Scary

No, not the pointless photo. It's pretty, not scary.

And it's pointless.

Anyway, topic. Today's Plinky prompt (check the sidebar for Plinky. I'm not in the mood to link today), which for whatever reason I didn't bother to answer on Plinky, is What's the most on fire you've ever been? Literally, figuratively... whatever.

My first thought was that I'd better damn well NOT be on fire.

Yeah, I went the literal route.

I'd better not be on fire because one of my real fears in life is of being burned. Yes, no one ever wants to be burned, but I've been absolutely terrified of the possibility since I was very young. There's no reason for the fear, either. I've never had a bad burn, or even a medium burn. Still, I'm afraid enough of being burned that I've never been able to use a curling iron (curling brush, yes, but not an iron). It was hard to learn how to cook because I didn't want to be that close to the stove. Seriously. I've gotten better about things over the years, but the fear's still there. I've often said that it's the one thing that could ever make me believe in reincarnation.

I have a feeling that I was burned at the stake at some point...

Kidding, yes. But I still have no idea why I have the fire phobia.

Of course, it's not like I don't have some weird phobias anyway. I was afraid of insects (I've mostly worked through that one, though), but I like spiders. I have a degree in Zoology (read that as: I've had my hands on -- and in -- some really gross dead things over the years), but I can't touch fish.

Yeah. Dead fish really squick me out. And there's always that chance that they might NOT be dead, and then when you touch them they'll flop around and scare the crap out of you and...

Erm... where was I? Oh, yeah. Weirdities. Here's one for you. I make my living by talking to strangers, but I really have to psych myself up to make a phone call to a friend.

The olf life can be an interesting one, folks.

Speaking of making a living, though, I need to get back to work. And I will not, hopefully, be on fire.

Or touching a fish.

Gah

Today's pointless photo? Is a pointless photo. Just so you know.

I missed posting yesterday because I was busy, and I really should miss posting today because my head isn't in it. I'm having another one of those knee-bone-connected-to-the-leg-bone sort of days, as in my unhappy knee is making my hip unhappy, and they're both making me unhappy about sitting for any length of time. Or standing. Or walking...

I don't supposed they'd let me put a bed in the office?

Didn't figure.

In other annoying news, the crickets are singing. They're over in the other room singing away, and I swear that they're going to drive me mad.

I don't like crickets. In fact, I'll happily admit that I loathe crickets. They're smelly, they're jumpy, and the only reason they even exist here is to act as food for the salamanders. I feel absolutely no remorse about throwing crickets to their doom twice a week, because THEY'RE CRICKETS.

And right now they're singing, which makes it worse.

You see, we usually buy what they call four week crickets. They're old enough to be decent food, but young enough that they don't sing. Which is great. This week, though, we could only get five week crickets. Bigger, which will make the salamanders happy, but NOISY.

Which, as you might have noticed, is not making ME happy.

Um, sorry. I think that there may have been a sale on capital letters today...

Anyway. I know that some of my two fans probably like the sound of chirping crickets. I have just one thing to say about that. Why? And especially why would you want to hear that sound in your workplace?

There are people working here who like the crickets, you know.

Weird, weird people.

Ah well. It's not the first time I've noticed that there are weird people working here.

I, of course, am perfectly normal.






Shut up. I'm in pain, remember? You should be nicer to me.
Or I'll...
Erm...

Send you a crazy straw?







That makes sense to someone in the universe, believe it or not.

Scary, huh?

Pointless photo of the day:

This is from last year. They're not flowering yet, but they soon will be... if the deer let them, that is.

That's going to be it for today. I see we have some weather coming in, and I should probably get my act together and hit the highway before things think about getting interesting.

Gotta love an Alberta spring...

Someone's been sleeping in my bed...

The somewhat-less-pointless-than-usual photo to the left is of the bed that I use when I'm here at my father's place. Yes, I'll admit that the quilt is fairly ugly; it's warm, though, and that's what counts.

The quilt isn't the reason for the photo's appearance on the blog anyway. So, having said that, let's all agree to ignore the quilt for now.

Everyone ignoring the quilt?

Sorry, that's a bit like saying "pretend you don't notice the wart on that guy's nose," isn't it? After someone says something like that, you can't help but notice the nose wart.

