IT'S THE END!

Of 2007, I mean. But just in case you thought I was referring to something else, I've provided you with an emergency exit.

Or at least a pointless photo of an emergency exit.

Or at least a pointless photo of the sign above an emergency exit.

I completely have nothing to say, you know.

I suppose I should have planned some sort of review of the year or some whiny rant about the year or at the very least a New Year's resolution, but...

Oh, wait. I do have a New Year's resolution. I'm not going to tell you what it is, though.

I can, however, tell you that my New Year's resolution will be kept. And how do I know that? It's easy, really. I make the same resolution every year, and I only resolve to keep it for a month.

It works. I've never broken it yet.

Anyway, since I can guarantee that I won't be here to officially ring in the New Year tomorrow, I'll just end by saying I hope you have a good one... and that if you're heading out to party tonight fergodssake do it responsibly.

And... er...

Ok, I'm seriously out of stuff and I have things to do yet today. Later, all. See you next year.

Surrounded

The photo's completely pointless, by the way. I'm not even going to try to tie it in at all.

----------

For the first time in my life I own a subwoofer.

Actually, I now own a whole whack of speakers.

It's an odd feeling, really. For my entire adult life I've managed with cheap bookshelf stereos and was ok with it. What the tinny speakers lacked I could generally make up for with my own imagination. The voices in my head are pretty good at carrying a tune, you know.

Well, the father figure decided that it was time I had a grown-up stereo, so you're now looking at (erm... figure of speech. Please tell me you're not really looking at me. After all, I would have worn something nicer if you were) the proud owner of an actual, honest-to-whomever home theatre system. Five disc changer, even.

And a subwoofer.

I have a subwoofer.

The ironic thing about the subwoofer (you had to know I was obsessing about it for a reason) is that for years I've been grumbling about the idiots in the apartment next door who occasionally enjoy sharing their music with me at odd hours of the night. I believe I even stated at one time that subwoofers should be banned from apartment buildings.

And now I have a subwoofer.

I like it. It's fun.

What wasn't fun was setting the whole thing up. That's where I was yesterday, if you wondered (you did wonder, right?). I was surrounded by cables, wires, and piles of assorted junk that I had to move out of the t.v. stand in order to route the aforementioned cables and wires.

You see, I have a one-room apartment. When you have a one-room apartment you get pretty good at squirreling things away in every available corner. Superficially the place may not look too cluttered, but dig below the surface and you find carefully managed chaos.

Then... just try adding something to the chaos. Go ahead. I dare you.

Setting up this system wasn't merely a matter of plugging things in, oh no. It was more a matter of completely disrupting my life. Things had to be hauled out, other things moved in, interesting physical contortions had to be made to get everything hooked up and in position (and yes, I'm currently feeling muscles I didn't realise I had), and new places had to be found for all the displaced crap treasures that no longer fit where they used to.

Um...

Ok, so that last part hasn't really happened yet. I have, however, got everything piled on my table.

Hey, at least I'm not having to step over the mess.

Yesterday the Toronto office kindly suggested that I should make sure I have my glasses on in the morning until I got everything sorted out (meaning the cables and wires, mostly. I don't think she could possibly have known how many other piles I was dodging at that point). I told her I had no choice but to get it sorted out yesterday because otherwise I'd have to sleep on the floor.

I couldn't unfold the bed because of the piles o' stuff in front of it, you see.

Anyway, the wires have been strung, the cables have been connected, the garbage on the table will be figured out at some time or other, and with one minor no-hurry exception that I'll fix when I feel like fiddling, everything works.

Yay me.

Not bad for someone with almost no audio experience, you know. Just don't tell Wheat that I managed it on my own. It'll make it that much harder to play the helpless femme when it comes to the system here at work.

I think I'm blathered out now. Time to go back home and spend some quality time with my toys. Or at least figure out where to put my toys...

It's Saturday

I mention the day of the week because that's really all I know for sure at the moment. Well, "for sure" ... that's a little too definite as I had to look to the clock on my right to confirm even that. The Alberta office is correct that lack of sleep confuses a person.

If you would all look out the window to your left you will see a lone leaf, lying forlorn in the snow. What you can't see but what I know is there is a black Lab paw behind said leaf. Now, doesn't knowing that add so much? As to the "forlorn" comment, I don't see a smile. Do you see a smile? Er, you don't, do you?

It's a dark, dreary day which means I could sit here and whinge and carry on for quite some time about the lack of sun, what it does to one's mood and so on but I'm guessing those who come here to read can find their own negativity and don't need mine.

So maybe fresh Earl Grey is in order then.

Clearly my mind is slowing down. So much could be made from that last sentence and instead I really am going to go make tea. We shall never know if Earl Grey is fresh or not, the devil.

