Pointless photo of the day:

Got busy with something else and forgot to blog.

Not in the mood to think of anything now.

See you tomorrow.

Words and music

And Max staring at... something or other. I'm not exactly sure what he thought he was seeing.

He has nice vibrissae though, don't you think?

Yeah, I know. Shut up, Biology Girl.

----------

I was watching (well, half-watching. The other half was getting ready for bed while coughing and nose-blowing, even if the Toronto office is offering no sympathy at all on that point) a Pete Seeger thing last night and found myself singing along with the music (when I wasn't coughing or nose-blowing). You can't really help singing along if you grew up with those songs like I did, but I have to admit that singing along while watching the documentary gave me a little bit of a guilty feeling.

You see, Pete Seeger's all about the message. I'm... not.

I know there's a lot of meaning behind the words, but for the most part I sing along because I like the tunes.

Blasphemy, I suppose.

I used to perform quite a lot, although I don't really do it now. Singing, mostly. Choirs, small groups, solo work... you name it. You tend to be exposed to a fair amount of different music when you have that kind of background, and there's not much of it that I don't like.

As music, that is.

As for the thoughts behind the words, I can often take or leave them. Do you think that's a bad thing? I mean, if you take a tune out of context and away from its words, have you lost the point of the music?

If I sing, for example, Where Have All the Flowers Gone? can I enjoy it for the music itself without getting into some sort of anti-war fervour?

Um... ok, that wasn't the best example to choose. That particular song always makes me sad.

Let's come at it from a different angle, then. Over the years I've sung a lot of religious music from several different religions. Is it taking something away from that music if I don't happen to believe in the words that I'm singing? If I was an atheist, would it be wrong to have a favourite hymn?

I don't know.

You can always tell when I don't know because the posts become nothing but questions.

The whole thing can be taken in another direction, of course. What if you think that "message music" can't be separated from the message? Do you see messages in all music, in that case? Do you become the kind of person who refuses to let your family listen to heavy metal music in case they become devil worshippers? Does the so-called message get to you whether you want it to or not?

Even if you don't believe that there really is a message?

I suppose that things can be taken too far in both directions. Seeing messages in everything is weirdly paranoid, as far as I can tell, but ignoring messages when they're obviously there and obviously important to the artists? Well, I guess that's debasing the art.

It's not going to stop me from liking a good tune, though.

And... there's my brain off on a completely different tack with that one statement. I like a nice dance -- you're forced to. Good grief. Short attention span rears its ugly head.

Means I should stop typing then.

All right.

Phlegm

Odd word, phlegm.

Oh, and the pointless photo is truly pointless today. Don't even try to attach a meaning. And... be very thankful that I don't have a picture of phlegm. I would have used it if I did.

I'm not sure what's set off the allergies, but I've spent the last few days rapidly turning into a snot factory. Considering that it wasn't all that long ago that I was actually sick, I don't think it's entirely fair that my body's now choosing to be pseudosick.

One damned thing after another, as my grandmother would have said.

No, really. She said it all the time. My grandma was a bit colourful.

Anyway, here I am with a chapped nose, a rather disgustingly wet cough, and an incipient sinus headache. Yeah, you just know that'll be coming. And, of course, I forgot to take an antihistamine before I came down to the office so I can already predict that the amount of work that will happen today is zero.

Sinus headaches and curriculum research get along so well together, you know.





How many words into this post did you guess that I have nothing today? If you managed to figure it out using only the post title, YOU WIN THE BLOG!!!

Let me know where you'd like it delivered.







Nobody's buying into this. I can just tell.

Later, all.

Mmm... frozen

Yes, you know you can always count on the blog for all the best in Dead Flower Photography.

I assume this one got snagged by the dog's leash or something, because it was sitting all alone in a snowdrift for no apparent reason.

I don't pose my shots, you know. Not often, anyway.

----------

I recently had a major change in my life, and I'm not sure yet how I'm going to deal with it. It's going to affect things every single day. It'll affect my shopping habits, my eating habits... probably some other habits I just haven't thought of yet.

Yep.

They delivered my new fridge last Friday.





Or at least I think that's when they delivered it. I wasn't there over the weekend, but when I got in on Sunday there it was. A new fridge.

With an actual freezer compartment.

Some of you by now are waiting for the point. Others have read the blog title and realise that there probably won't be a point and that I'm just going to ramble on until I run out of blather. If that's what you're thinking, congratulations for catching on.

