Predictable

And what's predictable, Dee?

The fact that if I've had a couple of verbose posts in a row the next one will say I've got nothing.

Welcome to the I've got nothing post, boys and girls.

I did have an entertaining dream last night, but as is usual with things like that it loses a bit in translation. I'm willing to give you the quick sketch version, though, since I'm decidedly lacking in topic otherwise.

I woke up in the middle of the night (really. That wasn't part of the dream) and just knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. I'm an insomniac, in case you haven't noticed (and if you haven't, you've been reading the blog with your eyes closed), and it's pretty easy to tell when "up in the middle of the night" is going to turn into "up all freaking night". This was going to be one of those nights for sure. Well, what do you do? You resign yourself to it. It's all you can do.

I laid there for probably an hour or so thinking about... oh, just thinking, really, and then I was up in front of the Inquisition.

Just like that, yes.

I was up in front of the Inquisition, but we're not talking the dreaded Spanish Inquisition here (oh, and this one's for Wheat). This was the Inquisition recast as a sort of laid-back disciplinary hearing. No one was overly concerned about what I may or may not have done wrong; they just wanted to get the facts straight and clear the air. I have a feeling that we were all going out for lunch after everything was worked out, but I woke up before we got that far.

I had no idea that it was a dream until I woke up.

Oh, and trust me to be able to turn even the Inquisition into a mundane board meeting.

And on that note, I suppose I should get back to work. Those paper airplane designs aren't going to look themselves up, you know.




And yes, I do get paid to look up paper airplane designs. Occasionally, that is. Not all the time.

That would be silly.

Pointless photo but this time you should pay attention of the day:

Hey, you want to know what drives me nuts?

Sure you do.

What drives me nuts is having a day to turn off the lights to make an environmental point and then celebrating by having big concerts (hello? sound systems, mass consumption), downtown parades (let's all protect the environment by driving our vehicles around for a while), or any other number of stupid activities that pretty much negate any good you did by turning off the lights in the first place.

Yep, made a lot of sense to me.

The misuse of the word ecology also drives me nuts (you can't protect the ecology, folks), but that's a topic for another day because I'm not in the mood to discuss semantics.

The above sort of makes it sound like I'm not in the mood to discuss much of anything, doesn't it?

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Let's talk about the pointless photo, then. Yes, we're actually going to talk about it.

Is anyone wondering why I even bothered to take today's photo? I ran it through an edge enhancer to give a little bit of a hint, but even then I'd imagine that most of the people who stumble upon that picture will have a slight moment of WTF and then move on.

That's ok, you know. I don't mind.

I don't expect other people to see things the way that I do. In fact, given how nearsighted I am it'd probably be better for the world in general if you didn't see things the way that I do.

I did want to remind anyone new to the program, though (my two fans have already heard all about it), that I'm often not so much taking pictures of things as much as I'm taking pictures of shapes. Lines. Patterns. Or even more fun, negative space.

I guess what I'm saying is that the wonderful world of cheap digital photography has allowed me to indulge myself (and you poor innocent bystanders) in my pleasure for seeing the world in abstracts.

The funny thing is, when I was younger (and I'm not talking child-younger here) I had very little use for abstracts in art. Extreme abstraction especially. I mean, what's the point in drawing/painting/sculpting something if it ends up looking like nothing?

Well, I can't say I've figured it out for the art world in general, but as for me and my camera I've found that when familiar things start looking unfamiliar you notice things about form and structure that you might not have noticed before.

I like that.

But then I also have this slightly OLF thing about pattern and the like. I'm not sure if I've mentioned that part.

Anyway, I'm not planning to come to any grand conclusions or anything like that today. It is, after all, the weekend. In the end, the bare branches of the apple tree got their picture taken yesterday because I liked the lines that they formed.

The end.

And this, by the way, is why I'm not an artist. I'm not good enough at finding BS reasons for my "art" to be able to sell it to anyone.





Not that that's what artists do, of course. Or at least it's not all that they do...

No comment

The post title has nothing to do with the photo, in case anyone was confused.

Not that I'm saying that anyone would be.

Hell, I don't even know if anyone reads the post titles, come to it.

And for all I know the prairie crocus buds in the the photo might not have any comment, even.

I've never known them to be terribly chatty.

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Speaking of chatty, I have a question about comments. Years ago I debated about adding comments to the blog (well, the old blog) because A) a lot of "serious" bloggers seemed to think comments were evil for some reason, and B) I couldn't imagine that anyone would bother to comment.

Well, here we are NOT years ago, the comments have been a permanent fixture on my various blogs for some time, and... I'm sort of wondering why.

Ah yes, that would bring us to the question I mentioned but forgot to type. Do comments actually add anything to a blog?

I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't mind comments. Often I appreciate comments. Occasionally I'll comment back, and sometimes (ok, rarely) I get a little miffed when I've blathered about something that I think is interesting and then don't get any comments about it.