Oh and a side note: with Christmas gone we no longer have to watch the commercial by that big company which appears all home-like, comfy and toasty-warm asking "what did you wish for; what do you want; what did you get". Then it points out "it's in the giving .... Give."
That was one piece of masterful subliminal guilt-imparting tripe. Erm, but I could be wrong of course as this is a pointless observation anyway.

Boy does this sound like a post made in the winter from a sun-deprived person. I'm accepting all airline tickets to brighter, warmer destinations, should anyone care to help out.

And so another pointless photo

... of what a particular pup thinks of the past year, maybe? Never mind that she is fast asleep here, snoring like a sailor (do sailors really snore) with a tongue that can't make up its mind whether to attack or retreat.

Oh and her head is resting on Phil and yes, she's in her crate because according to her behaviour, which clearly leads me to believe she's thought it through, there just isn't a better place to be left alone. Before you ask, Phil is the name of her pillow.

Because, I said so.


Notice how we've avoided any sort of point or topic thus far. I'm getting much better at this than I'd imagined. You know, had I given it any thought that is. But that would've been pointless, you see.

So keeping to the bail before you find a topic rule, I'll simply say enjoy your day. Unless you have other plans, of course.

Pointless photo of the day:

Hey, guess what?

I've got nothing.






BET NOBODY SAW THAT ONE COMING.

What can I say? Between doing very little worth talking about and lacking sleep because the dog snores (man, does she snore), I'm just not feeling very blathery.

Aaand... Yves Montand just showed up singing Rue St. Vincent (or Rose Blanche, more properly) on the internet radio. Definitely a wtf moment, since they've mostly been playing jazz this morning. Ah well. I'm not going to complain.

I am, however, likely to be patchy at blogging in the next few days. I'm actually considering getting off my arse and going back to my own place today (considering, mind. It may or may not happen), and since that means no internet access unless I head in to the workplace, my only blogging alternative is to e-mail from my phone.

That's so not going to happen.

It's time for my usual winter break anyway. And yes, for anyone new to the program I know it's odd to say my "usual" winter break when this blog has only been going since February, but blogging itself went on a long time before this particular version.

Too long, probably.

And I've been typing long enough today to realise that the mere act of typing isn't going to make my brain come up with a topic (it happens, sometimes) so let's leave off here... sans topic and sans point.

Appropriate, I guess.

See you when I see you. Poke the Toronto office with a stick if I'm not around for a while, ok?

Me, not shopping

And a pointless photo of bark.

Why?

Well, why not?

----------

I won't be going to any Boxing Day sales today. I almost never do, come to it. I hate the crush of shopping before Christmas, so I can't see the point of voluntarily joining the crush of shopping after Christmas.

Besides, people are so unnecessarily stressed about the whole thing.

Is it worth the bargains to fight the Parking Lot O' Morons, the line-ups of cranky people who absolutely MUST return their unwanted gifts on Boxing Day (stupid move, cranky people), and the exhausted store clerks who are just wanting it All. To. Be. Over?

Why, no.

No, it's not.

Besides, I'd sooner be playing with my toys.

Of course I got toys for Christmas. Everybody should get toys for Christmas.

My main toy, unfortunately, hasn't even made it out of the box (it's the kind of toy that you don't want to unpack until you're ready to set it up because it's virtually guaranteed that it'll never again fit in the box for transport), but that doesn't mean I don't want to fiddle with my other toys.

In fact, that's the main reason that today's post is going to stop riiight about now. I have other things I could be talking about, but come on! Toys, people.

We've got to set priorities, after all.

Anyway, I hope that Christmas treated you well, and I hope that if you're actually foolish enough to insist upon joining the Boxing Day crowds you're prepared to do it with a huge whopping amount of patience and not a little bit of humour. I think you're nuts, but whatever.

I don't care, really. I've got toys.

For I, too, am pointless

... and want to pass along my Merry Christmas as well.


As you can see we couldn't very well hang this Christmas stocking, what with Smudgelette's foot being in it and all.


Hope everyone is having exactly the sort of day wished for.

Pointless season's greeting of the day:

Merry Christmas, everyone.

I may be on to post later, but just in case I'm not... well, I hope you're having a good day.

That's when we'll be free

Oscar Peterson

Hymn to Freedom:
When every heart joins every heart and together yearns for liberty,
that's when we'll be free.
When every hand joins every hand and together molds our destiny,
that's when we'll be free.
Any hour any day, the time soon will come when men will live in dignity,
that's when we'll be free, we will be
When every man joins in our song and together singing harmony,
that's when we'll be free.



A class act, that man.

Oh Christmas Tree...

What? It is too our Christmas tree.

In the dark.

With no flash.

And with a purposely-moved camera.

