Lunch v.1.2

No, I didn't have a rose hip for lunch (they're high in Vitamin C, though, if you've ever felt like trying one. Just make sure you remove the seeds). I didn't think the world needed a photo of two mandarin oranges and a bag of chips.

Two mandarin oranges and a bag of chips.

Sad, really.

I'd brought three oranges, but I gave Wheat one.

That's why I bought the bag of chips.

Sad, really.

Oh right. I already said that.





I've basically got nothing, if you hadn't figured that out yet. The weather's got me down (if you hadn't figured out THAT yet) and as usual the improvement forecasted keeps moving farther and father down the week.

Everyone in Alberta knows that when the cold air hits it doesn't move for at least two weeks.

Everyone, that is, except the weather forecasters. They constantly insist on giving us the THINGS WILL GET BETTER IN A COUPLE OF DAYS!!! song and then wonder why we all get cranky as a couple of days turns into a couple of days later than the couple of days they thought it was going to be...

I normally come in to work at about 8 am (sounds ridiculous, I know, but I often get a lot done in that hour before everyone else gets here). Today at 8 am I decided to have a bath instead of going in to work because I wanted the temperature outside to at least break -20C before I went outside.

It took a while.

Luckily, everyone at work knows not to expect me when it's that cold.

Stupid winter.

And for anyone expecting Christmas gifts from me I can tell you that I HAVEN'T BOUGHT ANYTHING YET.




Erm... actually, that doesn't really have anything to do with the weather. I just haven't been able to convince myself to go shopping. Kind of sucks when you consider that there are a few things that should have been in the mail at least a week ago, however. Looks like we'll be celebrating Ukrainian Christmas again this year, folks.

Oh, and for anyone new to the program who might have read that last statement as a bit of an ethnic slur... it wasn't. My grandfather was Ukrainian. Should give me the right to send my Christmas presents in time for the Orthodox celebration, shouldn't it?

Anyway. I don't know how this turned so very angrily snitty when it started out as being only mildly-depressedly snitty.

I suppose that's what happens when lunch is still consisting mainly of oranges. I'd never thought of them as an angry fruit before, but... well, come to think of it I might be angry too if no one had ever bothered to give me a proper name. I mean, we don't go around calling bananas yellows or grapes purples or lettuce greens, do we?

Oh wait. That last one didn't work.





This is getting a little weird even for me. Later, all.

Lunch

I've just had three mandarin oranges for lunch. It's ok, though. They were small.

I might have a granola bar later to balance things out a bit.

And yes, I always peel mandarin oranges that way. Shut up. There's nothing wrong with it.

There isn't, you know.

----------

Speaking of lunch, the snakes have had their pinkies (well, one has. The other is either completely stupid or thinks he should be hibernating. It might be both, come to think of it. Can you hibernate stupidly?), the office spider has been given a few crickets as encouragement to show herself a little more, and...

Oh, I didn't mention the office spider, did I? Well, there's an office spider. If you know where the work blog is, I posted the info there. If you don't know where the work blog is it's probably because I didn't tell you. And if I didn't tell you, you can draw your own conclusions as to why.

We still want to buy a new pet, but we're going with the free one at the moment. It's my informal rule that anything that lives in the office actually has to live in the office for at least a week before we bother naming it, and this little girl (girl, yes) has officially earned a name.

She doesn't have a name, but she's earned one.

Thoughts?

Other than "why can't you ever have normal pets in your office," I mean.

She's black with a few orange markings and green chelicerae, if that influences your choice.

Oh, and she's fairly hairy too.





Where was I?

Lunch. Right. I don't know why, really. What can one say about pinkies, crickets, and three mandarin oranges with a possible side of granola bar?

Cold weather makes me not want to pack lunches, I guess. One could say that.

And yes, it's still cold. Windchill when I left the apartment (FINALLY left the apartment. It took a bit of convincing again) was below -25C.




Aaaaand... now I'm all depressed.

I think I'm going to go stare at the spider for a while. Must be nice to have a life where crickets make everything better.

I'm not sure I'd want crickets for lunch, though.




Guess I'll stick with the oranges.

Antici... pation

Yeah, the title's a Rocky Horror reference. I'll leave it to you to look it up if you're desperate to.

I'm very much the model of a snit at the moment (gah. That sent me straight to being the very model of a modern major-general. Sorry if it did the same to you... although there's really nothing wrong with a bit of G&S running through your brain now and then). It's cold, I haven't had a chance to get used to the cold, and that means that life just now is all about rashes, trouble breathing, and a constant headache.

Yay winter.

Once again, let's relax and look at the pretty flower.




Ok.

