Prednisone is not tasty, but I am still worried about having just taken my last dose. I still itch. Shouldn't I have stopped itching by now?
(The poison ivy has improved--drastically, in some places. But it isn't gone. My itching hands and shins still contributed to my poor sleep last night.)
I just had to (or felt that I had to) admit to a guy I've been talking to that I might have met somebody cool and thus might not be around on the site much longer. So now I feel pretty bad. Great. (Cry me a river, I know. Watch it not work out, anyway. How often do these things work out? So far: 1-3 times in 25 years, that's how often.)
It has been raining a lot over in this part of the world. It's kind of nice, aside from the part where I don't get to do the outdoor work with Rick that I was supposed to do earlier in the week, and thus do not get paid for it. A particularly close bolt of lightning (and crash of thunder) shook the house quite hard this morning.
And when it is raining, I love hearing the birds still singing--even through the lighting and thunder sometimes. I guess I don't have much else to say about it. I just love those sounds together, and the symbolism that I can make up and put in there.
And here is a quote from Style Rookie, which I rarely read but which often amuses me when I do, despite my almost complete disinterest in style: "The thought of summer and its nearing end is causing me to make unnecessarily profound observations about the way the light is hitting all the crap on my desk while the sun sets."
This reminds me so much of myself, except that I make unnecessarily profound observations about the way the light is hitting all the crap on my desk (and so on) almost literally all the time.
Showing posts with label don't judge me. Show all posts
Showing posts with label don't judge me. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Spring?
The treeflowers are blooming. And it's beautiful. But it's March. I find this a little bit worrisome.
I don't have anything deep on introspective coming to mind to write, but here's what I'm up to:
Tutoring, as usual. I may be dropping (/being dropped by) one client at the end of the month, though. I guess the chemistry just isn't there, and the expectations are not clear. Or, possibly, she just expects her son to suddenly be an excellent writer and speller, despite the fact that he's ten (eleven?), has ADD, only works with me two hours a week, and doesn't spend even all of those two hours focused on writing. I can work with him on homework, or I can work with him on writing. It's difficult to effectively do both. Anyway, I hope he gets or has gotten something out of it.
I'm pet sitting for my aunt--taking care of her big, demanding, energetic dog. He's sweet, but he's definitely a handful.
This morning I went to work for Rick and learned to use a pressure washer. I always claim to have "learned" to do things that require absolutely no skill whatsoever. ("I learned to use a chainsaw, guys! You have to hold down the trigger and then put the spinning blade of death against some wood. Highly technical stuff.") I moved a whole bunch of plywood and pallets and lawn care equipment and several cabinets and such away from the basement walls, then we hooked up one end of the hose to the utility sink and another to the pressure washer, and plugged it in, and went. We massacred a lot of spiders and cave crickets today. I felt sort of bad for them. While I was moving everything away from the walls, it occurred to me to ask Rick whether he had any plans for covering the electrical outlets and, you know, fuse boxes, while we sprayed the walls. No, this had not come up during the planning. I asked whether we could duct tape some plastic around this stuff, but there was neither duct tape nor plastic on hand. So we held a small plastic tub over whatever outlet was nearest to the spray at any given time, and I, at least, kept my fingers crossed. We did have one outlet that needed to be reset, but there were no casualties. Thank God.
And now, dog walking time. I can tell because he just barked for ten minutes without stopping. (Don't judge me. He was outside all morning until 1:30.)
I don't have anything deep on introspective coming to mind to write, but here's what I'm up to:
Tutoring, as usual. I may be dropping (/being dropped by) one client at the end of the month, though. I guess the chemistry just isn't there, and the expectations are not clear. Or, possibly, she just expects her son to suddenly be an excellent writer and speller, despite the fact that he's ten (eleven?), has ADD, only works with me two hours a week, and doesn't spend even all of those two hours focused on writing. I can work with him on homework, or I can work with him on writing. It's difficult to effectively do both. Anyway, I hope he gets or has gotten something out of it.
I'm pet sitting for my aunt--taking care of her big, demanding, energetic dog. He's sweet, but he's definitely a handful.
This morning I went to work for Rick and learned to use a pressure washer. I always claim to have "learned" to do things that require absolutely no skill whatsoever. ("I learned to use a chainsaw, guys! You have to hold down the trigger and then put the spinning blade of death against some wood. Highly technical stuff.") I moved a whole bunch of plywood and pallets and lawn care equipment and several cabinets and such away from the basement walls, then we hooked up one end of the hose to the utility sink and another to the pressure washer, and plugged it in, and went. We massacred a lot of spiders and cave crickets today. I felt sort of bad for them. While I was moving everything away from the walls, it occurred to me to ask Rick whether he had any plans for covering the electrical outlets and, you know, fuse boxes, while we sprayed the walls. No, this had not come up during the planning. I asked whether we could duct tape some plastic around this stuff, but there was neither duct tape nor plastic on hand. So we held a small plastic tub over whatever outlet was nearest to the spray at any given time, and I, at least, kept my fingers crossed. We did have one outlet that needed to be reset, but there were no casualties. Thank God.
And now, dog walking time. I can tell because he just barked for ten minutes without stopping. (Don't judge me. He was outside all morning until 1:30.)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
This is a problem for the temporal lobe.
I love V8. Not unrelatedly, we are out of V8.
I keep just sort of not feeling like eating this week, and then not noticing until the end of the day that I've hardly consumed anything besides water. Probably I should cut that out. For example, today: 3 slices of pizza at Chuck E Cheese; the end of the bottle of V8. I am considering some ramen. Or a sandwich. One, of course, requires more steps than the other. HMMM.
EDIT:
I would like it to be known that, despite the number of steps involved, I make a really killer ham and turkey and cheddar and lettuce and onion and tomato and sliced pickle sub sandwich. It probably could have used a little more pickle though. Every sandwich needs some crunch.
And now: on to see Red Riding Hood with Taylor and Kelly and Maggie. I am into conjunctions today, okay?
I keep just sort of not feeling like eating this week, and then not noticing until the end of the day that I've hardly consumed anything besides water. Probably I should cut that out. For example, today: 3 slices of pizza at Chuck E Cheese; the end of the bottle of V8. I am considering some ramen. Or a sandwich. One, of course, requires more steps than the other. HMMM.
EDIT:
I would like it to be known that, despite the number of steps involved, I make a really killer ham and turkey and cheddar and lettuce and onion and tomato and sliced pickle sub sandwich. It probably could have used a little more pickle though. Every sandwich needs some crunch.
And now: on to see Red Riding Hood with Taylor and Kelly and Maggie. I am into conjunctions today, okay?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Monday near migrainey
House sitting has begun! All of a sudden it's 18x more difficult (once again) to convince myself to go paint. With rollers. I hate rollers. Also my head hurts. NEGATIVITY.
Onlinedating friend-making... oh I'm such a loser. It hurts me even to type references to this out loud. Also there are a surprising (not surprising maybe, but in order to shield my faith in the human race from annihilation I will endeavor to convince myself that I am surprised) number of people who can't write, spell, punctuate*, or carry on a conversation via text. Who expects to make friends with email exchanges like "hey" "How was your weekend?" "bad" "Oh, I'm sorry, that sucks. What was so bad?" "I had to work all weekend"
Yeah I totally want to hang out with you now. I'm not saying lie, I'm just saying converse. I mean, how old are you? Jeez.
Also: I didn't quite mention yesterday, and feel the need to mention today, that I did not intend to make this profile. I intended to just sort of wander around for a few minutes whilst I waited for my babysitting job to end and convince myself that there were, indeed, a handful of people worth talking to in Richmond. Sort of a mental pep-talk. But then I wasn't allowed to see more than three or so profiles without making my own. So I made my own. This is exactly what happened with xanga and facebook and blogger and plants vs zombies. If that's not foreboding, I don't know what is.
I wish I had something to say that was interesting and mostly, extremely wish there were something unrelated to it-which-must-not-be-named, but though my Sunday was relatively enjoyable, it didn't consist of much that would be fun or interesting to write about. The rain was nice, though. The rain was lovely actually. I spent some time wandering around the backyard and dancing in it and standing barefoot in puddles. The rain picked up though in the evening. And it's sort of incredible how quickly wind can transform the world from mud-luscious and puddle wonderful to just cold and wet and nasty. There was a certain charm though to the cold windy wetness, once I adjusted to the temperature. It began to feel less like cold nastiness and more like raw swirling wind-whipped energy.
Now, though, aside from telling myself that I should be painting with rollers, I am drinking water in an attempt to dissipate this headache, watching lovely spring birds play outside the window, and whittling away my self-respect online. (It happens.)
*Seriously--it is really bad. Does a space count as punctuation? Because there are spaces in the middle of words, and there is an obscene amount of punctuation that is just entirely MIA. It... it hurts me a little.
**Evidence of a headache: " wish I had something interesting to say that was interesting." Let me know if there are any other ridiculous typos that I've missed.
EDIT:
More evidence:
I just realized that my shirt is on inside out.
Online
Yeah I totally want to hang out with you now. I'm not saying lie, I'm just saying converse. I mean, how old are you? Jeez.
Also: I didn't quite mention yesterday, and feel the need to mention today, that I did not intend to make this profile. I intended to just sort of wander around for a few minutes whilst I waited for my babysitting job to end and convince myself that there were, indeed, a handful of people worth talking to in Richmond. Sort of a mental pep-talk. But then I wasn't allowed to see more than three or so profiles without making my own. So I made my own. This is exactly what happened with xanga and facebook and blogger and plants vs zombies. If that's not foreboding, I don't know what is.