This is the first time in my adult life that I've had a frost-free refrigerator, believe it or not. I've always lived in apartments (except for that one year in Res that I've tried to block out), and those apartments have always had the stereotypical crappy apartment fridge. Rattling motor, iffy controls, and that teeny little freezer compartment that never actually manages to freeze anything properly except for the ice build-up that has to be gotten rid of periodically.

Well, the manager of my current place was doing an inspection a while ago and she noticed that I still had the apartment's original fridge. The apartment building, bear in mind, was built in the 70s (and I have the ugly gold carpet to prove it). She made an offhand comment about checking out a new fridge, and a couple of days later a workman showed up to take the measurements.

We won't talk about the fact that I was in my pyjamas at the time. Or about the fact that just when I thought I could relax -- pyjamas and all -- some other workmen came to install the new window blinds the manager had requested. It was an interesting afternoon.

A couple of weeks went by after that, and just when I thought the whole thing was a cruel joke the new fridge really did materialise. And now I have to live with it.

I don't think you can understand what a big change this is. I'm not kidding. Not only do I not have to defrost every few weeks, I have a freezer compartment that actually freezes. I've never had that before. I've always had to be careful of what frozen or freezable foods I've bought, because those old manual fridges can't often be trusted to keep things as frozen as you'd prefer them to be. And I have space now.

I could stock up on things.

I could make ice cubes.

I could buy ice cream. More than a half-pint at a time, even.

I won't have to choose between buying peas or corn. I can have BOTH if I want to.







I think I'm getting a little light-headed.

It's all going to take a bit of getting used to, to be honest. Those of you who've never been freezerless (or freezer-light, I suppose) don't know how odd it seems to realise that I can suddenly buy things that I'm not planning to use right away.

Weird.

Very weird.






Kind of like the blog. I think I'd better stop typing now.

And maybe swing by the store...

Oh, for a brain to think with

I promise that there were no birds run over in the making of this pointless photo.

----------

I'll try to keep this short, which of course means that I won't. Didn't have a great night again, and at the moment head-hitting-desk is sounding very appealing to me. Naturally, given the current no-brain condition, I have a meeting to go to this afternoon. I'm going to do my best to sit quietly in the corner and not say anything. Maybe we can all pretend I'm not really there.

Actually, you couldn't prove it by me that I'm really here anyway.

So. The Oscars. Or the red carpet, rather. Not too much to say here besides thanks for the BOREDOM, ladies. Boring, boring, boring, predictable, and... erm... Tilda Swinton in a garbage bag. But even then, it was so Tilda Swinton that I don't really feel like commenting.

I suppose I should say something about Mrs. Daniel Day-Lewis and her interesting apparel, but I'm not really into trashing the significant others of the people who are the real ones in the spotlight. It was something, though.

As for the men... THANK YOU SO MUCH for all the bow ties. We can talk about my thing for men in nice suits another time (lord knows I haven't been teased about it for at least a couple of weeks), but just know that the last few years' trend to wearing long ties with tuxes has bugged the snot out of me. Say what you will about the stupidity of ties in the first place (my father has many thoughts on that topic), but as part of the well-put-together evening costume they're pretty essential. And dammit, it should never be a straight tie with evening dress. Wear a bow tie, wear an ascot, wear a freaking cravat if bow ties are too mainstream for you, but don't -- just don't -- wear a boring long tie. It makes a man look like he's got dressed in a very shiny suit just to go to the office, in my opinion.

Yeah, I liked the return of the bow tie very much.






I think that's all I've got. No comments on the actual show or the winners or anything, because as I said yesterday I haven't seen any of the movies. Ask me a few years from now when I can get them on DVD from the bargain bin at Wally World. That's the way I watch movies.

Hey, it works for me.

And since it's my post, that ought to be good enough.

Pointless spider of the day:

Ok, to be fair I'm not sure that the spider is, actually, pointless. I didn't ask it.

This spider was dangling from the kitchen ceiling when I came in from taking pictures in the yard yesterday (and no, you won't be seeing a lot of those. I deleted most of them. Have I mentioned that winter is boring?). I grabbed its tether line to have a better look at it, but it managed to skitter under one of the entryway steps before I could get the camera out. That's why you're stuck with this awkward image -- it was being uncooperative.

I'd expect that it's nothing but some form of House Spider and not terribly interesting to anything but another House Spider, but at least it's alive.

I'm tired of taking photos of dead things.

Actually, I had a pretty lousy night (no reason -- just mind weirdness) so I'm tired generally at the moment.

