Turbo not

So, this happened: yesterday on the drive home from Metro, the check engine light came on, the engine ran really rough and white smoke billowed out of the exhaust.

This kind of thing is never A Good Sign.

I had it towed to my mechanic, and it seems the turbo charger has died. And it’ll cost $2500 to replace it. Plus new spark plugs.

And, if I’m lucky, they can get the part from New Jersey on Monday and install it.

Which means I’m stuck in the People’s Republic over the weekend without a car.

Yay. /s

Birds and berries

Heyheyhey! I was sitting in the livingroom yesterday afternoon when I noticed a large-ish bird in my holly bush. Large and kind of reddish.

Then another, and then about 20 others.

At first I thought Bird One was a juvenile cardinal, because they’re regulars at the feeders. But I realized that it was bigger than the cardinals, and not quite the right configuration.

Robins!

Now, you may wonder at my excitement, but—while I have seen robins out and about, even in the front of the house—this is only the second time I’ve seen them in the back. And—just like yesterday—they were here with all their buddies, absolutely denuding the holly of its berries. They flew up, snatching the berries on the hover, then dashed off to one of the conifers to eat. They pretty much picked the bush clean, except for a cluster right next to the dining room window, where I was trying to photograph them.

(Here’s a kind of crappy video—they were not cooperating, and it was late afternoon.)

The one other time was about two years ago, when I was on the horn with Comcast because their X1 was malfunctioning (again). It was around dusk and as I was talking with the tech, I looked out and saw a whole gang of them milling around the patio. Comcast Guy probably notated my account with something like Crazy Lady, because I stopped mid-sentence and screeched, “Robins! There are about fifteen robins right outside!”

The roving band did not stick around either time; they were here a maximum of 20 minutes. I guess they have places to go and berries to eat. (They certainly look well-fed.) But I’m just fascinated by their social organization. I wonder if they have scouts that scope out the feeding grounds and signal the flock where the next course of their progressive dinner is to be found?

Entrepreneurship

I’ve marveled here many times at the completely ham-handed gambits sales/business development people deploy in an attempt to make a sale. It’s the business world equivalent of robo-calling: flinging vast amounts of emails chockers with faux bonhomie and presumptuous expectations that you’ll set up a call to buy their products or services.

Many of them are funneled through LinkedIn—the predators do keyword searches, see one they like and, without bothering to read further, they fling off an email. I don’t have my email account in my profile, but it’s not terrifically difficult to suss out possible addressing protocols and take a flyer. The results are risible, particularly when the perps are trying to be subtle.

Viz:

There’s nothing like a segue from an intro from someone claiming to be a “research analyst” for a bogus company (who can't even be arsed to drop my name into the salutation) exploring “entrepreneurship opportunities” via a “market survey” to who buys office supplies in what quantities to make me want to “take a quick call”. By replying to a Gmail account.

Pedal politics

It’s a time-honored American custom to wear your political opinions on your vehicle. Usually that means bumper stickers on your car or truck.

However, here’s something a tad out of the ordinary, spotted outside Eastern Market Metro last week:

Gratitude Monday: work ethic

We here in the District They Call Columbia got more than a dusting of snow through Sunday. I don’t know what the official tally was, but in the People’s Republic, it felt like I was shoveling about a foot of the stuff off my front walks.

But in the course of that activity I found my Washington Post, right where it normally is on a Sunday morning. The cluster parking lot hadn’t been plowed and I certainly had no intention of trying to drive anywhere, but the guy who delivers the newspaper had done his job.

And I thought about all the people not getting big bucks who do their jobs come day, go day, and keep things humming for the rest of us, even when the rest of us don’t venture beyond the mailbox. The ones who stock the supermarket shelves, repair the power lines, run the cash register at the pharmacy and, yes, deliver your papers. In this day of elected officials pulling down six-figure salaries (plus whatever they snarfle up at the lobbying trough) who can’t be arsed to perform their actual Constitutional duties, I am grateful for these folks who show up and do what they’re paid for, no matter how little the amount.