On professional trajectories (1 of 3): A journalism guy.

So, on social media I came across this one guy whose campus newspaper work as an undergrad I knew of and was amazing -- it actually resulted in major coverage in regional newspapers, and it was just really, really well-done.

Like, I had had a story that informed coverage in a few places, but his work was just a magnitude of difference better.

And, I'd seen later that he had an internship with a major national publication, and I *believe* he had major work published there.

Anyhow, he now does tech stuff in the Bay Area, that part of his life is done, moved on.

A dream involving work.

The other week, I dreamnt --

I'm at work and working but work is a giant multi-level building with interlinked rooms flowing into one another and sometimes down one step from another, including this quarter-story down area with exposed brick pillars and distant walls and a huge airy open ceiling and white table cloths, almost like a winter garden indoor patio, and me and my coworkers are doing our best to manage all of the tables across all of the rooms, which are too many for us, there's so few of us and it's such a big space, and I bring a Chang beer up to a table and the one (older middle-aged) (South Asian) (nattily-dressed and beblazered) customer who's there in a sprawling group seems confused, and then he turns to me on the table this large blue-gray bottle with a silver label that says in a big arcing brandname MAHARAJA and then has a word KING over to the lower left of it on the label, and I suddenly realize that his accent saying the word "king" when ordering made me mishear everything and so I brought him a Chang, and meanwhile my one older (Thai) coworker who's a whiz at the phones had like right around then gotten his repeat order but brought him the right thing, and now there was a second beer, already opened, that we couldn't do anything with, and it was cutting into the restaurant's overhead...

And then, I woke up.

. . .

Short staffing at work, and an accordant joke.

Since we're a little short-staffed at the one (Thai) restaurant where I work now, it's really just the four of us holding down the fort as front-of-house staff -- me, my one (chubby) (Thai) coworker, my one (tall) (new) (Thai) coworker, and my one (older) (Thai) coworker who's a whiz at the phones.

So, one night my one (chubby) (Thai) coworker was saying that we're like the four members of BlackPink, which is her favorite K-pop group, and which also has four people in it.

She said that she's Lisa, who's the one who's like (Thai), and that I could be Rosé, because of my hair color.

. . .

Texting (2 of 2): Some mixed (Spanish) and (English) texting.

So, since it was his birthday that week, though I didn't know exactly when, I made sure to text some birthday wishes to the one (Colombian) (STEM) student who I know from around town, that is, I wrote him --

Puta, feliz compleanos, y ricuerda, ahora eres una viejita, pero no cuestas menos dinero, cuestas MAS

('Whore, happy birthday, and rimember [sic], you are a little old lady now, but you don't cost less money, you cost MORE')

- and -

Pq el sexo oral es mejor cuando no tienes dientes

('Bc oral sex is better when you don't have teeth')

- to which he replied -

Haha i love your messages 

- to which I texted -

Good. Men are horrible. They will not only use you and leave you, but they will try to cheat you out of the money that you are worth

- and -

They are pigs 

- to which he wrote -

Did something happen 

- to which I wrote -

No

- and -

It's just a universal truth

- as well as -

And they probably try to pay you less because you are an old whore

- to which he wrote -

Haha 

- and -

I just like dick, so it is fine by me

. . .

Texting (1 of 2): Some (English) texting.

Back the other week a few weeks ago, I was texting with my one (professor) friend who studies (modern) (Czech) literature, and I was saying something about how unpleasant and rigid so many of the people are who study the one ancient language that I've been studying intensively for the past several years now, and as part of all that I said something about how they all "have sticks up their asses," to which she texted back --

Poor sticks

. . . 

Scientology memoirs.

Years ago I read pretty much all the Scientology-defector memoirs out there, but somehow I missed that a number of them have been published over the past 5-6 years.

So, lately I've been obsessively catching up on like the 6+ that have come out since the last time that I paid any attention, they're just so readable.

It's like this whole comforting repeated narrative arc: encounter with the religion, attraction, time with Hubbard on the boat, moving to land, rise of Miscavige, "The Hole."

But, there's always something different, too.

It's interesting, too, because it's actually at the point where multiple high-level people mentioned in different books have all left and written memoirs, now, so sometimes you see someone mentioned, and you're like, "Oh, they wrote a memoir, too, I read that!".

With the last one that I think I read before this, it was by a woman who had later come out as (lesbian), and then her one (non-Scientologist) composer/producer lover she started dating -- who, incidentally, wrote the McDonald's "I'm loving it" jingle -- also wrote a memoir, so you could go and read them both, which I did, though the last one wasn't related to (Scientology) and had more literary pretensions and it was like pulling teeth, to finish.

Anyhow, I was reading both of those back when I was working at the one resthome that I used to work at, and, like I so often did then, I was talking about what we were reading with my one (skeptical) (Mexican) coworker, and when she asked me in turn what I was reading after I had asked her, I told her about these two memoirs.

"So they both are in a relationship, and they both wrote a book?", she was like, floored.

"Yes," I was like.

"That is crazy," she was like, still floored.

. . .

Coffee stain cleaner.

So, as with all coffee mugs, my one new-ish coffee mug shows coffee stains on the inside from the super-dark espresso that I drink vast quantities of each day, only it shows more on the inside than typical, since it's made of light ceramic.

And, it's interesting, using your thumb nail will scratch off a bit of the scummy stain, though if you use a scratch-safe dishwashing sponge, you have to scrub a lot harder than you think, since when you go to scrub it it actually mostly just seems to somehow form some kind of thick oil underneath it and move that thin tough sludge around on the inside, but never get it off.

Then, what happens to my surprise, but I'm craving milk, and I buy some organic milk the next time that I'm at the local hippie co-op, and later when I pour some dry oats and brown sugar into my coffee mug, I then put some 2% milk all on top of that, and then as I stir it then eat, I notice that the stain is gone, just completely gone from all inside of my coffee mug.

Something in the milk-fat must have gotten it off, without my having to really do anything!

I bet that has to do with chemistry, somehow.