First a Birdbox update. I finished the book and we actually watched the movie last night. The movie is not set in Michigan. I’m thinking I heard something about California but not sure that’s right. Lots of other details were different and although the movie was fine, I preferred the book. I can only imagine the issues involved in turning a book into a movie but I would’ve loved if the movie had been set in Detroit. But check out both book and movie and form your own opinions if you like dystopian stuff.

Ugh. Yesterday I left Cubelandia without managing to solve a seemingly intractable Javascript issue with our high fidelity product prototype (“the demo”). The demo is mine and mine alone to deal with. I am not a Javascript expert but I know enough about it (and programming logic in general) that I can usually debug just about anything related to the demo. This one was escaping me. Finally, after hours and hours of meetings, I had some solo time to dig into it and I did manage to figger it out! Whew!

My cute li’l timehop app served up this pic a few days ago or so. It’s from 2014, a couple months before we gutted the chitchen. Can you believe that we lived with this fugly chitchen for something like 30 years? All I can say is that, when we bought the Landfill, we could barely afford it, or so it seemed, but it was a HOUSE that we OWNED. Not an apartment with landlords that rented to us because they didn’t want to rent to “zebra teams”. I was gonna say to google that but a quick search doesn’t turn up the definition I was looking for, which is a black person married to a white person. And this on the Planet Ann Arbor of all places. That was a long time ago and those landlords are surely long dead. (It was the Jackson apt, not the Seventh St., for a couple of people who might be wondering.)

Anyway, like all good gov’t employees/contractors, we lived paycheck to paycheck for many many years, basically until I became gainfully employed after a long hiatus and we actually had a meager bit of disposable income for once. Eventually, after a long period of cold feet and marital disagreements, we gutted this fugly chitchen. As oogly as it is, it is where the beach urchins grew up, drawing at the end of the “table” (that you can’t see) while I made dinner with Star Trek re-runs in the background. Wheeling around in one of those unsafe “walkers” or dragging stools back and forth across the room. Always busy and interested in whatever their moom was doing.

MAGA MAGA MAGA. Are we doing “great again” or are we just raking?

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