A few years ago, two co-workers of mine were discussing an upcoming concert.

Let’s call them John and Mark [*]

John was a fan of the signer Eros Ramazotti. Mr. Ramazotti had announced a concert to be played locally and John was very excited.

Mark said, “I saw him last year and I was disappointed. It really wasn’t very good at all”.

John was crushed to hear this. Rather than see his idol perform poorly, he decided to skip the concert and just listen to his recordings.

Fast forward a few weeks to the day after the concert. The reviews are in, and by all accounts it was a triumph. Masterful showmanship, a performer in full voice, excellent musicians. A great time had by all.

John was somewhat upset about this. He said to Mark, “I thought you said it was a bad concert!”

“Well”, Mark said thoughtfully and paused for a very long time, “I guess you have to like that kind of music”.

If this had been a bazooka bubble gum comic, the force of Mark’s comment would have blown John out of the room and all we’d see would be his feet in a huge cloud of smoke and dust. Sadly for everyone, it wasn’t, so instead John stalked from the room and spent the next few months muttering darkly about Mark and people like him.

[*] This is appropriate because their real names were also John and Mark.

Deana suggests that this is what we should call people who spend too much time in front of a computer.

Way better than the alternatives which, in my experience, have tended to include variations on the “big fat loser” theme.

On our way to breakfast this morning, Ben and I stopped at a traffic light next to a Chick-Fil-A restaurant. Out front there was a guy dressed in a cow suit, marching back and forth with a sandwich board that read, “Eat mor chickin”.

Ben asked, “What’s that cow doing?”

I told him the truth. “He’s begging for his life. He figures that his best shot is to convince us to eat some other poor creature in the hope that we’ll like that better and let him live. Gonna be some awkward moments in the barnyard when the chickens find out he’s betrayed them.”

When they came for the cows, I said nothing because I am not a cow.

So I went to the doctor. Nothing serious, just a cut on my leg that got infected. She gave me some antibiotics and, as she left the room, the doctor said, “Don’t take this with milk. Dairy interferes with the drug absorbtion”.

No milk. Check.

But when I got the prescription, the bottle said, “Take with food or milk”. Uh-oh.

To the series of tubes, Robin!

Amazing. Drug info all over the place. I really need to learn more about these tubes, it seems that they’re poised to be a big deal. One day you’ll even be able to buy books there.*

Many sites said nothing at all about milk. All of the ones that mentioned it said some form of, “avoid dairy”. None recommended it. I’m somewhat comforted that my doctor knew what she was talking about, but equally disturbed that my pharmacist gave precise info that was precisely wrong.

I guess today’s lesson is: Always Respect Other People’s Culture.

* You don’t understand why this is funny, but TheGoodDoctor does. That’s what makes him so good.

Everyone is all worked up about the quantum computer that solves problems without actually running the program.

I don’t see what the big deal is. I’ve been doing my job for years without working.

Puny humans, you will all bow before the mighty wrath of the magnificent
Robotic Chair. A room full of these would totally freak out the monkey.

Will other robots worship it? Should I?

Of course, no robot dining room would be complete without the
Venice Table and Valerie to bring us fizzy drinks.