Every time I turn around, it seems like someone is using the word “actionable” to mean “being able to put into action or take steps” and not its correct meaning, “giving cause for legal action.” (The sole exception to this is my dearest D., who today used it correctly on the DC message board, godblessim.) I was editing the annual report for my company, when pow! “Actionable” screamed out at me from a large-fonted pull quote. I sought solace in the manual of editorial operations for the company my firm just bought, but bam! (In the quality checklist for research editors, “Are the recommendations clear and actionable?” Ew!) The word makes my stomach lining ripple with revulsion.

Or it could be that I’m unsettled because I had to listen to my boss’s boss fire someone from the acquired company today. He offered the poor sap a “transitional” role, staying on for three more months and then being booted with a month’s severance. It was a terrible thing to listen to, even worse knowing that layoffs in our company are probably imminent as upper management streamlines, right-sizes, or whatever euphemism they’re using this week. I’m jumpier than a jumping bean soaked in jump juice. Guess I just wasn’t made for these uncertain times.

As I walked over to the Grove at lunch for to purchase a cold caffeinated beverage, the phrase “lossy compression” kept going through my head. Lossy, lossy, lossy compression. I love saying that! When I told D. about it, he very kindly told me just what the heck it means — and, giving 110% like the true-blue trooper that he is, introduced me to the phrase “lossless compression.”

Only about 35 more minutes of work. I got a lot done for the first three-quarters of the day, but since then, nada. I’m feeling logy and understimulated and vaguely headachey from boredom. Or maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that oatmeal cookie this afternoon. (For the oddest reason, I have been obsessed with oatmeal-raisin cookies. I had a stellar one from Beantowne last week. Didn’t eat it during the day, instead savoring it in tiny bites last Friday night while I watched Buffy episodes. It had a good undertone of cinnamon and maybe a little nutmeg and was crisp, chewy, and utterly satisfying.

While I’m on the subject of food, I might as well let you know that tonight I’m actually cooking a meal. Brazilian black bean soup from the Moosewood cookbook. I’m debating about whether I should run out and get sour cream, since my favorite way to garnish it is to swirl a glob of it into the soup, sprinkle it with chopped red onion, and attractively twist the thinnest slice of lemon over all. Mo’ dairy mo’ betta.

According to this lil’ bit of fun, my street name is Ass Machine Kawfi and D.’s is Dr. Teapot, Yo. “Coffee and tea, my honey and me, a cup a cup a cup a cup a cup.” (It suddenly strikes me that whoever penned those lyrics was pretty damned lazy — the whole last line is just a throwaway, you know?)