Monday, April 26, 2010

There's style, and then...

I attempted a day without Vicodin yesterday. That worked so well that I'm not going to try it again for another week or so.

In other news, since I'd volunteered to take an oncall shift tomorrow (not like I had any other plans), I needed to collect my pager from work. Having seen part of the Big Lebowski at a recent Tortuga social, I now understood, at a profound level, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with leaving the house in my giant pink fluffy robe and ugg boots. Shannon, nightgowned, joined in the spirit of the thing and took over driving - at least partly in concern over me driving Patri's somewhat less-than-sensible S2000 (now named Fred, for future reference) whilst time-shifted into a parallel dimension on pain-killers.

And so we headed in to the office, me with the extra hope that the director who had recently attempted to schedule a one-on-one meeting for later this week would be in, so that I could demonstrate exactly why planning complex conversations with me for the next few days might not go to plan.

Alas, he appeared to have have found other things to do at 10pm on a Sunday night, but there was at least one willing photographic accomplice to be found.

Partway through our impromptu photo-shoot, it occurred to me to wonder if he actually recognized me. Although I do have a well established reputation at work for sartorial non-conformance, it is on a rather different axis, and I really have no feel yet for how well my new face  - particularly bandaged - triggers the same associations in onlookers. In this case, I think he did fine, and co-operated with good humour... and on the way out, I realized that I'd been wearing my work ID badge anyway :P

Patri kindly handed over Fred's keys for my use whilst he's off gallivanting around the world, since I'm precluded from wearing anything resembling a helmet for the next several weeks. I think the time might have come to bid the fraternity of motorcyclicsts a fond farewell (perhaps only after the pride parade, though).

I've never owned a car, or even regularly driven one, but the idea has the appeal of novelty, at least. My great problem with them is visibility - after riding motorcycles for my whole adult life, this whole business of having roof-supporting pillars obstructing the view and seats designed to make it difficult to look backwards bothers me a great deal. But needs must, and I figure a convertible could be a good intermediate step (at least with the roof down), and it also feeds into the mid-life crisis scenario nicely. I grant you that my approach to arranging a pretty girl to match is somewhat non-standard, but then I've never been a fan of doing things in the conventional way. After the car, all I'll need is a baseball cap.

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