I take at least one of these every year. Call it a tradition of pointlessness. Oh, and if you're wondering why there are streaks at the top and dots at the bottom, just consider it AC in action. We use LED tree lights, you see, but the star at the top of the tree still has the old-fashioned incandescents. The star bulbs' filaments continue glowing as the current alternates, but LEDs don't work that way.

[/almost-not-pointless info]

And if, for some reason, you're desperate to see the tree in full light (although I'd have to say you're not much fun if you are)... well... fine. Here it is:

So, the calendar informs me that this is Christmas Eve.

Good thing the calendar knows, because I've been so far behind with Christmas things overall this year that if the calendar didn't tell me I'm not sure I'd believe it.

Odd, really. When I was a kid Christmas Eve was a pretty big day, and not just because of the usual anticipation. I suppose in a way we always celebrated Christmas twice, since it was our routine to spend Christmas Eve over at my grandmother's place and then Christmas Day at home.

On Christmas Eve I'd go carolling if one of the choirs I was singing with was going out (yes, real honest-to-whomever carolling. There are still people out there who do it, believe it or not) and then we'd head over to grandma's to open presents. My father grew up opening presents on Christmas Eve, and the tradition continued when he had children. We'd go to grandma's, open presents, sample whatever my uncle the bartender was fixing that year, and attempt to talk over the noise of the pet birds (usually budgies) and whatever Christmas special was on the television.

Not exactly a Charlie Brown Christmas, I suppose, but it's what I grew up with and the memories are good.

Things change as you grow older, of course. Grandma's been gone for a while now, the old house was torn down when they expanded the chuckwagon track (long story), and while both my uncles still open their gifts on Christmas Eve we do ours on Christmas Day like most North Americans.

And my one uncle no longer tends bar, if you wondered.

You did wonder, right?

If I sound depressed, I don't mean to. Things change, naturally. It doesn't thrill me to hear NORAD tracking Santa on the radio anymore (yes... I know. These days it's on the internet), and Christmas Eve on the whole is a lot quieter than it used to be. That's ok.

It'd be silly not to think about it, though.

----------

And on a totally different and slightly weird subject, a slightly-obscure 50s pop tune that's been going through my head all morning just started playing on the digital music station my father is listening to upstairs.

That's very, very strange. Let's just say this is the type of song you might hear on an oldies station once every few years, if that, and it shows up on the digital music station on the very same morning I've been singing it myself? WHY IS THE DIGITAL RADIO READING MY MIND???

Should I be nervous?

Should I get more sleep at night?







Probably the latter, yes.

Going now.

Pointless watering cans of the day:

Pointless in more ways than one, since they're incredibly ineffective at this time of the year.

The sun's coming back, you know.

No, really. The calendar says we've passed solstice, so that means the days can't get any shorter.

For anyone who's never had the pleasure of living in the Great White North (sorry... that link had nothing to do with anything. But just for fun, let's have another. Hey, it's seasonal. And if you still haven't had enough, check out the Twelve Days of Christmas that'll probably come up in the related links. It was posted by an American, however, so some of the pictures juuust don't ring quite right)...

Um.

I think I got a little lost in that aside.

Let's backtrack.




Ok. For anyone who's never had the pleasure of living in the Great White North, you've also never had the pleasure of living in the dark for large parts of the winter. It's not so bad when I'm not working and actually get to see daylight, but when I am working it's downright depressing to get up in darkness, go to work in darkness, and get home in darkness.

And I don't even really live that far north. I can't imagine how the folks up there in the Arctic make it through a winter without going completely batsh... erm, bananas.

Some of them don't, naturally. Why it doesn't happen more often, though, is beyond me.

I'm not saying there aren't trade offs, of course. Short winter days mean long summer days, and I think we all enjoy that. It's a bit of a shock to go somewhere south and find out that summer doesn't always equal long, long days. A friend of mine once went down to South America for an exchange (doesn't matter where. Just think south) and found it very hard for her brain to adjust to having warm days that ended at 6 pm.

It kind of gets ingrained in you that warm days are supposed to be longer, you see.

Ah... warm days.

The sun's coming back, you know.

The calendar says so.





And if you can't believe in calendars, then what can you believe in?

Pointless rant of the day:

And hopefully a short one. I have other things to do... and a headache. Ok then. Let's get this over with.

I hate trucks.

Pickup trucks, for those who might, without that clarification, think that I have an unreasonable loathing of all things lorry.

That last was for my vast UK readership, of course.

I live in Truck Central, and I hate seeing so many trucks around. They're loud, they use far too much gas, they take up far too much space in parking lots, and they're so completely unnecessary most of the time.