The biggest trouble with suddenly being blindsided by winter like this, though, isn't actually the physical reaction I have. It's the knowing that I'm going to have the physical reaction, that it's going to hurt, and that there's not a whole lot I can do to prevent it. Lessen it, yes, but not prevent it. Well, except by refusing to go outside, which is pretty much what I did yesterday.

And this morning, until about ten o'clock.

Anticipation of pain is just not, not fun.

It makes me cranky.






The funny thing about all of this is that I've been looking to take some time off since my current work term is drawing to a close, but being forced to take time off because I don't want to go outside isn't exactly what I had in mind.

It makes me a little stir-crazy, to be honest.

And cranky.




Did I already say cranky?

Must be true, then.

I'll end with a note to the t.v. club: I hope you enjoyed last night's wine-gumminess, because we're about to enter the December drought unless the writers' strike suddenly and miraculously ends. There'll be reruns in the meantime, however.

Are reruns still worth wine gums? I hope so, because I don't want to have to go into withdrawal. Maybe we can declare December a wine gum sours month as a ridiculous form of protest or something, eh?

Or not. I'm going back to my snit now. Singing, naturally...

I’m very good at integral and differential calculus
I know the scientific names of beings animalculous
In short, in matters vegetable, animal, and mineral,
I am the very model of a modern Major-General...

I, too, have snapped a few dragons

... er, snapped a few photos of flowers - yeh, that's it. But the subject line up there had you going, didn't it.

I think the Alberta contingent (one person can so be a contingent) is hibernating, or at least I would be if suddenly the temperature hit the minus teens - and I do mean suddenly.

So anyway, this flower is growing in my kitchen greenhouse window.

Sadly they last a day, or two at most, then land on the shelf. A metaphor ... well, for nothing, really. I'm just here.

I shan't mention there are five degrees running around in Toronto. Of course, it's not like the OLF is going to go find a ledge if she knows there's a 17 degree difference at the moment; for that, she'd have to go outside.

And today's excuse for the non-post is...

Work.

What? It's a legitimate excuse.

I was at a school doing a program today, so I'm behind on my usual morning's nonsense. Plus, I have a cold.

There you go. Two excuses.




Want three?

It's fricking freezing out there today, and the first fricking freezing day of the season always does a number on my system. Google cold-induced urticaria to find out why if you don't already know. I'm not in the mood to type it all out again. Just know that our weather lately has been mild enough that fricking freezing translates as fricking PAINFUL at the moment.

Ok, let's all relax for a moment and look at the pretty flower.

Pretty.

And with that... oh, I suppose before I go I could remind the t.v. club that not only is it a proper wine gum week again, but there are currently reruns from previous seasons on Mondays as the network does some empty-space-filling.

Done now.

Ring ring

My excuse for the short post today is that I got a bit too involved in a game of mahjong solitaire.

Got a best score, though. That was good.

Anyway, we'll make it a quick-question post as a result. Quick question: why do so many people use cell phone ring tones that they seem to be embarrassed of?

It doesn't make sense to me to see people blush and apologise about their ring tones when a) they chose them, and b) they most likely paid for them.

I say most likely because I personally am using ring tones that the cell company offered as free downloads, and there may actually be one or two other people out there who are as cheap as I am.

To my mind, though, most of you chose and paid for songs that meant something to you. Why are you ashamed of that? It's not like you should be worried that someone might judge your taste, and if you are... well, what the hell are you doing paying for that special song in the first place? Use the built-in rings if you don't want anyone to laugh or be offended or whatever the problem seems to be when your phone goes off.

Ok then?

Ok.





I'm outta here.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's all I've got.

Unless you want to hear about my headache, that is.

Actually, I'll admit that I'm feeling a bit better today, so here's hoping that a weekend's lethargy will go a ways to making me at least a little bit less whingey.

One can hope, right?

----------

Oh, I guess I do have one thing. According to the results of the last poll (don't look for it. It's already gone), more of you would prefer to treat sprained joints with basmati than with rest, ice, compression, or elevation.

I think you people may be a little bit weird.

Uphill even

So.... in order to bring today's photographic offering to you, it was necessary for yours truly to don winter garb including boots, fer-cryin'out-loud.

And off I went, into the cold, uphill both ways to snap this which illustrates why it feels so damn cold out there. Because it is cold out there. The proof is in that brilliant blue sky which means there are no clouds to hold the heat in. Er, rather simplistic, yes, but you get the drift.

The pretty things are tree-hugging leaves which have had the good sense not to fall into the snow yet. Leaves can think, right?


The dogs were standing beside me as I took this. That counts toward having dogs and posting, as I see it.

Hey, it's chilly and I wasn't all that mentally prepared for the hour I just spent frolicking with them. This post needn't make sense and, look! It really doesn't.

Just gaze at the photo now. Nothing more to see here.

No, really.

Stop reading.

