I remain un-Wham!ed.
I had grand ideas about how early I would get up. Then they met with my sleep schedule. I did arrive at work for the emergency lunch, which was enjoyable. One of the dudes there thought he recognized me from FOGcon. I mentioned a few people I knew via my professional life who were involved with organization. "And X, who is doing such notable work on [the helldesk software]!" I said.
The Emergency Class Clown (the clown from the emergency class, not the class clown who gets called in case of clown emergency) noticed that I said "helldesk software" in the same tone of voice which I'd said "Kipper/Llama", and remarked that "notable" is not the same as "good". Well-spotted.
Something in perhaps the ventilation system is squeaking. I filed a ticket.
Twitter introduced me to http://joshmillard.com/endlessjingling/
which I inflicted on various places, including #adventuresofstnono and #VirtualH, as well as passing it along on Twitter. Autoplay audio, which may be disturbing to some, although it matches up better than random snippets from 37 Christmas carols rightfully ought to.
Aside from that, it was a quiet day. It had started to rain harder when Purple came over, so we said a very brief and rained-upon goodnight. My car took him by surprise; he wasn't quite sure why I was stopping. Heh.
I got up with the early alarm, with no real idea of why I was getting up, just that it seemed like a good idea. I remembered while getting dressed: oh, today was the breakfast! I arrived to find that the food trucks were still there, and had been asked to stay another half-hour for the stragglers.
Rosemary potatoes in hand, I commenced on my inbox. The font vendor thing was going okay, and I sent various updates on that. The Stage Manager emerged from "our" conference room with a chairful of cruft: namely, a large box of mixed DIMM boxes and other rubbish. Most of it looked recyclable, albeit different kinds of recyclable. He declared that local-helpdesk had used the conference room as a war room some time ago, and that they hadn't cleared up their junk, so it was time to do that, and all this stuff was now my problem. So I shelled the manuals out of the DIMM boxes and put things in places. In between that, I had a delightful chat with a colleague also from Alaska who had worked in the shadow of the big blue dish antenna, and had almost certainly seen me, due to my association with the Duct-Tape Sword Guys. ("I was the girl.")
The bagel guillotine in the new building is also a "Smushy", and I should file a ticket.
The helldesk dev team has been inquiring on a number of tickets which have to do with the terrible "Portal" green and black UI, whether the proposed "Self-Service" view in the horrible blue and white UI will suffice. Some, yes. Some, on the other hand ... the phrase "Unless the Portal view is expected to be retired, this should remain a planned enhancement to it" was deployed. I shared the conversation with my manager, who had a many few things to say, and many of them less tactful than mine.
On one of them, however, the specific one which had nearly sent me sobbing under somebody's
desk with vodka, my response was the politest possible under the circumstances:
Anything more elaborate than that would have run the chance of the out-loud swearing making its way into the text.
Later in the afternoon, I inquired as to the best place to hang the disco ball. There were a variety of responses. The best one involved the long bar of fluorescents above my head. (There's a diffuser; it's not just naked tubes.) Some shenanigans later, the unit was assembled and hung. The Stage Manager, whose superpowers include being tall, helped route the little power cord. I captured the switch in a fixed location and put up a little sign, reading "DISCO!" My variously amazed and amused co-workers gathered around. The Stage Manager threw a lightswitch rave. My manager looked at it in (slightly wobbly) giggly delight.
I went and fetched dinner. When I came back, I read my email. Separate entry to follow.