Office Odyssey

[rayheinrich]

Back to your office, naysayer!

Ha! No way! I'm onto your tricks -- you've probably created a Greek office-god back
there who's just waiting to turn me into a swine.


Overly long response to your "metamorphosed... " comment:

Are you suggesting that a metamorphosed swine, having finished a hard day's rooting, has no
right to recline on a chaise lounge and recall its life as a man? Next you'll be telling me that
there's no way a couple of little wings on a pair of sandals could possibly lift the weight of
a god, or that cattle won't come back to life after roasting unless there are some fairly
powerful hallucinogens involved.

Of course not, metamorphosized (and here I was bragging about my spell checker...) swine have
every virtual right that there metamorphosizer wills them.

Being technically inclined, I compulsively provide scientific, rules-based, explanations for every goddamn
machination that overly creative writers come up with. I've always assumed that Hermes was of extremely
low mass. This would account for the adequacy of the tiny wings on his Nikes, as well as the massive
acceleration necessary to escape Circe's gaze.

Hallucinogens probably can't bring the dead back to life, no matter how powerful. But I've had trips
where I conversed with my dead self in a car mirror. He was a very articulate man (much more so
than myself) who, as I remember, was highly critical of my driving. I remember taking my hands off
the wheel and saying "if you think you're so good, then you do it". At this point my wife became rather
peeved, placed her underpants over the mirror (earlier, she had become convinced that her clothing
was impure), and solved (if a bit rudely) the driving problem.