But the whole waiting for comments thing. Is that what blogging should be about?

Let's face it. Blogging, for the most part, is talking to yourself. For some it's a diary, for others it's their way of barging into the spotlight (not a high priority on my list, frankly), and for me... oh, see blog title, for pity's sake. Nothing here is terribly important.

So, should it be aiming to be a dialogue?

Should I be expecting people to debate me, or affirm me, or call me a big girl's blouse (even if it would be entertainingly weird to do so)?

Is a blog the place for that?

Over my internet life I've hung around in different areas depending on my mood and where my brain was at at the time. Those places had varying levels of interactivity. I've done chat rooms, message boards/forums, blogging... I never got into newsgroups, but I'd imagine that my lack of computer time during newsgroup heyday was really the only reason that I didn't.

I've jumped into things with both feet, got into discussions and arguments, been part of communities, made friends...

I don't expect any of that from blog comments.

As a matter of fact, although there are several blogs I read on a regular basis, I hardly ever comment on any of them. Why? For a few reasons, I think. Number one, if I'm going to be honest, is that as I've gotten older I've moved much more into lurker mode generally. Even the communities that I'm still a member of don't hear from me often. I suppose one gets to the point where it feels like everything's been said, and there's only so much me too-ing that can be done.

I also feel like blogs don't really need my comments. Forums without posts die, but blogs without comments don't usually wither away. People have stat counters (heck, even I have stat counters). They know if they have an audience for their blatherings. Comments might provoke a little more discussion or occasionally suggest a topic (in which case I should be begging people for comments, really. I almost never have topics), but they don't generally decide what's going to happen on the blog overall.

On the other hand, it is nice (every once in a while) to know that one of those numbers on the stat counter is actually a person.

So... blog comments. Valuable? Pointless?

I'm sure I haven't a clue.

Time to change laundry loads anyway. Later, then.





Oh, and WHATEVER YOU DO, DON'T COMMENT ON THIS POST. I mean, really. I've given you such an opportunity to mess with my head. I'll be truly disappointed if you don't take me up on it.

Ok, I haven't got much

And honestly, I'm not really in the mood to blather anyway. Just thought you might like to see (lame photo and all) that there's hope for flowers in the future.

This was taken last weekend, but it didn't make it here until now because... well, see yesterday.

With that, then, I'll see you later.

Or whenever.

Lately it seems like I really shouldn't be promising much in advance, don't you think?

Pointless "I'm still alive" of the day:

Yeah, I'm still here. Sort of. As in, I've spent the last few days dealing with a very unhappy stomach and a fever. And I'm completely blaming the father figure on this one.

Anyway, thanks to the Toronto office for taking over the blather while I was otherwise engaged. Come to it, I'm still pretty much otherwise engaged... but at least I managed to make it off of the bed today. Yay me.

And yes, I did change out of my pyjamas before coming down to the office.

That's all Ive got. Shall we go back a post and stare at the nuthatch some more, then? Yep. Works for me.

And another whatsit photo

I looked through my Audubon a few times, gave it a rest, then looked again and still don't know what this bird is. I have a feeling it's in the book (obviously- duh) and I'm just looking for the wrong sex.
And if that doesn't get a few odd hits in the search engines, I don't know what will.

Anyway, it's pretty - you know, for a bird - and since we seem to have at least two pair hanging around, I thought I'd share.

Oh and I saw a robin a few days ago. After the amount of snow we've had in Toronto this year, that's actually newsworthy. The weather guy on last night's six o'clock rendition of monotony said that on March 26th last year, we enjoyed temperatures of 23 point something or the other degrees. I don't know what's more alarming: that yesterday was 4 or that one year ago it was almost six times that.

And as I'm so known for saying around here: don't tell ME the climate's not goin' to hell.



And now the part you've all been sitting on the edge of your seats for: I'm just fine. No, no, I know you were wondering. The dentist who has put up with patiently treated me all these years is an amazing individual who is not allowed to move or die. He has a wonderful sense of humour, a quiet demeanour and hopefully is not in the least suicidal. Hey, it could happen. They're at the highest risk you know.

I would go bail for him, pay his psychiatric counselling bills and/or help paint his house.

What? What phobia?

Ah, to breathe deeply once more. Until the 7th of April when part two takes place. Oh, I'm sure it will be fine.

As fast and deep as the snow comes

.... there it goes. As of ten minutes ago, anyway.

What you see here is one of the back garden areas. The ability to see something other than white for a change is that a defence manoeuvre of shovelling three feet out from the wall of the house was put into action so that when the melt comes, it goes toward the yard and not toward the basement. Now, I don't know if it would go toward the basement; we've never taken our chances.

It looks almost like dog toys are growing amongst still-ratty-looking plants but the dogs use the rut as a round-about in their play. Can this bode well for the plants, one wonders aloud.

Oh well, as long as the kids are having fun ... they grow up so quickly you know .... um, they're dogs yes. Stop looking at me like that.