Anyway. The quilt. Not important. Let's move on.

What is important is what's lurking under the quilt. Under the quilt AND under the comforter, just to make things that much more annoying. Ready for the unveiling?

Are you sure?


Ta da.

Wakey wakey, Max.

Now, all of my two fans who own cats (and probably one or two who don't) are wondering what the big deal is about a cat under a quilt (and a comforter). Cats are infamous for doing that sort of thing.

Well, there are a few problems with this scene.

Number one is that he doesn't usually get to sleep in that room. The door's closed for most of the week, and even if it's open the bedding's not available because the bed's a convertible and I strip it and fold it up before I leave.

Number two is that he does usually get to sleep in my father's room, but when he does he never burrows under the bedclothes. This burrowing thing seems to be a pretty recent habit, and one that he saves for JUST MY BED.

Number three is that I'm allergic to cats. Not too seriously -- antihistamines usually take care of most of problem number three when I'm here -- but I'm allergic all the same. Max's new habit of sleeping under my covers is, frankly, a pain because of the allergy. I'd be fine if he'd only sleep on TOP of the covers, but apparently that's not enough for Smack the Cat anymore.

No, I don't smack the cat. He gets called that pretty regularly, however. That and a few other things.

It's sort of awkward at times being allergic to cats but still liking them. I'm not going to say no to any cat who wants to be my buddy, but then I have to put up with the runny eyes, the sneezing, and the itching that results from a visit with a strange cat (I know, I know. Aren't all cats strange in some way?). I can acclimatise not too badly to cats if I'm around them for any length of time, but a chance encounter (and have you ever noticed that cats have a knack for seeking out the one person in the room who's allergic?) is always going to leave me feeling lousy.

Kind of like going to bed and finding a cat nest in my sheets.

Ah well. If it bothered me that much I suppose I'd remember to close the door more often when I'm here, and it's obvious from the photos that I don't. He generally shows up first thing in the morning to cuddle anyway (after he's spent the night with my dad), so there's always going to be a certain amount of cat hair in the bed no matter what I do (and as to why I don't just close the door at night... well, the pain in the ass clever cat knows that if he sticks his paw under the door and scratches, I'll let him in just to get the noise to stop).

My pillow gets put in the closet during the day, if anyone wondered (and if you did... why?), so at least I don't have a total face full of cat hair when I go to sleep.

Gotta be thankful for the small mercies when a cat like Max likes you (and your bed), I suppose.






I need to go fold towels now. Let's hope that they're relatively cat-hair-free...

Pointless... something. Whatever.

Sorry if I sound petulant. I just have a headache, that's all.

I kind of wish that my mother had willed me something other than her history of headaches. It gets a little old sometimes.

Today's pointless photo is more of the same general weirdness that you always find here. I think this particular weirdness looks a bit like an opera singer whose head's just exploded, don't you? Yeah... I know. I did put whatever in the title for a reason.

So... topic.





Who'm I kidding? I've got nothing today. I'm tired, I'm headachy, the weather sucks, and apparently I'm in the mood to whiiinge.

Oh good, then.

In other news, somebody stumbled upon my other blog, according to my counter.

That seems... weird to me. Weird, but kind of neat.

I'm always interested to see how people are finding these blogs, since I definitely don't push them. Although... I may just add a stumbleupon button now. I'd thought about trying stumbling anyway; maybe this would be a good excuse.

Um, anyway.

The only reason I have counters on my blogs is that I like to see what brings people. You know, search terms and things like that.

Some of it's pretty bizarre, you know.

And I'll admit that occasionally I'll throw a few unusual terms in a post just to see what kind of hits they lead to.

I'm... easily amused.

I used to do the same sort of thing back when Blogger blogs all came with automatic advertising banners. The banners supposedly picked up on related words for the featured ads, so I'd try to bait the banner with strange words. It was fun. It almost makes me miss the ads, really. Not enough to sign up for Adsense and bring in more ads, of course, but I do miss the completely nonsensical things just a little.

Um...

Yeah. On that note, I don't feel like pretending that I have anything to talk about any more. For today, at least. Maybe on the weekend I'll go through my counter and share some of the weirder search terms I can find, but for today... I guess I should go feed the salamanders or something.

