Boo... or whatever

Sorry, I've never been one to get all excited about Halloween. Plus I have a headache because of the stupid disrupted sleep I had last night.

Or maybe it's the Toronto office's fault. Didn't I say that it was time to blame the Toronto office for things like that?

I don't know. Either way, I'm not exactly in blather mood.

Oh, and if you're wondering what costume I chose for today, I happen to be dressed as a Nature Centre Interpreter.

It works for me.

If you need something a bit more Halloweeny than Yours Crankily, well... try this. Hey, I liked it.

Going now. Try not to eat too much sugar tonight, ok? I can't deal with you people when you're all hyper and annoying.

Sooo helpless... and that's not annoying at all

Right from the top I'll say excuse me if this gets snitty quickly. I had a bit of a gwk (that'd be Gimpy the Wonder Klutz, for those new to the program) moment this morning (and personally I'm blaming the Toronto office for bringing up the whole gwk thing last night. I'd been doing fairly well in the clumsiness department until she reminded me of my old internet moniker. It's all her fault, then, and I'm going to keep saying that until she actually responds in some way. My counter tells me she hasn't been stopping by the blog too much lately, so this blame game may go on for a while...) and right now my throbbing ankle's telling me that I probably should have put a brace on before I came to work.

Oops.

Ah well. I'll just try to walk carefully, that's all. Not that it worked out so well this morning, but whatever.





Um, anyway.

I don't have much on the brain at the moment, but I did want to address something I saw while waiting at the garage (for two effing hours, did I mention?) earlier in the week. Now, to set the scene a bit, this garage is a fairly busy place. It also has a little drive-through thing where you drop off your car for servicing, and the drive-through is visible from the waiting area. Those of us with short attention spans (i.e. me) spent a fair amount of the two hours we were there watching people drop off their cars.

At one point a woman pulled in, obviously without an appointment, and wanted something looked at right away. Something to do with the back end of the car. I was intrigued.

Ok, honestly? I was just really bored. I watched because it was about the only thing to watch.

The next thing I knew, the guy at the service desk headed out there with a screwdriver and started to take the thing apart right in the drive-through. That's when it dawned on me. This woman had come all the way to a busy dealership garage to have someone replace a burned-out tail light.

Seriously.

And then she had the nerve to ask (or more like threaten) whether they were going to tack on a labour charge on top of the cost of the bulb.

Geeeeez.

They didn't, for some reason. I would have.

You see, the thing is that changing a tail light isn't hard. You generally need a screwdriver and a bulb. Sometimes the hardest part is just finding the right screwdriver (I need a torx head for mine, and that can admittedly be a bit of a pain in the arse in a pinch). And if you don't know how to take apart the mount to get to the burned-out bulb? Well... hey girls, that's what owner's manuals are for. Most cars have them in the glove compartment, you know. Just turn to the part that says tail lights.

It's just that simple.

Now, I know that it sounds like I'm making a big deal out of nothing and that the folks at the garage see that kind of thing all the time, but that's sort of my point. They see that kind of thing all the time, and there's no reason for it. I just don't get the whole helpless femme act that seems to be the regular m.o. for a large part of the female population. I'm a girl. I couldn't possibly fix a minor problem with my car (house, lawnmower, insert other objects ad nauseum) all by myself.

Gah.

Hey, I'm a girl too. I'm not terribly mechanical. I know enough about how to read instructions, though, to at least ATTEMPT to figure minor things out. I know when I'm out of my depth, but I'm willing to give something a try before deciding that it's beyond me.

All right. In the interest of full disclosure I will admit that ages ago when I had to take some aptitude tests as part of a career workshop -- back in the days when I thought that I might like to have a career someday -- I scored much higher on the mechanical aptitude test than I would have expected. That's just aptitude, though. It doesn't mean that I actually know how to do anything mechanically-related.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that most of us are only as helpless as we want to make ourselves. And when you want to make yourself helpless for no good reason, that's juuust a little bit annoying. Both to the people who get stuck helping you and to the people who are rolling their eyes after discovering yet another useless twit in the world.

The world has enough useless twits already.

If you choose to be one of them, then I get to choose to roll my eyes.




Sounds like a fair deal to me.

Oh hell, I don't know

I ran out of begonias. Bergenia's close enough, I figure.

So, blather. As the post title indicates, I don't know. I'm still not in the best of moods, and it was a noisy night in the apartment building yesterday. I went to bed early, but apparently not everyone had the same idea. I have a headache.

