I wanna be like you-oo-oo

I had lunch with my friend @SmaleChange today, during which time, and among other things, we talked about what one might do in the city of Calgary.  I mentioned the zoo, and he replied that that might be a poor choice of venue, given that his lady is a vet student, and that the Calgary Zoo has an iffy sort of track record with their animals.  He listed a few examples including my favourite:  A gorilla that got ahold of a box-cutter.

I now have a very vivid mental image of a standoff between five or six zoo employees and a gorilla brandishing a box-cutter.

"Easy, easy!" Says one of the tan-pants wearing men.

"Ooh, AAAH!" Says the gorilla, swinging the box cutter back and forth and making cutting motions.

As an aside, pertaining to yesterday's post:  the adding of the viscous binding agent did NOT make things sticky and difficult to clean up after.  Go figure.

Densified Biomass! A.K.A. Pellets! A.K.A. Oh wee oh wee oh! A.K.A. International Waters of Love

After approximately two months of jerking around with a complicated apparatus that I cobbled together from old bits of science paraphernalia, I am finally sitting and working with a different complicated apparatus that was cobbled together from bits of new science paraphernalia.  It is computer controlled, by this very computer, and it is wonderful.  It produces reproducible results, and it makes force-time graphs all by itself.  I am in love with its science bits.  None shall stand in the way of our love, except possibly laws against mechaphilia.  On an unrelated note, I will be taking a short vacation to international waters with a varied selection of clergy and an Intel Core Duo 2 desktop computer. 

I am certain that our love will stand the tests of time, although I am uncertain it will stand the portion of the testing where I have to add the viscous binding agent.  That is not a euphemism.  An euphemism.  That seems grammatically untenable, somehow.  Anyway, the binding agent.  It will make the process sticky and hard to clean up after.  Oh, quiet you.  Dirty, dirty mind. 

I'm just going to stop talking to you while I'm ahead.

Drama Llama

I hate drama. 

Now, when I say this, I am not hating on theatrical productions.  I love those.  Well, except for Mama Mia, that ended terribly.  My mom suckered me into seeing Mama Mia, once upon a time. 

"Hey Tim, your father was supposed to join me at a play, but he's going to be in Ottawa on business, would you like to take his place?"  Said my mother.

"Sure, I like plays."  Said I, the unsuspecting.

So I drove down for the weekend.  The unnamed play was on Saturday, and on Friday night I was hanging out with my sister (who was also coming to the play) and watching a little television.  A commercial for Mama Mia came on, and I mocked it casually, as one might expect of a twenty-something male when confronted with a production aimed at the sensibilities of forty, fifty and sixty-something women.  To this, my sister replied, "...you know that's the play we're going to see, right?"

"Mooooooommmm!"  Says I. 

The abridged is that I ended up seeing the play, being mildly amused by the first two acts, mildly aroused by some of the female cast, and then profoundly disappointed by the third act.  And, then, really, I'm not much of an ABBA fan.  Except for that one song about Fernando.  That one's alright with me.

This, however is not the point of this little number.

The point is that this weekend, while visiting friends that I had not seen for some time (one that I hadn't seen in person for six years), there was no shortage of what the kids these days refer to as 'drama.'  As in, relationship drama.  Histrionics and over-embellishments of events and casual comments into grand, tragic, personal insults and hurt feelings, with little to no actual justification for said hurts on the 'injured' parties.

The worst part, for me, is that given the relative frequency with which this has been happening for the last couple of solar orbits, clearly some of it must be my fault.  Either I've been coddling fragile people for a long time, or I myself am a fragile people.  I'm not sure which prospect annoys me more. 

I'm almost thirty.  When does this crap stop happening?  How do I opt out of this little shitty game?  Is there a form I can fill out?  A legal request?  Some sort of waiver, perhaps?

When do I get to say, with style and aplomb, "fuck it.  I'm done with this,"?