Hey!

Well fine. I'll go then.

And cats

Well, cat, singular.

To go with the dogs, yes.

As the great philosopher OLF once said ... I got nothin'

Lets's see ... I AM going to keep my eye appointment today even though I have an impending migraine and I know the doctor will put those damn drops in my eyes for the glaucoma check.

But on the other hand ... I have the animals to keep me warm.

As to the photo, it is a lovely composition of the subject, isn't it. Until you look past the animal and realize that's not spray-on fake snow and ice on the window behind her.

So, I need to keep my appointment. But it snowed last night and the driving is amazingly slick. But I have animals to lower my blood pressure.

As you can see, my world is full of buts today. Let's hope they all stay the single "t" kind as I hesitatingly go forth into the world.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's all. Not feeling great, and not in the mood to whine about it.

For a change.

You're welcome, yes.

Piloerectors

And another pointless clematis photo because that's what I had.

Yes, that's the only reason.

----------

For anyone puzzling over the post title, I'll give you a moment to google piloerector.

No, really. Go ahead. I'm too lazy to do the work today.






All done?

So, yes. I'm sitting here with goosebumps today, although I think they might be partially psychosomatic. I think it's a little chilly in the office, but I know it's a little chilly outside. To make things worse, it's supposed to get downright cold tonight and that doesn't make me especially happy.

Not a big fan of the cold, if you've forgotten.

And I do realise that a) I'm living in Alberta and b) it gets cold here in winter and c) we've been pretty lucky to get mild weather up to this point in November... but STILL.

I don't like giving the piloerectors a workout.

It doesn't help that with the sun getting lower my south-facing apartment is getting more light, either. The place heats up like a greenhouse, I'm overly warm and miserable all night, and the rest of the world just seems that much colder afterwards. And if anyone was going to suggest opening a window... sadly, no. Not when it gets too much below zero. We have baseboard radiator heating, and I'm not that into paying for the replacement of burst pipes.

Whine whine whine.

I know.

But I'm cold, you see. It turns me from a five-year-old to a three-year-old.





I really am chilly.

Makes me cranky.

That, and the whole doing sudoku at 4 am thing. Apparently that's when my brain was done sleeping today.




I'm so very much out of stuff. Could you tell?

Let's end with a big smack upside the head reminder to the t.v. club that we're still getting new episodes for the time being. Enjoy them while you can. Unless pretty miraculous things happen with the talks next week, the writers' strike seems likely to last a while.

Too bad we can't just send both sides wine gums. Wine gums fix everything, right?

What I've learned today

Apparently (and I say apparently because I'm still not entirely convinced) it is absolutely unallowable (and possibly a crime) to not like chicken noodle soup.

I did not know this.

It might be a problem, though, because I don't like chicken noodle soup.

My office mate, the much-mentioned Wheat (have I stabbed you in the shins lately?), seems to believe that this is an abnormality. Apparently EVERYBODY likes chicken noodle soup, and the fact that I don't is on the order of food blasphemy.

Or something.

To be honest, I stopped paying attention for a little while there. Fun With Not Sleeping strikes again.

I'm not a big soup eater at the best of times, and I almost never eat chicken noodle soup. Chicken noodle soup just happens to contain two things that I rarely prefer in a soupish meal: noodles and chicken.

I've never liked noodles in soup. The texture is so, so very wrong. Pasta is supposed to be firm in my world, and that just can't happen when the pasta is surrounded by liquid. And as far as chicken goes... well, ok, so I don't know exactly why I don't like chicken in soup. I like chicken by itself just fine, but put essence of chicken in a brothy form and I'm completely not interested.

Shut up. It isn't that weird.

And anyway, you're lucky I'm even typing in English considering how much sleep I've had. My natural inclination is to type in faceplant instead and let you guys figure it out.

I'd have to take my glasses off, though, and that sounds like too much effort.

Actually, typing at all sounds like too much effort when it comes down to it. Doesn't that make a natural ending to a post about nothing?







I have to perform some kind of chicken noodle penance or something now, I guess. Catch you later.

Yes them again and one of them not even on the ground

What could be more lovely, really: a girl, her trusty canine companions, a toy to enjoy the interaction. Oh, oh! I know! If it were at least five degrees warmer on the C scale! That most definitely would've helped.

Not that I'm complaining. Erm , well, yes, I am.

I have been lulled thus far but today smacked with reality of November weather; last week, 10 degrees one day, then *poof* five. Today it's a minus something, meaning there are NO degrees running around out there. None.

And for she who is paying attention, yes, the poof was for you. Tomorrow, winnowing.


Oh and the dog. She went from stand to all four off the floor in 2 seconds flat. All 87 pounds of her. Makes me self-conscious to say that some days I just hate to even roll out of bed. The photo was taken, as you can probably tell, as the sun was setting just a little bit ago, hence the red chocolate Lab.

