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Mind Your Pounds and Let Your Pennies Take Care of Themselves

In round numbers, if a Pound Sterling was actually worth a pound of silver at current prices, a penny (meaning the original "old money" pre-decimalisation definition as of a measure of weight equal to 1/240th of a pound) would be worth somewhere around $1.80 in Canadian or American dollars. A loaf of bread therefore costs about 2 pennies weight of silver and a (full, Imperial) pint of beer, 5 pennies weight - which is what they cost 100 years ago.

¡H@x0rèd again!

Fer fuck's sake. In addition to the lame-o virus thing I noticed a crapload of (failed) DoS attacks against my webserver. Sorry, script-kiddies, if you want to find a vulnerable webserver, go attack a bank.

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Off to bed

Off to bed I go since I have to spend tomorrow on Eastern Time. Somebody who happens to live in that time zone better e-mail me in the morning to keep me sane while I sit in an empty office building waiting for complaints from pissy stockbrokers. It's must be close to 30° in here and I can't see myself getting a whole lot of decent sleep. I will need assistance staying awake, and since the firewall won't let me read LiveJournal I demand e-mail!

Oh, man.

What an exciting life I lead. I spent my day in my cubicle writing code for a bank's intranet, then I came home and spent my evening writing code for a credit union's intranet. It is possible to interpret some of what I do as being important... the stuff I've made so far, at the moment, directly impacts or will have an impact on about three million people. How weird is that?

The game is afoot

So "the plan" is starting to gel in my head now. I took a long bath the wash the bank ick off my soul for the weekend and consulted with Tharsis. There is still a great deal of confusion to be sorted through and many obligations to be integrated in the escape plan still, but I'll figure it out.

"The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts"

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Interesting. As I shed my work clothes for a pair of ratty black jeans and a Skinny Puppy t-shirt old enough to get into the bar on it's own I remembered my mother telling me about my grandfather changing into his scruffiest clothes after finishing work at the bank. Yes, my grandfather worked in a bank. I never knew him. He died in 1948 at the age of 48. Men in my family don't live long. This is part of my concern about wasting my life...

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Yeah, I'm thrilled.

I'm determined to feign enthusiasm for political purposes, but an hour into my fifth week here and I am bored and depressed. My grey cubicle surrounds me like an anaconda. My mind's eye is fixated on the unfinished painting on my easel and three countdown clocks are ticking in my head... 7 hours left to the day, 4 more days in the week, 5 more months in this contract.

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Do I want to go out?

I can't decide if I want to go out tonight. I was out last night until dawn with Trish and Kim and had a lot of fun so do I really want to go out again tonight? I didn't get much accomplished today except for going to the bank again to put an end to my ongoing problems (yet somehow I don't think they are over), had some munchies at the Vine Yard, went to the grocery store, then came back here and puttered at things like fixing my shoe.


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