I'm sure they'd like that.

Feel that

Ok, let's talk texture. Today's pointless (or should I say pointy?) texture photo comes to us courtesy of one of last year's Jimsonweed seed pods. Jimsonweed, in case you wondered, is also known as Angel Trumpet... by those who don't want to think of it as Jimsonweed. It's pretty. Just don't chew on it (or smoke it or whatever it is that one does with Jimsonweed. Whatever it is that one does, it's REALLY REALLY STUPID to do it).

Anyway. Texture. I'm kind of weird about texture. Or fascinated by it, I suppose. I like textures in my photographs (if you've ever wondered why on earth I took a photo of *fill in strange subject here*, texture or pattern usually have something to do with it). I'm fussy about the textures in my food. And texture is the main reason I doodle instead of painting.

I mean, besides the fact that I don't paint.

And yes, I know that the pseudoartsy stuff is supposed to be going here these days, but today it's not. My house, my rules.

Doodling, then. It's so much about texture for me. And yes, I know that there can be a lot of texture in a painting, but that's not the type of texture I'm thinking about. I'm more about the type of texture you can touch.

You can't touch the textures when you're painting. Well, not unless it's a finger painting, I guess.

I love the textures associated with drawing. I love good art paper. Yes, I'm one of those strange people who can spend altogether too long in an art store just feeling the various papers. I won't go so far as to say that the texture of a paper speaks to me (doodler, after all; not artist), but boring paper does bore me.

Take my field sketchbook, for example. I have a decent, coil-bound sketchbook that is purposely made for field sketching. That may, in fact, be why it's called a field sketchbook, come to think of it. Stiff, supportive covers, heavy paper... heavy boring paper... boring, boring paper... I hate my field sketchbook. I've only used about the first dozen pages in it, simply because the paper is so bloody boring. I just can't get enthused about the boring paper in my field sketchbook.

Yes, I'm fully aware that I may have a problem, but I can't help it. If it doesn't do it for me, it doesn't do it for me.

A while ago I bought a couple of Moleskines, thinking I might use them in place of my field sketchbook. One for sketching, and one for watercolours (kind of silly for someone who doesn't paint, yes, but I got a better deal by buying them both). I'd hesitated to order Moleskines because they tend to be more expensive than a (boring) field sketchbook and I kind of figured that they were all hype, but curiosity finally got the better of me and I plunked down the cash for fancy-ass elastic-bearing back-pocketed all-hype Moleskines.

They sat for a while. I was kind of down in the dumps and didn't really feel like doodling, and the all-hype Moleskines didn't seem to make much difference. Until I finally opened up the sketchbook and gave it a test-doodle.

I love my Moleskine.

The paper? Is not boring.

Yeah, the thing is still overpriced and overhyped and, let's face it, a gimmick... but it's not boring.

If it does it for me, it does it for me. I guess.

Paper's not the only thing about doodling that does it for me (texturally-speaking), of course. There's the smoothness of a good quality graphite or carbon pencil, the smudginess of charcoal or chalk pastel, the fluidity of a nylon-tip pen, the fact that I get to buy neat toys...

Ok, that last bit's not about texture. It's more about my misplaced need to buy school supplies every fall. But still... um... ok, there's no way I can fit that into the topic at hand. Never mind, then.

All I'm saying is that it's about the texture and giving my hands something to do. It's never going to be art, and I'm not overly concerned that any of it's even worth looking at.

Sometimes you just have to enjoy feeling, you know?

Pointless spider photo of the day:

That's all I've got time for at the moment.

Later, then.

Actual, recent pointless photos of the day:

It's pointless photo day here on the blog.

Yes, I know that there are pointless photos almost every day on the blog, but today they're pretty much the entire post.

And no, that doesn't make them pointed photos. If they had a point, the blog would turn into a pumpkin. That's the rules.

Anyway. Today we're looking at the state of green things in my father's garden. As of Friday, I'd finally seen my first outdoor flower of the season. They're Early Blue Violets (Viola adunca), a local wildflower, and they grow (appropriately) wild all over the yard. And yes, I know that they're purple rather than blue. I can't help it if botanists have a weird sense of colour when they're handing out names.

