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does my Trader Joe's bag make me look gay?
Wednesday, August 14 2019
Ramona was with me at work today, and on our short final walk of the day, I let her stroll through a group of moderately-cruel (towards each other) tweens horsing around a picnic table at the edge of the parking lot. Ramona loves kids, but she loves the food they drop any more, so she wasn't in a particularly social mode. "There's a random dog here," one of the kids exclaimed when she unexpectedly appeared, walking with the confidence of a dog in her own territory. When she started sniffing a little too ardently at some boxes that might've contained lunches, I decided I did have to call her after all.
In my workaday world, I've been temporarily dragged out of database architect mode back into much more pleasant work, fixing bugs in the Electron app I built over the winter, an app that functions as a legacy data importation system. Today's data import explored new limits of what the app could do, so I spent the day diagnosing and fixing bugs. Since the data set was so huge, each import took at least fifteen minutes, making debugging the problems a slow process. At 4:00pm, when the end of my usual workday came, I took my work-issued laptop home with me so I could babysit it through multiple additional import attempts while doing other things in my laboratory. I stopped briefly on the way home at the brick mansion on Downs Street to reinstall the handrail, a task that took no more than five minutes.
I visited J & K Liquor while I was in the neighborhood and was happy to see that they too are requiring shoppers to bring their own bags or pay five cents for one provided by the store. I'm so in the habit of bringing my own bag that I had one under my arm. I don't count myself among the *unknown fraction* of American heteosexual men who fear that bringing their own bag to a store will lead others to suspect they are gay.
Back at the house, I ran multiple file imports while doing other things, such as painting a tiny painting of a human nose viewed from the front. (It's a harder exercise than you might think). At some point I started drinking, starting with gin mixed with a grapefruit-juice/orange-juice cocktail and then quickly graduating to cheap white wine. I'd taken 150 milligrams of pseudoephedrine this afternoon, so I needed to come down.
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