I have to admit that it's been a while since I've had one of those let's not sleep nights, so I'm not going to get all whingey about it.

Surprised?

Well, don't give me too much credit. I'm thinking that I just don't have the brain power or energy to be creatively whingey.

Not that it's stopped me before, of course.

----------

I currently have E! network playing in the background, mostly because I was curious as to how they were going to fill the hours of LIVE! coverage they've got scheduled before the Oscars. Does anyone besides me think that maybe it's a teeny bit of overkill to start your coverage for an evening event at ten in the morning?

Me, I'll be paying more attention a little bit later. Not because I've seen any of the movies (seems to me I haven't seen a movie in an actual theatre since at least last century), but because I can't resist the pull of expensively dressed celebrities who still manage to look like two-dollar hookers.

It takes such talent to be able to do that.

Ah, pay-off to early coverage. One host spotted looking like hell. Expensively, of course. And she's sooo proud of it, to boot.

Erm... anyway.

Will I be watching the actual awards ceremony? Oh, I'll probably have it on. Will it mean anything to me? See above re: the last time I saw a first-run movie. The Academy Awards are a little too stuffy for me to enjoy in the same way that I enjoy the Golden Globes, anyway. Not enough booze involved, I think.

I've decided that the enjoyability factor of an awards show is directly proportional to the amount of alcohol visible on the tables. Case in point? Dad and I were watching the Independent Spirit Awards last night. What a fantastic mix of pat-on-the-back and wtf?!. And it'll be a very interesting juxtaposition with tonight's let's-take-ourselves-too-seriously-fest.

All right, I'm getting rambly here. Watch this space for tomorrow's red carpet snark-off (assuming I manage to keep myself awake that long. Do you suppose I can make it until four?).

I'm sure everyone's looking forward to that. Right?






Oh, whatever.

Cheese

No, the pointless photo is not of cheese.

It's pretty cheesy, though.

I don't have a lot on the brain today -- very definitely taking a weekend -- but I did have an observation about cheese.

I really like cheese.

Um, that wasn't the observation. That was just a fact. Stay tuned for the observation.

I really like cheese, and I'll admit that it's one thing I'll pay a bit of money for. Overall I'm pretty cheap (thrifty, if you prefer the positive spin), but I rarely hesitate to plunk down the funds for a good piece of cheese if that's what I have to do to get the taste I want.

I suppose it's like wines are for some people. Me, I'm not a regular wine drinker so you could probably pawn the boxed stuff off on me without much chance that I'd notice. I understand that there are many, many differences between good and mediocre wines, yes, but I honestly couldn't tell you what they are. I've never developed a taste for wine, so telling me that an expensive something I don't have a taste for is better than a cheap something I don't have a taste for is a thing I'd just have to take on faith.

I don't drink coffee either, so the current trend to costly Seattle-y beverages pretty much baffles me.

And don't even get me started on the massive line-ups I see at the drive-through every time I pass a Tim's. I so completely don't understand that. Is it a religion, people? Are you tithing?

Cheese, though, I get.

Well, in a small way. I'm not likely to start chasing around the world in search of the holy grail of cheesy goodness, but in my own limited fashion I've developed enough of a taste for cheese in all (erm... most. I have my likes and dislikes) its varieties that I can understand why people become connoisseurs. And yes, I can be fussy about my cheese.

With one exception.

Here's the observation part:

When it comes to marble cheese I'll take the rubbery no-name stuff over a "decent" brand any day.

I'm not sure why.

If I had to guess, I'd say that it might be something going back to childhood and grilled cheese sandwiches (which must, by the way, always be eaten with a kosher dill pickle. Baby dill. Not the big squishy kind). It's probably the texture I grew up expecting, so if someone replaces my low-end marble with something better it just doesn't seem like marble.

Or maybe I'm not quite the proper cheese fan yet, I don't know.

It's something I'm willing to work on, if it means more cheese on the blog.







More cheese on the blog. Now there's a novelty.

For all you digital photographers out there ....

.... you may consider this a template to calibrate the white balance on your camera.

You may consider it that. I consider it a nuisance as it's all we are currently seeing in my little corner of the world. That's right, folks. The snow-banks are still that high that when one (especially this one who is five foot one and three-quarters thank-you-very-much) walks down any street and looks left or right this is the sum total of the landscape.

And guess what. Yes. It's snowing.

On the upside - because one must always look for the upside (or kill something in the midst of a winter like this) the dogs are happy as pigs .... no, no ... happy as dogs in snow.