I noticed my first non-wild flower on Saturday. Just barely noticed it. I think this is about the tiniest crocus I've ever seen in the yard. It was using a tulip leaf as a shield.

Not effectively, apparently. I still managed to find it.

My mother liked bulb flowers. She had bulbs planted all over the yard. Expensive bulbs, too. Tulips, crocuses, grape hyacinths... all kinds of things worth all kinds of money. Planted carefully according to the instructions.

They rarely came up more than one year in a row. This yard doesn't seem to like bulbs.

A few years ago my father picked up some cheap, end-of-season-discount bulbs from Wally World. He took advantage of a late start to winter to plunk them into the ground wherever the soil was still unfrozen.

They come up every year.

Not sure how my mother would feel about that.

Speaking of bulbs... remember this? Bed springs for tulips to deter the deer? Well, as you can see if you look to the left, deer laugh in the face of the bed spring dilemma.

I kind of assumed that it would happen.

They were kind enough to leave some of the plant behind and hopefully it'll come up again next year, but unfortunately this means yet another year without the nice pink double flowers.

Yep, they got this particular plant last year as well.

This plant's now wearing a grate to protect the remaining leaves and give them a chance to grow.

Grate, you say, Dee?

Yes, grate. Old barbecue grates, amongst other things. The yard's fairly littered with them at the moment.

It does tend to work as deer-proofing, but it also makes it look like the tulips are being punished for something.

Tulips behind bars.

I wonder who gets to sleep on the top bunk?

Anyway, that's it for now. Soon enough the pointless photography will become entirely flower-oriented, as it always does this time of year, so I hope my two fans are into that sort of thing.

Flowers.

I like flowers.

I like spiders too, you know.

And yes, consider that fair warning so far as the picture thing goes.

Bonus post of the day:

So, I guess it really might be spring after all.

This pointless photo was taken this afternoon. The vaguely pinkish part would be my hand (excuse the lovely skin. Still healing after that eczema or whatever it was). The vaguely reddish part would be a ladybird beetle. Our friendship was short, as you can tell from the way its elytra are spreading.

Two things are somewhat interesting (well, to me, anyway) about this photo. The first, speaking as a professional (*coughcough*) naturalist, is that this is a Seven-spotted Ladybird. They're what you tend to find most often around here, but they shouldn't even be around here. They're European. Released as biocontrol for aphids. And now... they're taking over. And they're EVIL!!!!!

Ok, so they're probably not evil at all. And apparently the ladybird experts (yes, there is such a thing as a ladybird expert) don't all agree that they're actually taking over. It made for good blather, though.

The second somewhat interesting thing is that I'm holding an insect in this picture. A real, live, could kill me if it wanted to (well, probably not) insect.

You people out there don't realise what a big thing that is.

As a child I was a HUGE entomophobe. Huge. I once had a butterfly land on me, and my parents couldn't get me to go back outside for a couple of days afterwards. If child-me saw adult-me playing with a ladybird, child-me would assume that adult-me was completely insane.

Maybe I am.

But at least I'm not as scared of insects as I used to be.

I even held a dragonfly a couple of years ago. I did. I have proof. Let's see if I can find it... Here. I would have linked to the whole post that the photo's attached to rather than just the photo, but oddly enough that particular post is all about my fear of insects.

I guess maybe blather goes round in circles.

Hmmm.

That sounds like a song cue.

And a way to get out of this post.

See you tomorrow.

You know what I hate?

When I know full well that I've had a couple of topics in mind to blather about -- for a while, I might add -- and then when I sit down to do the actual blathering I can't for the life of me remember what they were.

I hate that.

It's happening now, in case you hadn't guessed.

Anyway. I'll maybe be back later if I can get my brain to work. For now I'll just leave you with another clue that spring may actually be in progress. The fuzzy things (ignore the green stuff. It's just Russian Rock Cress) you'll see in today's pointless photo if you click on it to enlarge it are the buds of Prairie Crocus aka Pasqueflower aka Anemone (or Pulsatilla) patens for the scientifically anal among us (and if you are among the scientifically anal among us, congratulations. I promise, I'm one of you). Prairie crocus has absolutely nothing in common with the European crocus that most people think of when they think of crocus. Nothing, that is, except that they both come up early in the spring.

Oh, and that they're both sometimes purple.