I've also had the Belle of Belfast City going through my head on an indeterminate loop. You may as well too, although this isn't the version my brain was singing. It's all right, though.

Oh, and the Toronto office needs to know that I don't charge my phone in the shower.

Apparently even the snakes get a bit out of sorts this time of year, since they're not eating worth a darn (just ask me how many four letter words came out during feeding this morning. From me, not the snakes... although maybe they were cussing too. I wouldn't know. And just fyi, the four letter frustration was under my breath. Too many children in the room at the time for a full expression of my feelings about the general stupidity of garter snakes). It must be something to do with photoperiod, best I can figure. Garter snakes naturally are in hibernacula this time of year, but since the only condition that's changed for our indoor snakes is the amount of sunlight they're getting it's got to be length of day that's telling them they're supposed to be sleeeeepy.

That's fine. I'm sleepy too. It just makes it a pain in the arse to try to take care of them, that's all.

Anyway.

I guess I should get back to not writing the newsletter.

Yep.

Any chance that taking boring pictures of grey autumn trees counts as working on the newsletter, do you think?






Yeah, me too.

If you can't say anything nice...

Yeah. I really shouldn't blather today. Got myself a bit of a mood thing going on.

And why?

Well, it could be the pestilence that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my throat (did I mention that?).

Or maybe it's the fact that my oil change/winterising trip to the garage yesterday turned into a $600-or-your-car-probably-won't-start-this-winter hit to the wallet. Oh, Dirty Moe. Do I need to remind you yet again that if I had my druthers I wouldn't even have a car? Our love affair is not only over; I don't think it ever really started.

Yep, not much of a car person, me.

What else can I tell you about my mood?

How about IT'S NEWSLETTER TIME AGAIN?

Yay newsletter time. All the joys of trying to figure out what I'm going to write about, chasing down everyone else to write something, and then trying to figure out how to make those collective somethings sound a little bit like English.

Just about as fun as it sounds, boys and girls.

Anyway. That's what's up with me. Sorry for the lack of thought (and really -- considering that I just spent two hours at a garage reading a book on philosophy because that's all I brought along with me because I wasn't expecting to spend TWO HOURS AT THE EFFING GARAGE, I should have at least a few thoughts rolling around my head. Apparently they're all cranky ones today though) or effort lately, but sometimes you really do get what you pay for.

I guess I could at least find you a clip of some sort to watch, couldn't I?

All right. Gimme a sec.

This'll do. I might have linked to it before, but I'm too cranky to check just now. It's still funny even if I have, though.

So there.

A message for the Gods of the Cold

Guys? This stopped being funny about three weeks ago. I get it. You're all powerful. Three cheers for you and all your snotty glory. However...

I really need my voice back.

Geez. Enough is enough, already.

And yes, I do know that yesterday's time in the planetarium has managed to restrain everything and that's why it's worse today. Knowing the reason doesn't make me any less cranky though.

And on that cranky note, have another begonia. I'm thinking that maybe I should just make the blog all begonias all the time. At least until next spring, when I might actually feel like taking some new photographs.

I'm going now.

Another day, another I've Got Nothing

Yeah, see post title.

And have another begonia.

Later, all.

Pointless photo of the day:

I don't have anything today. I don't even have any recent photos on my nerdstick. I'd go out and take some, but A) I don't have my camera with me this weekend, and B) right now is boring. And windy. It's going to be a wonderful drive home this afternoon.

That's it for the blather.






Seriously, that's it. I'm hungry. I need to go find something for lunch.








Go away now...

Pointless anatomical terminology annoyance of the day:

You know what? Not really of the day. More like of the very very VERY long time and it's finally driven me to the point where I have to mention it on the blog.

And I don't care that the above had nothing to do with proper sentence structure.

Anyway. This'll be short because I've blathered enough in the past couple of days to keep you occupied, but (as I stated above. You might have noticed me stating it above) a niggling annoyance of mine has niggled for so long that it's become a giant pet peeve and must be named:

Ladies. Yes, ladies. Your attention please. If, for whatever reason, you choose in the next while to pull a Britney and wear a very short shirt sans knickers, rest assured that you will not run the risk of showing anyone your VAGINA.

Want to know why?

It's because the only way someone is going to see your vagina is if s/he is doing an internal exam.