I wish I had something to say that was interesting and mostly, extremely wish there were something unrelated to it-which-must-not-be-named, but though my Sunday was relatively enjoyable, it didn't consist of much that would be fun or interesting to write about. The rain was nice, though. The rain was lovely actually. I spent some time wandering around the backyard and dancing in it and standing barefoot in puddles. The rain picked up though in the evening. And it's sort of incredible how quickly wind can transform the world from mud-luscious and puddle wonderful to just cold and wet and nasty. There was a certain charm though to the cold windy wetness, once I adjusted to the temperature. It began to feel less like cold nastiness and more like raw swirling wind-whipped energy.
Now, though, aside from telling myself that I should be painting with rollers, I am drinking water in an attempt to dissipate this headache, watching lovely spring birds play outside the window, and whittling away my self-respect online. (It happens.)
in Just- spring when the world is mud- luscious the little lame baloonman whistles far and wee and eddyandbill come running from marbles and piracies and it's spring when the world is puddle-wonderful the queer old baloonman whistles far and wee and bettyandisbel come dancing from hop-scotch and jump-rope and it's spring and the goat-footed baloonMan whistles far and wee
*Seriously--it is really bad. Does a space count as punctuation? Because there are spaces in the middle of words, and there is an obscene amount of punctuation that is just entirely MIA. It... it hurts me a little.
**Evidence of a headache: " wish I had something interesting to say that was interesting." Let me know if there are any other ridiculous typos that I've missed.
EDIT:
More evidence:
I just realized that my shirt is on inside out.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Happy independence day.
This, the sixth day of March, marks one year from the day that we hugged and then said goodbye. I am not sure how I feel about this. It varies.
It was suggested by my grown-and-married friend Lael that I do something to celebrate this day--something that I can do because I'm single. I couldn't really think of anything other than random hookups, and I don't really do random hookups. (Incidentally, she did suggest going to pick up some random guy at a bar. I don't even go to bars, much less pick up strange men. I think I was in a bar once in college, and my five-year reunion was at a bar, but I'm not sure that counts.)
So I've decided that I will celebrate/mark this day by enjoying it and feeling good about myself. Possibly this will involve taking myself to a nice restaurant. I'm sort of in the mood for Italian ice, but I'm not sure we have a good Italian ice place in Richmond. Anyway, hopefully I'll figure something out. However! Even if I don't go eat nice food, I am set on enjoying March sixth and feeling good about myself. I have decided that I will wear my favorite underwear, which, in case you were wondering, are not that interesting except that they have stars. I planned to wear my favorite skirt as well, but then I realized that I don't have one. It was going to be a day of favorite clothes until I realized that I don't have favorite clothes, except for the stars thing. So. Yes.
Tonight, as it was/is after midnight and so I am obligated to enjoy today and feel good about me (darn) I ate a Hershey's special dark chocolate bar with Lael and worked on my dream home description* and The List (which I have made because people keep telling me to, though I can't ever remember what's on it), then came home and finished the last few sips of somebody's sweet white wine and ran out the door with Miley. Luke had been texting, but texting ruins my night vision and I haven't walk-talked for a long time, so I called him and we talked for 25 minutes or so, until I got home. I tried to find the rest of the wine, but I suspect that the bottle may have been finished. I disapprove of this. I guess I might just have to go get another bottle of whatever it was. And now I am writing this. Also, I am making a profile on one of those crappy free dating sites because a) I am bored and b) it has occurred to me lately that I have no idea what kind of people are in this town, because I never talk to anyone. I don't want to find some random person to date online, but I would like to look at a cross-section of the community. And apparently you can only look at four profiles before having to make your own. Lame. So there that is. Someday I should figure out how many profiles I have created and abandoned on various websites. Quite a few. It would be interesting to do a study and figure out how much server space is wasted by such ghost profiles. I mean, on the one hand, it's sort of nice that the blog I made in seventh grade is still there, and I can go look at it even if I've long since forgotten the password and lost the attached email account--but on the other hand, collectively, these things are a huge waste of resources. I wonder at what point it will become a big enough issue that companies will start clearing them out. Think how much money could be saved, and how much space could be freed up! Man.
*New additions: pool room and pool room; laundry chute; dumbwaiter (strong enough to hold people); possible secret passages/tunnels; pulley-operated message system to the tree house; cupola and/or tower(s); angry room (which I've described before but don't feel like describing now, esp since it makes me sound even more insane than usual), and a "making cool shit" room.
It was suggested by my grown-and-married friend Lael that I do something to celebrate this day--something that I can do because I'm single. I couldn't really think of anything other than random hookups, and I don't really do random hookups. (Incidentally, she did suggest going to pick up some random guy at a bar. I don't even go to bars, much less pick up strange men. I think I was in a bar once in college, and my five-year reunion was at a bar, but I'm not sure that counts.)
So I've decided that I will celebrate/mark this day by enjoying it and feeling good about myself. Possibly this will involve taking myself to a nice restaurant. I'm sort of in the mood for Italian ice, but I'm not sure we have a good Italian ice place in Richmond. Anyway, hopefully I'll figure something out. However! Even if I don't go eat nice food, I am set on enjoying March sixth and feeling good about myself. I have decided that I will wear my favorite underwear, which, in case you were wondering, are not that interesting except that they have stars. I planned to wear my favorite skirt as well, but then I realized that I don't have one. It was going to be a day of favorite clothes until I realized that I don't have favorite clothes, except for the stars thing. So. Yes.
Tonight, as it was/is after midnight and so I am obligated to enjoy today and feel good about me (darn) I ate a Hershey's special dark chocolate bar with Lael and worked on my dream home description* and The List (which I have made because people keep telling me to, though I can't ever remember what's on it), then came home and finished the last few sips of somebody's sweet white wine and ran out the door with Miley. Luke had been texting, but texting ruins my night vision and I haven't walk-talked for a long time, so I called him and we talked for 25 minutes or so, until I got home. I tried to find the rest of the wine, but I suspect that the bottle may have been finished. I disapprove of this. I guess I might just have to go get another bottle of whatever it was. And now I am writing this. Also, I am making a profile on one of those crappy free dating sites because a) I am bored and b) it has occurred to me lately that I have no idea what kind of people are in this town, because I never talk to anyone. I don't want to find some random person to date online, but I would like to look at a cross-section of the community. And apparently you can only look at four profiles before having to make your own. Lame. So there that is. Someday I should figure out how many profiles I have created and abandoned on various websites. Quite a few. It would be interesting to do a study and figure out how much server space is wasted by such ghost profiles. I mean, on the one hand, it's sort of nice that the blog I made in seventh grade is still there, and I can go look at it even if I've long since forgotten the password and lost the attached email account--but on the other hand, collectively, these things are a huge waste of resources. I wonder at what point it will become a big enough issue that companies will start clearing them out. Think how much money could be saved, and how much space could be freed up! Man.
*New additions: pool room and pool room; laundry chute; dumbwaiter (strong enough to hold people); possible secret passages/tunnels; pulley-operated message system to the tree house; cupola and/or tower(s); angry room (which I've described before but don't feel like describing now, esp since it makes me sound even more insane than usual), and a "making cool shit" room.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Daydreaming, and also the relatively near cosmos.
Kelly just posted this on my facebook wall, which prompted yet another (visibly escalating) brainstorming/daydreaming session about the greatest, most awesome, most utterly childish and wonderful house ever, which was recorded thus in my comments on her post:
-Dibs. I wish they'd shown more of the house though than the slide and the bookshelves. I mean those are awesome things. I'm just saying. Five (out of nine) slide pictures seems a little excessive.
-My slide would have more colors.
And maybe a water feature.
-Facebook just reloaded in the middle of the best house description ever. I will kill it.
Now I have to retype the whole thing! Please stand by.
-...Also, the floor of the "courtyard" would be a trampoline. And there would be a rooftop garden. And a fireman's pole. And a room made entirely of mattresses. And the hallway of bookcases (ZOMG) would include a reading nook. And windows all along one wall. Also, there would be a double (treble?) wrap-around porch. And there would be a shower-bathroom like the one at my cousin's house, where the whole bathroom is also a shower. And there would be a hot tub someplace. Probably in a corner of the rooftop garden. Also, hammocks aplenty. Hammocks for all! All the times! Different types of hammocks, even, with different colors and some with tassels. Possibly the floor(s?) would be painted with the yellow brick road. That is undecided. Also there should be a bathroom with enough plants in it that when you shower it is like showering outdoors in a jungle. Possibly this could be accomplished by the installation of a shower amidst the greenery of the rooftop garden, but clearly that would be seasonal. Additionally, there could be a swinging rope bridge going from one of the porches across the yard into the most epic fabulous tree house of all time ever. I would consider the installation of a moat, only probably not crocodile-infested. Duck-infested, maybe.
[end quotes.]
It's fun to get carried away with absurd dream-home dreams. Don't judge me.
On another note, it seems that they have found (or believe that they may have found) another planet in our solar system. Once you get that far out, of course, you're using the term "solar system" fairly loosely. It is in our solar system because it orbits our sun. From a long, long, long way away. Anyway, apparently rumors of this planet have been circulating for some time. There was evidence that was debunked (irregularities in Neptune's orbit), and now there is more possible evidence that is being analyzed. So we'll see. What gets me though is that this "ninth" planet is going to be called Tyche if, indeed, it exists. I know I'm being unreasonable, but I want them to call it Pluto.
There are, at the very least, three reasons that that is a stupid idea. I know this. You do not have to argue the point.
