Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Word: Finito




finito

adjective Informal.

finished; ended.

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               Josh blinked through his exhaustion as he tightened another bolt.  He was tired, both mentally and physically.  But he had to get the project done.  He only had a few minutes left before the deadline, and if he could not make it, he would have to find another job.  But if he finished…well, he would be sitting pretty for the rest of his life.  He just had to finish.
               Hi team had all abandoned him, saying they had family and friends to see.  Weak, that’s what they were.  Well let them socialize and claim they had a good time.  He would be there, hard at work finishing what was quite probably the most important project of their lives.  It was almost done anyway.
               He wanted to rest like they were though.  He was not built for heavy physical labor.  That was more Ted’s department.  But, there he was, slaving away.  Tightening bolts and checking connections.  He did not mind the additional muscle mass he had put on while working on the project, but that was a tiny side benefit.  It would probably not last too long anyway, unless he took Ted’s advice and worked to maintain it.  That was a distraction though.  The project was all that mattered.
               Finally, he was done.  He had tightened the last bolt.  All the wires were in place.  All the connections set up.  Every moving part was in working order.  The body was done.  Now it just needed to brain.  He ran to the row of computers, each one working to compile the project’s programming.  He had been over it multiple times, of course.  It would work flawlessly once the computers finished their jobs.  He held his breath as he watched both the progress meter and the clock.
               Twenty minutes left.  Plenty of time.  One of the computers let out an almost imperceptible beep.  Josh rushed over to check it.  He roared in frustration and anger.  An error!  How could there be an error?  He had checked so many times.  Of course, he was operating on almost no sleep.  Unlike the rest of the team, who had gone home every night.  He had stayed and worked on their magnum opus.  But now those sleepless nights were haunting him. 
               He poured over the lines of code where the computer indicated the error.  He found it soon enough and breathed a sigh of relief.  It was just a simple syntax error.  Someone had left out a few important characters that made it unreadable to the computer.  Well, that was easy to fix.
               His fingers flew over the keyboard, working to correct the errors.  The moment he was finished, he told the computer to resume working.  He once again held his breath as the computers finished compiling the code.  He left out the held air and leaned back in his seat.  Ten minutes left.  He would make it.
               He began the process of uploading the files containing the code and the specs for the physical structure.  The one he had just finished was just a prototype, and would be used for future testing and development.  His employers still needed to have the data at their fingertips.  But it was a lot of information to send.  It would be an agonizingly slow process.
               Josh counted the minutes and seconds as they ticked by.  Slowly, the progress bar filled.  He sat and prayed for a clean, uninterrupted connection.  As the computer sent the precious information, he found his prayers had been answered, and he got the notification that everything had been sent successfully.
               Josh let out a loud whoop of joy.  It was finished.  It was finally done.  A year’s worth of effort.  Countless hours spent in the lab, slaving away at the project.  And it was finally done.  And one last check of the clock showed he had made it before the deadline.  The data had finished being sent with a mere twenty seconds left.
               He watched with a large smile on his face as the clock changed.  His deadline had passed without a failure to mar it.  He leaned back in his seat, breathing heavily and smiling.  Looking up at the ceiling, he felt like he should say something, even though he was alone.  He could not find anything that seem suitable though, so instead, he said the first thing he could think of.      
               “Happy god-damned New Year.” 
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Happy New Year!  And may 2020 be less sucky than 2019 was.  

Wednesday, December 25, 2019

Word: Big-Hearted


   

big-hearted

[ big-hahr-tid ]

adjective

generous; kind.

