Dog Days and Cold Hands

It was hot today. Roasty toasty. Near 95 degrees F. And what did I do? Spent the day indoors, under florescent lights, in an air conditioned meat locker, otherwise known as a professional office with private offices that have doors and windows distributed around the periphery of the building, while everyone else not in some managerial role languishes in cubicle purgatory.

Some wretched popinjays might suggest I was better off where I was, not having to deal with the heat. Well, rot and poppycock I say. Heat is good. Why are there saunas after all? Sweat is good. Having to sit on my hands to thaw them out is not good. Not during the dog days of August. It's damned silly.

Now if it were winter, if it were bitterly cold outside, if the frost penetrated my mittens so I had to clench my hands in a fist inside, I would wish I were inside sitting on my hands to thaw them out. It would not seem so damned silly then, now would it? Or would it? I wonder if then I might wonder, wonder if indeed it were damned silly to be living in such a cold climate where you have to retreat indoors and burn copious amounts of fossil fuels while you sit on your hands to thaw them out.

But be it winter or summer, always, always, I have to sit on my hands to thaw them out. Fiddlesticks. Stuff and nonsense.

It's too cold! Crank up the heat. It's too hot! Crank up the AC. Well the way I look at it, when it is cold your hands can freeze. But when it is hot, what happens to your hands? They don't melt. They suffer no damage. You see? Cold is bad, hot is good. Got it? Good.

Gosh, it can be fun taking a hyperbolic position. But I am American after all. Americans are very good at hyperbole. We are the original swift boaters. We will lie like rugs and create reality. Joseph Goebbels was very good at this. But wait, he wasn't American! Which reminds me of a Dave Berg conversation:

First man: Anyone who is not a right wing conservative like me is either a communist or a damned foreigner.

Second man: Isn't that a bit extreme? A great man once said "Moderation, all things to moderation!"

First man: Oh yeah? Who said that?

Second man: Aristotle, the Greek philosopher!

First man: Aha, you see? He was a damned foreigner!

Hither and Thither

I was just checking... my last blog posting was early January. Now it is early August. Say what? Can I claim this is an actual blog when I add nothing to it for seven months? My sense of priorities and my command of self-discipline can get into a rather sub-abysmal channel. It does not help that I opened a Facebook account, which I also have a hell of time maintaining. It does not help that I have a LinkedIn account, which, even though it requires minimal attention, nonetheless it is one more online account which I should maintain. It does not help that I had to relocate (on a temporary basis but of uncertain duration) from one state to another because the market in Massachusetts is a train wreck.

It's a good thing it is summer. Summer makes everything easier. And since coming to Pennsylvania, and after moving to my third place to sleep at night, I am pleased to report I have a really nice room in a really nice house I am renting from a really nice guy. I am also pleased (pleased as punch) to report that my commute to the office is a FIVE MINUTE WALK. Yes, walk. Walk from door to door. And this is not in a big city, no sir, not at all. This is a small town on the banks of the Susquehanna River. Amish country. Farm country. Cornfields. Cows. Fresh produce. And the best damned tomatoes you will find anywhere, locally grown. And there are breweries. And there are wineries.

I visited a winery today. Just a few miles away. I took a self guided tour, then did a tasting. The grapes they can grow here and the way they make the wine is not entirely what I like best, but I did buy one bottle. It may not be a Spanish Tempranillo, but it is OK. I think it will be decent with the right cheese, if I can figure out what that is. Perhaps a cave-aged gruyere?

But wait, you say, walk to an office in a small town in farm country? Am I working for the local cooperative extension service? No. Something rather different. But the reason for this location is related to this being farm country. I am working for Glaxo Smith Kline, the second largest pharmaceutical company in the world. They have a campus that used to be owned by Wyeth, a campus that dates back to the 1880's when work was being done with animal vaccines, work including horses. Still on the campus is a very large barn which housed horses. GSK bought the campus and has been renovating it for their own use which at the moment involves a new packaging line. No horses, though. The barn is simply a storage space now. It doesn't meet any current codes for any other use as I understand it. But it is a solid building, and they may renovate that too.