For real?

From the dailymail.co.uk: “An infuriated air passenger has been arrested after apparently lashing out at a teen who would not turn his iPhone off before landing.
The 68-year-old, named as Russell Miller, reportedly punched the boy in the arm after he ignored announcements to switch off phones on the final approach to Boise, Idaho.
The 15-year-old, who had been playing on his phone during the flight from Las Vegas, received a hard blow from his neighbour which left a mark.”
I’m trying to view this as an assault, but I’m having a hard time with it.
Seriously- what’s worse? Some teenager getting a bruise, or a whole goddamned plane falling out of the fucking sky because some dumbass teenager can’t go with out texting for 20 fucking minutes?
With all the stupid shit they’ll have you arrested for doing on a plane nowadays, they ought to give the old man a medal for saving everyone’s life- and throw the little fucktard and his parents in the hoosegow for a few days to think about what might of happened.

Pity Shelby- who's the target of most of my retarded conversation skills...

Since Shelby and I got home Thursday afternoon, I think I’ve seen (besides on TV) all of three people (besides her)- the delivery guy from the Chinese restaurant, the guy who lives behind us, and some random dude walking down the street this afternoon. (I also so a foot getting into a car across the street- but I don’t count that since I didn’t see the whole person.)
That doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I don’t really like people, and I’m uber particular about the ones I associate with. That’s the main reason I liked working radio so much: it was just me, sitting in a little booth, talking every now and then. Sometimes making jokes. Sometimes reading the weather. Or whatever.
Most of my shifts were at night (or on weekends). The stations were usually empty. The only people I saw were the ones on the air before me and the ones who relieved me at the end of my own shift. That was the awesome side of radio.
The shitty side was the pay. At least, it was for me. Only once did I ever have a regular shift that was in “regular” listening hours (i.e., before midnight), so I wasn’t a “prime time” guy. Nor was I ever in a market that was even within sniffing distance of the top 100. So, the pay sucked. It could have had more than a little to do with my not being a suck up.
Not that I make all that much money now. I’m never going to get rich working where I work- or in the industry I work in. I’m pretty good at what I do, I think- but it’s not a job people make metric fucktons of money doing is what I’m saying.
One of my jobs, as a CNC operator, is in an area my coworkers don’t like coming into. The vacuum pump is loud (I wear earplugs almost all the time at work- whether I’m in there or not, actually) and because- occasionally- hot pieces of aluminum fly off the table and burn your skin. Either way- I tend to be left to my own devices when I’m in there. Which works freaking awesome for me.
Also, I think a lot of my coworkers think I’m a dick. That doesn’t bother me, either. I’ve always been a firm believer that it is absolutely not necessary that I be friends with the people I work with. I only have to be able to behave professionally towards them- which I put every effort into.
That’s not to say that I’ve never been friends with coworkers. I worked with Julie 20+ years ago, and we’re friends. I even like a couple of the guys I work with now.
The problem is- there’s something like 15 people where I work. While I like two of them, I tend to think most of the rest of them are either dumbasses, two-faced, rednecks, potheads, or just plain worthless.
No- I think the biggest problem with my current job is having to deal with people. You know- the same stupid questions over and over. The same question, phrased six ways to fucking Sunday if you don’t give someone the answer they want the first five times. The complete assholery of coworkers who put more effort into getting out of work than the job would take them in the first place. You know what I mean, I’m sure. If you don’t, you’re probably the assbag I’m talking about.
Too bad there’s not enough of the work back in that little corner of the building with the automated machinery to keep me there all of the time, and away from people.

I'm going to shellac a turtle. That's not a euphemism.

When John came to visit for Thanksgiving, he came bearing gifts- includign some fancy loaves of bread that he picked up on his trip to San Francisco for Shelby. One of the fancy loaves is in the shape of a turtle. There was also a turkey and- um- I can’t remember.

John said he remembered that some of the fancy loaves from back when Shelby worked at Chandler’s Bakery were shellacked- and that maybe that would preserve the turtle loaf.

Being lazy, I figured I could take the thing to work and have them clear-coat it. Not so. One of my co-workers said the clear coat wouldn’t really do anything but soak in, and not really seal anything. Back to the drawing board.

I finally got around to putting a couple of coats on the thing Sunday. I’m not much better about getting my chores done than I am posting to my blog. Also, it takes a bit longer than the standard hour for a coat of shellac to dry when it’s in the 40’s in the garage (I am, at least, smart enough not to do it in the house). According to John, it’ll take 47 coats of shellac to properly seal the turtle.

At this rate, I’ll be done around February 1st…