my new laptop but I feel like we have bonded. And more importantly, it’ll always be tucked away safely in my duffle bag.