This is where I stop typing so I won't discuss that there is more danger trying to walk in a park with three-foot snow drifts which hide a solid two-inch layer of ice than there is danger in some foreign countries. Well there is ... it's my back in question you know.

So, yeh. Stop typing already.

Okay, I think I will.

And then I'll sit back and admire all the italics used in this post. Next time, maybe I'll learn another trick. I am trainable, it appears.

Pointless "I don't feel like blogging" of the day:

Yeah, see post title.

The typing thing's not working out so well at the moment anyway, because apparently the brain-hand connection isn't as happy as it usually is.






Yes, this is all you're getting today. Seriously.

Go away now.

Something about dead plants

Title vague enough?

Today's pointless photo, by the way, is of dog prints. And a red boot. Not sure how that got in there.

----------

I have a balcony full of dead plants at the moment.




Ok, maybe not exactly full of dead plants, but there are plenty of dead plants on my balcony just now. They're the leftovers from last year's (very late) planters.

Last year wasn't a good year for me 'n the balcony planters. I was busy at work so I didn't get them potted up until over a month later than I usually do (I have a south-facing balcony, so I can generally plant things quite early), I pretty much ignored things when I did get them potted up (I watered, but that was about it), and when freeze-up came I didn't get around to cleaning out the mess.

I still haven't, obviously, or I wouldn't be blathering about it. Now, though, I have an excuse.

It's the chickadees, you see.

I have a small bird feeder hanging on my balcony railing (to feed the small birds, of course), and I have a regular set of chickadees, nuthatches, and woodpeckers that come to visit it. The nuthatches and woodpeckers are fairly matter of fact about the whole thing -- they eat and leave -- but the chickadees tend to hang around a bit.

And they like the dead plants.

No, they really do.

They bop around amongst the crackly leaves and dried out stems like the whole thing's their own private jungle gym. Sometimes I'll throw a handful or two of sunflower seeds in the pots, and then it becomes a chickadee game of hide and seek. They talk and swear at each other the whole time, too. It's all very sociable.

And very entertaining.

And a reason to have a balcony full of dead plants, no?

Oh, I'll get around to cleaning them up before next spring, but in the meantime I'm sort of enjoying the accidental habitat I've created. Sometimes it's the accidents that are the most fun, don't you think?

[/nothing post]

And did I mention tired?

I don't think I mentioned the sick part, though. That would explain the tired.

And that's all I'm going to say about that. You're welcome.

----------

Today's photo, by the way, is a completely pointless abstract. Don't try to find anything else in it, 'cause it ain't there.

----------

I've got nothing today, so you're going to hear about one of my pointless hobbies. Sometimes when I'm bored or even just avoiding other things, I'll hit the translation flags over on the sidebar to your right and read me in other languages. French or Italian, usually, because I understand a miniscule bit of both languages, but German is good too. I come off well in computer-translated German.

The translations have gotten better over the years, but there's still enough offness that I find it fairly amusing. It's like the Google ads (which, I hope you notice, I've never bothered to add to this blog. Didn't think it necessary). I get the biggest kick out of the odd and occasionally inappropriate keywords that'll be picked up on for Google ads. The resulting weirdness in the "themed" ads you see is just endlessly entertaining.

To me.

But then I'm not well, remember.

For extra fun I'll sometimes go over to the old blog and translate some of my poetry. Oddly enough, the poetry often makes out better than the blather here does. Maybe because the words are more carefully chosen? Or it could be, I suppose, that the lines are shorter and a bit more likely to make sense.

Well, as much sense as I ever make.

I'm not making much sense now, I know, so I think I'm going to stop typing. I'm too achy to be comfortable at the desk anyway, so why hang around waiting for sense to magically appear when it's so obviously not going to?




Exactly.

Tiiired

Yep. The snit has changed into a yawn.

I've been a little off for the past few days (bet you hadn't guessed), and now I'm feeling mostly like I've been dragged behind a bus for a few blocks.

Partially skinned, then, Dee?




Oh, I don't know.

Today's photo is a reminder that it's no fun to have snow in the crotch. OF YOUR TREE, SILLY.

Don't worry. It doesn't make sense to me either. Did I mention the part about being tired?

----------

I've noticed that I've been counting lefties again, and to no purpose. As usual. For those new to the program, I have a slight thing about noticing fellow left-handers. Left-handers on television (there's an awful lot of them. Proof, I suppose, that we're not quite hooked up right), left-handers amongst the schoolkids in my groups...