I shall stop typing now as there is reduced feeling in my fingers. I think they need to be wrapped around a very large mug of hot something-or-the-other. And I think I have a small container of that around here somewhere.

Oh and I've come back to sneakily edit this to say that, yes, there was a treat involved in the height of the dog. She should really carry a placard "works only for food".

Yes, yes I do have a couple of them

Well, at least that's one of two over there to your left.

As you can see, the Duchess goes through things rather than jog a little (as in move off) to the side to go around stationary obstacles. Of course, to say this dog jogs for anything at all would be a stretch. Oh, she might pick up the pace a little if you offer her a treat from a distance which, yes, we still do in training mode.

For the most part, though, she takes her name all too seriously and thinks moving quickly beneath her.

The photo, by the way, is a WYSIWYG offering. It was one of those lovely late afternoons of Fall, though, when a person could remain in denial that lousy weather slowly approacheth.

And why is it, anyway, do you think that a pup is smart enough to just follow a straight line to carry on when people make things so difficult and over-think things. I've never heard one of the Labs mull over the merits of moving this way or that to get to the other side.

Maybe this post is proving a point then, in comparing the human and the canine.

And I could tell you what that thought of comparison is ... but then you'd be staring at a pumpkin and I'd have no place for musing about the ramblings of mankind - including this.

Nothing

I have a headache.

I don't feel like blathering.

I likely won't be blathering on the weekend either, since I have a work thing one day and then I have a don't-want-to-be-anywhere-near-work thing the next. That means no computer, and that means no blather. I refuse to blather by e-mail from my phone.

Yes, I'm that cheap.

So, it's up to the Toronto office. Blather, no blather, whatever... it's her call.

I hear she has dogs, though.




Just saying.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it for today. We went out for lunch, and I'm too logy to post.

No, really. That's all.



Go away now.

The weirdness of gift-giving

Today's my father's birthday. I won't tell you which one, although it's not like he'd care.

I'm assuming.

I gave him his presents on the weekend because I knew I wouldn't be able to make it in today (or wasn't likely to, to be more honest). Presents in the plural, yes, because I had trouble figuring out what to get him so he got a few little things instead of one bigger one.

My dad isn't an easy person to buy for, but not because he's fussy or particular or anything like that. It's because he's one of those rarities of the species: a male who enjoys shopping. Actually, more like a male who enjoys finding a bargain. He likes to look for deals on things, and he has a tendency to buy those things as he finds them.

Not generally a problem, until it comes to birthday and Christmas time of year and I have to find something he might like that he doesn't already have.

As fun as it sounds, yes.

This year I didn't have a clue what to get him until the actual day before I gave it to him. I'd bought a novelty item (a ball cap with a couple of LEDs embedded in the brim. Think of it as a hat/flashlight) that I thought would make him laugh or at least roll his eyes, but nothing else. I went shopping out of sheer desperation on Saturday and finally -- FINALLY -- came up with an idea as I was buying something for myself.

A decent idea, even. He broke his barbecue tongs this past summer and hadn't replaced them, so I got him a set of new grilling tools. I also picked up some reusable silicone food-trussing ties for his rotisserie, which isn't as weird as you might think.

No, really.

And shut up, world. A girl can give her father food-trussing ties for his birthday if she wants to.

Anyway, the gifts were given and opened and the father figure was delighted with... the ball cap.

No, really.

Seriously.

The joke gift.

He thought it was cool.







Well, you just never know. That's all I can say about that.

Happy birthday, at any rate. And I hope you have a lot of fun trussing your next chicken.

And I love you, but I hope you know that already.

On the gimp

Pointless photo? Yes, completely.

----------

Today we're going to talk about limping, because I am. And sorry to anyone who thought we might be having a fascinating conversation about braided trim or graphics editing. Amazing how many connotations a silly word like gimp has, really.

I've been limping in one form or another for a lot of years now. I was born with Achilles tendon problems (which meant that walking wasn't my strong suit right from the beginning), but I've since torn the *insert epithet here* out of one of my ankles during a grade nine relay race (yes... me, in a race. Ridiculous situation to start with, and fairly pathetic outcome) and screwed up a knee pretty badly in university.

By falling off of a bus, yes. Shut up. Oh, and it goes without saying that the buggered up ankle and the buggered up knee are on opposite legs, right?

Anyway, this all leads to a pretty much permanent limp that gets better or worse depending on how tired I am and which joint has most recently been reinjured.

At the moment the brace would tell you that the limp is favouring the left ankle, which I believe I mentioned turning last week. And for the Toronto office, who wondered, I turned it into a GIGANTIC PAIN. There. Now you know.

