Convergence: Work For Dessert or Work for Dessert?

Sometimes you work for dessert, sometimes work is the dessert.  See that colorful bowl of raw veggies there? Just there, in the lower left foreground? The one surrounded by all the gadgetry, yet quietly, confidently holding it's own? That's dessert. Yep. My dessert. My less than stellar food choices rarely rate any ink. They're usually something not so very good for me, but taste so very yummy to me. Ah, the irony of eating like me...

So since this is one of those rare occasions where the work converges with a dessert that itself combines tasting good with being good, I thought I'd share it. Memorialize? That sounds so final. Like it may never happen again (and being raw veggies for dessert, that may very well be the case -  the 'Sock It To Me' cake from the local grocer's bakery is so much sexier). However, I prefer to 'immortalize' it: capture it for posterity's sake. A touchstone of a time when the zen of work and reward flowed freely into a period of beautiful creativity and craft, passion and productivity and... produce ...? Yeah. Ah, what the hell, since I fell on it, I'll just roll with it.

Now, I'm off to do more multi-tasking. Before the caffeine wears off. What? Did you think that broccoli carrot sticks and cauliflower inspired this random stream of semi-consciousness ramble? That's just crazy talk, man. Nope. It is after all, just dessert. I was simply riffing on the fact that I'm diggin' the vedge, quite literally so. The caffeine's actually fueling this little soliloquy, and if I want to capitalize on the buzz to squeeze out some more work, I'd better have at it.

So for now intrepid traveler of interwebs, I bid you adieu.  Until next we meat again: What's your passion? Is work dessert, or dessert work? What's convergence mean to you?

 

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The Worried Water Jar

The Silly Cistern has turned into The Worried Water Jar. It happened to overhear a debate about fear and its uses as a tool to manipulate masses and manufacture consent. Now it's all freaked out...

What started the whole thing was a weird radio segment where the guests on the broadcast were raising shrill concerns over the increasing privatization of global water supplies. Something about historical wars being waged over precious resources by countries vying to control them, but now, since corporations have quietly bought up the rights to key water sources, the fight's a legal one people can't even imagine how to wage, much less win. So now the Cistern thinks it's gonna become slave to some wholly owned subsidiary, conscripted into service, rented back to the family it onced shared itself with for some usurous ungodly fee.

See? That's just my point: getting all worked up over this is just plain un-American. We've nothing to fear from these guys. They're us, after all, right? They'd not gain control of natural resources needed to sustain life and commerce and leverage it just to wring another buck from their brothers, would they? Besides, we still have the right to bear arms. Regardless of the fact that it wouldn't be that kind of fight. And there'd be no place to take said fight even if it was.

Our elected officials and public utility commissions have not been entirely asleep at the switch, either. Have they? No one company on American soil can own and arbitrarily administer an aquifer essential to the well-being of farms and families in one of the most agriculturally rich places in our country, right? That's just crazy talk. Meant to scare folks (and sweaty water jars). They're not gonna fool me. I know those folks simply own the pistachio empire. I'm cool with that. The rest, well I'll just ignore that.

All this fear is un-American, so I smudged a smile on the cistern, loaded up my favorite mug with fresh ice cubes and enjoyed myself a nice long draught. Water wars. Crazy. No sugar and poppy plants, on the other hand... But we don't trade much in those, do we?

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