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           Sally’s eyes narrowed to slits.
               “I don’t trust him.” She said.
               “Who?  Your new boyfriend?” Mary asked.
               “He’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been on one date.”
               Mary looked over to her friends not-boyfriend.  The guy was talking with a few of Sally’s family members.  And they were loving him. 
               “Okay, fine.  Not your boyfriend.  So, what’s wrong with him?”
               “I just don’t trust him is all.”
               “Why not?  The guy’s like Ghandi, the Dhali Lama and Mr. Rogers all rolled into one, and then given a movie star makeover.  What’s not to like?”
               Sally turned to the other woman sharply.  “Are you kidding me?  What you just said is the problem.”
               “What, that he’s super nice?”
               “Exactly.  He’s the perfect gentleman.  Polite, well spoken, generous, and all that other good stuff.  But that’s the problem.  He’s too good.  He’s hiding something.  Nobody is that perfect.”
               Mary said nothing.  She simply let her eyes lose focus slightly as they passed over Sally. 
               “You’re being paranoid.”
               “No I’m not.  I bet he’s, like, a serial killer.  Or something.”
               “A serial killer?  Really?”
               “Okay, maybe not.  But still.  He’s just too nice to be real.  There has to be something sinister lurking in the background.  I know there is.”
               “And if there isn’t?”
               “Huh?”
               Mary sighed.  “Look, sometimes people are just nice.  There’s no reason for it, they just are.  There doesn’t always have to be some dark, ulterior motive to it.  He could just be a really great guy.”
               “Then why is he here?”
               “What?”
               “If he’s a genuinely good person, then why doesn’t he already have a girlfriend?  I mean, come on.  He’s not just nice, look at him.  It’s like he sprang up from a magazine.  There’s no way he wouldn’t have been scooped up long ago.”
               “Fair point.  Maybe you should ask him.”
               “I can’t just ask him that.  It’s rude.”
               “So is thinking he’s a murderer.”
               Sally could not really say anything about that.  But she still knew she was right.  Maybe she did not have the exact details yet, but she knew there was something.  Sure, their date had been amazing.  Best she had ever had.  And he did not try to immediately get into her pants like most guys did.  And her family seemed to love him.  But still.  There was something.  Some deep, dark secret his super kind surface hid.
               “He’s hiding something.” Sally insisted again.  “I just don’t know what yet.”
               “Uh huh.  Hey, I’ve got an idea.  If you think he’s that untrustworthy, then don’t go out with him anymore.  Just wash your hands of him and be done with it.”
               Sally mulled it over.  She had considered that, but then she would not be able to find out his secret.  And that would just drive her nuts. 
               “Maybe.” She said quietly.
               “And then after you do, I will totally take your place.” Mary said with a huge grin on her face.  “I mean, just because you think he’s hiding something terrible doesn’t mean we all do.  And guys like that are just too good to waste.”
               ****************************************
Not sure I like the ending for this one.  But I can't think of a better one right now, so oh well.  And no, I am nothing like the guy in this story.  I wish I was, but not even close.

Wednesday, December 18, 2019

Word: Deipnosophist




deipnosophist

[ dahyp-nos-uh-fist ]

noun

1. a person who is an adept conversationalist at table.

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               Why?  Why is he talking so much?  Doesn’t he know that dinner time is eating time, not talking time?  I mean, really, who holds a conversation during dinner?  Some light chatting is fine, but a full-blown conversation?  Who does that, really?  And why is everyone else responding to him?
               Don’t encourage him, damn it!  It’ll just make him think he can talk more.  I liked it before he came.  I liked the nice, quiet dinners.  Sure there was some talking, but not like this.  Never like this.  Who brought this guy anyway?  Oh right, Sally.  Damn Sally.  She never had a good taste in guys.  She always picks guys who like to talk.  Ugh, I can’t even imagine dating someone like that.  The kind of person who wants to talk.  Who would subject themselves to someone like that?  Okay, maybe another person who likes to talk.  I can see that being a good match.
               But that’s not us.  We don’t sit around the table talking to each other.  The most we do is ask how your day went.  Maybe some talk about future events, but that’s about it.  But this guy?  This guy’s disrupting that.  He’s turning dinner time into talking time.  Talking is for before and after dinner, not during.  Dessert is fine.  You can have a conversation over dessert.  And appetizers were practically made to eat during a conversation.  Those I can understand.  But the actual dinner?  No way.  That, you sit down and eat.
               What I really want to know now is why nobody seems to think this is weird.  Why are they just yakking away like nothing’s wrong?  Wait.  Wait a minute.  Am…am I the weird one?  Am I the only one who thinks like this?  Does everyone else want to have a conversation during dinner? 
               That can’t be right, can it?  I mean, everyone in this family is like this, right?  We just sit down and eat dinner.  No conversation, no long-winded speeches.  Nothing like what’s happening now.  Could it be that that’s odd?  That how we do things is abnormal, and most people are like that guy? 
               No.  No, that can’t be right.  I would’ve noticed if that was the case, right?  I mean, sure I don’t really hang out with a lot of other people, and maybe I don’t go out very often.  And okay, I admit I’m not the most observant person around, especially when I’m focused on something.  But surely, I would’ve noticed all that conversation going on.  I mean, I probably would have noticed.  Maybe. 
                  Maybe…maybe I should try it?  Maybe I should actually try participating in this conversation.  Would that help?  Would that allow me to see why everyone’s spending as much time talking as they are eating.  Who knows, maybe I’d even enjoy it.  And maybe it could lead to conversation with other people, in other places.  Maybe…maybe Sally’s new boyfriend is just what I need to become more social.  This could be good for me.
               Well, here I go…  
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I know most people talk to each other during dinner.  I know it's a normal thing.  That doesn't mean I feel the need to be an active participant though.