You'd think that someone who's been dealing with the effects of an injury for a long time would know the basics of what to do after turning her ankle yet again (google RICE for yourself if you don't know. I'm not going to be your St John Ambulance) and I do (minus the I part, which causes me more problems than it helps), but I seem to be having a bit of difficulty with the R this time around.

Please reread the sentence where I told you to google RICE if you don't know what I mean by R or I. I shouldn't have to do all the work for you people.

It seems like I've been on my feet an awful lot in the past few days, and I'm honestly not sure how that happened. I cooked supper at my father's place on Saturday which I normally only do a couple of times a year, and I suppose I wasn't really expecting that. He decided he wanted pork tenderloin casserole and it sounded like a good idea to me, so since only one of us knows how to make pork tenderloin casserole... well, there's an hour or two there. And then there was the gift shopping. And the grocery shopping. And last night's craving for lemon loaf...

Ok, I guess I have been on my feet an awful lot in the past few days.

Today's planetarium duty isn't helping the situation either.

whine whine whine moan moan moan shut up already ya freakin' pansy...




Um, sorry about that. I'll give that voice a talking-to when I get home.

I need to get back to work anyway, so I'll have to end this before I get to my actual point (I did have one, believe it or not. The post wasn't just going to be about the misuse of brackets). Do I need to slap the t.v. club upside the head and remind them that it is NOT my turn to buy wine gums?

I really shouldn't have to by this stage, you know.

I do it anyway.



No idea why.
I guess it's just my place in the cosmos.





*limps off all martyr-y*

Pointless rather lame photo of the day:

Yeah, not great. Give me a break, though. I was shooting through the front window.

Just thought I'd show you the house finches that have taken up residence at one of my father's feeders. They're new visitors this year... or at least if they'd been here before I hadn't noticed them.

That's possible.

I may be a naturalist by profession, but that doesn't automatically make me a birder. I'm pretty much the opposite, in fact, and when people phone the centre with bird questions they should be crossing their fingers that they don't get me on the other end of the line.

Ask me about plants. I'm not bad with plants.

Anyway, I've got a whole lot of nothing today so I'm not going to force it. I've put a couple more poems up at the other place if anyone's interested. Nothing new because I still haven't got off my behind about getting back to writing, but at least it'd be something to read.

You know, if you're really desperate for something to read.

You don't have to be.

It was only a suggestion.




It's not like my feelings would be hurt or anything.
No, really, they wouldn't. By this point in the post you should know that I'm only rambling on to jerk your chain a little.

Erm... go away now, ok?

An addition...

... to this post from the other day.

Read this (and yes, the t.v. club is familiar with her work) and then tell me what you think of the WGA strike.

Interesting, no?

Lapel poppy

Everyone in Canada should know what this is.

Most everyone in the UK would know too, although the ones they distribute are in a different style. People in New Zealand and Australia would probably recognise it, even though they'd likely associate it with ANZAC Day more than the 11th of November.

For those not in the know, it's a poppy.

And why have I got a very obviously fake poppy on my coat lapel? Well, it's Remembrance Day here in Canada. The poppy is a remembrance of those members of the armed forces who have died in the service of their country, and for me (and many others) it's an extremely important remembrance. In my case, it's for a grandfather I never knew. He was a veteran of World War II, and even though he didn't die in battle this is still a day when I think about him and what he did.

I'm not going to go on about the shoulds and shouldn'ts of war because I don't think this is the time or place. The fact is, countries send people to war and some of those people die. Whether or not we agree with the why, we should still appreciate the sacrifice.

The poppy's a pretty powerful symbol, and to be honest I'm not sure why the United States (which is usually very good at picking up on symbols) never adopted it. True, it was originally suggested by a poem written by a Canadian and published in the British Punch Magazine, but the custom of wearing a poppy in remembrance of the lost WWI soldiers was started by an American named Moina Michael. It just seems odd that it didn't catch on in her homeland.

Anyway, if I keep typing I'll be running into the moment of silence so I'm going to stop here. I had more, but I guess I'll just end by saying that I hope you've taken a little time to remember that this day is much more than the excuse for a long weekend.

It is to me.

57 channels and nothing on

No photo from me today. Scroll back down and look at the (belated...) dogs if you need one.

Today's title is courtesy of Bruce Springsteen, of course. If he'd written the song today he'd probably have to bump up the number by a couple of hundred, but it still works.

I could go on about the dilution of television and the seemingly impossible task of finding anything worth watching nowadays, but that's a post for another time. I'm thinking more about the writers' strike at the moment.

Yes, I've been following the strike news. As a big recorder of late night talk shows (I watch them in the morning when I'm getting ready for work. Less depressing than watching the news), I'm one of the consumers who was affected almost immediately by the strike. I'm also a fan of a couple of dramas, and in a month or so that avenue of entertainment will be disappearing too.