Actually, that brings up something kind of interesting. I've noticed over the years that I see more and more lefties in the school classes that come to the nature centre. Why do you suppose that is?

I'd imagine that it could be a combination of things, but I think it's mostly that left-handedness doesn't have the stigma it used to have. Kids are allowed to use the hand they're comfortable with, and that's a good thing. After all, forcing left-handers into right-handedness has been blamed for everything from shyness to stuttering. May as well give a child a chance to develop normally.

Or as normally as left-handers are capable of. My family would probably debate you on whether lefies can ever really be normal, but then that's my family for you.

And they tease with love, I promise.

It seems hard to believe that it was ever thought a good thing to steer a child away from his or her dominant hand, but we're not really all that far removed from the days of smacking knuckles or tying a "misbehaving" arm down. I mean, I'm not terribly old but I'm still part of the first generation (around here, anyway) whose teachers didn't strongly suggest holding that darned pencil with the right (double meaning there) hand.

As a result, my teachers didn't know how to teach a leftie. They knew I should be allowed to use whichever hand I was comfortable using, yes, but how to use that hand... well, I was mostly left to my own devices.

My handwriting shows that even today.

Or at least that's what I choose to blame it on.

Anyway, I hope the left-handed kids out there today are having a better and less isolated go of it than I did. You seem to at least have a peer group, from what I see in your classes, and I hope that by the time you're my age you don't find yourself spending time noticing left-handers quite as much as I do.

Not that there's anything wrong with it, really. It's just a bit... weird.

In a left-handed sort of way.

Um...?

I'm not in the mood for a photo today. Click on the graphic for the rest of the gif. Blogger seems to be a little weird about displaying it, and I can't be bothered to figure out why.

Actually, I'm kind of in a pissy meh mood altogether, and for no real reason.

Ok, there's a bit of a reason. But it's none of your business.

So...

(See post title)

Well, for anyone interested I could say that if you go out after... oh, about nine or so at night in the next while you should be able to see Mars in the southwest (in Taurus) and Saturn in the east (in Leo).

It's a twofer.

And last night for the first time in pretty much ever the sky was clear enough that my group was able to see them both. My run of cloudy skies on program days is officially over, I guess.

I don't know what to do with myself now.

I have no blather either, if you haven't already caught that part.






Going now, then.

Bleah

Head? Decidedly not happy. Work? Not happening, but for a change it's not my fault. Hard to get the newsletter finished when you're still waiting on contributions.

Funny how that goes.

And speaking of going, I think I will. Tomorrow's post may or may not be, because I'll be prepping an evening program and I might not feel like blathering.

Not like I do now, but whatever.

Later, all.

Pointless photo of the day:

Guess there won't be any backyard fires in the next while.

----------

This is all you're getting today. I'm feeling a bit meh... or at least like my brain isn't exactly connected to the world even though I did get a proper night's sleep and everything.

Come to think of it, that might be the problem.

Ah well, what can you do?

Things not in my ear

That's right. There are no dead marigolds in my ear.

There are a few other things that aren't in my ear as well, now.

As of yesterday, in fact.

The ongoing ear thing is a lot better today (thanks for your concern. You were concerned, right?) because the inflammation finally went down enough that I could have the ear cleaned out without fear of rupturing something.

And incidentally, I already knew that you should never, never put cotton swabs in your ear, but after reading this story I don't think I'll allow one within a metre of my face entirely. Death by Q-tip is so very wrong.

This wasn't exactly the first time I've had my ear syringed. I have a bit of family weirdness (as in, my brother has the same problem) with my ear wax that leads to the regular need for ear cleaning. It's not generally a big deal; in fact, I often do it myself.

Not this time, though. When your ear's been buggered up for a month you shouldn't be your own doctor.

So anyway. Had the ear syringed, saw some very disturbing things come out of it (anyone want descriptions? No? Well, let's just say that between Star Trek and Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy references I'm not entirely convinced that my ear hadn't become home to some bizarre form of alien), and for the first time in ages I don't feel like half of my head is underwater.

Yay me.




Oh, and that disgusting little slice of my life is all you're getting today. I've got actual work that needs to be done.

Bye then.









I can hear that, you know.

There.

New pointless photo.

Worth the wait?

I doubt it.

----------

Apparently the highway's back to green again (well, not literally green. I just mean green as in safe, according to the AMA road report) so I should be hitting the road back to my own place before the next dump of snow.