Well, prairie crocus is always purple. The other, not so much.





That's it from me for now. Watch this space... well, maybe not exactly this space... for a photo of my first actual live flower of the season (which is still on the camera at the moment), and an update as to whether bed springs are good for tulips.

I imagine that most of my two fans will know the answer to that one before I even post it.

Later, all.

When the rescue ship comes, I'll tell 'em: Take my companion, please...

So, the scenario is: I'm stuck on an island. Food and stress aren't a problem... but there's someone there with me.

Me. And one other person. Stuck on an island.

If there wasn't a rescue ship, I'd have no choice but to get rid of the companion myself, I think.

Get the feeling that I'm a bit of a loner? You'd be right. The fact is that I really don't mind people. I don't mind them, that is, as long as I have the opportunity to go home and be by myself at the end of the day. I need that quiet time. No other voices to hear but the ones in my head. If I had to be around someone day after day after day it wouldn't matter to me if that hypothetical island was an absolute paradise; I'd be miserable just from the constant company.

Now, if we're talking about an island that's big enough for two separate (VERY separate) shanties and a lifestyle that included, say, meeting the other person for lunch every day and then going back to my own existence unpestered... well, I might be ok with that.

Maybe.

Um, guys? Excuse me?

Today's photo is, as usual, pointless. It's just part of my continuing search for actual green things in my father's yard.

Not sure the bergenia counts, since all it really has to do is perk itself up a bit after a winter's worth of being flattened by snow... but you take what you can get this time of year.

Now, today's topic. Today's disturbing, disturbing topic.

My neighbours.

I should make it clear that I have nothing against my neighbours. I live in an apartment. I don't even know my neighbours.

I'm getting to know a little too much about them, though. Or their habits, at least.

It seems (or at least I'm assuming) that my neighbours have decided to spice up their relationship. I found this out because their shower -- our bathrooms have a common wall -- went on mid-morning the other week as I was brushing my teeth. I didn't think much of the slightly odd timing of the shower since I'm reasonably sure that one of them does shift work at the hospital, but I thought entirely too much when I realised that a) there was obviously more than one person in the shower, and b) they were pretty much obviously not there to shower.

Yeah.

I didn't hang around to listen. Not that I have a problem with my neighbours having mid-morning sex in their own shower... just that I didn't think I needed to go all voyeur on it. Even if I was just innocently brushing my teeth. In my own bathroom.

Apparently they enjoyed the experience, because it's continued.

Yesterday the screaming started as I was doing my hair.

Screaming, yes.

Things have escalated a bit, you see.

Apartment living (especially in a clunky old building like mine) brings its share of weird noises from the people in the other hamster cages surrounding my personal hamster cage, but this one's left me with somewhat of a quandary.

Should I tell them?

Should I tell them that they're putting on quite a show?

I'm pretty sure that they don't think that anyone can hear them (heck, maybe it's why they're running the water), but they've forgotten one fairly important thing. Not only do they have a common bathroom wall with mine, but the bathrooms are on the hallway sides of the apartments.

In other words, they're not only putting on a show, they're doing it for anyone who happens to be using the hallway.

Should I add that there are a couple of families with young children on my floor?





Hmmm. What to do, what to do.

At the moment I'm leaning towards anonymous note shoved under the door. Might be the least embarrassing thing for all parties involved, really. I've had other suggestions (like screaming back or yelling out words of encouragement), but I'm not sure I'm up to that kind of thing.

I've got to do something, though. It's getting so that I cringe with anticipation every time I hear the sound of a shower...





You know, I'm thinking now that I should have just stuck with the bergenia as the topic for today's post.

Ah well.



Edited because I Just. Can't. Leave. this post as it is. It needs a bit of... something. Like this, I guess. And sorry for the quality. I found a better version, but it had the entire sketch and I just wanted the song.

Going now.

Hopefully feeling a bit less... something.

Pointless photo of the day:

That's it for today. Still having trouble with the sleep thing and the breathing thing, and I have work to do.

Oh, and plastic bags are evil.

Just so you know.

Tulip behind bars

Ok, so it's tulip behind old bed spring. Or under it, rather.

And why is the tulip under a bed spring? Well, see the photo below.

Deer think tulips are snack food.