I mean, sure. If you are a farmer or a building contractor or a tradesman of some sort then you probably do need a truck. But if you're Joe Whosit who's terribly fond of chrome bumpers and likes to feel bigger than everyone else at the expense of both the environment and common sense, then you're just a moron with a toy.

And if you're Joe Whosit who thinks it's a great idea to drive your three quarter ton to a shopping centre three days before Christmas and park it diagonally in two stalls at once so that no one can come near your precious baby, then you are a COMPLETE EFFING MORON AND I DESPISE YOU.

And your truck.

And don't even ask me what I was doing at a shopping centre three days before Christmas. Not unless you want to wind up pinned to the wall with a sprig of holly through your gut.




It would explain the headache though, wouldn't it?

Ah well. I promise I'll be in a better mood tomorrow. I have to be. One of the stops at the aforementioned shopping centre (aka Parking Lot O' Morons) was Bernard Callebaut, and it's just not allowed to be in a bad mood when there's Callebaut in the house.

I'd be so disillusioned if I found out he drives a truck.

Pointless photo of the day:

See, the thing is... I still have nothing. I've spent the last couple of days in my apartment, not-sleeping. How could I possibly have anything?

We could talk about why it is that this particular pointless photo got taken, I suppose.

We could, if there was actually a reason for it.

You see, sometimes I just take pictures of things that look neat to me at the time, for whatever reason. Maybe I liked the pattern the dead kenilworth ivy leaves were making through that dusting of snow. Maybe I'm really lacking in subject matter at the moment.

Maybe we should all curse the world of digital photography, because now I don't hesitate before taking completely pointless photos. I used to when I had to pay for developing, but not anymore.

Of course, without pointless digital photography this blog would be a lot... blanker, I guess you could say.

A good thing?

Well, we'll never know. I'm not about to stop taking pointless photos now.




This is the part where you shrug and say whatever.







Go on. You know you want to.

Pointless photo

Pointless because this is Toronto, after all, which is clearly in a snow belt. And no, world, all of Canada is not in a snow belt.

This particular picture however shows the dump of white stuff we got the other day; it's taken just as Bailey was leaping, taking her next step which accounts for your ability to see all paws on top of the snow. To the right, the thing that appears to be a hole is actually a six-inch high ball the pups play with which, yes, is how I measure the snow to be about 7 inches by the time this was shot.

And I'm getting a cold/headache/sinus infection as we speak. So I'll stop now and let you enjoy the snow you probably don't have like this.



Erm, yeh.



Tea. I need hot tea.

Pointless photo of the day:

Today's weird morning dream consisted of my mother trying to figure out who should sit beside the queen (of England, yes) at someone's funeral. The kicker for me was that this particular someone is a person that my mother never met (she never met the queen either, of course), and this person is most definitely not dead.

Unless it's happened in the past few seconds, that is. She was just at the doorway of the office, so I'm assuming she's still alive.

And if she isn't, I'll be really curious to see who the queen ends up sitting next to at the funeral.

----------

If it seems like I've been a bit lacking in material lately, it's just because I am.

I'm off work at the moment, you see, and I've been enjoying some quality time in my own mind. I'm one of those strange people who is happy in her own company, and when I get time off I'm more than thrilled to find myself sitting in my apartment doing NOTHING.

Well, not nothing, obviously. Just nothing that's worth blogging about.

Even pointlessly.

I read a book this morning, for example. It's a book I'd read before. A short book, and not exactly fraught with meaning. I picked it up off the shelf only because I was in the mood for a little light entertainment.

So not newsworthy.

Ah well.

Let's leave it here, then. And if you figure out who really should be sitting next to the queen at the funeral, let me know.

Something something whatever

Ok, honestly? I have things that still need doing this morning, but I want to watch another episode of QI on the Home of All Things in Illegal Uploads (and hey, CBC... if you'd offer to, you know, show the thing in Canada you might actually get a few viewers out of it who'd be grateful for the chance to not have to sneak peeks via computer) and that means I can't be bothered to blog.

Stephen Fry and Alan Davies trump blog, yes.

Talk at you later, then.

Leaky

Today's pointless photo is just because I thought you should see what yesterday's plant looked like before it was covered in snow.

Or something.

To be honest, I've been so busy singing Kodachrome to myself the past while (because of all the Nikon Christmas commercials, of course. Hey, it makes sense in my head) that I can't really say "I thought" anything at all.

The headache hasn't helped, but it's somewhat better today so I'm not going to whinge on about it.

Scary, huh.

I am, however, going to touch on being a leaky person. And no, I don't mean leaky as in needing an adult diaper (aren't you glad that isn't the leaky I mean? I certainly am). I mean leaky from the eyes.

Teary, if you need a translation. I'm a crier, and there's been sort of a slow leak these past few days because of all the headache nonsense.