Next dump of snow, yes. Typical Alberta winter: we go most of the season bemoaning the lack of snow cover for the plants and the various creatures that depend on subnivean spaces (oh, google it yourself. I'm not in the mood), and then just as we're starting to think that maybe spring might be somewhere in the not-excruciatingly-distant future we get the whole winter's snow load in a week.

It sucks if you're me. Winter makes me cranky, remember.

Ah well, cranky or not I should go get my stuff packed. I'm already a day later than I planned to be, and unfortunately the newsletter isn't going to finish itself. Wheat, I may not be in today (couple of other things need taking care of), but I'll definitely be plugging away again tomorrow.

It'll give me a different reason to be cranky, if nothing else.

Pointless photos

I need to get out and take some new photos.

Bet you haven't noticed that my posts lately have been featuring the dregs of my nerdstick. And yes, I know it's all pretty lame.

The thing is that I hate taking pictures of winter because I hate winter. Now there's a shocking statement to make. Dee hates winter? Surely not!

Gawd yes. I hate cold, and I hate snow. And I hate taking pictures of snow. I like colour, shape, and pattern, not let's-make-everything-the-same-shade-of-white-and-pretend-it's-pretty.

It isn't pretty. It's winter.

It's evil.





And now you know.

----------

Hey... since we're almost nearly talking art, maybe you can give me a hand with something. We're putting on a staff art exhibit at work (yeah, where else would we do it?) in a few months, and I need to decide what I'm in the mood to contribute. I have a few photos in mind, but at the same time I know that I should probably get off my arse and do a bit of to-the-purpose doodling.

Erm... technically I'd probably be on my arse while I'm doodling, but you know what I mean.

I do have a couple of extant sketches that might suit (I'm thinking of one or two of the more elaborated spider doodles from a few years ago, or maybe one of the lilies you can find in the other blog's archives), but it'd be nice to get inspired and do something new.

Problem? Lack of inspiration.

Solution? Outside suggestion (hint hint hint).

What I'd be looking at is nature-based still life. I'm not in the mood to look up live animal models, in other words. Anyone out there have a favourite plant or whatever else that might make a good subject? I'd prefer something that's easy to find at the local florist or greenhouse, since drawing from photographs never works out as nicely as having the real thing around.

I have a lot of time to get my brain around this, but it'd be better to start sooner rather than later. Otherwise I'll be scratching out a half-hour doodle sometime in September, and I can guarantee that it'll look exactly like a scratched-out half-hour doodle.

Ok, your move. And if you ask nicely I might post a couple of the photographs that I've been thinking of submitting as well.





Although... if I'm thinking of using the photos for something they're technically not pointless photos.

And if I post something that's not pointless the blog will turn into a pumpkin.








Ah well. Had to happen sooner or later.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it from me. Yes, even after a few days off you're only getting a photo. Can't help it -- I'm kind of busy just now.

More later, maybe.

Later that same week ....

Flash ahead to the next day - yes, I'll agree there's not much real flashing to go just one day ahead.

This is clouds gone, a lovely scene of snow on trees and pristine conditions on the ground.

Ah, yes, happiness abounds as the pups are thrilled with burying their snouts in newly-fallen snow and pushing sticks around to chase them.

Yes, I do have dogs that amuse themselves quite well but also get along with others. Better than I ever have with people ... but that's another blog quite entirely.

Looks lovely, doesn't it. And with the sun out, it's alllllmost bearable.

Have I been whining lately? Well, you're in luck you know. If all you do is mock, laugh and point you'll - er, we'll - have an extra day of this whining and pictorial display of the reason for said complaining. There's an extra day in this month.

You lucky, reader, you.

And on the other side of the coin

.... this is what it looks like the next day.

The clouds part, the snow abates and if you're very talented and point the lens just so ... or, well, if you're lucky ... you get the rays of sunlight hitting the lens at an angle and voila, a nice picture.

I'm still not friends with winter anymore and have tried to send it packing but it doesn't appear to be heeding me one bit.

Okay, already

I officially give up.

Winter wins. I've thrown in the towel.

The pup is not, as you may have thought, lying down. Oh, no, friendly readers; she is trying to walk through yesterday's snow.

This is the second major dumping of the white stuff in as many weeks.

I'm done. If I were a groundhog, shadows wouldn't mean a damn and I'd hibernate 'til May.

I'd wave a white flag but - say it with me - who'd see it?

'Scuse me while I put in my teeth

Yes, it's a fish in a bucket.

No reason.

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You know what I hate? I hate realising that something happened twenty years ago, and that I can't say twenty years ago... before I was born.

