Dressing down

It's Friday, the weather is nice, and the boss is out of town.  This seemed like the perfect day for wearing blue jeans and a denim shirt to work.

... and wouldn't you know it, but I run into the VP of Operations and the GM of Operations on my way to the office.  What are the odds that, on the only day this year that I've decided to dress a bit slovenly for the office (in violation of the dress code):

1) I would run into two of the highest-ranking officials in my company...
2) ...on the one day that they're in town...
3) ...at 6:40 in the morning...
4) ...and that they'd be probably the only two top officials who actually know me by both face and name!  =(

Way to make a good impression.

Pointless lyrics post

I'm probably dating myself by listening to these guys, but I've always appreciated the subtle Celtic influence in their music, and their somewhat off-the-wall lyrics.  I've caught them in five concerts over the years, from the back of a 20,000 seat arena down to row 2 in a 2,500 seat theatre.

This is one of their lesser-known songs, but it is also one of my favourites.  The last time I caught them in concert, Ian Anderson soloed this one, perched on a stool with an acoustic guitar.

There's a haze on the skyline, to wish me on my way.
And there's a note on the telephone --- some roses on a
tray.
And the motorway's stretching right out to us all,
as I pull on my old wings --- one white duck
on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?
I'll catch a ride on your violin --- strung upon your bow.
And I'll float on your melody --- sing your chorus soft
and low.
There's a picture-view postcard to say that I called.
You can see from the fireplace, one white duck
on your wall.
Isn't it just too damn real?

So fly away Peter and fly away Paul --- from the
finger-tip ledge of contentment.
The long restless rustle of high-heeled boots calls.
And I'm probably bound to deceive you after all.

Something must be wrong with me and my brain ---
if I'm so patently unrewarding.
But my dreams are for dreaming and best left that
way --- and my zero to your power of ten equals
nothing at all.

There's no double-lock defense; there's no chain on my door.
I'm available for consultation,
But remember your way in is also my way out, and
love's four-letter word is no compensation.

Well, I'm the Black Ace dog-handler: I'm a waiter on
skates --- so don't you jump to your foreskin conclusion.
Because I'm up to my deaf ears in cold breakfast trays ---
to be cleared before I can dine on your sweet Sunday
lunch confusion.

...!

Breast ironing.  O_o

Just when you think you've heard it all.

Apparently the pool of human stupidity knows no depth.  What could possibly convince some cultures that it's a good thing to mutilate their women?

[Edit]

One good stupid deserves another.

His lawyer says he's a hero, rushing his injured wife to the hospital before she bled to death.

Why was she in danger of bleeding to death? It seems that this "hero" kicked her out of his truck when they were having a drunken fight, and then sped off when she reached back in to grab her cell phone. Her arm got caught, and he just drove until it tore off at the shoulder.

The full content of an email that I just sent out.

Please note that CSC0032 is now located in the cabinet with CSC0031 and CSC0033.  This will not only make it easier to check on the machines in the event of an outage, but it may also help me overcome the nervous tick I'd developed from having the stack of computers and monitors teetering precariously on that stand behind my chair.

Plonq

There's nothing like juggling around CPUs and heavy monitors in confined spaces to get the blood pumping in the afternoon.  So much for my otherwise wonderfully-sedentary day.