We did "Briefly noted" twice before, in 2000 and 2002, and I'm sure there have been pieces that would have qualified for that name had I thought of it at the time, but the purpose is obvious: take note of a few things, none of which are worthy of full Vent length but which ought to be dealt with.
Monday I informed the boss that if they didn't have my position filled by my intended departure date, I wasn't averse to hanging around a little longer. He deemed this offer "generous," which is a word I don't often think of in reference to myself, despite having made about $50 in donations this week to individuals who at the moment seemed to need it more than I did. It's only money, after all. Still, I wonder what, if anything, I'd done to the karmic balance. Today he hired someone. Looks good on paper — he's even seen the platform before — and I never underestimate the power of paper. Still, I'll be expected to train the new guy, and I have become persuaded over the years that I'm a pretty terrible teacher. (I always wonder if they've turned in their notice because they want to get the hell away from me.) He starts Monday.
The whopping discount I got on my one name-brand prescription back in the spring has apparently ceased to whop. And it could be worse: I had the $150 they wanted, and I probably wouldn't have had the $1770 the manufacturer has the stones to charge at retail, but I was kinda hoping that I could get away with one more iteration. No such luck. It's only money, after all.
It's sandal season again, and while flip-flops are still occasionally to be seen, a couple of the Office Babes have upped their shoe game considerably since last year, for which my lascivious lizard brain is grateful, especially since both of them, were they IMDb-listed celebrities, could pull in at least four and a half stars on the major fanservice (sounds nice than "fetish") site. Both appear to have bulked up a trifle, despite their best efforts. As it happens, the one Office Babe who's done the best job of de-bulking — she reports being down nearly 60 kg from her peak — isn't participating in sandal season at all: sneakers only, now and forevermore. I have no idea if I'm missing anything.
The gastric distress described last week has subsided a bit, although it will rear its ugly head after bedtime and I don't think I can reliably sleep through it. Apparently I was prescient in buying twice as much Zantac as I had thought of getting. Not having chest pains, though, is something to look forward to.
And while the rest of the country broils, here in the 405 we were treated to a record low this morning: 59°F, breaking the old record by two degrees. The thing that perplexes me about the local records is that in summertime, the distance between record high and record low is maybe 50 degrees. In the winter, it's more like 100. I'm sure there's a reason for that, somewhere in Jim Cantore's Secret Diary.
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