It's true. Look it up. And if you don't know what the word means, stop using it.

Geez.

And incidentally, it's perfectly possible that your short-skirted self may accidentally show the world your VULVA. But please... just don't.





Ok, I'm done. Unless, that is, anyone would like links to some good human anatomy reference sites. Apparently more than a few of us need a refresher about our own bodies.


And that doesn't bug me AT ALL.

Cut this, people

That was originally going to be Cut this, bastards. Then I thought that was unnecessarily harsh.

See? I do too have filters.

Anyway, I don't have a whole bunch on the brain today (and I have to go set up for a program in a while) so I thought I'd pass on a bit of information to those of you out there who may be the non-lefty parents of left-handed children. I maybe should have done this before school-supply buying time, but while I do have filters I never said I have a sense of proper occasion. Ready for the information? Here it comes:

There are no such things as scissors that are built for both left-handed and right-handed people.

Really.

Yes, I know they advertise them as "good for right or left hand", but they only advertise them that way because they want you to buy them. And stores stock them because they don't want to be left with a whole bunch of unsold lefty scissors.

The fact is that so-called right-or-left scissors are only called that because the finger holes are moulded without the part that's supposed to fit better in your hand. That sort of tilt to the holes that feels great to a person using the hand that they were designed for, but cut right into the joints of a person using the opposite hand. The logic used by the producers, I guess, is that if they leave off the moulding altogether ANY hand can use the scissors easily.

It's not quite that simple, though.

It's the blades that matter, you see. Not really the handles. The blades on left-handed scissors are reversed from the blades on right-handed scissors.

Don't believe me? Run out and get a pair of each -- proper ones, mind -- and have a look at them. On a right-handed pair of scissors the blade that goes down when the scissors are opened is on the left, and on a left-handed pair of scissors it's on the right.

See? I told you.

And right about now all you uppity dextral types are wondering why this matters.

Simple.

It's how you see.

A left-handed person (especially a young left-handed person) using a pair of right-handed scissors may find it difficult to cut on a line because the line itself is blocked by the upper blade. This might not sound like much, but when you're just learning to use scissors it becomes very frustrating in a hurry. Especially if you're in a classroom and notice that your right-handed friends don't seem to be having nearly as much trouble as you are.

Um, voice of experience here.

Actually, I was lucky in that sense. I didn't get stuck with right-handed scissors too often when I was little, and it was mostly because no one was advertising scissors as right-or-left back then. There were right-handed scissors and there were left-handed scissors (usually with a big, embarrassing lefty embossed on the blade) and even though it was sometimes a pain in the arse to try to find left-handed scissors in the small town where I grew up, my parents generally managed.

I wonder if I'd have had the same luck as a kid today, though. Well-meaning parent buys right-or-left scissors and then concludes that clumsy left-handed child is just a little slow at catching on to how scissors are supposed to work? I don't know, but I do remember the surprise of a long-time college teacher of early childhood development when I was taking her art course and demonstrated the difference between left- and right-handed scissors to her. That was a professional who knew her way around children and their learning patterns, and she'd never realised that proper scissors could make such a difference to a child. I can't imagine the average parent knowing any better.

Erm... this has gone on a lot longer than I was planning it to, you know.

And why?

BECAUSE ALL WE HAVE AT WORK ARE RIGHT-HANDED SCISSORS, DAMMIT.






What can I say? Self will intrude...

Now go out and buy your kid some proper scissors, already.

See below:

So... hey. It's been a while, but I'm actually going to blather at you now.

Shall I give you a moment to recover from the shock?






Ok then. What with all the being sick and the being cranky and the being... well, just generally me lately, I haven't been doing much of anything (outside of work time, that is. I've been doing lots of anything at work, which is probably why I don't feel like doing a whole bunch of anything at work right now) but reading. No new books at all; I've just been picking up random things off of my shelves that looked like they might stand a chance of getting me past the sick or the cranky or the just generally me.

Success? Here and there.

Oh, and if anyone happens to care about what I've got on the go just now, click on the Shelfari widget on the sidebar, go to my shelf, and then hit the Reading link. And if you decide to browse the rest of my shelf and have figured out that I'm pretty much completely insane, bear in mind that I've only entered about a third (nah, it's gotta be less that that) of the books currently taking up space in my apartment and on my work desk. If I ever get them ALL entered, then you'll know for sure that I'm pretty much completely insane. Or at least a bit on the eclectic side as far as my tastes go.