Here is the dictionary.com article on the name "Tyche," and (ish) on the planet. The comments are especially good. I particularly liked "is it safe for astronauts to go there?" The state of our educational system... it's just not very good. In case anyone is unclear about the distances of things in our solar system, here is some information for you. Light travels at approximately 186,282 miles per second. It takes the light from the sun eight minutes to reach the surface of the earth. By contrast, it takes the light of the sun between four and seven hours to reach Pluto, depending on its location in its orbit. Tyche, if such a planet exists, would be significantly further still from the sun even than Pluto. Considering that our astronauts have never even been to Mars, the question of whether they would be safe on Tyche is a moot point. And anyway, the answer is no. Tyche is/would be a gas giant with roughly 4x the mass of Jupiter. Any astronauts would be crushed rather quickly.
For reference, here is the NASA article on Tyche.
-Dibs. I wish they'd shown more of the house though than the slide and the bookshelves. I mean those are awesome things. I'm just saying. Five (out of nine) slide pictures seems a little excessive.
-My slide would have more colors.
And maybe a water feature.
-Facebook just reloaded in the middle of the best house description ever. I will kill it.
Now I have to retype the whole thing! Please stand by.
-...Also, the floor of the "courtyard" would be a trampoline. And there would be a rooftop garden. And a fireman's pole. And a room made entirely of mattresses. And the hallway of bookcases (ZOMG) would include a reading nook. And windows all along one wall. Also, there would be a double (treble?) wrap-around porch. And there would be a shower-bathroom like the one at my cousin's house, where the whole bathroom is also a shower. And there would be a hot tub someplace. Probably in a corner of the rooftop garden. Also, hammocks aplenty. Hammocks for all! All the times! Different types of hammocks, even, with different colors and some with tassels. Possibly the floor(s?) would be painted with the yellow brick road. That is undecided. Also there should be a bathroom with enough plants in it that when you shower it is like showering outdoors in a jungle. Possibly this could be accomplished by the installation of a shower amidst the greenery of the rooftop garden, but clearly that would be seasonal. Additionally, there could be a swinging rope bridge going from one of the porches across the yard into the most epic fabulous tree house of all time ever. I would consider the installation of a moat, only probably not crocodile-infested. Duck-infested, maybe.
[end quotes.]
It's fun to get carried away with absurd dream-home dreams. Don't judge me.
On another note, it seems that they have found (or believe that they may have found) another planet in our solar system. Once you get that far out, of course, you're using the term "solar system" fairly loosely. It is in our solar system because it orbits our sun. From a long, long, long way away. Anyway, apparently rumors of this planet have been circulating for some time. There was evidence that was debunked (irregularities in Neptune's orbit), and now there is more possible evidence that is being analyzed. So we'll see. What gets me though is that this "ninth" planet is going to be called Tyche if, indeed, it exists. I know I'm being unreasonable, but I want them to call it Pluto.
There are, at the very least, three reasons that that is a stupid idea. I know this. You do not have to argue the point.
Here is the dictionary.com article on the name "Tyche," and (ish) on the planet. The comments are especially good. I particularly liked "is it safe for astronauts to go there?" The state of our educational system... it's just not very good. In case anyone is unclear about the distances of things in our solar system, here is some information for you. Light travels at approximately 186,282 miles per second. It takes the light from the sun eight minutes to reach the surface of the earth. By contrast, it takes the light of the sun between four and seven hours to reach Pluto, depending on its location in its orbit. Tyche, if such a planet exists, would be significantly further still from the sun even than Pluto. Considering that our astronauts have never even been to Mars, the question of whether they would be safe on Tyche is a moot point. And anyway, the answer is no. Tyche is/would be a gas giant with roughly 4x the mass of Jupiter. Any astronauts would be crushed rather quickly.
For reference, here is the NASA article on Tyche.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Jumble sale reprise
I just saw someone's blog entry entitled "Falling In Love?" and when I saw it I had the feeling of reading a piece of a fairy tale. I wondered, "do people do that in real life?" Then realized what I was thinking. Interesting..
Forgive the following change in font. I copy/pasted from another post-in-progress. Here were my notes, and I'll be explaining each as a bullet point in lieu of actual paragraphs, because it's late and I'm tired and lazy and need to be taking a shower instead of mucking about online.
tuneless whistling/humming/singing/marching
I never understood how a person could do this until I found myself whistling tunelessly while walking the other day. And the whistling and the walking fell into time with one another, and I ended up marching to my endless unrepeating made-up song. It was like marching to pi...
cairn o'mohr
The wine made by these people is so good. I mean, it is unbelievably good. I don't even like wine very much. I will admit to my sweet tooth, so you'll have to take what I say with a grain of salt (yes, ha-ha), but seriously. So good. Unfortunately they only ship on the UK mainland. CRUELTY TO HUMANS.
3d printing > food synthesizer
There's a link about this, but apparently I didn't copy it. There's a link about 3d printing. You can probably google that yourself, though. They get an inkjet-type machine to print successive layers of something, only with plastic or metal or whatever instead of ink. Someone made a working clock this way. Someone made a serviceable violin. Anyway the food synthesizer bit is a reference to Larry Niven, but I couldn't find a L.N. food synth link that I like. My point here is that they want to make the 3D printers into food synthesizers. I heard this on NPR, so it must be true. (Yes, ha-ha.) This is obviously a PopSci-type idea, and we're obviously nowhere near that level of sophistication, but still--intriguing.
wind = dance with trees
I was thinking about this the other day during the wind storm that blew through. I was driving to work and saw the leaves whirling across the road, and suddenly I felt like the wind and the trees were dance partners. Or best friends. Or lovers. Or all. The trees are so still so much of the time, and when the wind passes through them it's like a smile. (Yes. I know. Don't judge me. I do what I want.) But it feels that way. And when the wind whips them up into a frenzy they sway and snap and bend and rustle, and all the old dead parts drop off and blow away. There's so much energy in a wind storm. I love to watch it.
River? <3
I've known her forever. Almost since she was born. She lives behind me (or vice versa). We hung out the other day. She is awesome. The end.
http://bookshelfporn.com/tagged/favorites
Bookshelf porn. Editor favorites. If you love books, and you are not looking at this website, you are missing out.
http://www.salon.com/books/laura_miller/2011/02/15/last_ringbearer/index.html
In the genre of "stories told by the losers." There's probably another name for this. The Wide Sargasso Sea and Wicked are others I've read. Apparently this one is downloadable for free! FREE BOOKS FTW.
Lastly, there was a note on the first "jumble sale" entry the other day, and I addressed it in a return note, and I'll copy the text of that here in case anyone else had the same "you need help" thoughts:
No, I'm not in therapy, though I have been before. I've never really found a therapist with whom I have/had good chemistry, though I've found some friends who are sometimes as effective as therapists.
Upon reflection I guess I did sound really sad, and I guess I was a little sad, but it was more a writing of reflection (there I go again with the late-night redundancy, but I choose to ignore this) than of raw emotion. I have often felt, this past year, that I am emotionally healthier than I have ever been, or than I have been since I was very small. It can be hard to tell, though, as (as I said) my depression has a history of hiding itself from me. Sometimes other people notice before I do. Even so, I have made enormous progress--and without therapists. I guess that's a point of maybe-slightly-masochistic pride, but also I'm cheap/relatively poor, and don't want to spend what money I have on arguably-ineffective therapy. (That isn't to say that there aren't effective therapists--only that those are few and far between, and hard to find, and often expensive.)
Lastly, about the loneliness: generally, I think I'm not. I'm just alone a lot of the time, and sometimes I think that maybe this is a symptom of an issue I haven't noticed or fully worked out, or sometimes I just feel guilty for not seeing or speaking to people often or whatever. But dammit, I am an introvert. I came this way, and I am this way, and I like it. SO THERE, WORLD.
PostScripts:
1. Anna posted a facebook status: "I want you to tell me how we met. And I want you to lie." I posted it too, with some modifications. Just thought I'd post it here in case anyone felt like telling stories about strangers.
2. I got the Blue Screen Of Death midway through this post, and I have two things to say about this.
a) Thank God for blogger's autosave feature.
b) EFF.
Forgive the following change in font. I copy/pasted from another post-in-progress. Here were my notes, and I'll be explaining each as a bullet point in lieu of actual paragraphs, because it's late and I'm tired and lazy and need to be taking a shower instead of mucking about online.
tuneless whistling/humming/singing/marching
I never understood how a person could do this until I found myself whistling tunelessly while walking the other day. And the whistling and the walking fell into time with one another, and I ended up marching to my endless unrepeating made-up song. It was like marching to pi...
cairn o'mohr
The wine made by these people is so good. I mean, it is unbelievably good. I don't even like wine very much. I will admit to my sweet tooth, so you'll have to take what I say with a grain of salt (yes, ha-ha), but seriously. So good. Unfortunately they only ship on the UK mainland. CRUELTY TO HUMANS.
3d printing > food synthesizer
There's a link about this, but apparently I didn't copy it. There's a link about 3d printing. You can probably google that yourself, though. They get an inkjet-type machine to print successive layers of something, only with plastic or metal or whatever instead of ink. Someone made a working clock this way. Someone made a serviceable violin. Anyway the food synthesizer bit is a reference to Larry Niven, but I couldn't find a L.N. food synth link that I like. My point here is that they want to make the 3D printers into food synthesizers. I heard this on NPR, so it must be true. (Yes, ha-ha.) This is obviously a PopSci-type idea, and we're obviously nowhere near that level of sophistication, but still--intriguing.
wind = dance with trees
I was thinking about this the other day during the wind storm that blew through. I was driving to work and saw the leaves whirling across the road, and suddenly I felt like the wind and the trees were dance partners. Or best friends. Or lovers. Or all. The trees are so still so much of the time, and when the wind passes through them it's like a smile. (Yes. I know. Don't judge me. I do what I want.) But it feels that way. And when the wind whips them up into a frenzy they sway and snap and bend and rustle, and all the old dead parts drop off and blow away. There's so much energy in a wind storm. I love to watch it.
