"Trombone yoga" sounds like a filthy euphemism

If only you knew how filthy...

And when I ran out of wimpy slides, I curled up in the indoor/outdoor swim-up bar/hot tub with a book and a strawberry daiquiri.

That sounds like an ideal weekend!

Yesterday I got my feet 3D scanned at the fancy running shoe store. It was super cool, and confirmed that my feet are weird as hell and so wide that they might as well be flippers. It also confirmed that I'm wearing the best possible running shoe for my weird feet, which was pretty vindicating, like finding out that you're actually wearing the correct bra size.

So I really just need a new pair of my current (woefully old) shoes, which the store has to order in for me because they don't have them in stock. #TeamWeirdfeet

and it was only kind of awkward to be hanging out socially with a bunch of people who literally could have been my children

For me it is often grandchildren! Go socialization.

In other news, I REALLY REALLY want a hot tub for my backyard now.

Do it! There is nothing better than being in the hot tub when it is cold outside. With adult beverage at hand.

They rearranged our teams here at work, and my new supervisor is a numbers geek who like analyzing his team's activities in detail. "This category is 5 percent more than the rest of the team, you should see if you can adjust that. And over here is eight percent off." Also, my performance stats are over 99%. If I could just be more statistically productive. Having my activities monitored and analyzed infuriates me.

I've had bosses like that. My immediate response was to request a meeting with his boss: either we move me to report to someone else, or you instruct him that if he's compelled to assess my performance by the numbers, he doesn't share that information with me. He can analyze and give me a brief verbal "work on this. Good job on that, keep doing that." Or he gets no numbers to analyze. None.

I've usually gained enough respect to be able to, respectfully, swing that weight. And be reassigned. In the case where nothing changed, I did bare minimum and frelled his numbers anyway. He was soon booted upstairs, to just below his level of expertise. At least, out of my hair.

He also probably shouldn't have been showing me his main screen of everybody on the team with all of their performances broken down by the numbers, but then he wouldn't have been able to say "See? Everyone else is at this level". It was very informative. My work nemesis is not that far off my levels. If this screen comes up at the next meeting, I'll helpfully ask, as if it just occurred to me, "Should I be seeing everyone else's numbers?"

Timelies all!

We're supposed to get some nasty winter weather tomorrow, starting in the early early morning, and continuing all day. Gary's work already decided not to open tomorrow, and Mr. S has no school or daycare. I, on the other hand, have to try to make it to work as close to my normal hours as possible. Bleah...

Solid busy this weekend, solid busy yesterday, solid busy today and I still need to make a flier for my wife and get up early tomorrow morning.

I'm feeling kinda tired.

Ugh, Tom. You deserve such a better time than food poisoning.

Everyone else, please stop having these superproductive weekends when the most I managed was to finally see Into The Spider-Verse and find a long skinny duster to use on the living room blinds.

I have been dropping by my friend G's apartment every Tuesday after therapy to check in on her mom, who needs someone to navigate the creaky back stairs to the trash bins and also just some company. Today she made tea and showed me two episodes of a BBC series about a cranky bookstore owner, and then told stories I had never heard before about how she and G's dad became genuinely good friends with Edward Woodward via the early and weirdly accessible days of fandom. Also how, due to a series of improbable events, she briefly became a portrait-sketch tutor to an artistically inclined Mountie.

Between these stories and struggling to write a memorial statement for G for the memorial next Monday, I am all agog at how improbable and ludicrous and lovely humans are and how little we can guess at any of the stories behind the faces we wander past every day.

Was that BBC show called Black Books?