And... if you yourself have a Shelfari shelf (hey! A rhyme!), let me know or friend me or something. I'm still fairly new to the thing so I haven't done a lot of looking around at other people's books yet. I'd love to know how high your tastes rank you on the pretty-much-completely-insane-ometer.







I've so completely lost the track of whatever it was I was going to blather about.

Bet you hadn't guessed.

Scrolling back up a bit...




All right. Got it. So, as I said, I've been reading because I haven't had the energy/enthusiasm for much of anything else, and I was reminded of something that kind of bugs me. Footnotes. Footnotes, chapternotes, endnotes, whatevernotes they happen to be in each particular editor's mind. How do you feel about whatevernotes?

Personally, I like notes. I often find myself reading some unusual things, and my brain's enough of a trivia collector that it's happy when it finds itself in a book that has extra information in the form of notes. Yay superscripts. Superscripts mean that we are going to be having an info PARTY, boys and girls.

Yeah, I like notes. What I don't like, though, is having to flip through an entire book over and over again to find them.

Footnotes? Footnotes are great. I know that there are people out there who find them distracting, but to me footnotes are exactly what notes should be. Have a superscript? See below. That's all there is to it. Don't want to see below? Then ignore the superscript and continue reading.

Endnotes, however, bug the snot out of me. They're bad enough when they're all collected together at the back of the book, but when they're printed at the end of each chapter? Geez. Or maybe even wtf. What are you supposed to do with that sort of organisational annoyance? Continually flip back and forth? Hold a finger in the book to mark the chapter's end? Hunt around for yet another bookmark so that you don't have to wreck the pages by holding a finger in the book?

I've done all of the above (and moreso. Don't even ask about the day of the mandarin orange papers), and it's ALL ANNOYING.

Come on, people. I like books. A lot. Where do you get off trying to make books annoying to me? That's not cricket.

Well of course that's not cricket. It's books. Look: this is a book, and this is a cricket. Or this is a cricket, if you prefer (yes, I did know where the phrase comes from. I was just seeing if you were paying attention). They're not the same thing at all, really.

Aaaaand things just got silly. Time to stop typing and go and get some groceries then, I guess. What with all the being sick and the you know the rest by now, the cupboard's looking more than a little bare today.

Later, then.

Notice I didn't say which tomorrow?

Yeah. And a good thing too. Skipped out yesterday, busy now...

Maybe we'll try for tomorrow tomorrow?





Whatever. Again.

And tomorrow...

Ok, here's the deal. I do have something I was going to blather about, but now I've found something else I want to do. Or watch, rather. Sooo...

Remind me to talk about footnotes tomorrow.

Yep, footnotes.

Of course, you do know that by tomorrow I won't feel like blathering about footnotes...






Ah well. Whatever.

See you tomorrow.

No flipping idea

I'm kind of tired and cranky. I realise that there's been nothing worth reading posted by me in the past while, but I'm kind of tired and cranky.

Oh, sorry. I said tired and cranky already.

More than once, in fact.

Anyway, since you asked (you did, didn't you?), I'm feeling better (finally) but I'm still coughing away as my body tries to get the remaining crud out of its system. Oh, and because of said crud my voice is still very much touch and go.

I make my living with my voice, remember?

This is all getting very annoying.

Makes a person tired and cranky.

You know, I actually had stuff I wanted to say on the blog earlier in the week when I was too busy to find the time to sit down and type it. And now, when all I'm doing is coughing (oh, and laundry)? I don't feel like typing anything. Some topics have a short shelf life, I guess. Either that or I'm just tired and cranky.

So, what to do?

Aim for tomorrow, I suppose.

Next week should be a bit more readable anyway (although I wouldn't take that as a promise) because I'll finally be able to sit down in the office for more than a half hour at a time. I know I complain when I'm in the office too much, but with the fall programming rush it seems like I really haven't been in the office at all lately.

Kind of gives me the shudders to think about what sort of work's been piling up in the background, really.

Maybe I don't want to go back to the office after all.








Sounds like a recipe for tired and cranky to me.

Not-so-pointless post of the moment:

Kind of busy just now, but I thought the blog needed a little something in memory of Levi Stubbs. Remember music where people actually sang?

Yeah.

Pointless photo of the day:

And another non-post. Sorry, but my head is about to explode and I'm not really thinking that blather is a terribly high priority at the moment.