I'm most decidedly not a fan of the so-called reality programs, so I'm expecting that if the strike continues I'll be spending a fair amount of time with my DVD collection. Or hey -- maybe even a BOOK or two.

Novel concept, that.

I'm a bit iffy on unions for the most part, I'll admit. My only experience as a unionised employee wasn't a happy one (it was a case of a union offering most of its protection to full-time workers in an industry where 90% of the work force was part-time. And no, I'm not mentioning the job or the union), and I can remember my father (a teacher) going out on strike and the difficulties and hard feelings that continued from all sides even after things were resolved.

And before anyone comes on and informs me of all the good that collective bargaining has done for workers in the past &c &c &c let me just say that I know. I'm not trying to speak against unions or say that they aren't important. I'm just saying that my own personal experience with unions hasn't been great.

Having said that, I'm with the writers on this one.

Entertainment writing -- or writing of any kind, come to it -- is a pretty precarious business. There aren't many guarantees out there, and those residuals are pretty darned important when you don't know for sure if the next job will even come along. It stands to reason that the writers would be concerned about making sure that they get something out of the deal when their work is reprocessed or reformatted for new media.

And for those who reply that there's no saying what, if any, money will come out of computer downloads and things like that... well, are people supposed to wait and try to negotiated deals after it's been found that new media is a freaking goldmine?

Yeah, that makes sense.

Even if it turns out that there isn't much money out there, the structure still needs to be set in place.

As is usual in heated negotiations I don't find that either side is completely innocent in their dealings, mind. There have been things coming out from both parties that have me rolling my eyes, frankly, and I think they need to be taken figuratively by the ear and dragged back to the table.

No dessert for any of you until you eat your broccoli.

Get back to negotiating, stop wasting the time of the hundreds of tradespeople caught in the middle, be realistic about the fact that without the words there's nothing for the high-priced actors to emote to, and give us back our stories already.

Sheesh, people.

And I'm so looking forward to a repeat of all of this when the SAG has its turn next year...

Dogs ... you want dogs

I got dogs.

This was taken October 31st. They are wearing each other's costume ... so you really don't know which is which, do you.

Oh stop scratching your head. You haven't actually come here to find sense, have you? Surely, not after all this time .. and yes, I know, stop calling you Shirley.

Ha! Bet the Alberta office is realllly glad she poked at me through the bars now.

Maybe I should go back to reading the morning paper, before it's the afternoon. It feels like a good day to drink tea, read, sleep - just anything that doesn't involve real activity, something with which GWK would only agree, I expect.

Pointless... oh, whatever

Ya boo to the Toronto office, who apparently doesn't have dogs after all.

Read the previous entry if you didn't follow that. I'm not going to explain.

----------

So what did you do with your day off, Dee?

I cleaned house.

Yep.

I'm not normally an untidy person (although I will admit to an aversion to dusting. It's such a sisyphean thing to have to do. You dust, you turn your back, and the dust alllll returns...), but in the past while things had gotten away from me pretty badly. Something about the whole working-when-I-don't-usually-work issue, I expect. I've been coming home and just sitting, and for whatever reason the brownies haven't been showing up to do my vacuuming.

Erm... these brownies, not these ones. It'd be kind of weird the other way around.

I'd intended to do a whole lot of nothing yesterday, but I started seeing with my mother's eyes at some point during the morning and decided that I could no longer ignore the mess.

Have I mentioned my occasional moments of WWMD? That'd be What Would Mom Do? as in what would she think if she showed up at the apartment unexpectedly and it looked like it had been looking for the past few weeks.

Personally I'd be a little freaked if she did show up at the apartment unexpectedly, but that's just because she's been dead for quite a few years now. Otherwise, I'd be fine with it.

Um, anyway.

So I cleaned. I won't say top to bottom because I'm pretty sure I didn't do much about the ceilings, but things are definitely back to the point where I wouldn't be making all kinds of weird excuses if you told me you wanted to drop by tomorrow.

I won't be home since I'm headed to my father's place after work like usual, but you're welcome to drop by anyway. Just make sure you lock up when you're done.

I was going to add that I managed to turn my ankle when I slipped a bit as I was cleaning the tub, but it's such a normal part of life for me to turn my ankle while doing almost anything that it's not really newsworthy except for the fact that the limp is a little more pronounced today.

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Here's where I stop the blather and send my very serious condolences to the family of a friend (ok, friend of a brother. But still) who died very suddenly the other day. Too young. No one should miss seeing his kids grow up, and this is a pretty sad time for everyone involved.