River? <3
I've known her forever. Almost since she was born. She lives behind me (or vice versa). We hung out the other day. She is awesome. The end.
http://bookshelfporn.com/tagged/favorites
Bookshelf porn. Editor favorites. If you love books, and you are not looking at this website, you are missing out.
http://www.salon.com/books/laura_miller/2011/02/15/last_ringbearer/index.html
In the genre of "stories told by the losers." There's probably another name for this. The Wide Sargasso Sea and Wicked are others I've read. Apparently this one is downloadable for free! FREE BOOKS FTW.
Lastly, there was a note on the first "jumble sale" entry the other day, and I addressed it in a return note, and I'll copy the text of that here in case anyone else had the same "you need help" thoughts:
No, I'm not in therapy, though I have been before. I've never really found a therapist with whom I have/had good chemistry, though I've found some friends who are sometimes as effective as therapists.
Upon reflection I guess I did sound really sad, and I guess I was a little sad, but it was more a writing of reflection (there I go again with the late-night redundancy, but I choose to ignore this) than of raw emotion. I have often felt, this past year, that I am emotionally healthier than I have ever been, or than I have been since I was very small. It can be hard to tell, though, as (as I said) my depression has a history of hiding itself from me. Sometimes other people notice before I do. Even so, I have made enormous progress--and without therapists. I guess that's a point of maybe-slightly-masochistic pride, but also I'm cheap/relatively poor, and don't want to spend what money I have on arguably-ineffective therapy. (That isn't to say that there aren't effective therapists--only that those are few and far between, and hard to find, and often expensive.)
Lastly, about the loneliness: generally, I think I'm not. I'm just alone a lot of the time, and sometimes I think that maybe this is a symptom of an issue I haven't noticed or fully worked out, or sometimes I just feel guilty for not seeing or speaking to people often or whatever. But dammit, I am an introvert. I came this way, and I am this way, and I like it. SO THERE, WORLD.
PostScripts:
1. Anna posted a facebook status: "I want you to tell me how we met. And I want you to lie." I posted it too, with some modifications. Just thought I'd post it here in case anyone felt like telling stories about strangers.
2. I got the Blue Screen Of Death midway through this post, and I have two things to say about this.
a) Thank God for blogger's autosave feature.
b) EFF.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Jumble sale:
I love this cat, but her claws-in-the-leg habit is beginning to try my nerves--particularly when combined with the paws-draped-across-the-keyboard habit. Once I attempted to remove her from said keyboard, and she snagged one of the keys (F7, if you must know) and tore it loose. Awesome. Luckily, the keys can be reattached to my keyboard. I did not expect this, and I was pretty excited. Thank you, Compaq.
I still want to write poems, but don't have any poems queuing up to be written. This is pretty much the story of my life. Creative energy - creative ideas = irritated boredom.
I was just perusing some stranger's facebook photo album, and decided that I (/we? Me and Sara? Me and Kelly? Me and [ ]?) need to have a party with a photo booth. For this to happen though, I need to live somewhere with less furniture. Or I guess the booth could center around some furniture. Whatever. Draped sheet plus camera plus whatever: photo booth. It would be good times.
I am tired, but I still need to walk Miley. Gosh, that sounds familiar. I've already taken her twice today actually, but the first two were both quite short. More like tide-her-over pee breaks than actual walks. And the weather's really nice, so I guess it's okay.
I went to a movie (The King's Speech--quite good!) today with a friend and former counselor of mine. I've seen her a total of four times since I was ten or eleven, and those all within the past six months. She's great--smiley and friendly and fun. After a few minutes of awkwardly positioned post-movie talking out in front of the theater, we went to a nearby barbecue (is it wrong to want to spell that "barbeque"? Spell check says so.) place for margaritas and hush puppies. We talked about Camp, among other things, and it turns out that as a camper she received a super patch* every single year. I, though I tried my best, received a super patch not even once.** I was a nice kid, liked everything we did, didn't fight, and (to the best of my memory) followed directions. I didn't even fight back if other kids gave me a hard time. My friend, on the other hand, was a part of such adventures as "smoking under the bridge" and "naked sunbathing at the lake." Super patch. Apparently I was the subject of such patch-voting discussions as "well she seems really nice, but how do we know she's nice when we're not looking?" No super patch.
At this juncture, I feel that a "WTF" is fairly well justified. Not that I'm bitter, or anything.
I suddenly want a pretty red party dress. Also: the ability to wear heels without pain/messing up my feet for days. And I don't want to hear any of that crap about "it hurts everybody's feet." I feel that the underlying message there is "suck it up." And I'm not saying that "it hurts everybody" isn't true. I'm just saying that if you wear painful shoes because they look hot (ESPECIALLY if you do this on a regular basis), then, well. I don't like calling people names. But that is a completely moronic thing to do.
I came across this picture earlier while perusing a few mom blogs. (Sorry it's so small, but if you're using Chrome or Firefox then ctrl [plus] + should help with that.) Some people are just so crafty. I think this shot is so cool. Can you see how they put it together? I had to look carefully before I figured it out.
A somewhat more coherent group of thoughts:
What is lonely? Am I?
The other day, at Northstar, Theresa made a good point, I think, if it can be called that. Maybe it was a claim. Maybe it was a statement of scientifically researched fact. "By the time we are five, we have already formed opinions of ourselves"--and we spend the rest of out lives trying to prove (or, imo, disprove) them. She asked us what our words were. A few people threw some out: pushover. Abandoned.
Stupid.
I nearly cried, hearing all the words spoken, but for almost an hour I couldn't think of what mine might be. For a while I thought maybe I didn't have one. Then, suddenly, near the end, it came to me:
Misfit.
And suddenly I remembered all the times I was made fun of in elementary and middle school, all the times I felt like I was watching life through a glass, all the times people tried to speak to me and I, confused and afraid, treated them with disdain.
In my life, I've had trouble with depression. A lot of trouble. There were times when the only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I was afraid my baby sister would find me if I ended it. I could not bear to do that to her. But every time I slipped or was thrown or threw myself into another wave of depression, the symptoms were different. One episode I would lose weight. The next I would gain it. One time I was totally unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks. Another time I felt that I was losing my short-term memory. One week I felt pretty okay, but was completely unable to sleep at night, and unable to stay awake during the day. Every time I would isolate a symptom, it would stop occurring. Not immediately, unfortunately, but in the next episode, it would be gone, or different. It was like my body or brain were trying to hide the depression from me, or trying to convince me that it wasn't there.
I feel that those last two paragraphs are linked. I don't know exactly how, but it seems like, even if I am an introverted person, there is something that I'm not seeing. Something that I'm hiding from, or hiding from myself.
Of course, I do tend to go through episodes of extreme frustration and feelings of being trapped and completely unsatisfactory and hopelessly lost and apathetic and incapable of making a life for myself that I will find pleasing and fulfilling and useful. The feeling arises that I will never learn to make room in my life for artistic endeavors, and that all of my dreams of photography and papier mache sculptures and wire lampshades and mixed media paintings and interior design will come to naught. That is one of the most reliable self-doubts. Another is that I'll never again have my own space to do with what I will. Or that I'll have it, and do nothing with it. Because I'd rather sit and stare into space than actually create anything. Or that I'll never find love. Or that I will. Or that I'll settle for someone with whom I am poorly matched, the way I might have done with David, had he allowed it. Sometimes I want things to be true so badly that I make myself believe them. Like me and David--even though, from the beginning, I promised myself that I wouldn't do that again. Mental snares die hard.
And following the above train of thought, the one about depression and introversion and deeply hidden secrets, I can feel one of those episodes coming. Perhaps it really is, or perhaps I only feel it because I was following one of the paths that can lead there. Maybe it can be averted. Maybe it's all best left alone, and maybe my mind will untangle itself in its own time. Maybe one day on a walk or in a dream or on the phone, I will suddenly stand still and look up to the sky, or bend down to the ground, and find myself holding the key. Right there in my hand.
*At the time, kids who behaved, were kind, had a good attitude, etc most of (as in, more than 50% of) the time were given a patch. Kids who behaved and so on almost all the time were given a special, much-coveted super patch.
**Kelly says that I got one once, but I really think I'd remember. She got one every year, so I also think she might just be trying to make me feel better and/or make me shut up about never having gotten one.
I still want to write poems, but don't have any poems queuing up to be written. This is pretty much the story of my life. Creative energy - creative ideas = irritated boredom.
I was just perusing some stranger's facebook photo album, and decided that I (/we? Me and Sara? Me and Kelly? Me and [ ]?) need to have a party with a photo booth. For this to happen though, I need to live somewhere with less furniture. Or I guess the booth could center around some furniture. Whatever. Draped sheet plus camera plus whatever: photo booth. It would be good times.
I am tired, but I still need to walk Miley. Gosh, that sounds familiar. I've already taken her twice today actually, but the first two were both quite short. More like tide-her-over pee breaks than actual walks. And the weather's really nice, so I guess it's okay.
I went to a movie (The King's Speech--quite good!) today with a friend and former counselor of mine. I've seen her a total of four times since I was ten or eleven, and those all within the past six months. She's great--smiley and friendly and fun. After a few minutes of awkwardly positioned post-movie talking out in front of the theater, we went to a nearby barbecue (is it wrong to want to spell that "barbeque"? Spell check says so.) place for margaritas and hush puppies. We talked about Camp, among other things, and it turns out that as a camper she received a super patch* every single year. I, though I tried my best, received a super patch not even once.** I was a nice kid, liked everything we did, didn't fight, and (to the best of my memory) followed directions. I didn't even fight back if other kids gave me a hard time. My friend, on the other hand, was a part of such adventures as "smoking under the bridge" and "naked sunbathing at the lake." Super patch. Apparently I was the subject of such patch-voting discussions as "well she seems really nice, but how do we know she's nice when we're not looking?" No super patch.
