It might come as some surprise that someone married to Mr. Pencil only owns one pencil. I own only one pencil, a stumpy sub-compact mechanical number that I use for maths. I borrowed it from Mr. Pencil about eight months back and have adopted it as my own. Keeping track of a single pencil requires dedication.

The sociopath in my calculus class pointed out how efficient and wonderful this little pencil is, not one of those outsized, inferior pencils. He is also insane.

Recently I wore away the last of my little teal-blue pencil’s itty-bitty eraser and I decided I would get a grand new pencil, with an industrial-family-sized eraser and maybe even made out of metal. I went to the dreadful Office Depot on SE MLK and spent fifteen minutes in the mechanical pencil department (and even briefly the drafting supplies department!) before choosing a single, sleek, post-modern, aerodynamic whopper of a new pencil.

I brought it back to the office, unwrapped it and then realized I didn’t know how insert get the lead sticks it came with. An unloaded mechanical pencil has not much worth. I unscrewed caps and chambers and frowned. My careful uncappings turned to careless force. I had to ask Grigsby to help. Like a patient father he examined it from all angles but finally we realized the pencil was broken. Broken before it ever served me. What a waste of time.

I bought a Pink Pearl eraser and kept my old pencil.

Every day we shovel fuel.

Tags: dull, metaphor, mr. pencil, random

Car conversation near Millersburg, Ore., I-5 Southbound

“You know what I’m going do to?” asked David.
“…?”
“I’m going to go to the bars near us: Roadside Attraction, Squeez, that creepy bar and grill we never go into.”
“[acknowledging sound]”
“I’m going to ask them what they do with their used frying oil. And then I’m going to take it for them.”
“Uh huh?”
“And then I’m going to put in our garage.”
“No. Hell no.”
“Damn. I was afraid of that. Anyway, I’m going to put it in our garage. And then I’m going to filter it and sell it to people with greasels or to make biodiesel.”
“Jesus. Wouldn’t it be easier just to collect empty pop cans and take them to the store?”
“You can’t make money that way!” — mock indignation.
“Yes you can.”
“Oh my GOD! I’m going to do that!”
I sighed. “Have you heard that recently, because of high gas prices, used cooking oil theft is actually on the rise?”
“Awesome!”
“So you’re going to go steal cooking oil?”
“Oh, I’m not going to steal it. I’m just going to collect it.”

Tags: David, mr. pencil

Mr. Pencil made me a mug. It is totally wonderful.

Take a peek: can you spot the pencil?

You can see Fishmael’s* new home in the background, and the flowers Aileen’s mom gave us to congratulate us on our new office (this is at work).

* Fishmael is my mascot. He’s a shiny blue betta fish. I’ve had him since May 2006. He’s a trooper!

Tags: cloudfour, fishmael, mr. pencil

I am so used to being near Mr. Pencil during the day, either
physically, or, more often, IM-ing-ly (and sometimes both: I’m too
lazy to get up, so I’ll IM him down the hall). So today he’s off on a
half-day work event and I am itching from it. I have become so
accustomed to dropping comments about, well, everything, minutiae, at
him, and I find it hard to do without!

Tags: David, im, Internets, mr. pencil