Later, all. Hug someone you love.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's about all I have for today. Kind of tired and cranky, to be honest. I'm also thinking of taking a day or two off, since it's apparent that my body thinks it's supposed to be hibernating but my brain thinks it's supposed to be responsible and do the work thing.

The conflict is beginning to make me incredibly useless, if you hadn't noticed.

I don't especially like feeling incredibly useless, so I'm going to try my best to reconcile the two opposing views (schizophrenic much, Dee?). Think a day will do it?

Here's hoping.

In the meantime, the Toronto office will just have to come up with something pointless. If she wants to, that is. It's not like I'm going to get bossy about it.

I may feel incredibly useless, but I'm not unreasonable.

Usually.




Ok, the least the Toronto office could do is post a photo, right? I hear she has dogs. That'd do.

This post has gone petulant all of a sudden. Not sure how that happened. I think that whole day off concept is coming just in time, though...

Fired

I've often said that the only thing that could make me believe in reincarnation is my fear of fire.

Er, no. Let's rephrase that. I'm not afraid of fire; I am, however, very much afraid of being burned. Not that anyone (well, mostly anyone) looks forward to being burned, of course... it's just that I'm morbidly afraid of it. Have been for as long as I can remember.

The weirdness comes in when I tell you that I've never been seriously burned in my life, and the few minor burns I've had haven't been caused by fire. Hot pots and the occasional curling iron, yes. One small chemical burn back in university, I think, but that's it. Overall, nothing in my experience should have caused me to have nightmares about burning.

I did, though. Fairly often, even, when I was a child.

It was enough to keep me away from things like hot stoves, which sounds like a good thing for my personal safety until I mention that it kept me away from things like hot stoves right into my teen years. My poor mother -- I'm sure she thought I'd never have a hope of learning to cook for myself. She tried very hard to teach me, but in the end she decided to make me take Home Ec in junior high school instead. I suppose she figured that my fear of being burned would be trumped by my fear of getting bad grades.

Smart move. I learned to cook, but it was torture.

As I've gotten older I've managed to get past the fear for the most part. There are tricks. Using full-hand oven mitts rather than just pot-holders around the stove helps, for example. The brain convinces itself that the hands are suitably protected, and you get on with things.

I even learned to make a decent campfire one summer when the fellow I was doing campground shows with turned out to be completely pathetic at that facet of the job (I seem to remember that there was a lot of paper, a lot of matches, and a lot of blowing involved, which usually leads to a lot of paper ash blowing around and not much actual fire...). It's amazing what you can make yourself do when there's no other choice.

The question remains, however. What could make a young child who's never had any experience with fire or burning become so completely afraid of it? Oh, and before anyone guesses at my secret history of abuse... no. Thankfully, I can honestly say that I've never had to deal with that kind of horror. I was a neurotic child (makes sense. I'm also a neurotic adult) and was afraid of a lot of things.

I was terrified of fire.

Weird, huh.

I've jokingly said on occasion that it must be because I was burned at the stake in a previous existence. I don't really believe it, but it's kind of an interesting possibility. Could something like being burned at the stake (or, more realistically, dying in a house fire or a cooking fire. Cooking fire accidents, after all, used to be one of the top causes of death for women. Or at least I think that's what I heard on one of those Food Network shows) create so much terror in a being that it transfers over to that being's next life?

Really? I doubt it. I'm still going with the theory that I'm just not hooked up especially right.

For one thing, it goes too well with the rest of my life to be ignored.

In the meantime, do me a favour and keep that lighter away from me, ok? I'm afraid I don't have my oven mitts with me just now, and without them I might cry...



Yes, that last bit made no sense. I don't care.

Shut up and prepare the wine gums for tomorrow's t.v. club meeting, already.

Pointless Max of the day:

And why the pointless Max?

Well, I just read something on Discovery News that left me all weepy and depressed and thinking that I knew I'd feel all weepy and depressed if I read it but I read it anyway and therefore must be a little soft in the head. So... I needed something to counteract the weepy and depressed.

You gotta admit. The little troublemaker is cute.

I should explain that reading science news doesn't generally make me all weepy and depressed. I am, as is unfortunately usual at the moment, operating on very little sleep. Weepy and depressed is easier than blinking my eyes on days like this.

Yes, I really meant to type blinking my eyes. It's not easy when you haven't slept much. For one thing, the brain tends to forget that the eyes are supposed to OPEN again once they've done the closing part.

The blame for the sleep thing is resting on the changing of the clocks, if you were wondering. It's fine to say that we get an extra hour of sleep, but what really happens in my world is that I stay up a little later to try to convince my body that what used to be eleven o'clock is really ten o'clock and then my brain wakes itself up at four o'clock just to prove to me who's really in charge.

Shut up. I don't care if any of this makes sense.

Stupid brain anyway.





Let's all scroll back up and look at the cat for a few seconds, shall we?

