The mechanics do Sudoku

Yeah, I don't know what crosses your mind when you think "bread factory"--but there are some people I work with who go out of their way(s) to remind me that you can't just write off people who do blue collar labor. Most of our mechanics have been military men at some point in their lives, and one of them is always trying to get me to talk about Germany. He was stationed in Italy for eight years and did a lot of European travel, and needless to say, I'm usually happy to oblige him. Today he randomly asked me if the Salman Rushdie book I'm currently reading was the one that got him exiled. Which started he and one of the other mechanics off on a debate of US foreign policy in the late 70s and early 80s, which I must say was relatively informative. So they sit in the break room and share the Sudoku puzzles in the newspaper. I find this hilarious, I really do. Not because of who they are, but because this Asian mental math puzzle has swept over the fucking world. Celine did them with vigor, Stephan bought a book of them for the bus ride back from Wernigerode, Colleen loves them too...It's not just for math nerds. I'm astounded. I personally will have nothing to do with these little boxes and their numbers, but it's spread faster than the Atkins diet. I wonder if it effects your thought patterns. I'm sure it's as good as crosswords for warding off Alzheimers and toning up your brain synapses. Anyway, as with most trendy things, I plan on keeping my distance and then moving in for the kill when it's "over". I don't do this intentionally, it's just a pattern I've noticed. Especially with music. I catch these thing just a little bit later, usually.

Other things I've learned while working at the bread factory this summer include but are not limited to: why the "taint" is called the taint ('taint your balls but it 'taint your ass, either), how to de-code prison tats (the three digits are the area code of the prison and the letter is the cell block), that at Bob Jones University, you are not allowed to wear flip flops (I think it's because with that thong all up between your toes, you could get some pretty impure thoughts. I mean, don't you?) and that theoretically, it is possible to make a bowl out of an apple. H'm.

My iPod has been on the blink for the last few days--telling me all kinds of hogwash like it's empty when I know damn well it's almost full...and wonder of wonders, when I hooked it up to my computer, thinking that I'd have to go through the arduous task of switching everything over again, there was all my shit. Like it had never even pretended to vanish. Bastards. And by that I mean "I love you!". Obviously. In other news, I am allowed two 50 lb. bags by Air Canada, and will be fined a flat rate of $25 for any bags between 51 and 69 lbs. I am also allowed 4 oz. of KY Jelly by the TSA. Just in case. Mmmmhmmm. Right. Other than not being able to bring my own water on the flight, or any lip gloss in glossy form, it sounds like we're going to be all right, here. Unless of course, Logan International is the hell hole it tends to be. My parents, in their haste to have a house entirely free of offspring are putting me on the bus in Portland. My inner child is pissed as hell. My outer adult understands completely and knows that I am so man enough to navigate any airport on earth with 2 50 lb. bags, a computer, a carry-on and my 4 oz. of KY Jelly. Damn right. I closed 2 bank accounts today. One more to go. Up next: the visa bill. I am terrible at adult things.

Two days and counting until the nine days of hell on earth are over.