The seductive path...

I made my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Account-Book Ledger last night and then went home. Among other things, Galina had placed a huge order for boxes before she left, and the fellow from the courier service in Durango delivered them yesterday, making it all but impossible to move around in the back of the shop. (The kraft-paper obstacles did not endear me to either the USPS or the UPS guys who come to deliver and pick up stuff.) Drew and I spent some time this morning caching the boxes in various corners and elevations before he had to go back and pick up Shannon for the trip to Durango.

The folks from Home Depot (finally) showed up yesterday to install the carpet in the downstairs "suite" where Drew and Shannon will be living for the foreseeable future. So, Drew and I spent some time last night moving their stuff downstairs. A desire to polish the furniture led to a trip to the store... and to my eventual downfall for the evening.

That downfall took the form of obtaining the one last ingredient required to concoct a little-known and little-remembered cocktail, the "French 75." We came home with both furniture polish and that ingredient: champagne.

I first heard of the French 75 while listening to Jean Shepherd (of whom I have written several times previously, for example, in my post of June 29, 2000). Were it not for Shep's wild tales concerning this venerable drink, I probably would never have heard of it. The original recipe was simple: champagne and gin.

The drink was given its name, it is said, because it carried a kick like an artillery piece of the same name. It was drunk by officers during World War I, often just before going "over the top," and has preserved a reputation as being the kind of drink you drink when contemplating life... and death.

It is definitely not your Harvey Wallbanger.

Anyway, over the years, folks have added lemon juice and/or Cointreau to the basic recipe (5 oz. champagne, 0.5 oz. gin), but I started my journey last night with a "traditional" French 75. The last one I'd had (and it was only one) was back in my college days, and I really wasn't in a contemplative mood at the time, but I digress...

In the course of the next 90 minutes or so last night, I knoshed on some leftover ham and lasagna, had three more drinks, and watched a thunderhead develop and dissolve over Pagosa Peak.

Shep was right. The French 75 sneaks up on you. I was definitely inebriated. So much so that I composed a letter to my mom, in longhand. (It's not who I wrote the letter to that gives away my drunken status... but the fact that I didn't send it as e-mail...) I took a fresh look at the letter this morning, and am appalled... though I may send it anyway.

The translation floodgates have opened, as I received a call this morning asking if I could do 4000 words by tomorrow morning. Normally, this would not be a problem, except that I'll be stuck in the store (where I am typing this) for the better part of the day until Drew and Shannon get back from Durango. I agreed to do the job, as long as I could deliver tomorrow morning... and the client said yes.

Customers are starting to stream in. More later.

Cheers...

P.S. I have discovered the first (and, it is hoped, the last) casualty of my computer mishap of the other day. During the conflagration, the computer dropped about 8-10 inches and had its fall checked by the network dongle, which now refuses to work.

P.P.S. Today marks the first anniversary of creating my account here on LJ. Strange, it hasn't felt like a year.

I am gonna get my head examined...

There must be some highly insecure corner of my psyche that tells me to overcommit when the gods send opportunities in my direction. I have (now) something like 9500 "source" (i.e., Russian) words to translate by Friday morning. Since Russian text has a tendency to "expand" when it goes into English (about 10% or so), that means I really have over 10,000 words to lay down on phosphor tomorrow and Thursday.

Hey! It's feast time!

Normally, this should not be a problem, except that there is that certain store that keeps competing with translation for my attention, and the fact that - any day, any hour now - Drew may be temporarily removed from the list of able-bodied workers, called to Shannon's side, leaving me in the lurch... and in the store.

I wasn't able to start today's urgent translation until nearly 3:30 pm. Drew came by around 3, but I had some paperwork left to do, so I did it and visited the bank on the way home. Unbelievably, I managed to translate almost 5000 words between 4 pm and a few minutes ago. (At that rate, the 10,000-plus words ought to fit in the two days I have left until Friday... but that assumes nothing happens to derail me. Gotta stop thinking about it... nothing I can do about it anyway.)

There are people who say such productivity cannot be achieved at all, or if it is achieved, then achieved only at the expense of quality, but I think I did a creditable job. After all, it's the kind of stuff I've been dealing with for the past five years...

I had been sitting here, thinking of starting the next item now and working for an hour or so, but that's probably Not A Good Idea. I'll need my rest and a sharp mind to deal with the next couple of days. It took just about all I had to fire up the e-mail, send in the job and then stop by here.

G'night, all.

Cheers...