I can't even say twenty years ago... when I was too young to remember.

When I started at my current place of employment I was fresh out of university and by far the youngest person on staff. Now I work with people who were born at the same time that I was in high school.

When the hell did that happen, exactly?

The weird thing is that I don't generally feel "old" (come to it, I don't think I qualify as old. Well, I might have in the middle ages or something, but nowadays? Not so much) until I have one of those twenty-years-ago moments. That's when my brain starts doing things like considering the benefits of motorised scooters or those adjustable beds you see on the infomercials.

Ok, maybe not quite that bad. I do, however, think that the walk-in bathtubs are kind of neat...






Sorry. Where was I?

Things are sort of conspiring against me in the ooooold department lately. There are a few things going on -- most of which you will NOT be hearing about -- but one that can be made public is that my alma mater is celebrating its 100th anniversary.

And for those at the centre of the universe who might be laughing at the fact that the U of A is "only" 100 years old, say it with me now: Shut up. 100 years is pretty good when the province itself is only a few years older.

Now, of course I wasn't around when the school got started (just thought I'd clear that one up right away). Reading the centenary celebration schedule and the history articles in the alumni magazine, though, can't help but make a person think of her own time at the university. Yeah, I've been on a bit of a nostalgia kick, more or less. I loved university. I loved almost everything about it (except calculus. What does a zoology student need to study calculus for anyway?). I had a great time, and not in the can't-remember-what-I-did-the-night-before way.

And then I realise how long ago that great time was.

*insert suitable vulgarity here*

Ah well. There's not a whole lot whinging about it can change... although it obviously hasn't stopped me from whinging anyway. As the saying goes, every single person on this planet is closer to death than to birth.

Until someone invents a time machine.





With my luck, I won't be able to remember anything by then so I won't care anyway. Later, all.

Bruiser

Is it wrong that I just spent several minutes trying to implant a series of bad Seventies pop tunes into Wheat's brain just before he heads off for a meeting?

I don't think it is.

He needs to get used to having me back in the office somehow.

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I made a tally of my current bruises as I was getting dressed this morning. Highlights include the shoulder thing I told you of a couple of posts ago, the deep one that's finally made its appearance (I whacked myself in the leg with the ice scraper a couple of days ago. No, not on purpose), a couple of minor spots on my arms that I'm pretty sure I know the reason for, and a half dozen others in various places that I have no idea about.

Read this either as I'm a walking accident or I tend to bruise easily.

Both have their moments of being true, but it's usually more the second than the first.

No, really.

No sniggering from the Toronto office. You've been warned.

I've always been a bit of a bruiser, and it doesn't help matters that I have fairly light-toned skin. Every little bruise shows up like a neon advertisement when you have skin like that, and it doesn't take much of a bump to give me even a little bruise.

I guess I'm a tad leaky.

A few years ago I went through a slight medical misadventure (don't worry, I'm not going to tell that story again) which required IVs on different days and a few blood tests. For part of that time I was at a smaller hospital where the x-ray technician doubled as a phlebotomist when needed. When I first came to that particular hospital, she was the one to draw my blood. She noticed I had a pretty nasty bruise from the last hospital's blood test, made a little joke about untidy vampires, and used my other arm instead. It took a couple of tries because one vein decided to tap out (what can I say? I'd had a really fun week), but overall things went ok.

Fast forward a few days and find me sitting in a hopsital gown and socks (my feet were cold), waiting to have some x-rays taken. The tech was the same one who'd done the blood test earlier, and when she got a look at my arms the poor girl was absolutely horrified to see the massive bruises that had developed. She was all over herself apologising even though I tried to explain that they didn't hurt and that I was just a natural bruiser.

I have to admit I was pretty colourful at the time, though. Bruises from blood tests, bruises on my hands from the IVs... I probably looked a little scary.

Hell, I probably look a little scary now, but I can't help genetics.




And shut up, world.

Anyway. None of this blather has any point to it (see: blog title) and I really should get back to work.

Work, yes. There will be actual work happening today.

No, really.




Didn't I already tell you to shut up?

Fire... wood

Or fire Wheat, is what I was really thinking. SOMEbody is a baaad t.v. club member and missed last night's episode.

I mean, seriously. Do I really have to hold your collective hand, people?

Ok, fine. New episode TOMORROW. Tuesday, that is. No excuses.

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I came in to work today after a week off because of the COLD. Did I mention the COLD? Well, it was COLD.

