Whew!

Things have been rather hectic lately. On top of the normal (and abnormal) bureaucratic stuff, there was a little matter of moving our clocks to their new home in another building. The capacity for disaster was simply terrifying, because this represented several Simoleons worth of equipment, and scientist-years of effort. Breaking a vacuum system isn’t really that hard, and even though it would be fixable, it would represent a significant delay and so there was a wee bit of stress in all of this. We had mentioned the impending move at the conference a few weeks ago, and that induced a retelling of lab horror-stories of moving heavy and/or expensive apparati, and that fed our rampant paranoia.

But we pulled it off.

The air sled system worked like a charm; even when a hose popped out of place it wasn’t a problem — there’s a check valve that prevents the air from releasing through the hose attachment, and the load settled down gently. We gathered a contingent of folks to do things like manage the extension cord so it wasn’t a trip hazard, and move the 4’x8′ polyethylene sheets to the front after we’d slid over them. Our group did the pushing and pulling — we weren’t about to trust things to anyone else — which was a decent workout on the inclined surfaces.

I may post some pictures later on, but for the moment I’m taking a breather to relax and try and shed this cold that’s been attacking folks.

Toys in the Office: Gettin' Personal

My balls, when I’m not using them. (The brass ones are kept in a climate-controlled vault). People will occasionally pick them up and play with them.

The reason why I have them in my office: several years ago, a colleague arranged to have a construction crew replace a telescope dome with a new, sexy radar dome (transparent in all the right places, er, frequencies). The crew cut up the old dome and put it in a dumpster for disposal. Unfortunately, it was a construction dumpster that belonged to another contractor, and they refused to pay to have it emptied, and it became a big mess which I dubbed “Dumpstergate,” (I’m so frikkin’ clever sometimes) and it dragged on and on. It took a long time to find a way to pay to have the dumpster emptied without running afoul of arcane government spending protocols. This lingered to the point where the colleague retired, so another colleague put together a gag gift of a mini-dumpster-truck, and needed a ping-pong ball to slice up and represent the telescope dome. I bought a pack of six, gave him two, gave two to another, and kept two for myself.