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And so to today's "oh that poor thing" portion of the blog. I am going to the dentist this afternoon. I am going to the dentist to have work done.

I expect the appropriate comments to follow, below. Flowers would be nice; valium, or something stronger, much nicer. This is appointment one of two. Yes, it's that kind of work.

Spring had bloody well be around the corner. Or a lottery win. Or something.

Being a grown-up is not all it's made out to be you know and I'll throw a pity party if I want to.

Palm trees, tide coming in

And of course none of the visions one immediately perceives from the subject line of this post are in this post.

Ah, no, friendly readers: that's still the white stuff you're looking at. And I don't mean Bermuda sand. Pretty though, isn't it, all patterned and all.

I'm about to tell Mother Nature what to do with all that prettiness.

Maybe I should go back to hibernating instead. It's not as healthy for my mental health but it is much more pleasant in case anybody is really reading this.

Oh I do carry on about the weather, don't I

Carrying on about the weather is pointless, ergo a good topic for a blathering blog.

This photo was going to be cropped for these purposes but then you, the lucky viewer, wouldn't have gotten the full impact of just how hard the snow was blowing past me/us.

Look toward the black dog and you can see the actual direction of the snow; it appears as striations on her fur.

And you wonder why the Toronto portion of this outfit sometimes goes vewy, vewy qwiet. We're not out huntin' wabbits; we're trying to stave off homicidal tendencies.

And the dogs? They love this weather and turn into door-stops in the spring.

Oh, this might be good

Or maybe bad. As in, I have no idea what's going to come out of this brain today.

It'll be blatherific.

Today's pointless photo, by the way, is of hoar-frosted spiderwebs. We had fog yesterday, you see.

Speaking of fog, I did my taxes last night. Would you like to hear all about them?

Yeah, I kind of figured. Oh well, at least they're done for another year. I have to admit that even after a few rounds of netfiling I'm still not entirely used to my financial situation depending on a simple confirmation number, though. I keep thinking that some official looking person in a suit is going to pop up one day with a half-metre's worth of paperwork, a scowl on his/her face, and a button that says, "Did you honestly think we were serious about the electronic nonsense?".

I do have that slight problem with paranoia, however, so I wouldn't worry about it too much.

Let's see... what else have I got? Well, there's last night's dream about the nature centre's snakes, I suppose, but that was so much a work dream that I'm not sure it bears analysing. I knew exactly what it was from the moment I woke up, so I don't think there's a whole lot of point in hashing it out again.

Besides, I understand that there are a few people out there who don't like snakes for some reason.

Ok, I think I've got one. I said a few days ago that I was going to explain why my love of British entertainment boggles my father a little, and then I never got back to it. It's probably not nearly as interesting as I thought it was going to be, but it'll fill some space.

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First off, let me state outright that I'm under no delusion that everything on UK television is absolutely wonderful. I know that there's a lot of crap out there (as best I can know, that is, having never been over there to see it in person), just like there's a lot of crap over here. I also know that there are some things that British television does very well, and I happen to be a fan of those things.

To be fair, there are also things that Canadian television does well, and I'm a fan of those things too. And, of course, there are things that American television does well. Fill in the rest of the statement yourself. By now you should know how it goes.

Right now we're talking about what British television does well, however.

We could start with costume dramas, I guess, but I have to say that as much as I watch them and enjoy them I do find a lot of them completely ridiculous. I suppose it's because I have an interest in social history, and some of the ways the modern scriptwriter has to twist behaviours and situations from the past to make them seem right to a modern audience appeal to both my ability for righteous indignation and my sense of the absurd. Want an example? Hmmm. Let's see. All right, how about the simple act of kissing? Back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries it would never have happened in public (scandalous!) and, seeing as how dental hygiene wasn't what it is now, wouldn't have been nearly as... um... sought after? as it is today. Frenching a mouthful of rotten teeth isn't quite as romantic as you might think. Erm, not that I know from personal experience. Anyway, today's audience (should I say female audience, or is that being too clichéd?) expects a love story to end with a full-on tonsillectomy, so no matter how preposterous it might be that's what we get.

So much for costume drama. I do like it, though, even if it's kind of silly.

What I really enjoy about British television, actually, is the comedy. I was Pythonised at an early age, but it's since branched out in a big way. I prefer sketch comedy (probably suits the short attention span the best), but I definitely have my favourite sitcoms and... I was going to say quiz shows, but does QI really count as a quiz show? I think maybe it needs a category of its own.

I have a fair amount of stuff on DVD, but I'll watch what comes up on PBS or on the specialty channels. And, of course, nowadays I catch what I can through the internet. I'll sit down here in front of the computer for longer than I care to admit laughing my fool head off at whatever my random (ok, not always terribly random) searches have managed to pull up and wishing that some of our local television providers could see that they should be rebroadcasting this stuff in Canada. Just to please me, yes.

All of which puzzles my father a bit.