Personally, I don't think the bed springs are going to be enough protection. My father has a bunch of other weapons at hand (relax, he's not going to hurt the deer. I just mean he has some old barbecues grills and things like that to use as extra cover) if he finds things getting nibbled on, though.

It's a bit of a quandary, really. I'm a huge fan of tulips, and it's taken forever to get tulips to grow in this yard. My mother and grandmother tried numerous times with very little success. I have no idea why our current bulbs are actually coming up multiple years in a row, but they are. I'd hate to lose that.

On the other hand, I'm kind of fond of the mulies as well. Too many places have lost their wildlife, but we still have a fair amount. Seems a shame to want it gone just to protect a few plants.

Incidentally, while it looks like the deer in the photo was in mid-stride, it was actually standing still. It has a buggered-up back leg, you see.

We first noticed it in the fall, hanging around with the winter feeding herds. I kind of figured it'd be gone by now, since the leg is so obviously useless to it. Any number of things could have happened, you know. Starvation, road hit, coyotes... but it seems like this particular deer is planning to hang around for a while longer.

The picture was taken yesterday, by the way. It (and a couple of others) just wandered through the neighbour's yard while I was out taking photos of tulips and bed springs.

Our local mulies aren't at all shy. They'll wander down the middle of the street in broad daylight if it suits them.

Anyway, here's hoping that I see at least one tulip flower before they get eaten. And if you have a tulip versus deer problem of your own, speaking as a professional naturalist (almost managed to type that with a straight face) I have just one suggestion:

Bed springs.





Nah, I'm kidding. The real suggestion would be to plant daffodils instead.

Seriously. The deer hate them.

Now if only they came in a few more colours...







The daffodils, I mean. Not so much the deer.

Top cat

So here's the thing. For over a decade there was a strict chain of command in this house's animal kingdom. Penny, aka Lumpy, aka the Walking Stomach, aka the orange one in today's pointless photo, was the boss.

The indisputable boss.

She got her way, Max put up with it, and the dog (who was probably the real boss but I'm talking cats here) acted as referee if either of them got out of line.

It was the way things worked.

We were all used to it.

Something weird's been happening since the dog's been gone, though. It seems that Max has taken it as his cue to scale the ladder.

Erm, as it were.

We started noticing it gradually, but by now it's undeniable that Max is putting Penny in her place. And it's not exactly the place that she used to be in, if you follow me.

And if you're following me we're both going to get really, really lost...





Anyway. Since Officer Dog is no longer here to keep the peace, Max has apparently taken it upon himself to keep Penny in line. Not in a mean way (we're not exactly having hissing fights here. Well, not many anyway) and not in a way that has made them antagonists (they still sleep together, after all) but in an unmistakably you're not the boss of me manner.

It's interesting.

It's like he was just waiting for his opportunity to be king of the castle.

Kind of reminds me of some of my university animal studies. Dominance hierarchy in in action, don't you know.

Or maybe it's just a weird kitty soap opera, I don't know.




And there's no real ending or actual point to this post. In case you wondered.








All's normal with the blog, then, even if it isn't with the cats.

Good to know.

Pointless photo of the day:

No reason except that I'm tired and cranky and wish that there were flowers out there to take pictures of.

This one's from a couple of years ago.

And it's all you're getting today because did I mention the part about tired and cranky?

Yeah.

La la la

I don't really have anything today.

Well, I do have a headache and it's a breezy day so the whole spring allergy thing isn't going great (well, I suppose it's going fine for the allergy. Not so good for the one with the allergy), but even though that should put me in the perfect frame of mind to whinge for a while, I suppose I'm just not in the mood.

You're welcome.

Before I leave you with the chickadees at the feeder (the top one was playing hide and seek, apparently), I just wanted to explain the post title. Erm, such as it is.

It's come to my attention yet again that not all of you out there have songs playing in your heads.

That's weird to me.

I always have a song in my head.

Or maybe not ALWAYS always, but pretty damned close to it. In fact, the only times I can remember not having a song in my head are times in my life when I've been pretty low.

I guess depression and earworms don't go together so well.

Anyway, I can't imagine how a person can go through life without some sort of internal soundtrack. More than one person has told me, however, that having music playing constantly in their heads would drive them completely nuts.