At this juncture, I feel that a "WTF" is fairly well justified. Not that I'm bitter, or anything.
I suddenly want a pretty red party dress. Also: the ability to wear heels without pain/messing up my feet for days. And I don't want to hear any of that crap about "it hurts everybody's feet." I feel that the underlying message there is "suck it up." And I'm not saying that "it hurts everybody" isn't true. I'm just saying that if you wear painful shoes because they look hot (ESPECIALLY if you do this on a regular basis), then, well. I don't like calling people names. But that is a completely moronic thing to do.
I came across this picture earlier while perusing a few mom blogs. (Sorry it's so small, but if you're using Chrome or Firefox then ctrl [plus] + should help with that.) Some people are just so crafty. I think this shot is so cool. Can you see how they put it together? I had to look carefully before I figured it out.
A somewhat more coherent group of thoughts:
What is lonely? Am I?
The other day, at Northstar, Theresa made a good point, I think, if it can be called that. Maybe it was a claim. Maybe it was a statement of scientifically researched fact. "By the time we are five, we have already formed opinions of ourselves"--and we spend the rest of out lives trying to prove (or, imo, disprove) them. She asked us what our words were. A few people threw some out: pushover. Abandoned.
Stupid.
I nearly cried, hearing all the words spoken, but for almost an hour I couldn't think of what mine might be. For a while I thought maybe I didn't have one. Then, suddenly, near the end, it came to me:
Misfit.
And suddenly I remembered all the times I was made fun of in elementary and middle school, all the times I felt like I was watching life through a glass, all the times people tried to speak to me and I, confused and afraid, treated them with disdain.
In my life, I've had trouble with depression. A lot of trouble. There were times when the only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I was afraid my baby sister would find me if I ended it. I could not bear to do that to her. But every time I slipped or was thrown or threw myself into another wave of depression, the symptoms were different. One episode I would lose weight. The next I would gain it. One time I was totally unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks. Another time I felt that I was losing my short-term memory. One week I felt pretty okay, but was completely unable to sleep at night, and unable to stay awake during the day. Every time I would isolate a symptom, it would stop occurring. Not immediately, unfortunately, but in the next episode, it would be gone, or different. It was like my body or brain were trying to hide the depression from me, or trying to convince me that it wasn't there.
I feel that those last two paragraphs are linked. I don't know exactly how, but it seems like, even if I am an introverted person, there is something that I'm not seeing. Something that I'm hiding from, or hiding from myself.
Of course, I do tend to go through episodes of extreme frustration and feelings of being trapped and completely unsatisfactory and hopelessly lost and apathetic and incapable of making a life for myself that I will find pleasing and fulfilling and useful. The feeling arises that I will never learn to make room in my life for artistic endeavors, and that all of my dreams of photography and papier mache sculptures and wire lampshades and mixed media paintings and interior design will come to naught. That is one of the most reliable self-doubts. Another is that I'll never again have my own space to do with what I will. Or that I'll have it, and do nothing with it. Because I'd rather sit and stare into space than actually create anything. Or that I'll never find love. Or that I will. Or that I'll settle for someone with whom I am poorly matched, the way I might have done with David, had he allowed it. Sometimes I want things to be true so badly that I make myself believe them. Like me and David--even though, from the beginning, I promised myself that I wouldn't do that again. Mental snares die hard.
And following the above train of thought, the one about depression and introversion and deeply hidden secrets, I can feel one of those episodes coming. Perhaps it really is, or perhaps I only feel it because I was following one of the paths that can lead there. Maybe it can be averted. Maybe it's all best left alone, and maybe my mind will untangle itself in its own time. Maybe one day on a walk or in a dream or on the phone, I will suddenly stand still and look up to the sky, or bend down to the ground, and find myself holding the key. Right there in my hand.
*At the time, kids who behaved, were kind, had a good attitude, etc most of (as in, more than 50% of) the time were given a patch. Kids who behaved and so on almost all the time were given a special, much-coveted super patch.
**Kelly says that I got one once, but I really think I'd remember. She got one every year, so I also think she might just be trying to make me feel better and/or make me shut up about never having gotten one.
A balmy February evening. And my lonesome.
It's gorgeous tonight. It really is. Not in a dramatic way--it's a little boring if you're looking for fantastic skies, but the moon is full and bright, and the sky is clear. There's a warm breeze blowing from the West, and the smell of damp leaves and dirt is in the air. It's a wonderful fresh smell. I am trying to bear in mind that March is going to come along soon and crush my hopes, but I love this, still. I wish I could sleep out tonight. (I guess technically I could, but I'm too much of a wimp to sleep flat on the hard ground with no mat, and too lazy to set up my hammock. Also, considering how much my body temperature drops when I go to sleep, I'd probably freeze.) After I brought Miley in from our walk, I went out into the back yard and squatted down beneath the moon, and brushed away the top layers of leaves, and pressed my palms into the thawing earth.
I get the feeling that I should write about people--in poetry, that is: I have the urge to write poetry--but I don't like them. Don't like people. Or don't like them close up. I am largely content to brush shoulders with humanity in my day-to-day life, working or going to the grocery store, and then to spend much of the remaining time alone. Lately. Mostly. I don't feel that I have the necessary focus to watch closely enough to write anything of value about a real human interaction. Not these days, anyway. I just like to be alone a lot.
I don't know why this is. I am torn between wanting to embrace it and wanting to fight it. I sometimes worry, in a small corner of my mind, that I will become an eccentric, crusty old woman, self-absorbed and with a misanthropic bent.
But there are people I love. Close up, even, though I often still do better with distance. With occasional real contact.
But is this something wrong with me, or is this just who I am? Is it okay for me to be so solitary and distant? Is it okay for me to feel so cold toward people? It isn't that I don't love; it's just that I would usually rather (or feel that I would rather) love from further back. Maybe. Goodnight.
(Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences. Open the gate.)
I get the feeling that I should write about people--in poetry, that is: I have the urge to write poetry--but I don't like them. Don't like people. Or don't like them close up. I am largely content to brush shoulders with humanity in my day-to-day life, working or going to the grocery store, and then to spend much of the remaining time alone. Lately. Mostly. I don't feel that I have the necessary focus to watch closely enough to write anything of value about a real human interaction. Not these days, anyway. I just like to be alone a lot.
I don't know why this is. I am torn between wanting to embrace it and wanting to fight it. I sometimes worry, in a small corner of my mind, that I will become an eccentric, crusty old woman, self-absorbed and with a misanthropic bent.
But there are people I love. Close up, even, though I often still do better with distance. With occasional real contact.
But is this something wrong with me, or is this just who I am? Is it okay for me to be so solitary and distant? Is it okay for me to feel so cold toward people? It isn't that I don't love; it's just that I would usually rather (or feel that I would rather) love from further back. Maybe. Goodnight.
(Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences. Open the gate.)
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Yeah. About that.
For months now I have been working to convince myself that although Festival International was awesome last year, I will not be attending this year. I can't afford it. It's impractical. Et cetera.
This lasted right up until the moment that I scrolled down my Facebook news feed a few minutes ago and saw this video
posted by the Festival International fan page, which I foolishly joined last spring. (More F.I. 2011 videos can be found here.)
You know, these things happen, and I just lose control of myself. All of the really excellent reasons I had to not go seem pretty insignificant at the moment. I'm sitting here quietly searching every airline ticket website I can think of and occasionally making weird noises that are some kind of combination of slightly hysterical laughing and crying. I really like the festival, okay?
http://www.festivalinternational.com/site290.php
This lasted right up until the moment that I scrolled down my Facebook news feed a few minutes ago and saw this video
posted by the Festival International fan page, which I foolishly joined last spring. (More F.I. 2011 videos can be found here.)
You know, these things happen, and I just lose control of myself. All of the really excellent reasons I had to not go seem pretty insignificant at the moment. I'm sitting here quietly searching every airline ticket website I can think of and occasionally making weird noises that are some kind of combination of slightly hysterical laughing and crying. I really like the festival, okay?
http://www.festivalinternational.com/site290.php
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
An advertisment*.
I put this up on facebook, but since they've removed the feature that keeps one's status message at the top of one's profile page, I think I'll put it here too. Just in case it makes a difference. Thing:
I am in the market for a temporary significant other for Monday. There will be no discrimination with regard to race, age, gender, sexual orientation, religion, etc. Days past Monday will be considered, especially considering the fact that chocolate and flowers will be much cheaper beginning on the 15th.
In case anyone was worrying or scoffing, this is not a high pressure crappy holiday celebration ad. This is more of a "who wants to hang out and possibly trade candy** and/or flowers" kind of thing.
There have already been a couple of takers, so actually, later dates might work better. I just, you know, tend to make myself into a hermit when left to my own devices. So the more the merrier.
*Misspelling intentional and executed in the hopes of bringing to mind the British pronunciation of the word.
**NOT TUMS HEARTS. If you give me tums hearts, I am not giving you any of my chocolate.
I am in the market for a temporary significant other for Monday. There will be no discrimination with regard to race, age, gender, sexual orientation, religion, etc. Days past Monday will be considered, especially considering the fact that chocolate and flowers will be much cheaper beginning on the 15th.
In case anyone was worrying or scoffing, this is not a high pressure crappy holiday celebration ad. This is more of a "who wants to hang out and possibly trade candy** and/or flowers" kind of thing.
