I keep thinking about the engine test facility SpaceX maintains in McGregor, Texas. That would be a hell of a place to work, especially for someone like me. Certainly it would be more exciting than fixing computers....
Bluesun did a stint as a rocket scientist:
...[T]he engine I helped ready exploded quite spectacularly.When I had some downtime at work today I had gander at the Dragon 2 capsule that SpaceX is developing, and that looks pretty f-ing exciting. I want to get in on this stuff; I want to help, and get paid to do something interesting, exciting, and intellectually stimulating--even if all I'm doing is helping rig motors to test stands, I want to do that, instead of repeating 40,000 times a day, "Tech support covers up to three computers...."
But the thing I remember most was that when it blew up, taking the metal building it was in with it, with debris landing a half mile away, the head engineer just sort of nodded and said “Interesting.”
I should do something about that. Really.
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But he's a doctor and he studied depression, so how could he be wrong? A shrink talks down to depressed people about how they should not commit suicide because they're hurting their children and blah blah blah etcetera.
...since depression is a disease that most of us can't simply "snap out of," may I suggest you write another paper entitled: "Fuck Wheelchairs"? I think those who find them necessary are merely weak individuals who could benefit from your wise and encouraging advice...And after that he could write another one. Give it a snappy title like, "Compound fractures of the femur: just walk it off!"
The doctor in question did, however, write another piece apologizing for what he wrote initially, and apparently he himself suffers from depression--but if he does indeed suffer from clinical depression how the everlasting fuck did he manage to emit such stupidity as that?
* * *
This sort of story is legion from Africa.
A mob descended on the center at around 5:30 p.m., chanting, “No Ebola in West Point! No Ebola in West Point!” They stormed the front gate and pushed into the holding center. They stole the few gloves someone had donated this morning, and the chlorine sprayers used to disinfect the bodies of those who die here, all the while hollering that Ebola is a hoax.It takes a stunning level of ignorance for this kind of thing to happen, and there seem to be a lot of stories like this that come from Africa.
Vox may be right, about the western nations pulling out of Africa. Certainly I think that would probably be the wisest thing to do, given the situation. We cannot fix what's wrong there as long as the people persist in doing stupid things, such as deliberately destroying their best hope for containing a virulent and fatal disease.
* * *
Work wasn't too bad today. As stated above I had time to look at something not work-related. That happened mainly because around 2:30 the sky got really dark and it pounded rain for forty minutes; that pretty much did for business for the rest of the day (at least until I left at seven).
Mrs. Fungus asked me to stop at Subway for dinner, and I thought to stop at the one on the way home which was a huge mistake. First off, there was a line, and after I waited about 3-5 minutes it was obvious that there was a line because the two people behind the counter were approximately as fast and efficient as a jet-powered beer cooler. There were five parties ahead of me; I was prepared to wait, though my patience did not help much.
I was behind two women, and they were behind a guy and his son, who was behind some other people. The latter group ordered something on italian bread; the guy behind the counter started to reach for it and then said, "Uh, actually, we're out of italian." Not "Oh, I'm sorry, but..." No, just, "We're out." They decided on another kind of bread. Then the guy with the kid ordered some kind of bread and it just looked wrong--as if it hadn't risen correctly--and all the loaves had stuck together, so the guy behind the counter had to break the loaf off of the rest of them, and it looked as if that was all the bread they had left in the store. At that point, the man said, "That just looks wrong. We're going to go to a place where they know what they're doing," and left. The women in front of me made the same decision, and I silently followed them out.
...ended up at a different Subway where I got what I wanted in a timely and efficient fashion.
Now: Subway is a sandwich shop, and it's one that sells itself (in part) on the bread being baked fresh in the shop every day, so how the hell do they mess up the BREAD? Really? And how do they run out of italian bread?
For crying out loud.
* * *
Somebody get this f-ing Good'n'Plenty away from me.