Except when it decides to happen in an embarrassingly public place, I really don't have a problem with being the leaky sort. A good cry is a damned good stress reliever as far as I can tell, and I've always said that I'll never have an ulcer because all of my problems come out of my tear ducts long before they can build up to the critical level.

It helps that I live by myself, naturally. I might feel differently about coming home and having a good cry if I had a roommate who found it necessary to ask if I was all right or, even worse, why I was crying every time I cried.

What is it about the why, anyway? Too many people out there think there has to be a why. I cry when my body thinks it needs to cry. I cry, I get it over with, I get on with life. Having someone want to know why just messes with the system.

It makes me think too much.

Examine.

Personally, I think some things are better off NOT being examined. Sometimes a person just doesn't want to know why. Really.




Anyway, me 'n the messed up head don't have a whole bunch to say so I think I'll leave it at that. The Toronto office is apparently experiencing winter in all its glories today, so let's all give her a bit of genuine sympathy.

Seriously.

That kind of weather does nothing but suck, even if you misguidedly think that a white Christmas is all that and a bag of chips.

We're going to have to talk about that whole white Christmas fallacy sometime, aren't we?

Ah well, there's a topic for tomorrow.

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll be it for today. The headache that started yesterday (or was it the day before that?) was an indicator that my neck's not right, and while I'm not in a terrible mood it wouldn't be too hard to sound like I am if I blather on too long about nothing.

You're welcome.

And don't say I never do anything nice for you.

And who gave me the book?

First, though: if you think you recognise it from somewhere, I'll admit that I'm using an old photo today. I didn't bring my nerdstick with me, so you're getting the shot I use as my wallpaper here at work. I like it. Not bad for an autofocus camera, I think.

----------

Now, who gave me the book? It's going to drive me nuts, you know.

I should explain.

The past few days my brain has been doing its usual stupid trick of waking up at godawful in the morning, but then following that with the unusual trick of getting back to sleep for a couple of hours.

Yes, my brain's finally figured out that I don't have to be at work in the morning these days. In the afternoon, either. In case you hadn't noticed, the Toronto office has been working a little harder lately because I'm not always near a computer to edify and enlighten you.

Or whatever.

Where was I? Oh yeah, sleeping in.

Sleeping in has led to a few weird moments (like yesterday's, where I was woken up by the phone that I apparently turned on the first time I woke up, missed the call, found the phone was on low battery, put it on the charger, and found out a couple of hours later that I'd missed something kind of important. Sorry about that, folks), and today's weird moment is incredibly frustrating.

I had a dream, you see.

I don't normally remember many dreams. I had a problem with night terrors as a child, and I think that my brain (gee, my brain seems to be the major blog character today) decided at some point that if I was going to insist upon freaking myself out at night then at least I shouldn't have to remember that I'd done it.

Did that make any sort of sense? I have a bit of a headache right now, I have to say. Make your own English out of the above if you have to.

Anyway, I won't trouble you with the details of this morning's dream (they're not important, honestly), but towards the end I was told that someone had left a book for me. One of those Dummies books (I'm so not telling you the full title, but in the dream I knew it was meant as a joke). I flipped open the cover briefly, saw there was a note on the front page in vaguely familiar writing, put the book down so that I could just finish One. More. Thing...

And woke up.

Dammit.

Now I'll never know who gave me the book.

Do you have any idea how annoying that is?






Ah well. Not much I can do about it, I suppose. I need to go shopping now. It's the 14th, and I haven't actually started yet.

Do you think that's a problem?

What would be a problem now would be if any of you got nasty on me and BOUGHT me a Dummies book. I know you might find it funny after all of this (and it might BE funny) but don't do it.

DON'T DO IT.

Just don't.

Ok?




Ok.

Pointless plate photo

Considering the Province in which I live, where did I see the license plate, you may wonder.

Why was I even AT the mall today - and no you didn't miss the explanation about the car. I assumed your mind just followed the bouncing ball.

Well I had finished my preliminary shopping but then something happened that changed all that. Oh, no, don't try to force it from these lips ... er, fingers. I would never complain. That would be petty ... and indicate one who dwells.
No, no, no. Let's just say I had to be at a mall today to do something important and happened upon the cool license plate.

What do you mean how can a piece of tin be "cool"? You haven't even clicked on the photo yet have you.


Wait a minute.


The Alberta office didn't tell me anyone actually reads these entries. I thought everyone just came here to check out the pictures.

Ah, no matter then. At least I don't have a single point to make about anything and so with a swirl of my cape I leave the blog intact; no point made, no pumpkin.


Oh and yes I do always carry a camera with me. But there's no real point to that either.

It's a great big I've Got Nothing!

Two days in a row. I can go for more, if you like.

Remember Boris and Natasha? They're waiting for their crickets. I imagine at least one of the snakes would like a few pinkies as well. Baby mice, that is... not fingers.