There's somewhat of a mental block there, I have to say, and it might not be the one you're expecting. I know that some of our more "clever" rednecks like to make fun of nancy British accents and wonder why so many of the men seem to like dressing up in women's clothing, but that's not the trouble for my dad.

He was born in England, you see. A war baby. After the war my grandma, a war bride, came to Canada to start a new life with the Canadian soldier she'd married. I've no doubt that she was homesick, and since her husband died when my father was in his teens she more or less found herself stuck raising three boys in a strange country.

As a result, my father grew up hearing how great England was and how things would have been different there. And, you might imagine, resenting it. As a result, his tendency as an adult was to avoid most things English.

Ending up with an anglophile daughter confuses him a little, I think.

It doesn't confuse me. Combine a taste for the English sense of humour with a curiosity about my own family's history and add in the fact that I never had to live with having another country valued over my own, and it seems pretty natural that I'd seek out English things.

And if I'm going to be honest I think I may have won him over to Fry and Laurie at least a little bit.

However grudgingly.

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And with that, boys and girls, today's novel is officially more than long enough. Happy Easter to those of you celebrating, and if I happen to not be near a computer tomorrow (haven't quite decided what the plans are yet)... you know, I have no idea how I was going to end that sentence. Happy day after Easter?

Yep, that'll do.

The problem with recharging by USB port is...

... that by the time the thing I'm recharging (yes, there was a thing recharging. I haven't yet figured out how to recharge myself by USB port) is done recharging I don't really feel like blog-blathering.

And I couldn't blather while the thing was recharging?

Well... it was taking up a port, you see. That makes it difficult to fit my nerdstick into the other port to upload a pointless photo. And if you think I'm going to bother with the ports in the back just for the sake of a pointless photo...

Anyway. In the absence of proper blather (proper blather? Is there such a thing?) I do have a link for you. If you think the things I occasionally do with pointless photos aren't quite right, how about checking out some professional disasters? Seriously. People got paid for those messes.

As for me, I need to change laundry loads now. And you needed to know that, yes. I'll try for actual blather later on in the weekend.

Pointless photo of the day:

And that's it for the day because I got busy with something else.

Seems to me I droned on enough for three days in yesterday's post anyway, so you may as well go back and read that if you're jonesing.

Mindless random bleeping

And an apple.

Why?

No idea... or maybe, given the circumstances, I should say no bleeping idea.





And what circumstances would those be, Dee?

You were asking, I hope.

The circumstances would be that I've decided I haven't the foggiest idea what's going on with censorship in American television. Not Canadian television, no. I have a pretty good handle on Canadian television. American television censorship, though, is so mindbogglingly random that I think I'm going to have to give up trying to think of reasons for it.

Let's take Craig Ferguson's Late Late Show as an example, since that's what's got me scratching my head lately. Er... I was going to link to him, but then I remembered that he's already living right over -----> there on the sidebar. I'm sure you can find him. Anyway. First, let's consider the fact that the show is a late night program. 12:30 am in most markets, I think (1:30 am here, but that's why Whomever invented DVRs after all). One would think that if you're old enough to be watching television at 12:30 am that you might also be capable of listening to the occasional colourful word without being shocked completely out of your bathrobe.

Yes, I know that last phrase made no sense. Let's carry on, shall we?

Now, I watch enough American television to know that they (the American censors, I mean) are a fair bit more uptight about swearing and such than we are here, but seriously. A late night show. Can't things relax enough on a late night show that you're not bleeping the word TITS, people?

Tits. Really. They bleep the word tits.

I shouldn't be terribly surprised, though. These are the same people that started pixellating Ferguson's thumb when he does that silly spider thing with his hand because somebody out there might actually start thinking of his thumb as a spider's penis.

For those of you who haven't seen it, I promise I'm not making this up. And we won't even talk about the fact that spiders don't even have penises, ok?

It's all just so weird and pointless. I know some people blame it on nervousness after CBS was fined for the whole nipple affair (who knew Janet Jackson had nipples? Shock!), but it's so very arbitrary -- and not just with CBS. Hey folks, let's all bleep god because using that word will offend a few Christians. Maybe we'll let ass squeak through but... oh no. Vice President Cheney just called someone an asshole. We can't be allowing asshole. But we've already allowed ass? No problem. We'll just bleep the hole instead. That's the part that makes it dirty.

I still shake my head whenever I see someone refer to an assbleep.

The thing that gets me (besides the complete and utter silliness of it all) is that if they'd spend less time worrying about bleeping every little thing that might offend people, those things would probably just slip by without even being noticed at all. Do you think I would have remembered that so-and-so used a naughty word on Letterman if the word hadn't mysteriously gone missing from the soundtrack sometime in post-editing?

All that kind of paranoia does is make the five-year-old in us (ok, maybe just in me) want to rewind and try to read lips.

I suppose it's more noticeable to those of us in the Great White North because we get the first-hand comparison between programming that originates in the States and programming that originates here. Things are much, much looser here Canada (believe it or not), and it just makes the random bleeping from the south seem even more pointless.