The problem is that I've physically made it to the building but it seems that my brain didn't come along. Or maybe it did, but not in a way I would have preferred it to. You see, I went to bed at a decent time last night after informing my brain that, as long as it was warm enough for me to start the car without being in actual physical pain from going outside (Note: in reality it turned into a "just barely" this morning), I was planning to make it to work today. My brain apparently took this to mean HOORAY! WE'RE STAYING UP ALLLLL NIGHT!!!

Stupid brain, anyway. Who'd have one?

So, after sitting around for a while playing with the sudoku machine that Santa gave me (or was that Satan? It keeps me entertained when I can't sleep, but sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't have more chance of being asleep if I wasn't entertained), I did manage to get a few hours of snooze in.

Not enough to make for a working brain, I guess, but it's a start.

Now if I could only figure out a way to make my non-working brain start the work that I'm meant to be doing at the moment, things would be fiiine.

It ain't gonna happen -- at least not today -- but getting to the building is a start. Tomorrow, perhaps, I'll manage to work my way up to functional.

Or at least semi-functional.




And before I leave off, I just wanted to say that no furniture has been harmed by any of my body parts yet today, or vice versa. The day is still young, I know, but at least there's a little bit of hope.

I really have nothing, you know

Yep.

I've been catching up on a week's worth of internet crap (and am thankful I won't be able to access my work e-mail until tomorrow), and it hasn't left me much for bloggable thoughts.

It also hasn't left me much desire to get an internet hook-up at home. Seriously. A week's worth of being away from the computer, and it seems that I didn't miss much of anything except a regular reliable weather report.

Incidentally, the weather network may say it's Canada's most reliable source for the weather, but in our area at least it mostly seems to be Canada's most reliable source for fiction.

It's interesting that, when it's available to me, I can spend hours at a time on the 'net... but if I have to be away I don't really notice any DTs as a result.

Guess I'm not an addict after all.

Oh, but I missed my two fans, of course. Desperately.






Anyone out there buying the last bit?

Ok, so I do miss the blatherage outlet somewhat, but really? Given the choice between the daily blather and a really good book, I'd probably still choose the book.

Old habits die hard, as they say.

See you tomorrow (speaking of old habits...).

So, the nice thing about a t-back bra is...

Oh, before I get into that, I should say that today's photo features my nephew.

He's the one on the left.

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So, the nice thing about a t-back bra is that the shoulder strap tends to sit closer to your neck than the strap on the average bra does. This is important when one is trying to avoid putting anything directly on top of the large-ish purple welt on one's right shoulder.

It's the little things in life than make you truly grateful, you know.






Erm... you wanted to hear more about the large-ish purple welt on my right shoulder? Ok, since you asked. Let's just note that if you find yourself for any reason falling through the air after, say, tripping over your own feet, it's probably best not to break that fall with a secretary-style desk to the shoulder.

'Nuff said?

Yeah, I thought so.

Shall we now add up my wtf total for these past two weeks? May as well, really. Start with one cold that developed into an ear infection, factor in a buggered-up neck that made it impossible to move for a couple of days, add five days of not leaving the apartment at all because it was MINUS COLDER THAN HELL OUTSIDE, and finish up with a little furniture slam-dancing.

It's a wonder they let me out on the roads today, when you think of it.

Of course, they didn't actually know that they were letting a complete disaster out on the roads.

That might have been one reason that I was let out on the roads, actually.

Anyway. Sorry I'm not more exciting after nearly a week off. Really, though. What can you expect from someone who's been living the life of a particularly ill-starred hermit for days on end? Maybe I'll try harder to be entertaining tomorrow.

I'm going now. T-back bra or not, my shoulder hurts.

The photo that might have been

This would have been a lovely picture of a male Cardinal alighting - you know, had the lens been able to figure out it should focus on the bird rather than the snow on the screen and window through which this was shot.

The weather channel got it right, as you can see.

I guess some *cough*Alberta*office* would toss snowballs in my direction but it IS pretty out there today.

Why she would throw things at me, of course, may be due to the fact it is still minus 27 where she lives, works and plays. I'm guessing the fact that Alberta has been in a deep deep-freeze for daaaaays can make a person a tad cranky. I can say without hesitation that the lack of sunlight is doing a fair job on yours truly also.

But ... there are still the birds to watch, the dogs to play with as they lose their minds in snow drifts, playing hard enough that even the coldest of the cold crack a smile.

Good grief. I must be aging. Isn't finding an up side to all things a sign of getting older? Shut up. I did not say "old".



Now where did I leave the zimmer ....