feren

Well, maybe I'm not dead -- but I'm not resting, either.

( I am, however, taking pictures with my new toy. )

There you have it. If my photographs have left you in pain, I profoundly apologize. Let me suggest that you go enjoy some of the works of one gatcat by clicking here. Trust me on this.

Everybody wants you.

I submitted $3,227.31 in expenses to $EMPLOYER today after spending about half the day tabulating my receipts and filling out the forms. All but ~$300 of that total was incurred as a direct result of my unexpected "OMG WE NEED YOU NOW" trip to New York in July.

This is some sort of record, even for me.

It won't be long

I just got a neat little missive in the mail today from the fine folks at CitiBank. It came in one of those envelopes where you tear off the tab on the side, grab the enclosed letter and pull it out. I wasn't sure why I'd gotten one from CitiBank (for some reason I always think of the letter that Korben Dallas (played by Bruce Willis) gets via the pneumatic tube in The Fifth Element, it was similarly enclosed). Any time I see something like this I just know I'm going to regret opening it. There's always something unpleasant inside, like new privacy terms or a change on the APR. Yet they've got you by the cajones, you know? You have to open the missive because ignorance is not an acceptable defense in court. For me, it's also hard to resist curiousity when IMPORTANT PERSONAL INFORMATION is stamped on the outside of something. So despite knowing better I caved and opened it.

Congratulations, burbled the paper in a cheerful font. If you don't think paper can burble, you've never seen this font. Because you're such a good consumer whore and have never missed a payment with us, because we're worried that you're not spending any money with us and because we're greedy bastards who want you to carry a balance so we can suck your wallet dry through finance charges, we've raised the credit limit on your Diamond Preferred Mastercard! They've raised my bloody limit again? Well hooray for that. It was bad enough I could buy a brand new car and finance it entirely on one credit card. Now, with that aforementioend card, I can buy a new car, a new snowmobile and a trailer for hauling the sled without even approaching the limit. That'll make it so much easier to add on all the extras, like a seat warmer in the car and handlebar heaters on the snowmobile.

What the hell am I supposed to do with a credit limit of $23,100? I never want to owe that much in revolving debt and that's just one of my cards! I've got ... lesse here... four other ones with limits ranging between $6,000 to over $18,000. My credit score must be phenomenal these days.

It's more than just a dream

The title will make itself clear in a short enough time, dear reader. Just grin and bear it for a moment while I set up some of the back story.

For the last two or three weeks I've been listening to my pickup truck make a noise that can only be accurately described as "frowny noises" (Thank linnaeus for that term!) each time I step on the brake pedal. It started out as a light whine or squeak when I hit the brakes, and that progressed into something not nearly as subtle and a lot more shrill. It became highly alarming to me on Wednesday night when I was coming home and I heard a squeal that sounded a lot like metal pressing against metal. There was no sign of the sound I was dreading the most -- the angry grind of rivets against discs -- but it was possible that wouldn't be far behind. Thursday I spent the drive to and from the office doing everything in my power to avoid pressing on the pedal at all, going so far as to jake-brake the truck to a nice leisurely coast before I gingerly applied the brake pedal.

Like most automotive problems I've encountered the time-tested tradition of ignoring the matter and hoping it would go away on its own did, in fact, do nothing for me in terms of actually fixing the problem. I knew from previous experience that this was something I would have to get fixed, and that my procrastination would only serve to make the repairs more expensive. I've been down the road of brake repairs numerous before, you see, and I've seen the damage that a brake caliper can inflict upon a disc once the pad has worn away and there's nothing but rivets left to stop your vehicle. This situation had already occurred once upon my pickup and I wasn't terribly thrilled about the idea of it happening a second time on a new pair of discs. Since I wanted to go hang out with a couple of friends from FurryMuck on Saturday I decided that Friday would be the best time to take the truck in for repairs. The end of the week seemed ideal because I could escape from work an hour or so early, skip up to the shop and get the work done. Once they were done I could pay my bill and get on my way knowing I was driving a safer vehicle and that I'd save myself a good chunk of change by not doing further damage to my discs. Pity that plan fell apart.

( See the incredibly boring day that followed! )