Pointless photo of the day:

Still sick. Better mood, but no time for blather.

Have some leaves, then.

Bleah

It's buggeringly cold out there with the wind, I'm having a reaction because of it, I didn't feel well to begin with, and I still have one more program to go today.

I AM SOOO NOT GOING TO BLATHER.

Trust me. The world's a better place for it.

Oh, nothing

That's right, nothing.

I've got nothing.

Must be a linky type of day then, right?

Ok, first off... this. And of course if you have that, you also need to have this.

And now let's add something from the world of magic.

And since magic reminds me of top hats and one can't have enough Fred Astaire, have a look at this. All of the men in tailcoats are just a bonus for Yours Blatheringly.

Can't forget the Gene Kelly fans, of course.

Aw. Now I'm all in a Gershwin mood.

And having featured Ginger, I can't forget Cyd.

Tired of old musicals yet? Well, let's see what I can do.

Well... this is a little less old. And slightly less musical. And this is... um... I'm not sure what to say about that, exactly.

But it does lead me to this. That's a good thing, right?

Well, this is a good thing too, I think.

And it takes me pretty naturally to this...

Which, oddly enough, takes me straight back to this (via this, if you like). Funny how things go in circles like that.






It gives me a place to end this nonsense, at least. Going now.

Oh, something

Yep, I've been too busy playing around the internet to bother thinking about blathering.

Or blathing, which is what I just typed.

It's going to be that kind of a post, folks.





Ok, here's something. Probably a mostly nothing something, but we'll give it a try. I've been finding myself in the doodling mood a bit more often lately (these things sort of go in circles with me) and I was thinking about buying myself a Moleskine or two as a treat. Is anyone out there familiar with them? I know that they have quite a cult following and that a lot of people swear by them, but my main concern is whether I'd find the paper at all inspiring.

Erm, yeah.

I get inspired by good paper.

That's not weird.




And shut up, world.

The reason I ask this is that I find my field sketchbook decidedly UNinspiring. I mean, it has what it needs (that'd be a spiral binding, a hard cover for support, and reasonably heavy paper) for what it's supposed to do (that'd be to be used for sketching out in the field, naturally) but it's a boring, boring book. So boring that I'm not even going to tell you which company made it because I can't remember offhand. And I'm usually pretty good at remembering art paper.




Shut up. That's not weird either.

So anyway. To buy a Moleskine or not to buy a Moleskine. I know a couple of places where I could get a reasonably good deal on one, so the outlay wouldn't be a problem. It's just... will I use it? Or would it end up being yet another case of a good idea at the time that'll end up sitting empty in my apartment while I return to wasting the good old Canson 90lb drawing pad on mindless scribbles?

And for those looking to make a smartass comment right about now... NO, THE PAD DOES NOT WEIGH NINETY POUNDS. Didn't I already tell you to shut up anyway?

Um, sorry. Apparently this cold has made me a little bit moody.

I think maybe I should end before this post, which was ostensibly about harmless Moleskines, suddenly goes off on a strangely ranty tangent.

That sounds like a very good idea.

Happy Thanksgiving Turkey, for those who are eating it today. And for those who are eating it tomorrow... well, come back and read this when it better applies. I can't do everything for you people.

*squeak*

No, not the pointless photo. It's pointless, as usual.

----------

So, I said yesterday that maybe I'd have something worth typing today. I don't. You can stop reading here, if you like.







What I do have is a very annoying nose (well, more what I can't get out of my nose. If anyone out there happens to get this particular cold, you'll find out soon enough all the joys of very thick mucous. TMI? TDB. Erm... that last was too damned bad, for anyone who wasn't following my train of lack-of-thought) and very little voice. There's a bit more of it than there was yesterday, thank goodness, but I'm pretty grateful that it's the weekend and I don't have any groups of children to shout at for a few days.

I'm doing my best to rest the stupid thing (the voice, that is), but I'm finding out in a hurry that I don't, normally. Rest it, I mean. I guess I'm not very good at being quiet on a daily basis.

For example, do you have any idea just how much singing I generally do in a day? I didn't. It's a lot, though. I don't want you to think I do nothing but burble night and day (or burble Night and Day, which I guess would be a more specific compulsion), but there's an awful lot of music echoing through the empty spaces in my head (and exiting through the mouth) when my brain isn't engaged in much else.