Off I go, then. Catch you later.

Pointless salamanders of the day:

It's Boris and Natasha. They live at the workplace, and the flash from the camera isn't really doing them justice.

Boris is the one who's looking at the camera. Translate that as: are you going to feed me or what? Never mind that I'd just fed them a couple of hours previous to this portrait. Tiger salamanders would eat constantly if you'd let them.

I don't know why you're getting salamanders today. They were on the camera, that's all.

Oh, and I've got nothing.

Should I say that I'm a little gun-shy about possibly sending the Toronto office off in another huff, especially because a good huff is hard to find these days? It wouldn't be entirely true (really, I've just got nothing), but it'd be a convenient excuse.

Typing... typing... no ideas forthcoming...

Ok, let's just go back to I've got nothing and call it a post, then. Catch you later.

And guys? Tell Boris and Natasha I'll be in to throw them some food tomorrow.

Toys

I think I'll forgo a pointless photo today.

Oh, hold your disappointment down to a dull nothing, ok?

I'm not posting a photo because I've got a toy plugged into one of the USB ports to recharge, and I'm not in the mood to try to wiggle the nerdstick into the other one on the front of the computer. And if I'm not in the mood to try the other front port, you can imagine that I'm definitely not in the mood to bother with the back ports.

That'd take far too much effort.

The recharging toy, since you asked (you did ask, right?), is a key chain that displays digital photos on a very tiny screen. My father found it on sale and bought it for me on a whim. It's since been frustrating the crap out of us because it didn't want to talk to the computer. After that the computer couldn't find the software shortcut, and after that... well, you get the picture.

The toy gets the picture now too, finally. The father figure lucked into the answer this past week.

Oh, speak of the devil. The toy, not the father. It says it's done recharging, so I guess you'll get a pointless photo after all. Just a sec...

Or maybe not. the photo thingy and I apparently aren't getting along. I'll try again, although it's no big deal if you miss today's photo. It is, as advertised, pointless.

See? Told you.

Where was I?

Oh, right. Toys.

I have a few. Some that were given to me, like the newly-recharged photo key chain (which is currently loaded with pictures of spiders, amongst other things. Anyone surprised?), some that I've picked up on my own, and some that I really don't know the origins of.

Some of my toys weren't originally meant to be toys, like the blue therapy putty that lives on my desk at work, but they become toys all the same.

I'm a bit of a fidgetter, I suppose is what I'm saying.

I generally have to be playing with something or other while I think, or while I talk, or while I sit staring at the wall... yeah, you get the picture. My hands get bored easily.

Recently I started wearing a lanyard with the work logo on it instead of the thin little one I used to keep my nerdstick on. It has, unfortunately, become a toy too. You see, the old thin one tucked easily under my shirt, and it was very much a case of out of sight, out of mind. The new one's wider, and it's more... there. More there, yes. And it has more things to fuss with.

So far I've managed to break the spring on one clasp, and have hit myself in the face while playing with the plastic buckle when I was talking to Wheat.

He found it entertaining. Me, not so much.

Ah well.

I expect it's healthier to be fussing with lanyards or putty or tops or whatever than it was to chew my nails (which I did until I was a teenager) or draw on myself.

Yep.

Draw on myself.

I really have a bit of a problem, don't I?

Anyway, what with the holiday season here (and no, I still haven't done any shopping), my chances of adding to my toy collection in the next while are pretty good. Anything for a distraction, right?

I'm done now. You can go away.

And try not to get hit in the face by any flying key chains with spider pictures on them.





If you find one it's probably mine, though. Just so you know where to return it.

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll be it for the moment. I'm not currently snitified, but I'm definitely brain-no-work and I'm not sure the effort to come up with something would be worth the chore of typing it.

Besides, I have to change laundry loads.

Into what, you ask?

I don't know. You'll have to come up with your own punchline today.

Enjoy the spider. Or the underside of the spider, anyway, because that's what you're looking at in today's photo.

Yes, it's another sunflower

I don't care if it's out of season.

It was -25C when I left for work, I have a headache, and I'm cranky. You may not want to pick today to complain about the recent sunflower appearances.

Even if they are yellow. And yes, I'm talking to you.

Go ahead. Make me crankier.

----------

Today's lunch was two oranges (my supply is getting low) and a can of chunky soup because I couldn't be bothered trying to piece together an actual lunch from the decided lack of groceries currently inhabiting may apartment. I'm not much of a soup person, but I'm ok with some of the chunky varieties because they're almost more stew than soup.

Degree of chunkiness is important in my world, yes. At least as applies to soup.

The problem with canned soup, though (I mean, besides the obvious problem that today I'm existing on canned soup and two oranges), is that I've pretty much had my week's limit of sodium in the space of one can of soup.

