Dear Body,

We slept fairly well last night, and in fact with the exception of Sunday night’s windstorm we’ve been getting fairly decent sleep over the last couple of weeks. Yes, I’m just as amazed as you are.

In light of this fact, I’d appreciate greatly if we could avoid the experience of our energy levels dropping to near-comatose levels in the afternoon, manifesting partly as extreme dizzy spells. There’s no excuse for it, and it’s definitely interfering with effective and efficient job performance, as it’s hard to accomplish much of anything when one’s primary, nigh-overwhelming urge is to curl up in a ball and close one’s eyes.

Thank you,

The Management (aka This Little Grey Duck)

Here’s something that happens to me from time to time, living in this city and commuting via mass transit and on foot as much as I do.

Portlanders like to joke that there are two seasons, Wet Season and Road Construction Season. We’re now solidly into the former, and this morning I was walking from the Hillsboro Airport MAX station to the office, umbrella furled and sheathed in my hand. (Yes, my umbrella comes with its own protective jacket, also known as “the umbrella condom,” because my friends and I are weirdos.) After a few minutes I felt a light mist on my face. “No worries,” I thought. “It’s not heavy enough to bother with the umbrella for.”

The further I walked, the heavier the mist became. Soon it was sprinkling, but still lightly. Still I chose not to unfurl the umbrella. I stopped off at Starbucks for cocoa (with mint) and a breakfast sandwich, and as I left I noticed that the sprinkling was steadily working itself up to the level of actually raining. It wasn’t quite enough to make me break out the umbrella, and by this point it was something of a challenge. Could I make it to the office before the rain got heavy enough to break my resolve?

Crossing the big intersection at 25th & Cornell, the rain picked up a bit more, and I almost caved. With one hand full of food and drink and the other carrying the sheathed umbrella, however, I decided that not only would I stand firm in the face of moisture falling from the sky, but it’d be more trouble than it might be worth to actually get the umbrella out and opened. I made it to the office a little bit damp, but generally triumphant.

I imagine some perverse Sky God looking down upon me from time to time as I carry a folded-up umbrella and thinking, “What’s it gonna take to make you open that thing, little man? Is this enough rain? How about this? Let’s throw in some wind. Not enough? Okay, let’s open the tap a bit more. Now? No? How about now?” And so forth.

But then, I have an odd sort of imagination. Nobody really believes there’s a Sky God who loves to taunt and challenge us for no apparent reason. Right?

Not that I usually get much sleep on Sunday nights anyway, but I wager it’ll be more difficult tonight than normal. The wind and rain in the Portland metro area have both picked up in the last few hours, and everything I’m reading online indicates that the height of the windstorm will probably hit between 10pm tonight and 4am tomorrow.

Great.

I like a good storm as much as the next weirdo person, but did it have to be tonight?

You know you’re going to have a fun day when your first activity upon leaving the bedroom in the morning and wandering downstairs for breakfast is to vanquish hundreds of itty bitty pests. Stupid ants. They were making a meal of the kitties’ food, so I moved and washed and sprayed and cleaned and so forth (being careful not to get anything anywhere near cat vittles as well as making sure the floor was well cleaned afterward, thank you).

Well, okay. I actually did have a fun day: The kidlets came over, and we played Freeloader, Unexploded Cow and Carcassonne: The Discovery. Erica came from behind to win the first, I clobbered the kids at the second and Alex ran away with the third. I’d say that’s a fair and balanced afternoon of gaming, wouldn’t you?

One of the things that makes life worth the living, especially on a day fraught with frustrations, is an hour spent in the company of good friends.

Thank you, Mari & Doug, for treating me to lunch today. I really needed it! You guys rock.

(What? You wanted a longer post? Too bad; I wrote my novella for the week yesterday. So there.)

When you work in the radio business, you very quickly learn to hate the annual onset of a particular season. No, I’m not talking about what we’ve come to call “the holidays,” but rather another phenomenon entirely: Political season.

Sure, everyone hates having to put up with the ever-increasing barrage of mudslinging ads and heartfelt appeals to vote such-and-such on measure what-have-you. On the consumer side of things, though, you have the option of changing the channel or at least hitting the Mute button on your remote control. Working in the media, however, one cannot simply turn away or turn off. One must endure. Once that blessed Tuesday in November has passed, life can return to normal.

That is, if you can call nearly two solid months of jingle-bells mania “normal.” But at least it isn’t poorly-produced political crap.

For the first time in fourteen years, I wasn’t working “in the industry” during political season. As silver linings go, I’ve seen worse…