Like when I'm doing laundry on a Saturday morning, for instance. I honestly didn't realise that I normally provide myself quite the soundtrack while I'm sorting clothes. And loading the machine. And hanging the things that can't go through the dryer...

It's the way my brain works, you see. I always have a tune in my head. Always. I've mentioned it to people now and then, and I've had more than one person say it'd drive them nuts if they always had music playing in the mental background. Me, I'm the opposite. I went through a bit of a bad thing a number of years ago, and it's the only time I can remember lacking music in my thoughts. It was quiet, empty, and scary, and I really don't want it to happen again. It's a comfort to me to be able to... um... "carry" a tune. Or several.

Besides, it helps keep the voices down to a dull whinge.

Anyway, apparently the music isn't always just in my head, because I've found myself having to STOP myself from singing over and over and over again this morning. Kind of annoying, but I do want things to heal at least a little over the weekend since I have yet another full (if short) week coming up so far as the voice is concerned.



I don't have an ending for today's blather, you know. Anyone up for a little more Cole Porter? Well, I am and it's my place after all. Take it away, Valaida.

I'm off to add a few more books to my Shelfari shelf (check the sidebar if you don't know what I'm on about). If I ever get every book that I own on there, it'll either look very impressive or like an extremely serious case of OCD. I'm fine with whichever.

Ok, so I don't really have anything

Not even a voice.

Yeah, it's been a rough week on the throat. Too many programs and too much of a cold. Oh, and not enough time to recover, I suppose. It made it interesting to try to answer that bird question on the phone this morning, at any rate, and for two reasons: A) I'm not a birder, and B) I HAVE NO VOICE.

Sorry, woman who phoned in about the birds that were in her tree. I think they were starlings. I hope you heard me say that.

Anyway. I have nothing to say (and no voice to say it with) but I do have work I should be doing so I'm going to keep this short. Thanks yet again to the Toronto office for keeping the place tidy while I was out and about losing my voice for the benefit of children everywhere. Or whatever it was that I was doing to myself this week.

I'll see if I can't come up with something worth typing for tomorrow.

Don't say I didn't warn anyone

Hey look what a person can find on a nerdstick from the summer. As I recall, I was sipping something exotic on the back deck and the camera is generally parked on a table somewhere near when I'm outside. Aren't you the lucky ones. Oh the something exotic was most likely a different brand of iced tea or some such.

No, really.

Seriously.

Oh come on.

Fine, I don't have to sit here and put up with your insolence you know.

Oh, now, I thought the voices had all gone to bed but apparently they're arguing up there.

Time to take them to put their little heads down I think.

And you know ... I came here with an actual thought to ramble on about tonight. It's remarkable how those thoughts can vapourize between the other room and here. It must be that black hole in the hallway. Yeh, let's go with that.

Maybe tomorrow.

This bud's for you

rose

rosé

rose bush

rose-coloured glasses

Rose Bowl

rosemary

rosehip

rosette

Citizen Kane

Rush, rush, rush

There's too much of that, you know. Rushing I mean.

Here I am at the ripe old age of *mumblemmfphmumble* with little idea of how I got this many years on. Which isn't to say I'm actually old or anything. It's just .... gosh, you don't suppose I'm falling into my yearly bout of Autumn melancholy, do you.

The day this photo was taken was a very happy day, in case you wanted to know. It was the first time the pups were taken to this particular body of water. Well, okay you'll just have to trust me that the body of water was worth taking two rather substantial Labs to, to play and that photographically this shot was worth ... well, a shot.

Really, now, how many times do you want to see dogs playing anyhow. Do be careful how you answer that; I have many photos in and around this computer.

And I know how to use them.

And here we are in Toronto

... wondering why there are sticks lying around everywhere.

As you will quickly learn, I have nothing much to say. Heck, even the flower is white. Okay, tell me you didn't really have to be in my head to get that.

My most involved thought process for today will most likely be: is the grape licorice I'm eating named after someone or is it named after a place. The name on the bag is Saint something or the other.

And that is why I can't yet bring about world peace. There are other things on my mind.

A whole lot of nothing

And a head full of snot.

Yes, you needed to know that.

----------

I took this photo yesterday. It'll probably be the last one like this for a while. The few remaining flowers will probably freeze off this week since the weather's turned cooler, and most of the invertebrates will be laying eggs, finding places to hibernate, or just plain dying.

We're about to enter the Boring Season. For photos, anyway.