There have already been a couple of takers, so actually, later dates might work better. I just, you know, tend to make myself into a hermit when left to my own devices. So the more the merrier.
*Misspelling intentional and executed in the hopes of bringing to mind the British pronunciation of the word.
**NOT TUMS HEARTS. If you give me tums hearts, I am not giving you any of my chocolate.
Thoughts on what I do.
I have always been one for pulling things together--science and religion or groups of friends, mostly. I try to make everything fit together. I try to get all of my friends to be friends with one another. I try to get along with everyone. I try to find ways to make the craziest theories and cultural mythologies line up, and I don't see science and Christianity as being as irreconcilable as people tend to claim. I am not good at straight lines, but I am a master of blending. And I want to believe in everything. Maybe because I don't usually make things up, I want to find the origins of everything--every word, every song, every turn of phrase, every belief and story. Maybe some came from nowhere. But why are there so many fairy tales, so many religions? Why not one or the other? And why is North America so full of ghost stories, when in other countries no one believes in ghosts at all? In Zimbabwe they aren't even discussed--but almost nobody swims, because the fear of mermaids is very real, even in fresh water. (Zim is landlocked, by the way.) And how do we align science, not with religion, but with the things that just happen, that don't line up with much of anything? And it's not just hearsay. I've heard plenty that can only be backed up by the words of my friends--miraculous healings, ghost stories, and so on--but I've experienced some myself, too. I've mentioned them before: I dreamed the future, once. That is, I think I've dreamed it many times, and remembered in deja-vu type moments, but I dreamed and remembered before the event. I dreamed of a stone and woke up with it in my hand. I heard someone calling my name when no one was around. What are those things, and things like that? Magic? Some natural force that science doesn't yet understand? Communiques from some higher being?
I have no idea. I couldn't and can't control or reproduce any of them. But there's no way that the "that's impossible" argument will ever convince me of much of anything.
Side notes:
There is just nothing like standing in a forest and looking up at a perfectly clear night sky. The trees stand tall and true, their gnarled limbs pushing and pressing upward forever, with the stars glittering through their strong fingers. I can't get enough of it.
And there is just something about holding a piece of fruit. It feels alive, magic. Bananas don't count--no seeds, no magic. But apples? For a while in college I used to take an apple from the cafeteria every day and bring it with me to psychology. I'd just sit in my seat before class and hold it in my two hands and look at it and smell it and adore it. And then eat it.
I know, I sound completely insane. Still, that doesn't change the truth of the matter. Fruit is magical. Seeds are magical. How could something so small become a tree*?
Anyway, oranges work too. We have oranges, and I held and adored one the other day before eating it. Magical, and far tastier than cheap cafeteria apples. (Actually, I only took an apple when they broke from their usual granny smith/red [un]delicious pattern. So the ones I ate were decent.)
Lastly, it has been brought to my attention that I gleefully referenced "The Book To Come Before The Book That Will End All Books," and frustratingly neglected to mention its actual title. (No, it isn't actually called TBTCBTBTWEAB. Sorry if that was confusing.) The Book is called Towers of Midnight, and was written by Brandon Sanderson using notes left for him by the late Robert Jordan. I finished it Monday night. It was excellent. I am toying with the idea of reading it again, since I clearly rushed through it the first time (840-some pages in two days is rather a lot, even for me) before returning it to the library. If you like fantasy, and if you like book series that go on forever (as I REALLY do), I highly recommend the series.
*In another age, I probably would have been a druid. Hopefully the kind that didn't ritualistically violently murder people and leave them in random swamps like the Bog Man.
Edit: okay, I think this is awesome:
I have no idea. I couldn't and can't control or reproduce any of them. But there's no way that the "that's impossible" argument will ever convince me of much of anything.
Side notes:
There is just nothing like standing in a forest and looking up at a perfectly clear night sky. The trees stand tall and true, their gnarled limbs pushing and pressing upward forever, with the stars glittering through their strong fingers. I can't get enough of it.
And there is just something about holding a piece of fruit. It feels alive, magic. Bananas don't count--no seeds, no magic. But apples? For a while in college I used to take an apple from the cafeteria every day and bring it with me to psychology. I'd just sit in my seat before class and hold it in my two hands and look at it and smell it and adore it. And then eat it.
I know, I sound completely insane. Still, that doesn't change the truth of the matter. Fruit is magical. Seeds are magical. How could something so small become a tree*?
Anyway, oranges work too. We have oranges, and I held and adored one the other day before eating it. Magical, and far tastier than cheap cafeteria apples. (Actually, I only took an apple when they broke from their usual granny smith/red [un]delicious pattern. So the ones I ate were decent.)
Lastly, it has been brought to my attention that I gleefully referenced "The Book To Come Before The Book That Will End All Books," and frustratingly neglected to mention its actual title. (No, it isn't actually called TBTCBTBTWEAB. Sorry if that was confusing.) The Book is called Towers of Midnight, and was written by Brandon Sanderson using notes left for him by the late Robert Jordan. I finished it Monday night. It was excellent. I am toying with the idea of reading it again, since I clearly rushed through it the first time (840-some pages in two days is rather a lot, even for me) before returning it to the library. If you like fantasy, and if you like book series that go on forever (as I REALLY do), I highly recommend the series.
*In another age, I probably would have been a druid. Hopefully the kind that didn't ritualistically violently murder people and leave them in random swamps like the Bog Man.
Edit: okay, I think this is awesome:
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Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Handmade" things that I can make and mail.
You know, in case you commented on my "handmade things" pay-it-forward facebook status. Choose your poison.
Food items:
-boursin cheese
-pimiento cheese
-candied orange peel (dipped in chocolate or not)
-cake balls (cake mixed with icing, dipped in chocolate)
-thin mints
-assorted cookies. oatmeal or sugar, with or without choc chips, raisins, nuts, whatever.
-ditto for fudge/brownies
-lemon bars
-really excellent hard-shelled chocolate truffles of assorted flavors. Seriously. If I weren't so lazy, I could probably make a living off these.
-not meringues even a little bit.
Other items:
If you are so inclined, a recording of the C family girls singing--like the one I mentioned the other day, only hopefully a lot better.
I can make a mean collage if I am so inclined, or, relatedly, rude (as in rough, not impolite. Unless you ask nicely.) papier-mache sculptures. Ex: Roger.
Speaking of dinosaurs, I am evidently really good at making them out of rice krispies treats. Other edible decorations upon request.
You are welcome to commission a poem on the topic/in the form of your choosing. I have had the most success with sonnets, blank verse, free verse, limericks, and haiku, though I would be happy to return to or experiment with others. Except pantoum. I refuse to write another pantoum.
I can make mobiles out of shapes cut from tin cans, OR I can make one of those cheesy candle holders where the light shines out through the punched holes.
I am known for my excellent rock paintings. That is, scenes/things painted on flattish rocks. My favorites thus far have, I think, been the waterfall and the anglerfish. I haven't done one yet of a waterfall with an anglerfish, but I am beginning to think that that might be up next.
How do you feel about "art photography?" I would be happy to mat frame a large photograph of a spoon, if you like. Or a landscape or a bug, whatever.
A note on all crafts: please be aware that I am aware that most/all of the nonedible listings are superfluous junk. I love making crafts, but generally I only make them when I know they're going to end up in somebody else's house. I have enough junk.
Food items:
-boursin cheese
-pimiento cheese
-candied orange peel (dipped in chocolate or not)
-cake balls (cake mixed with icing, dipped in chocolate)
-thin mints
-assorted cookies. oatmeal or sugar, with or without choc chips, raisins, nuts, whatever.
-ditto for fudge/brownies
-lemon bars
-really excellent hard-shelled chocolate truffles of assorted flavors. Seriously. If I weren't so lazy, I could probably make a living off these.
-not meringues even a little bit.
Other items:
If you are so inclined, a recording of the C family girls singing--like the one I mentioned the other day, only hopefully a lot better.
I can make a mean collage if I am so inclined, or, relatedly, rude (as in rough, not impolite. Unless you ask nicely.) papier-mache sculptures. Ex: Roger.
Speaking of dinosaurs, I am evidently really good at making them out of rice krispies treats. Other edible decorations upon request.
You are welcome to commission a poem on the topic/in the form of your choosing. I have had the most success with sonnets, blank verse, free verse, limericks, and haiku, though I would be happy to return to or experiment with others. Except pantoum. I refuse to write another pantoum.
I can make mobiles out of shapes cut from tin cans, OR I can make one of those cheesy candle holders where the light shines out through the punched holes.
I am known for my excellent rock paintings. That is, scenes/things painted on flattish rocks. My favorites thus far have, I think, been the waterfall and the anglerfish. I haven't done one yet of a waterfall with an anglerfish, but I am beginning to think that that might be up next.
How do you feel about "art photography?" I would be happy to mat frame a large photograph of a spoon, if you like. Or a landscape or a bug, whatever.
A note on all crafts: please be aware that I am aware that most/all of the nonedible listings are superfluous junk. I love making crafts, but generally I only make them when I know they're going to end up in somebody else's house. I have enough junk.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
I'm doing all right.
I want a rainbow raincoat, with the colors bleeding down into one another in rings until, at the bottom, purple. I want a white umbrella that I can paint with raindrops and sunshine. I want bare feet and warm puddles and distant thunder and, after nightfall, a crescendo of fireflies glittering across the fields and up into the full, luscious trees under a royal blue-black sky.
I guess I can wait, though. Afternoons of grey skies and chill wind and freezing rain have their place. And I felt so much joy, driving home after tutoring tonight, that I laughed aloud and nearly wept.