It bugs me too. It implies that people don't have the brains to decide for themselves what they can and can't tolerate listening to. It's all part and parcel with the babysitting mindset that many of us seem to have nowadays. We need our governments to protect us (and our children, naturally) from every stupid little thing that might offend our virgin ears and eyes.

God help us if we protected ourselves. You remember how to do that, right? It's called turning the channel. And as far as your kids go, just try paying more attention to what they're watching. If you don't like it... turn the channel.

Bleeping idiots.

I could go on (and on and on), but my two fans already know some of my language philosophy and for those of you who don't, don't worry. It's sure to come up again.

You're welcome to turn the channel before then, though.

Pointless photo of the day:

And that's all you're getting because I have other things to do.

That, and I don't feel like blathering about limping.

That, and I think I'm having a bit of a cranky hangover from yesterday.





Bye, then.

Pointless... oh, why even pretend

Hi. I'm tired and cranky.

Regular readers (all two of you) know that this never bodes well for the blog.

And if today's pointless photo looks familiar, that's because it's of bread in a bush just like this one. I thought you might be curious as to how much of the bread the chickadees have managed to pick away in the course of a couple of months.

If you're not, just ignore the photo. I don't care.

See above re: tired and cranky.

Your choice of topic for today is between A) my tendency towards anglophility (is too a word. For now, anyway) and the confusion that causes in my father, and B) why I was nearly eaten by a garter snake today.

Actually, now that I come to think of it, topic B isn't much of a topic. The snake was hungry. The snake is not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. The snake occasionally mistakes things like sticks, the heat rock's cord, and fingers for small dead mice (aka food). End of story, and a not very interesting story at that.

Good thing garter snakes are small, is all I can say.

Anyway, topic A.

Topic A.

I'm not sure I'm in the mood for topic A now. Can we save topic A for tomorrow, or maybe the weekend?

Of course we can. My blog, my rules. Oh, except for the part where the Toronto office gets to make her own rules should she choose to. Feel her power. Fear her power. Melt her snow.

But not all at once, mind. That could get messy.





I have no idea what section of the tired and cranky brain that last bit came from, but it's staying now. I, on the other hand, am going. See you whenever.

Something about green something or other

Sorry. I don't have any shamrocks on my nerdstick. The kenilworth ivy will have to do.

So, since this is the day when everyone seems to be stretching their heritage to the breaking point in order to prove that they're Irish, why should I be any different? Here it is, then:

I have exactly one Irish great-great-grandmother. Or had. She's not been in existence for quite some time now, but she used to be.

For anyone keeping track, I can also prove myself to be a little bit Welsh, a bit more French Huguenot, a fair bit more Ukrainian, and a whole whack of English.

Not that you cared, of course. I just thought I should be upfront about the whole Irish thing.

I am wearing green at the moment, but it wasn't a terrible stretch to put on my green UNIFORM shirt the way I do most work days. Does that count as being in the spirit of the day? I could have worn my beige shirt instead, after all.

And how am I planning to celebrate? Well, I did try to convince Wheat that we need to lay in some Guinness for this afternoon's staff meeting. He, actually, was all for it. And it'd make staff meetings a little bit more tolerable for my short attention span, really.

Our staff meetings aren't all that bad, if I want to be entirely truthful. It's just that I generally only have a small window of time in them before I start doodling or staring out the window or making smartarse comments that probably annoy the hell out of everyone. And why do I do this when I know it's annoying? To keep myself awake. That's all. I'm a five-year-old.

By the way, since I brought up Guinness I should mention that I'm very much not a beer drinker (never developed the taste for it) but for whatever reason I don't mind the occasional pint of stout. Why someone who doesn't particularly like beer should want to drink stronger-tasting beer is a bit confusing even to me, but it's the fact.

Another fact is that I'm out of stuff. Just as well -- I should get back to work.





Oh, and do I get extra points for writing an entire St Patrick's Day blather without mentioning St Patrick's Day until the end of the post? I think I should.

Pointed photo of the day:

Ok, so it doesn't actually have a physical point. It's just that it's not as pointless as the photos here usually are.

That's a flower, you see. And the flower you see in that rather bad and blurry photograph is my first flower of spring. The ground's still mostly frozen, but that particular johnny-jump-up doesn't seem too bothered by it.

Or didn't.

We had several centimetres of snow last night, so maybe it's bothered now.

If you're thinking that I'm going to go on and whinge about the snow for ten or twelve paragraphs, I'm happy to say that you're wrong. We've hit the time of year when even Yours Pessimistically has to admit that the snow we got last night will be gone (or at least greatly reduced) by the end of the week. All this snow really does is make it necessary to go through even more windshield washer fluid yet again.

That, however, leaves me with a problem. Since I'm not planning to complain about the snow, that means I'm short one blog topic.

As usual.

So, we either find ourselves something worth blathering about or we find ourselves another pointless link to That Place.