I spend a lot less time with pointless photography in the fall and winter because I find that there are only so many pictures you can take of dead leaves and snow. Part of it is, of course, that I really dislike the cold weather and have trouble finding much of interest outside during the chillier months, but a bigger part of it is that nothing really changes when nothing is growing. I could take a shot of the same flower every day for a week and still find something to look at, but a photo of the same December snowbank over and over? Boring.

A whole lot of nothing.





And with that cheery thought, I need to wrap up here. The father figure would like my opinion on some flooring that he's been looking at, so it's off to the hardware store.

With a head full of snot.

This ought to be good.









Oh, one more thing. My blogging will be hit and miss this week because I'll be working off-site quite a bit, so you may have to hit the Toronto office repeatedly with a stick if you want some actual words to read.

Just don't tell her that I said you could hit her repeatedly with a stick...

Bah

Snotty nose? Check.
Sinus headache? Check.
Cruddy throat? Check.
Pointless photo? Check.
Nothing to say? Check.
Leaving without blathering? Check.

Well, everything seems accounted for.




Going now.

Pointless thought of the day:

Does a Nyquil sleep count as sleep or as "sleep"?

So here I sit with a head full of mucous and the beginnings of a raw throat (no more programs today, though. Thank goodness). I am, however, more rested than I've been in a while thanks to the magic of good old OTC. You know, that sort of thing could really leave a person wondering if drug dependency would be such a bad thing after all...

Oh, relax. I'm not about to become a Nyquil junkie.

As tempting as it sounds.

I'm afraid I don't really have anything worth blathering about today other than sleeping the sleep of the stoned, unfortunately. I didn't watch either our debate or the American one (although I understand that the Vice Presidential debate made a pretty good drinking game. Maverick? Have a shot), and before anyone suggests that I'm planning to vote in ignorance I'll just say what I said (or at least texted) to the Toronto office last night: I stopped listening to any of this sh garbage as soon as I figured out which party's policies I disliked the least.

That's right. I actually prefer to read about the policies rather than listen to the garbage.

And I will vote. This weekend at an advance poll, most likely, which means that I'll be completely tuning out the last few days of the campaign.

Yay me.

And incidentally, considering that I wasn't watching either debate, how is it that I managed to be flipping channels (while there was a commercial on the Food Network) exactly in time to catch Palin talking about nukular weapons?

Ah well. If it hadn't been that, there would have been something else to make me scratch my head. The woman is a walking caricature.

And thus endeth the politics on the blog.

I hate politics.

And I hate colds.

And with that, this blather has officially become five times longer than I was intending it to be. Catch you later, all.

Bugger

Sorry to those of you easily offended by the post title.

Wait. No. I'm not sorry. It's my blog, and I happen to like the word bugger. It's very useful at times.

You know, like the times when you realise that your snotty nose hasn't been caused by allergies (which would have been weird anyway, since my seasonal allergies tend to be spring ones) but instead marks the start of the Annual Fall Cold.

Bugger.

And pretty much a given when you work with school kids, I guess.

Anyway, I've got crud throat today. Yippee. It was nice of it to wait until I finished all five (seriously. Five. Overkill, anyone?) of my two-hour rock programs this week, but I'd be willing to bet it won't be gone before my four rock programs next week. Not to mention all the other non-rock-related programs next week.

Bugger.

Did I mention bugger already?





Ah well. I'm off to get some Nyquil (the only good thing about having a cold) and some socks. Yep, somewhere along the line I seem to have run out of socks. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but if I don't buy some socks on the way home I'm going to have to come to work in my Christmas Penguin socks tomorrow.

Not that anyone would notice, of course, but it would completely be thumbing my nose at our current decent weather to come to work wearing Christmas Penguin socks.

Really it would.

And shut up, world. I'm sick, remember?








In oh so many ways...

Pointless whatever

I... dunno. If I start typing here it's just going to turn into whinge. I'm really tired (actual fatigue rather than not-sleeping, for a change), I'm really sore, and I have another program in a half an hour.

Did I mention the sore part?

Yeah.

I live with a certain level of pain all the time (and that's ok. It's the type of thing a person can get used to), but right now I'm really sore.

And it's not making me look forward to standing up for another entire afternoon.

Aaaaand it's not putting me in the best of moods.




Ahhh well.

I've got nothing, you know.

And House was a cheerleader? Seriously?







Ahhhhh well...