Lunar Obverse

Small things.

Starbucks has discontinued my favorite raspberry scones. Lacking a pictoral representation of them, I would describe them as delicious thick biscuit-y triangles, with a scoop of raspberry (truly the king of berries) jam on top and center. I would always eat the scone-y parts and save (and savor) the center for last, making, in essence, a little cup of scone filled with red sugar and seeds. Mmmmm.

But Starbucks, in in finite corporate bottom-line but customer-oriented thinking, has discontinued those. Last week I inquired of my local baristas whither raspberry scones, and was told that they were going to be replaced by… strawberry scones. My mind wandered but truly, my imaginings were limited to… um… imagining a raspberry scone, only with a distinctly strawberry flavor to the dollop in the middle. OK, I suppose I can live with that.

Today, however, they finally had these strawberry scones in stock. And they’re so much better in some ways and messier in other ways. Instead of a well of jam, the scones have been sliced horizontally into a top and a bottom half, and the strawberry jam has been spread across the entire top of the bottom half. A layer, an entire layer, of strawberry jam. And then, as if that wasn’t messy enough, the whole has been sprinkled with a light… um… sprinkling of powdered sugar, always a consternation to me, a man who often wears only black.

So if you see a guy dressed all in black, with a light sprinkling of powdered sugar on his shirt and lap, and smiling while he brushes away the powdered sugar, walking around downtown, that’s me.

Wow.

Long Winters posters.

The one with the weasel is kinda fun. Even though it should be an otter, which makes the posters really, really off-topic.

…A river otter.

Dammitall.

Dilbert.

It’s funny…

…’cause it’s true.

Amen.

Ran to work. Juuuuuuuuuuuuuust over a 10:00 pace, 5.5 miles in 55:42, or (for those Mr. and Ms. Mathgeniuses out there) a 10:07.7 pace. Damn. I’ve got to be more faster. Or more endurance-y-er. (enduro-er? endur-er-er? Shut up. I’m a writer. I can make up words if I wanna.)

I used the showers in my new building. The lights are on a timer in there. My advice to myself (and anyone else that will be using the showers) for next time is: “Don’t take so long in there!”

Man, it gets dark in there.

How to lose your mind:

1. Lose checkbook.
2. Search for, and fail to find, rest of checks.
3. This step doesn’t exist
4. Search everywhere, including in jackets not worn since winter even though I had my checkbook just a couple of weeks ago since I paid my rent with a check.
5. Toss contents of two backpacks and a bike messenger bag out on bed. Huh. No checkbook.
6. Repeat previous step.
7. Suspect cat of dragging checkbook into some odd corner of the house. But no dice.
8. Suspect neighbors of stealing checks.
9. Realize I’m being exceptionally paranoid.
10. With beginning of month approaching, realize I need to order replacement checks or at least get a money order to pay rent, since that’s the only thing I write checks for now, because if I used the free online bill pay my bank offers I’d be late every month (don’t ask).
11. Order replacement checks one week before rent is due, figuring that’s enough time.
12. One week later, no replacement checks arrive in mail.
13. Find out that “one week” to a bank means “7 to 10 business days”.
14. Stop looking at me like that.
15. I’ll get to the point when I’m ready.
16. Try to buy a money order since, y’know, rent is due, motherfucker. Banks, however, don’t sell them anymore, which seems even odder than the strange calendary they use where “1 week” = as many as two regular, non-banking-employee weeks (see Step #13).
17. Buy money order from Post Office. Even more odd.
18. Mail money order to landlord, call landlord to let him know it might be a little bit late.
19. Upon arriving home from mailing rent check money order, find replacement checks in mailbox.
20. Upon dumping out contents of backpack that was searched at least twice, find old checkbook.

There. That was easy-schmeasy.