My first ‘hattan at the Red Hawk mitigated a work day plagued with fixing punctuation crapola in help pages. So much fun. One of my Indian colleagues caught all of that stuff. I can’t remember if he is the one who knows eight languages or not but he is totally fluent in English and catches many mistakes. Many of today’s mistakes were ambiguous things about whether or not various lines of text needed to end with a period. You do not want to know the complexities involved but we have no design standards for this particular kind of thing so I had to make some difficult executive decisions. Somehow I powered through it. (Thank you to Mrs. Bishop, Mrs. Pratt, and Mr. Pfifer* for teaching me the English language and to Mrs. Velde for teaching me Latin, which raised English to a new level for me.)

I guess the first ‘hattan also mitigated my commute home. It was fine for most of the way until I got to the Road Diet that starts at the intersection immediately preceding the turnoff into my neighborhood. Some sort of accident had occurred a few houses AFTER my turnoff so I don’t really know what the heck was going on but it took FOREVER to GET to and through the preceding intersection.

My second ‘hattan at the Red Hawk mitigated a typical ordering session for our group. Like, NO, DON’T ORDER THE SQUID! Not because the squid is bad, just… [insert unblahggable stuff here]. And then there is the salmon, which is also dangereuse territory but a couple of us kept our mouths shut. I began the ordering session by asking for a second ‘hattan and the salmon pita. By the end of it, I reminded our long-suffering waiter that I needed a second ‘hattan, suggesting that he may also need a ‘hattan after the ordering session.

After yet another confusing parking structure adventure complete with an elevator alarm and alley confusion, we got ourselves porterized in LymeLoungia. And… and… and… How do I end this? I guess I will just end it. G’night. KW

*I have probably mangled Mr. Pfifer’s name and will correct it tomorrow after dredging it out of my old yearbooks.

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