So, it's already Christmas, by which I mean that my store is full of half-trained new staff and piles of books everywhere and weird displays constructed mainly from necessity. New to this year: Cookie and I have our shit together enough to try some interesting things with merchandising. Also new: sometimes, I'm the Bad Cop. "No, no, no. Do not guess, dude. Check where that thing goes in the computer before you shelve it or get the hell out of my section." Grumble, grumble, grumble.
It probably doesn't help that I seem to have contracted 'col's vague disease #47, symptoms of which include grouchiness and a headache that seems to be all in the middle of my brain. Plus lightheadedness, and a feeling like a toddler is sitting on my chest.
In happier news, I had dinner with Mulli and Elizabeth--tasty--and got to hug the puppy a whole bunch. He's huge, and obviously happy, which makes me happy. Lizbeth and I took him for a walk, during which he managed to unearth and partially consume a pickle and some dirt. I love dogs.
I've been watching Battlestar Galactica, of course, and I won't say too much about it here except that suddenly we have workplace conversation about genocide. You can't say the show doesn't make people think. "We're not going to resolve this on my lunch break," Steve said today with a wry little twist of his mouth, and yeah, no kidding. For the contemplation of killer robots and what makes a person, there is nothing better than this video, summed up by its brilliant creator as "President Roslin's not allowed to rap about Jesus."
Perhaps I will now go to bed.
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