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Our department had a christmas ornament competition this week. The ornament was supposed to be representative of the teamwork and goals of each program. Our office managers selected a group of people to make it, these people then decided to refine the selection to me and my office mate, who in his turn selected me to complete the project. So I thought sod it and made a christmas ornament that represented me. It had origami birds and german style wooden shapes and broke easily. As we (me and my office mate who is from Hong Kong) were hanging it on the christmas tree, the head of the department turned to one of her subordinates and said " These orientals are really creative".
I wouldn’t mind so much but did she really have to lump me in with the Chinese?
It’s snowing like the buggery at the moment, conditions are just pre the ice hurricane in the Day After Tomorrow (which keeps showing on television and is now my only pop culture reference). So in true christmas spirit our heating system pulled itself together, reflected on it’s purpose in life and promptly committed suicide. It did it with a wail of indignation which woke me up at 4am and prompted me to decide that the house was probably on fire. I was too tired to do anything constructive about it so I set my alarm to go off in an hour reasoning that if by that time the fire was raging I’d wake my flatmates.
After a suitable mourning period involving the traditional vigil in a freezing house we replaced it. The house is now toasty.
I said it was snowing, but yesterday it was snowless. Cold but snowless. The weather people (there are many and they are all powerful) said that DC was going to be hit by a terrible snow storm. Vicious and full of sleet, snow, hail and electricity bills. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, it was crisp and painful to the cheeks, taxis rolled by like predators and the pavement crunched under pedestrian’s feet. They crunched as if they were walking on gravel, only it’s wasn’t gravel it was huge swathes of salt tossed gratuitously on the pavement as if the city officials were suffering from Macbeth’s wife syndrome.
The prediction of a city brought to a halt by an amalgamation of all that is icy turned out to be about as substantial as Bolton and his amazingly childish criticisms of Louise Arbour. Bolton incidentally is a tit.
Which brings me to the end of my hungover typing. (It was a friend’s birthday thing yesterday. I made the invite for him. Look mum, I made this: http://www.geocities.com/tofubunny/movie.html)
