notes from
the MUCK . . .

How does your garden grow? With muck, muck and more muck! I spent much of today finishing the final muck box and then shifting muck from one box to the next. The first box, which the Big Lad is enthusiastically pointing out, has been rotting down for two years now and once we’d removed the top quarter of unrotted material, we found we’d hit the pay dirt.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Small Victories

Has anybody else noticed that ever since 9/11, they tend to look at the clock at exactly 9:11 more often than any other time? A quick survey of my co-workers this morning suggested that this phenomenon has not been widely observed, though it sure seems to be the case with me. Perhaps it’s just that I come in to work later than every one else in the office, so I tend to be in my car at 9:11 AM more than they are, but I swear to God that three days out of four I look at the clock at precisely 9:11. Now, I know it’s possible that I look at the clock at lots of other times just as often, and that I just notice it more when I look down and see 9:11. But if that’s the case wouldn’t it stand to reason that this would be happening to everybody? I certainly wasn’t particularly affected by 9/11 any more than, say, Jeff. I didn’t know anybody who died or anything. So what gives?

Anyway, this morning I looked down at the clock at it was 9:10. “Goddammit,” I thought to myself, “I am not going to look at the fucking clock at 9:11 today because I’m just sick and tired of thinking about fucking 9/11 and because we all know that Karl Rove needs us to think about 9/11 at least once a day.” So I resolved not to look back at the clock until I could be confident that at least two minutes had passed. I can’t tell you how difficult this was. Within what could not have been more than seven or eight seconds, my brain started telling me “it’s been two minutes. Go ahead. Look.” Then my brain started saying “just see what track the CD is on. You don’t have to look at the clock.” (Yeah, right). At one point, I looked back down and it was still 9:10, which scared me into getting serious. Mustering all my will, I decided not to look anywhere near the dashboard until another song had started and ended. And -- with Herculean effort -- I succeeded. Oscar Aleman’s Tengo Ritmo came and went. I glanced down at the clock.


Take that, Osama. And fuck you too, Bush.