Niiice kitty. Bit of a pain in the arse, but at least he likes people. I've known more than a few cats who've obviously thought of us as a completely moronic species barely to be tolerated.

Hmmm.

I should stop here before me 'n the tired brain say what we really think of that assessment.





Ok then.

Pointless mulie of the day:

A mulie would be a mule deer, for those who've never had the pleasure.

These ones (there were four in all) were behind my father's house in the back alley. There's a vacant lot that's never been cleared -- sort of a weird leftover in the middle of a residential neighbourhood. As a result we get mulies and whitetails regularly. And lots of birds. And squirrels...

Yeah, it's a busy place.

Is there anything in particular you'd like to know about deer, or taking photos of deer feeding in the back alley in the middle of the day? I'm sure there must be something...

In other words, I've got nothing. I wasted too much time playing with the old blog today, and now I'm not in the mood to blather here. I had a feeling that would happen, but today it's definitely my fault. Should have gone to the other place after I finished the daily nonsense, rather than before.

Oh well.

On another note, though, today's pointless photo was taken yesterday. If it'd been taken today the deer would have shown up much better against the SNOWY background. I'm not going to complain (too loudly) about snow because it is, after all, heading into the second week of November and a person has to expect it'll show up eventually... but... but...

sigh

Winter.

Sucks.






And with that, I'll pretend that I'm far too depressed to continue typing. Makes a change from ending with I'm out of stuff, I guess.

La la la

As is normal for me on a Saturday, I've been having a music morning. That, incidentally, is the main reason I so very rarely blog anything worth reading on a Saturday. I'm too busy singing along, chair dancing, and... er... changing laundry loads to bother with coming up with something even resembling a topic.

Music's a pretty big part of my life and has been since just about forever. I was one of those kids whose non-school hours were taken up with music lessons, choirs, and performing. I sing where other people might mumble. I nearly always have a tune going through my head, and I generally have to have the internet radio going in the office to keep those head-tunes from constantly coming out.

My own particular form of insanity, I suppose, but at least it's a cheery one.

Growing up I played piano, oboe, flute, and various percussion. I still play piano (badly) and I own a few fun percussive toys, but I've given up the wind instruments. It's too hard to practice in a one-room apartment, and in reality there's no reason for me to bother any more. It's not like I have anywhere to perform.

The music's just for me now, and I like it that way.

My voice? Is decent. I find it a bit too pretty (I'd much rather be Etta James... or at least be able to channel her occasionally), but overall I like the way I sound. That's saying a lot, by the way. There's not a lot I do that I'm not second-guessing later, but I don't usually feel like running head-first into a brick wall after I've sung something.

It's one of the big oddities in my world that I love music so much and yet have never wanted to take performing any farther than I did (which wasn't terribly far. Small town girl here, remember). It's easily explained, though. I've never, ever wanted music to not be fun.

Music is far too important to me to see it become a job, a chore, or (Whomever forbid) boring.

It came close to that when I was teaching voice and directing a youth choir a few years back, and although I sometimes miss the enjoyment that comes with sharing music with others I definitely don't miss listening to kids singing scales all weekend.

For me, it's easier nowadays to just sing along with the radio... or the voices in my head. Whichever is coming through more clearly, I guess.






I'm done typing now. I really like this song, and this chair isn't going to dance itself.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it for the moment. I'd tell you that I was massively busy or something like that, but it's more the case that I'm not going to be around for my usual noon blather time and I can't be bothered to come up with anything right now.

Don't you love it when I'm honest about my own laziness?

Me too.

Later, all.

Entertainment

Within seconds of my having taken this photo (and yes, I know it's a bit fuzzy) Max ate this butterfly.

It's something he enjoys.

I don't think the butterflies do, though.

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Here. Watch this.

I've seen that sketch a dozen times if I've seen it once. Still makes me laugh even though the element of surprise is completely gone.

I should say right off the bat that this isn't going to lead to any of the pseudophilosophic nonsense that you occasionally see here on the blog. I just like the sketch, that's all. And I have to admit that instead of thinking of something to blog while I was eating the daily carrots during my lunch break I was, in fact, watching silly things on the Home of Everything in Pirated Video.

Sorry.

It's not my fault, though. Somebody mentioned the Kicking Ass song... er, hold on... the Kicking Ass song (which is actually There Ain't But One Way, but I'm not going to be pedantic about it) and I just had to go look it up again. Which led, as it does, to looking other things up...

How many of you are buying this excuse?




It does happen to be true, you know.

The question you should be asking yourself is why I wasted so much time (pleasantly, but still) looking these things up on the interweb when I already own better copies on DVD.

No idea.

It was fun, though.






Yes, this is all you're getting today. I'm sure you'll survive.