Weird.

How do you deal with the quiet, then? That sounds a lot worse than music to me.




Get the feeling that I'm not especially good at meditating?

Anyway, that's all I've got. No, wait. We should end with some music after all of this, shouldn't we? Ok, give me a second...

There, this'll do. Sing the song, Vern.

Later, all.





Oh, PS: If anyone's curious after yesterday, I can report that I am, in fact, wearing SHOES today.

sigh

Safety boots

Ok, I'll reluctantly admit that spring is, well, springing. Even though today's pointless photo isn't a recent one, it gives the basic idea of what can be seen out there. Or at least it would if you leave out the greenery. We're not quite that far yet.

It's spring enough, though, that I can't breathe... oh, wait. That's not what I want to post about. If I start the whinge it'll keep going and going and going until it earns itself floppy ears and an annoying bass drum. Let's start over, then.

It's spring enough that the deadly parking lot ice patches have disappeared, and even most of the snow piles from a winter's worth of clearing those same parking lots are headed to oblivion. Why then, Dee, are you still wearing your winter boots?

I'm glad you asked that question.

Or at least I'm assuming that you would have asked that question. You know, if you were in the office right now and could see that I'm still wearing my winter boots.

Normally I wear my winter boots (and I should say here that we're talking about winter mocs rather than full-on boots. It's a little less weird to still be wearing them when you realise that they're basically glorified winterised shoes) until every last possibility of ice has passed, because I frankly have terrible balance and need all the help I can get. Switching to normal shoes a bit too early is just a recipe for injury in my case.

That would be the normal reason. The problem with that reason this year is that the ice is gone.

Yes, given the general crappiness of Alberta's spring weather there's a possibility it might be back, but as things stand now I'd be perfectly safe in street shoes.

The problem is that I'd also be in pain, and I'm avoiding that for as long as possible.

Ah yes, the fun of the bad ankle rears its ugly head again.

For those new to the program, the short version of a long, boring story is that I wrecked one of my ankles back in junior high and it's been a bother ever since. It's weak, it reinjures easily, and it almost always causes me pain. Pain that, for the most part, I'm used to and can ignore, but it's there all the same.

It gets worse in the spring, and for years I couldn't figure out why.

I thought at first it was just because a person tends to be more active when the weather gets nicer, but that didn't seem to ring true somehow. I tried out a whole lot of other possible theories, but the one that finally stuck was the boots.

My ankle hurts more when I give up the boots for the season.

It makes sense, when you think about it. Boots (properly constructed boots, that is) are always going to give better support than shoes. Always. And I wear pretty good shoes. I have to, or there's even more pain to deal with.

But even switching to good shoes means less support for the ankle, and the ankle gets lazy over the winter. Less support, muscles that have been used to letting boots do part of their job... it all leads to a couple of weeks of aching that I'm really just not looking forward to.

So, I'm still in the boots.

Came really close to putting on my shoes instead when I left for work today, but I'm still in the boots.

Can boots count as a security blanket?

Ah well, some time in the next few days I'll probably convince myself to suck it up and just get the transition over with. No, really. I will.

Sigh.





I think I'll miss the boots, though...

Come ON, people

Today's pointless photo is pointless. Just so you know. I feel sorry for anyone who actually tries to find meaning in any of this stuff.

Anyway.

I'm going to break a personal rule today and talk briefly about House. House MD, that is. The television show.

I'm a fan.

I don't normally blather about House because, well, I don't have a lot to say about it. I like the show, I watch the show, I enjoy it. That's about as deep as it get for me. It helps that I've been a Hugh Laurie fan for about twenty years, you know. And anyone who didn't know that I'm a Hugh Laurie fan just hasn't been paying attention to the number of British comedy sketch links that have shown up on the blog when I haven't felt like thinking of something to blather about.

Anyway.

Oh, sorry. I said that already.

Anyway, I do watch House. I also lurk on a couple of House-related bulletin boards, mostly because I get a kick out of seeing what other people get out of the show.

Which brings me to why I'm House blathering at the moment.

Last night in a BIG SHOCKING WHATEVER ELSE THE OVERDONE FOX VOICEOVER MAN WOULD SAY ABOUT IT moment, a character did himself in.