Not a good thing.

Probably not good for the headache either.

Or the crankiness.

Or the blog, since I really have nothing on the brain besides the aforementioned headache, crankiness, two oranges, and can of chunky soup.

Kind of a sad life.






At least there were oranges.

Not an endorsement - but something on my desk, part something-or-the-other

... because I'm simply not capable of endorsing anything at this hour.

It is, however, something on my desk.

And that IS all I'm capable of.



did I blur the company name enough do you think



Erm, I've come back to edit and finish the thought I had when I took this photo, actually. You see the object as a clock, no doubt. Well, if you hold down the button on the side, it projects the time on the ceiling which is excellent for those of us who wear contact lenses just to find the floor in the morning.

It also acts as a great cat toy when fired downward; I mean what does a cat know, but that the light is something not usual and good for chasing.

K. Now I think I'm done.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it for today. I've got work stuff.

How work stuff is going to happen on this little sleep is beyond me, but autopilot is a wonderful thing. Or so I hear.

Did you know that it was -24C at nine this morning?

Oh, and Pika? Three oranges today.

Now there's the definition of serendipity for you

I was going to speak of irony today. Well, not speak really but it crossed my mind, at least - irony that is.

You see, for not the first time my credit card statement did not arrive in my mailbox this month. Not believing they'd forgiven the debt, so to speak, and having wondered aloud if I would be over-reacting to cancel the current and order a new one, then not caring if it was over-reacting, I did order a new card.

And yes, if you're keeping score that was the longest run-on sentence yours truly has ever typed.


Annnnnyway, after getting over the creeped out feeling that someone knows where I shopped last month and for what, the proper phone call was placed and guess how my new card is going to arrive. Yep. By regular post.

Hence the appropriate photo named what-a-dummy which had heretofore been hanging around on the nerdstick for just the right moment.

The photo was taken as I was meandering down a greenspace with the dogs and happened to glance into a backyard. It was like a bad set-up for a comedy sequence; see the dummy, walk a few steps, stop, ponder and walk back, snap the photo. And no, since you asked, the snow did not even give it away.

Who knew one day it would come to represent the credit card company who, after confirming personal identification to allow them to a) speak to me about the original card and to b) forward a replacement, after being advised I have no "employable income" at this time, offered to raise my limit since it's the Christmas season and all.

that last paragraph did make sense, by the way; it's all in the punctuation

Maybe it's just me. "I'm not working at the moment" would seem to be a really wrong time to raise someone's limit - unless of course they would count on me spending maniacally, then not being able to pay in-full at the end of the month, thus making money on my indiscretions.

*gasp*

Credit companies would never do that, would they?!




Have to go now. I suspect it's going to take a while to get my tongue out of my cheek.

Weird things to do when you're housebound

You might have heard that the weather's been lousy here (for lousy read: COLD), and I tend to avoid going outside when that happens.

You would too, if going outside made you feel as rotten as it does me.

Erm, or something. Was that English?

Anyway, this past weekend's avoiding going outside meant that I stayed a little longer than usual at my father's place (honestly? If I didn't have to work today I'd probably still be there), and that in turn meant that I had an extra day away from my stuff.

I miss my stuff when I don't have it. Not that I'm possession-bound, really; it's just that at least when I have my stuff I always have something to do. I can read, knit, read, do word games, read, watch silly British comedy on DVD, read, maybe read a little... you get the idea. When I don't have my stuff, however, I have to find other ways to entertain myself.

Not so easy when you have as short an attention span as I do.

The weekend consisted of playing silly flash games on the computer, playing a few carols on the piano (yes, I actually sat down at the piano. I've been so negligent about practising that I'm surprised my fingers even remembered what order the keys are in), watching mindless nothing (and the Antiques Roadshow. Good version, not lame imitators) on television, and... um... playing with the thing in the photo.

I should explain, I guess.

Back when I was still teaching voice lessons I found myself in need of a straightedge at the piano, and I picked up that cheap plastic spirograph rip-off you see there at a dollar store on a whim. It occurred to me on the weekend that I'd never actually used the thing (other than as a straightedge, I mean), so out of boredom I decided to give it a whirl.

Pretty decent for a cheapy, all things considered. The resulting patterns are tiny, but they definitely brought back childhood spirographing memories.

Man, I loved my spirograph.

Not surprising that a pattern nut like me would have a thing for the spirograph, I suppose, but there was something almost hypnotic about moving around the gear-within-a-gear once you got the hang of it. Of course, there was also the frustration of almost finishing a perfect go-round and then having the pen slip or the pins come loose or... any number of other disasters. If you got past all of that, though, the resulting pictures could be amazingly beautiful.