That Place is a lot less effort for me, but I'd hate for it to turn into a habit.

On the other hand, it is Sunday and even though I haven't had the music on (I was too busy watching the link that the Toronto office kindly provided in her comment to yesterday's none-too-subtle hint. And if you haven't watched it yet, you really should. It's a good one) and can't use that excuse for the currently empty brain, I've been doing enough of my other regular Sunday activities to not have managed coming up with anything for the blog.

Erm... make your own English sentence out of the above words. Sunday, remember? I don't have to make sense on Sundays.

And on that note, I think I'll go with the easy option. Here you go. And notice that it's the British version rather than the American. We do have a theme (of sorts) on this blog, after all.

See you later.

Oh, you had to expect this

I've got nothing and I'm kind of busy besides.

Too busy for a silly link, even.

I refuse to feel guilty about it, though. I gave you plenty to look at yesterday. And really -- shouldn't the Toronto office have to find me something to watch by now?

If I whinge hard enough do you suppose she would?





Ah well. It was worth a try.

Sensing a theme yet?

Today's excuse? It's too late in the day to bother thinking of anything.

Unfortunately, this creates a bit of a problem. You see, I was just putting up links to silly British things because they amuse me. Now it turns out they're amusing the Toronto office as well, and I'm feeling the pressure.

The pressure to continue being amusing via others' cleverness, that is.

Ah well.

Our choice today...



Hey, that's an idea. Choice.

Here you go, then. A choice between long clip (first of ten, actually) or short clip... um, shorter clip. First of only two, that is.

Up to you how much time you waste, then.







See you tomorrow, when I may even get back to blathering. Pointlessly, of course.

Pointless photo of the next day:

In other words, this is about to be a replay of yesterday.

Oh, except with a different weird link and a bit less moping. This time I'm just tired because I had a full morning's worth of programs.

Can't be bothered to blather when I've already blathered for three hours straight, you know.

And really. Can you blame me?

Weird links goes... here.





Bye now.

Pointless photo of the day:

I've blathered a lot in the past couple of days. I don't especially feel like blathering today.

That means I don't have to blather, right?

What if I told you that I was very nearly defeated by the new UPS I was trying to install? Doesn't being brainless enough to be defeated by a UPS exempt a person from blathering?

Geez. You people are tough.

Ok, how about this. What if I spend a few minutes looking for some random nonsense at That Place and posted it with no real explanation? That kind of thing has managed to pretend to be an actual post before...

Here. It's actually much better than anything you would have got from me today.

May I be excused now?

Corridors

Today's pointless photo is of snow on a rock.

We don't have that much snow now.

Sorry, Toronto office.

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I was reading a paper this morning in the current edition of the Canadian Field-Naturalist detailing how a group of Eastern Coyotes (which are slightly different from the coyotes here in the west. I suppose that's why they're not called Western Coyotes) was able to move between two isolated habitats in a city by using narrow corridors like train right-of-ways. For those not in the conservation business, we often talk about how important corridors or passageways between habitats can be. An isolated habitat acts like an island in that the populations living there often suffer genetic degradation (and other things. Gah. This is starting to sound like one of my old university papers) simply because they are isolated from other populations. Provision of corridors can help prevent or at least slow down the island effect, and the paper I was reading made the point that even micro-corridors can be important to the movement of wildlife.

I was almost more struck, though, by the paper later on in the same edition that described the death of the study's coyote family by an unthinking jackass who decided to illegally poison them. The poisoning itself was pretty disgusting, but what interested me was that there were obviously people in the neighbourhood who had taken an interest in the coyotes and were hurt or at least bothered by the unnecessary destruction. That this came through even in fairly dry scientific writing -- and believe me, I've read enough dry scientific writing to have a feel for it -- was something.

People cared about those coyotes. They were willing to give the scientists information about the animals' movements while they were alive, and they weren't happy about the deaths. Apparently some people in the neighbourhood had even been feeding the coyotes to help them through the winter.

So what was it that made people interested in a family of coyotes living in a cemetery? Coyotes are often considered pests, and in urban environments can be blamed for everything from spreading disease to eating pets. Did these particular coyotes just happen to live in a neighbourhood of nature lovers? Did people become interested in them when they noticed they were wearing radio collars and being monitored? Did the scientists' enthusiasm for the coyotes rub off on the coyotes' neighbours?

Hey, look! It's questions! And what follows questions, boys and girls? Me saying I don't know, of course.

Well, I don't know. There are lots of corridors that can lead people to become interested in things they might not have cared about (or even disliked) before. Shared enthusiasm, seemingly out-of-place things like coyotes in a city, general curiosity... they can all help people to a greater understanding of the life around them in just the same way that a railroad track can help a coyote get to the next greenspace.

The hard part is figuring out which corridors are the likeliest to lead somewhere, I suppose.

And that's what I try to remember when I'm in the middle of trying handling yet another group of school kids who may not seem to care about anything but the fact that they're on a field trip. You never know what might cause someone to discover a corridor.