I don't love any of the videos of it, but despite my strong issues with smoking, I do love this song. Can't help it.
A quote posted by a facebook friend: "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." -C.S. Lewis. I have no idea whether Lewis actually said/wrote this, but I hope so.
Song I was listening to when suddenly smitten with a wave of nearly overwhelming joy:
I've been on a little bit of a country kick lately. Don't judge me.
I guess I can wait, though. Afternoons of grey skies and chill wind and freezing rain have their place. And I felt so much joy, driving home after tutoring tonight, that I laughed aloud and nearly wept.
I don't love any of the videos of it, but despite my strong issues with smoking, I do love this song. Can't help it.
A quote posted by a facebook friend: "He that but looketh on a plate of ham and eggs to lust after it hath already committed breakfast with it in his heart." -C.S. Lewis. I have no idea whether Lewis actually said/wrote this, but I hope so.
Song I was listening to when suddenly smitten with a wave of nearly overwhelming joy:
I've been on a little bit of a country kick lately. Don't judge me.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
In the new years.
I'm not great at New Year's* resolutions. I forget to make them, and I don't really care. Looking through some things I wrote last year (or two years ago?) though, I saw that one of my resolutions was "don't panic." It was a good resolution. I highly recommend it. I was thinking about this as I bitterly lay in bed this morning**, and I also mulled over the fact that I am less good at resolutions like "clean 15 minutes every day" (not to knock your list, Sara! It's an excellent goal) than I am at resolutions like "no jackets in the living room." I just don't keep up well with anything vague, anything that I'll do "sometime today." For me it has to be an extremely specific "don't even think about doing that shit." Par exemple: "are you panicking? Cut that crap out. Calm yourself down right this second." Or, as I am maybe considering for this year except that it seems like too much effort, "excuse me--did you seriously just drop your jacket on the sofa? Again? On top of the jacket you dropped on the sofa yesterday? Pick up the damn jacket."
The reason this is too much effort is that I don't really have space in my closet for my jackets. So if I don't dump them on the living room couch, I generally dump them on my bedroom floor or chair, and end up with either no place to walk or no place to sit. It's a good time.
*Should this be capitalized? I have been wondering each time I type or write it, but thus far I've been too lazy to check.
**I got six hours of sleep, because I didn't see any particular reason that I would need to get up at any particular time. Evidently though it was extremely important to wake me up right at 9 am, which is exactly the time you should wake me if you want me to be really angry and completely unable to go back to sleep.
The reason this is too much effort is that I don't really have space in my closet for my jackets. So if I don't dump them on the living room couch, I generally dump them on my bedroom floor or chair, and end up with either no place to walk or no place to sit. It's a good time.
*Should this be capitalized? I have been wondering each time I type or write it, but thus far I've been too lazy to check.
**I got six hours of sleep, because I didn't see any particular reason that I would need to get up at any particular time. Evidently though it was extremely important to wake me up right at 9 am, which is exactly the time you should wake me if you want me to be really angry and completely unable to go back to sleep.
There just isn't enough trashy in my life.
It has come to my attention that there is nothing in my wardrobe that sparkles. Not one thing. Where can I find cheap crap with glitter and sprinkles*?
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
This appalling lack of trashy came to my attention on New Year's Eve, when Eva and I went to get dressed and while she was putting on a sparkly tank top, I was dejectedly pawing through my piles of cotton blends. It was a sad moment.
One thing I am happy about, though, [disclaimer here: I am so terrible at drawing a line when it comes to TMI and noonegivesashit and "that girl is so crazy (in a bad way)." I am aware of this. You should be aware that this is maybe one of those times where my inability to properly screen my subject matter is more apparent] is my colorful undergarments. I got some new ones via mail order while I was in Scotland, and I noticed this afternoon that the under layers I was wearing were (are) colored as follows: blue and white polka dot, plum-colored, bright yellow, and bright blue. And in the dirty clothes pile on the floor were (are) pink silk long johns with a matching shirt, and some more pink and blue and bright green and purple and "with stars" stuff. So maybe most of my normal clothes are boring and I have too strong an attachment to blue jeans and zip hoodies, but it's okay, because I'm like a mullet. Business in the front, yes?
I bought new chapstick (I use the term loosely in that I never buy Chapstick, only sticks of wax-based stuff to keep my lips from bleeding when it gets too dry out) tonight, and I didn't like it at all. This is at least the second time in a row that this has happened. Not cool. I gave it to Chloe. I've been using Burt's Bees for a while, but have been looking (out of boredom and curiosity more than dissatisfaction) for an alternative. I haven't been particularly successful, obviously.
We're throwing an engagement party for my cousin this weekend, and as trying to get me to cook or bake is generally a pretty painful experience for all involved (not that I can't; just that trying to get me to is a huge pain), my main job in all this is to paint the bathroom and not eat the freshly baked biscotti or cheese pennies or ham biscuits with pimento cheese, or whatever other delicious things get made this week, all from scratch. I'm sure that second part of the job, the not-eating-stuff part, will get harder as the week progresses, but at the moment I am feeling the irritation that is trying to scrape a bathroom that, for some unfathomably asinine reason, was painted ten years ago with flat paint. Except for the closet door frame, and one stretch of wall below the medicine cabinet, which were sensibly painted with semigloss. Whose idea was that? Flat paint, by the way, does not hold up to moisture. Like, at all. Don't f-ing paint your bathroom (or kitchen, for God's sake) with flat paint.
On the plus side, and on an entirely different note, we lost power the other day. I think some drunken idiot ran into a power pole or something, because a huge section of the neighborhood lost power on a fairly clear, non-windy evening. Obviously that isn't super great. It's "on the plus side" because I texted Jack to tell him the power was out and ask him if he needed a flashlight or extra blankets or anything, and then he came home with five snuggies. I have way too much stubborn pride to actually buy a snuggie, but damned if I'm going to let one go to waste. Also, as it turns out, a snuggie is (or seems to be) the perfect thing for my father, who is nearly always cold but doesn't like using blankets or adding lots of layers. Cozy light blanket with arms? It's the perfect compromise! I can't imagine why we didn't think of this before.
*Halfway meant to type "sparkles," but had intended to type "metallic sequins" before I stopped paying attention to what I was typing. I think I'll leave sprinkles though.
**Homeless footnote: in the interest of using this like a diary and giving myself some actual record of what's going on even when I don't feel like typing/talking about it, I should admit that I have been super emo about David lately. "Super emo" is probably far too strong a phrase, but whatever. And anyway, it's hard to be so completely single when kissing is so much fun, and when there are piles of colorful awesomeness lying around. I mean really.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
So, Scotland.
We took a van up to the airport, and we checked in for our Air France flight by an angel or something. We were upgraded to business class. I had never had much of an idea of what traveling business class would entail, but to give a basic description, it entails unbelievable awesomeness. It is, in my opinion, basically what long-distance air travel should be. Our seats were of a comfortable width, with ample leg room. Each seat reclined within its own space, so as not to affect those seated before and behind it. The food was, for the most part, rather excellent.* We were offered orange juice or champagne (or, in the case of those who couldn't make up their minds, both) after we were seated. There was a selection of complimentary wines. There were hot towels. There were extremely attractive male flight attendants. (Honestly, I suspected that they put the most attractive attendants closest to the front.) There were pillows and (sadly, quite scratchy) wool blankets, and little toiletry packets with eye masks and socks and lotion and travel toothbrushes. There were water bottles and little storage spaces for stuff. There were also individual movie screens with a selection of tv shows and movies and music and so on, but I suspect that that is fairly standard on international red-eye flights. I watched The Karate Kid remake and Inception, not in that order. The first was quite enjoyable, but I'm not going to try to argue that it was extremely high quality. I thought Inception (which I also hadn't seen) was fantastic, but after discussing it with Sara, I will admit that a lack of depth was covered up with interesting ideas like multi-level dreams. Still, I loved it, with the one exception of the stupid "oh, is it still spinning? Will it stop?" top totem shot at the end. I thought that part was a little bit stupid and unnecessary.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
Anyway, I'll probably never get to travel business class again, but trust me: I savored every single moment of it.
I managed to stay perky and upbeat through our cab ride to the hotel and a bit of our tea with Sara and Ami and Brian, and then I started to crash. And then I started to get a bit irritable. And then I started to get downright angry. (This tends to happen when I don't sleep enough before leaving for a trip, and then I don't sleep on the trip, and then people tell me that I'm not even allowed to nap until nightfall.) I quietly and rather passive-agressivly ditched the giving-Sara-and-Brian-Christmas-gifts party and went and, dammit, took a nap in my room anyway. What was evidently only fifteen minutes later I felt about 60% more human, and barely conscious enough to talk myself into accompanying everyone on a stroll around the city and the Royal Mile, on the bases that 1. you only get a first day in Scotland once, and 2. Ami's visit only overlapped ours by about 24 hours. I wandered around, 15 feet behind the group, in a near-stupor with an utterly dazed expression on my face for what seemed like days. I watched the hours slide glacially past with mounting horror and a vague sense of panic. Eventually, miraculously, evening came, and I slept. I was late for breakfast (possibly I didn't sleep well? Can't remember), and sat down about five minutes before Ami left to catch her cab. We (Ami, Sara, Brian, and myself) had all spent some time together the previous night in the bar**, though, so it wasn't a total loss. We spent most of our time in Edinburgh wandering the Royal Mile, which is the mile-long (or so I gather) stretch of road connecting Edinburgh castle with the Scottish Parliament and the Queen's castle. It's pretty touristy, but it's nice. We met a schoolteacher who evidently uses his free time to dress up as William Wallace, take pictures with tourists, and flash unsuspecting bystanders with a view of the royal lion tattoo on his right buttcheek. We toured the castle, explored some shops, ate a lot of truly excellent food, and went to the Keilidh (pronounced kay-lee) at Hogmanay, which was excellent. These people know how to do fireworks, and even if the main band conspicuously lacked a fiddler, I loved the dancing.
