Month: October 2002

When I looked out my window, what do you think I see?
And when I looked in my window, so many different people to be
It’s strange, sure is strange
You got to pick out every stitch
You got to pick out every stitch
The rabbit’s running in the ditch oh no
Must be the season of the witch…
— Donovan, “Season of the Witch”

Yesterday evening, when I got home from work, I discovered that the power had gone out sometime during the day. Not a big deal, exactly — just a few clocks to reset — but later that evening, when I decided to reset my alarm, the power went out again. And again sometime after midnight. I woke up a little after three am (according to my wristwatch) in a pitch-black apartment that was determined to stay pitch-black for the rest of the night. It’s only dumb luck that I woke up in time to get to work. I showered this morning by flashlight (with only the hint of hot water and apparently no heat), and the power was still out when I left my apartment this morning. A number of schools in the district cancelled classes because of the blackout.

And, had I known that once I got to work I’d be asked, “hey, wanna give a presentation on these University export control policies you know nothing about?”, I think I’d have used it as an excuse to stay home, too.

Oh, but happy Halloween.

Whenever the comments get a little iffy — like they are now; I can’t tell for certain whether they’re working or not and haven’t been able to tell for most of this week — I worry that there are people out there who want desperately to comment but can’t. Despite all evidence to the contrary. It’s okay. If you’re out there, you don’t have to say anything. You’re busy people. Of course, you could always send me an e-mail if there’s something on your mind. Most of the e-mail I get nowadays is spam, so anything new would be refreshing. I’m just saying.

This is weird. Microsoft Word will let me start the page numbering with 65 or 67 but not where I need to with 66. It does seem to be a problem specific only to this particular document, but it’s still weirdly annoying.

It’s snowing. Funny how that happens every year and yet…wow. It’s snowing.

Last year, when the same thing happened, I wrote:

The first snowfall of the season

is a wet and messy affair, shortlived,

of little consequence,

and interrupted quickly by the sun.

There is little evidence to suggest a repeat performance.

And yet, for those few moments, we are like children again,

gawking at windows, amazed it is this cold,

anxious and afraid for the winter we know is coming.

We have had no warning,

and we are not dressed warmly enough for this.

Wow.