You never know where it might lead them.






And you know, that's a pretty neat thing when you think about it.

Something. I don't know.

Well, to deal with yesterday's mentioned futility first: Yes. Yes, it was.

Bugger.

This morning was spent looking for light bulbs (nope, not explaining that), sending e-mails, talking to teachers to ask them to rebook (ok, only one teacher was talked to by Yours Blatheringly. But still -- it was part of my morning), and... erm... answering bird questions.

The birds had nothing to do with the equipment problem, in case you were wondering.

But apparently mallards enjoy feedlots.






Can't say I'm surprised there. I mean, who doesn't enjoy a feedlot?

All right, so plenty of people/animals/living creatures in general don't enjoy feedlots. Mallards, though, seem to be another story.



Where was I?

Oh. Right. Pretty much absolutely nowhere. And I'm hungry as well. None of this bodes well for the blog.

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Today's pointless photo is brought to you by the fact that my apartment building's parking lot is currently an icy hell, and if I disappear in the next little while you can assume that it's because I've broken my head or my behind or something.

Can you break a behind? I know you can break a tailbone, but is it possible to break an entire behind? If it is, you'd be able to do it in my apartment building's parking lot.

They don't generally clear it all winter, you see (can you tell I don't live in eastern Canada? Do you suppose anyone out there can even fathom not clearing a parking lot for an entire winter?), so as things start to melt the flatter sections become ice rinks and the divots created by the parked cars become ponds.

They collect all the meltwater, is what I'm trying (mostly unsuccessfully) to say.

I usually get one of the biggest ponds, because the person next to me doesn't own a car and nothing is parked in her spot. That leave a nice big plateau to act as a dam to prevent anything from flowing out of my spot.

Depending on how fast the melt occurs, I can be parked in twenty centimetres of water for a week at a time. It makes it great fun to get into the car as you step from ice onto water-on-ice, and it occasionally makes it interesting to back the car out of the spot if we've had a hard freeze overnight.

A person shouldn't need an ice breaker to get out of her own parking spot, you know.

Anyway, I parked in my own personal lake yesterday and expected to be wading through it to get to work this morning... but I received a very serious shock.

It's drained.

It's actually drained.

The water managed to bore a tunnel through my neighbour's snow pad (and straight into the next person's spot. Hey, I feel for you, buddy). It doesn't mean it's not still taking my life (or, more importantly, my bad ankle) into my hands to try to get into the car, but at least now I don't have to worry about sharks as I do it.

Sharks?

The rare, coldwater parking lot shark, of course. Don't you people have those?






Um.

Yeah.

I think maybe I should go find something to eat. Don't you?

Yeah.

There are days...

... when it's just better to keep it to yourself.

The last few days in a nutshell:
- One useless day at work because I hadn't slept much.
- One day missing work because I hadn't slept at all. That's right, not at all.
- One equipment failure while I was away that Wheat is going to be sooo thrilled to hear about if I can't figure it out today.
- One (predicted -- hasn't happened yet) stab at futility in which I manage to not fix the abovementioned equipment.

None of this, of course even hits at the week's worth of programming we're going to have to cancel if this equipment really is broken.

Gah.

I did sleep a bit last night, at least. Yay me. We're not off to the loony bin just yet, I guess.

Although... it would be a change from the routine. Maybe I should consider it.

Anyway, I suppose I should get on with the frustration. I'd say wish me luck, but there just doesn't seem to be a lot of point to it right now.




Perfect for the blog, then.

I've got nothing... but an earworm or two

Your choice today is between Forty-Five Minutes From Broadway and Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors. Personally I'd go for the sailors...

Um.

That didn't sound quite right.

And no, I don't know why I'm stuck (musically speaking) in the early twentieth century today. Well, ok, I do know the why behind the sailors, but I'm not exactly sure how the Cohan song got added to the mix.

And... I'm having one of those should-have-stayed-home kind of days. The stomach, for whatever reason, decided we weren't eating this morning, I feel like I've been in a brain fog all week, and I'm definitely not qualifying as functional.

Why?

Dunno.

And with that, I'm outta here. Expect my blogging appearances (such as they've been, lately) to be sporadic in the next few days. Kinda busy, you see.

And hopefully the sailors won't be following me around alllll weekend...

Pointless photo of the day:

And that'll be it for today. Just as well, really, because I seem to be in brain-no-work mode anyway.

Say it with me now: And that's different from the usual in what way?




Yeah, yeah, whatever. And shut up, me.

Yes, me. I can't really blame you guys for this, can I?

I'd like to take this opportunity to share something with you....

... I'd like to but for your sake and sanity, I won't. It would be a weather rant and really, do you want to hear about that? I didn't think so.

Suffice to say that the reason you haven't seen or heard from Toronto is because we are snowed in or b) frozen- rained (is so a phrase) in.

As an aside, this may be the only time I've been reigned in. Anyyyyway ...