After Edinburgh (which, I admit, was better and more eventful than I am letting on, but you're getting shafted because I'm tired and lazy) we went to Dundee to visit Sara and Brian's apartment and stomping grounds for a night. Their flat is enormous, and quite nice, even if the alley outside is loud. Very loud. I was struck with a strong urge to stay and live with them. I miss Sara a lot. :o/ All of their favorite restaurants were closed (as we should have forseen, as we were visiting on bank holidays), but we made out alright. The next morning, that being yesterday morning, we took off for a brief visit to St. Andrews and a very sleepy drive to Gullane, which is where I now sit typing.
Key points:
Scotland is beautiful.
The dollar seems far less awesome when visiting the EU, as the euro (not used here) and the GBP rather effectively cut my purchasing power nearly in half.
AMERICAN SCONES WTF. Don't eat that crap. Come to Scotland and try these.
If you aren't careful, random Indian men may or may not try to make out with you at Hogmanay.
Australians, forever underscoring the excellent rating they already have in my head, carry breath mints at Hogmanay.
Get upgraded to business class if at all possible.
Scots like thistles.
I am going to bed.
*In all fairness, I should probably note here that I almost never have problems with airline food.
**And when I say "bar," I mean a beautifully furnished and well-spaced set of rooms with an open floor plan, couches, and rather attractive*** bartenders.
***Don't judge me.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
I need to stop buying myself stuff. REALLY. (Help.)
I have a sexy new candy-cane-stripe dress. (And by new, I mean vintage.) I'm definitely not a habitual vintage shopper, but a friend of ours was having a party/open house for her eyeglass shop in the space she's currently sharing with a woman who owns a coffee and tea shop, and we were there, and there were vintage clothes there as well. And jewelry. And chocolate-dipped strawberries.
Possibly that didn't make sense. These people that live behind us? River (daughter, Chloe's age), her brothers, Cynthia (mom) and Bruce (dad)? They are our friends. Cynthia owns an eyeglass store. It caught on fire. The coffee/tea shop next to hers also caught fire. Now they are sharing space a few doors down. They had a party. It was pretty great, because now I have a new dress. I'm having a little trouble figuring out what to wear with it though, as winter tends to be a little chilly for mid-thigh-length sleeveless dresses, and I don't know how to match things.
Christmas list update: I really want buckyballs (from thinkgeek.com). I also really want grey tights, white tights, and jeggings (don't judge me). I also REALLY want Spill & Spell (they still sell it! At Barnes and Noble!) and Set (also sold at B&N!). Really though I mostly only want Set because the last and only time I played it, I got beat repeatedly by a six year old, and that isn't really okay with me. I need to practice. To be fair, she beat everyone else too, and every single time (except her older sister--this is a genius family), and she'd start picking up sets before all the cards were even down, but still. She was SIX.
Also, the BAm Nonrequired Reading this year (2010, in case that was unclear: Best American Nonrequired Reading 2010) is edited by Dave Eggers. Want. Also wouldn't mind having the BAm short stories, essays, science writing. Or Bill Bryson's new book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life, because I love him. A lot. Or pretty much any Oliver Sacks book other than The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, as I believe I've mentioned before.
OR THE NEW WHEEL OF TIME BOOK. Please forgive me for yelling. It's difficult to contain myself. I mean, I know I should wait for the paperback, I know I don't want to own the hardback, but I want to read it NOW. It's called Towers of Midnight, if anyone was wondering. It's written by Brandon (?) (I always get his first name wrong) Sanderson.
Also: Anything by Neil Gaiman that isn't Coraline. Also, 1,000 Things To See Before You Die.
Possibly that didn't make sense. These people that live behind us? River (daughter, Chloe's age), her brothers, Cynthia (mom) and Bruce (dad)? They are our friends. Cynthia owns an eyeglass store. It caught on fire. The coffee/tea shop next to hers also caught fire. Now they are sharing space a few doors down. They had a party. It was pretty great, because now I have a new dress. I'm having a little trouble figuring out what to wear with it though, as winter tends to be a little chilly for mid-thigh-length sleeveless dresses, and I don't know how to match things.
Christmas list update: I really want buckyballs (from thinkgeek.com). I also really want grey tights, white tights, and jeggings (don't judge me). I also REALLY want Spill & Spell (they still sell it! At Barnes and Noble!) and Set (also sold at B&N!). Really though I mostly only want Set because the last and only time I played it, I got beat repeatedly by a six year old, and that isn't really okay with me. I need to practice. To be fair, she beat everyone else too, and every single time (except her older sister--this is a genius family), and she'd start picking up sets before all the cards were even down, but still. She was SIX.
Also, the BAm Nonrequired Reading this year (2010, in case that was unclear: Best American Nonrequired Reading 2010) is edited by Dave Eggers. Want. Also wouldn't mind having the BAm short stories, essays, science writing. Or Bill Bryson's new book, At Home: A Short History of Private Life, because I love him. A lot. Or pretty much any Oliver Sacks book other than The Man Who Mistook His Wife For A Hat, as I believe I've mentioned before.
OR THE NEW WHEEL OF TIME BOOK. Please forgive me for yelling. It's difficult to contain myself. I mean, I know I should wait for the paperback, I know I don't want to own the hardback, but I want to read it NOW. It's called Towers of Midnight, if anyone was wondering. It's written by Brandon (?) (I always get his first name wrong) Sanderson.
Also: Anything by Neil Gaiman that isn't Coraline. Also, 1,000 Things To See Before You Die.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
We had one of those long, mostly substantive talks.
Some lessons learned via said conversation:
I am doing nobody any favors by aspiring to become a career receptionist. That's idiotic.
Mutable schedules? No. Things happen When They Are Scheduled. Even if I am the one who scheduled them. Period.
I will get up at 9 or earlier. Period.* This "sleeping until I have something to do" thing has got to stop.
Art Time will be from 10-noon.**
Other things can be scheduled around these.
On another note, the palette of the river has been so lovely lately. All made up of the most delicate shades of purple, blue, pink, and grey. Every time I cross it I wish I could just stop on the bridge and get out, and stare or paint or at the very least take pictures. I love going with people to the river, but I always feel pushed to move on more quickly than I would to the next thing. Left to my own devices I will sometimes just look at the water for an hour or more. Usually, of course, there is something else that needs to be done before so much time has passed. I sat with David by the river once, the powerful Rappahannock, a week after we broke up. We just watched the water rush by, and talked very little as I remember. That night we were rushed to dinner only by the cold of a March evening.
I left my tea like an idiot while I got dressed earlier, and I let it steep far too long. It's bitter. And I have promised myself to cut back on the ungodly amounts of honey I use in tea, so I am just drinking it bitter. English Breakfast tea, too. What a shame. Still, it's nice to have time to drink tea in the morning. And all because I got out of bed at 9ish. Mmmm.
*Well, my alarm went off at 9 today, but I actually "got up" about 15-20 minutes later. But that's a start, right? Particularly considering that I don't have anywhere to be until nearly 11.
**I felt a lot more adamant about this last night, but I am going to try to stick with it, even if only for the sake of having some structure in my day, and particularly something to get up for. For discipline. And I think better when I spend time painting. I breathe better. Maybe I'll add "blank stretched canvasses" to that Christmas list. And Bailey's. Did I say Bailey's before? And dark brown Uggs. Don't judge me. They're the warmest things I have ever put on my feet.
I am doing nobody any favors by aspiring to become a career receptionist. That's idiotic.
Mutable schedules? No. Things happen When They Are Scheduled. Even if I am the one who scheduled them. Period.
I will get up at 9 or earlier. Period.* This "sleeping until I have something to do" thing has got to stop.
Art Time will be from 10-noon.**
Other things can be scheduled around these.
On another note, the palette of the river has been so lovely lately. All made up of the most delicate shades of purple, blue, pink, and grey. Every time I cross it I wish I could just stop on the bridge and get out, and stare or paint or at the very least take pictures. I love going with people to the river, but I always feel pushed to move on more quickly than I would to the next thing. Left to my own devices I will sometimes just look at the water for an hour or more. Usually, of course, there is something else that needs to be done before so much time has passed. I sat with David by the river once, the powerful Rappahannock, a week after we broke up. We just watched the water rush by, and talked very little as I remember. That night we were rushed to dinner only by the cold of a March evening.
I left my tea like an idiot while I got dressed earlier, and I let it steep far too long. It's bitter. And I have promised myself to cut back on the ungodly amounts of honey I use in tea, so I am just drinking it bitter. English Breakfast tea, too. What a shame. Still, it's nice to have time to drink tea in the morning. And all because I got out of bed at 9ish. Mmmm.
*Well, my alarm went off at 9 today, but I actually "got up" about 15-20 minutes later. But that's a start, right? Particularly considering that I don't have anywhere to be until nearly 11.
**I felt a lot more adamant about this last night, but I am going to try to stick with it, even if only for the sake of having some structure in my day, and particularly something to get up for. For discipline. And I think better when I spend time painting. I breathe better. Maybe I'll add "blank stretched canvasses" to that Christmas list. And Bailey's. Did I say Bailey's before? And dark brown Uggs. Don't judge me. They're the warmest things I have ever put on my feet.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Everyone! Everyone!
Towers of Midnight was released today! I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I need to get to a bookstore.
Don't judge me.
Don't judge me.
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