Ok, so I thought they were beautiful.

And shut up, world. Don't make me go on about the eye of the beholder here.

Maybe you should all just go and play spirograph the easy way for a while. If nothing else, it'll kill some time on a cold day.

There are worse things to do when you're housebound.

Gah

You know, I did have something to blog about but I've decided not to because the snit has returned. The reason? I'm actually going to have to go outside (THE HORROR!!!) today (EVENTUALLY!!! Oh, sorry. I guess I didn't need to shout that part).

Also, I'd like to make it clear that the fact that my program (or prom, which is what I initially typed) tomorrow is STUPIDLY early doesn't make me especially happy.

Intelligent people were not meant to be out in these temperatures, you know.

That's why Whomever invented quilts and comfort food.

Sigh.







Oh, before I snit my way out of here, I should tell you that today's pointless photo is of a carol.

A Polish carol.

I sing it in English because I don't know how to pronounce the original words.

It doesn't suck.





UNLIKE THE WEATHER.

Max and his giant feet

And my giant sweatshirt.

Isn't forced perspective fun, boys and girls?

Actually, the giant sweatshirt is pretty ridiculously large in real life, too...





Anyway.

I don't really have much to say at the moment. As is usual for a Sunday morning I've got the music playing (NOT Christmas carols, no matter what yesterday's post may have made you think. I like Christmas carols but I don't need to be constantly surrounded by them even if carol season has officially arrived), I've got the laundry folded, and after I post a poem on the other blog I'll probably just waste some time playing a silly game or two before lunch.

Nice to have ambition, don't you think?

Hey, it's better than being snitty about the weather, which I still could be. The fact that I haven't been outside since Friday night has put me in a temporarily better mood on that front. Ask me tomorrow and I'll have some choice words for you yet again.

Stupid winter.





Urgh. That was dangerously close to the Return of the Snit. Best leave off for now then. Off to my other corner of the cyberverse to be artsy, I guess.

The first

For the record, I'm not crazy about the fact that clicking on the photo now leads to having to open a file. Yes, that one extra step is annoying me. If it's annoying you too, just go down to the Look At Something section of the sidebar. There's a link to the blog's photo album there, and you can look at pointless photography in all its glory without having to open Picture & Fax Viewer or whatever photoediting software you're using.

Or, you know... you can always just admire the small versions right here on this page.

Whatever works.

----------

So, it's the first. December first, to be more explicit.

December first means a couple of things in my world. It means calendar flipping day, for one thing, and since I'm here at my father's place it meant flipping quite a few calendars.

That's a good thing.

I like flipping calendars.

I like the new pictures. Oh, there's a whole bunch of pseudophilosophic nonsense that goes with marking the passage of time blahdiblahdiblah as well, but I'm not in the mood to wax poetic about all of that stuff today.

December first also means the end of the moratorium on the singing of Christmas carols.

You didn't know there was a moratorium on the singing of Christmas carols? Well, there is in my brain. You see, I have a bit of a thing for Christmas carols, and if I didn't ban myself from singing them you'd probably find me humming them when it's +30C in July. As a matter of fact, that's happened more than once in the past and I've been called on it by my friends.

To prevent that, then, I give myself limits. No Christmas carols until the first of December, and all carolling must cease after New Years. That's plenty of time for carols.

I'm tough, but I'm fair.

I do sometimes have a little difficulty adhering to the rules (especially now that Christmas advertising starts in what? April? Something like that, anyway), but for the most part I can stop myself if I hear the voices starting to deck the halls in October or November.

They're to be allowed unrestricted access now, however. Watch out, anyone within earshot.

Of course, not everyone's going to know when I'm singing Christmas carols even now, because I tend to go for things that are slightly obscure. I collect carols, you see (not recordings, but written music), and when you've done that for a while you find yourself looking for things that aren't Frosty the Snowman. Not that there's anything wrong with Frosty the Snowman; it's just that once you get to a certain point in collecting anything you start to look for things that aren't quite that easy to find.

In my case, I have an interest in early music. That led pretty quickly to an interest in early carols (here's an updated example, she says with a wince. Someday we'll talk about why I don't care for boys' choirs). It usually means I don't get a chance to sing them with anyone else, which is kind of a pain for someone who really likes actual, going-out-with-a-group-of-people-and-ringing-doorbells carolling, but I find the pieces and their construction musically very interesting.

I also find the effort that people go to in reconstructing historical performance interesting, but sometimes for different reasons than I find the songs interesting.

Erm... but that's a whole 'nother topic, and I need to go change laundry loads.

Let's just end by saying that those who are (un)lucky enough to know me in person have officially been given fair warning that carolling season has started.

For those of you who know me only through print, just let your eyes glaze over anytime you see the word carol and you'll be fine.