Enjoy the cat. And me. Caught sleeping by the Smudgelette who sadly was given a very fancy camera for Christmas which she uses in abundance.

It's not really a face plant on my part; I'm just hidden behind the cat's bum and you can't see me clearly.
You know, come to think of it, I don't think I've had occasion to use that phrase before.

Going to go shovel the driveway now. Again. I told winter I give up already so I just don't know why it keeps throwing its weight around.

Spot the deer

Otherwise occupied at the moment, so the pointless photo will have to do.

And if the Toronto office asks... no, I don't know for sure that the deer's name was Spot.

I could have titled the post Count the deer instead, I guess. There's more than one hiding in this shot:

Just another day in the back alley

Story, with pictures:

Hey. That's fresh deer scat (yes... I did have a picture of this part. Decided against posting a pointless poop photo).

Hey. That's a fresh deer track:



Hey. That's a fresh...



Well, hey. That would explain the other bits.

Yep, I was accidentally playing stupid deer games yesterday. Stupid as in I probably shouldn't have been so close, but this particular group of mulies is getting almost frighteningly used to being watched. I suppose it figures -- they are, after all, hanging out right in the middle of town.

Incidentally, that's why I decided not to crop the second photo. I thought that seeing the houses in the background would give you the idea that I wasn't exactly out in the country when I took the shot. Click on the photo for the full-sized version of a young deer who thought it would be a good idea to come have a closer look at the idiot with the camera.

The rest of the group, including mom, was just over to my left. You'll probably see more of them tomorrow, depending on what I feel like posting.

My father lives in a rural town, but he very definitely lives in town. These deer are making use of a vacant lot behind my father's place that's never been cleared. It's sort of an accident of urban planning, actually. Not really on a main road, and the people who own it have never done much with it.

A small lot like that is a perfect example of how little green space it takes to attract wildlife. The place is absolutely full of birds every spring and summer, and the deer take it over in the winter. It used to be a real playground for my brother and me when we were kids, as well.

I'm undecided as to whether we counted as wildlife.

Of course, an isolated green space with no way to move into it isn't a perfect spot. Food and shelter are pretty limited, and over time the populations of animals living there can become inbred and unhealthy. Give the animals a way to migrate from green space to green space, though, and a small lot like this one can be an important part of the habitat.

Gah. I'm beginning to sound like I'm delivering a program at work. Must be the hint to stop typing. If you're interested in green spaces and the island effect I'm sure you're just as capable as I am of using your favourite search engine and doing some reading.

I'll take questions later.

Go back and look at the deer now.

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One last thing before I stop blathering: have you noticed how I haven't mentioned a single thing about the provincial election on Monday?






Yeah.

One more thing...

What a neat idea for a blog.

I think I'll be adding this one to the sidebar.

Posting on a weekend brain

I had something to say, but it's hard to make my brain care on a weekend. And yes, the music's been playing all morning.

Musical distractions never help the blog. It's more fun to sing along than blather.

Ah well. Let's talk leaves for a moment, then. It'll pass as a topic.

I take a fair number of pointless leaf photos. New leaves in the spring, mature leaves, turning leaves, and dead leaves. I'd say I don't know why, but that wouldn't be entirely true.

I like the way leaves look.

I like the structures of (and in) leaves, I like the shapes, I like the patterns, and I like the functionality. I find a lot of beauty in functionality, but we can discuss that another time when I'm in more of a pseudophilosophical mood.

I take a fair number of leaf photos, as I said, and they spend an awful lot of time sitting on my nerdstick and not being used for anything. You see, I take the pictures and I like the pictures, but when it comes to posting them on the blog a little voice inside my head (one of the many) takes over and tells me that if I keep posting leaf photos my two fans will get extremely tired of leaves.

I care about you people, you know.

Or maybe I just don't want to see anyone getting tired of leaves.

Leaves are pretty cool, really.

If you want to look at leaves from a different (and purely aesthetic. I'm not in the mood to talk biology today. It is the weekend, after all) point of view, try cutting out a couple of small cardboard frames -- sort of like an old-fashioned photographic slide frame -- and sandwiching a leaf between them. Um... I suppose you'll have to wait for spring to try this, but... oh, wait. Lettuce would do, if you're desperate to try to see things from my point of view. Ok then. Take your cardboard-and-leaf sandwich and hold it up to a light source. It'll give you a clearer look at the veins and other structures that are below the cuticle and epidermis. This works best with thinner leaves, naturally.

And what's the point of the exercise?

Just a different way of looking at things, that's all. You could compare leaves from different plants if you want to get a feel for leaf variety, or you could simply enjoy the various shapes hidden within a leaf.

Or, if you do it out in the yard come spring, you could make your neighbours wonder if you've gone completely bats. That's good too.




And on that note... I need to go change laundry loads. Expect a few more leaf photos in the next little while, now that I've explained them a bit. I'm getting tired of them taking up space for no reason.