Author: Steve Cavers

Before I begin today’s rant, here’s a glossary for non-Canucks:

• Loonie – a one-dollar coin with a picture of a loon on one side.
• Toonie – a two-dollar coin. (Why couldn’t it have a more imaginitive name, like “doubloon”? I’d love to go to the local tavern and pay for my grog in doubloons. Arr.)

And now, the rant:

Halfway to work, it struck me that I’d forgotten my wallet (again). I’d have to forgo buying my usual heaping plate of fried noodles and battered chicken balls, which is especially annoying because I missed dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Fortunately, I had five dollars in coin: three for the parking meter and an extra toonie that I could use to buy a small snack.

That’s how it would have worked out if the meter hadn’t eaten my coins. For some bizarre reason, the amount of parking time you get depends on the way you insert the coins. For example, if you put in a toonie, then a loonie, you get a full day of parking. However, if you put in a toonie, pause, then put in a loonie, you get only 90 minutes. It’s $3 either way, but one method will short you by several hours.

Naturally, in my morning brain-fog, I inserted my first toonie in the wrong way, saw a 60 minute parking stub in the tray, and realized that I’d have to now have to put in my snack money for an all-day stub that I should have gotten in the first place. I won’t get to eat until sometime this evening — probably around 7:00 or so. (Grumble grumble)

I now believe that parking meters are deliberately confusing. Poorly designed machines are both cheap and profitable.

As many passers-by have commented, my cubicle has an impressive amount of paper in it. Reams of printed matter tower high and teeter over the edges of my desk. If one isn’t careful and moves too quickly, the breeze can start a snowstorm of pages. It’s quite a beautiful thing to behold. Like a snow globe, but with bulleted lists and diagrams.

You may ask me, then, how I stay organized. The secret is this: I let the sheets accumulate until nobody can remember why they were printed in the first place. I then neatly file those ones into the pile on the floor. Once that pile is tall enough to pose a hazard to navigation, I slip them into the recycle bin, from which they’ll be shredded, pulped, re-milled into copy paper, and the entire process will start anew.

In this way, I like to think that here in my cubicle is a small part of the greater mysteries of the cycle of life.

(Drumming fingers on desk impatiently.)

As you may know, if you’ve read this blog before, I’ve been living couch-less for several months after I started an ill-concieved plan to replace my old futon frame. After removing portions of the frame from my living room, procrastination (and budget issues) left most of its pieces in the hallway, gathering dust.



But the Couch Crisis will soon be at an end. Within hours — or possibly even minutes — the IKEA delivery van will drop off my new “MYSINGE” sofa. Already I’m looking forward to lounging, sogging, slouching, vegetating, lolling, and maybe even a bit of layabouting.

What? “Layabouting” is a perfectly cromulent word.

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Update…

K’plagh! After a pitched battle with strangely-shaped pieces of unusual cunning, I am victorious! I have assembled the couch and am now typing this blog entry with the laptop perched on the side table. Tonight, I celebrate with a barrel of blood wine and live gagh.

I’ve noticed that, due to being afflicted with a short span of attention, there are a great many things that I’ve started, but never quite