And, judging from the aforementioned bulletin boards, people are mad. Mad in both the North American sense of angry and the British sense of insane.

In my opinion, that is. Heck, it's all my opinion. I don't know why I even bothered to say that, really.

I've only perused a little (I am supposed to be working, after all), but I'm genuinely perplexed at the amount of anger and venom that's out there right now.

The part I don't get?

It's a t.v. show, people. Just a t.v. show. How can you possibly get so invested in a t.v. show?

I can understand people feeling cheated or manipulated because -- let's face it -- it was a gigantic manipulation, but I don't understand the real anger and the real... well, let's call it grief. It's probably not actually grief, but that's sort of how it looks to the outside viewer.

And I do think of myself as the outside viewer here.

I mean, I like the show. I think I mentioned that. But it's just a show, no matter how much I like it. It's stories. Entertainment. I simply don't get how people can care SO much about things like that.

Of course, I've never in my life been the fangirl type. Even when I was a teenager I somehow missed out on the Tiger Beat crushes (and honestly? I find it a little scary that Tiger Beat even still exists) and celebrity posters on bedroom walls phase. There are people that I consider myself a fan of, yes, but not in the OMIGOD HE'S SOOO WONDERFUL way. More in the he/she/it entertains me and I find him/her/it interesting way, I guess.

Bland? Maybe. But I think it keeps me a bit saner.

And shut up, world. I already know that I need all the help I can get in that department.

I think the sad part about intense fandom is that some of these people get so invested that they set themselves up for a real fall when (not if; it's always a when) things don't go the way they want them to. How can there be pleasure in taking something you enjoy and getting so serious about it that you can't enjoy it anymore?

Obviously I don't know.

And I need to get back to work now.

Ah well. At least it'll keep me from coming to a point. After all, if this blog ever comes to a point it will, of course, turn into a pumpkin.




And I'm really not all that fond of orange.

Nothing

Too busy -- and too brainless -- to blog today.

Later, then.

Sunday brain

It's always so hard for me to feel blathery on a Sunday. My brain's not in it, really.

The usual routine doesn't help, of course. My Sunday surfing is generally anything but conducive to blathering. By this time of day on a Sunday I've folded clothes (ok, so that part has nothing to do with surfing), checked out a few bulletin boards, read some pointlessly silly stuff, teared up a little over one of the Post Secrets (check the sidebar. I'm too lazy to link today), watched a video or two if any of my subscriptions have anything new up, and probably played one too many games of Mah Jong Solitaire on... some website that I've decided not to name after all.

And yes, the solitaire is about as close as I get to thinking on a Sunday.

All of this means that I haven't bothered to think of anything to blather about. As usual. Sunday brain.

So that leaves us with today's pointless photos, I suppose. Above, as promised, bare ground with assorted tulip leaves that haven't (yet) been chewed off by the deer. I imagine things will look a little different next week.

Below, proof that there are actual green things in the yard if you look hard enough under the snow.

I can't remember what they are, but at least they're green.

Green is good this time of year.

And with that, I think I'll head off to Giant Internet Corporation Which Doesn't Need Me to Advertise For Them and try to convince myself not to buy a book that I heard about recently. Doesn't matter which book. Just that it looks interesting.

And if anyone's wondering why I'd bother to go to the website to torture myself into NOT buying a book that I think would be interesting, well... to be honest, I am too.






Sunday brain, I tell you. Sunday brain.

Special bonus post

I know it seems completely pointless to bother posting again on the same day that I so obviously had nothing to post (however: see blog name), but this is exciting.

IT'S SPIDERS!!!

Oh come on, people. You know that spiders count as exciting. On this blog, anyway. You can take your arachnophobia and shove it, because spiders and this blog go together like mustard and anything that goes with mustard.

Besides... these spiders, hot off the digital camera, are officially my FIRST. SPIDERS. OF. SPRING.

Now tell me that isn't exciting. Real, live spiders, folks. Or at least photos of real, live spiders.

Maybe the snow will go away at some point after all.

This is better than the swallows coming back to Capistrano, as far as I'm concerned. Mostly because I'm not in Capistrano, I expect, but you take what you can get.

So. Introductions. The top one is a Jumping Spider of some sort (which, as usual, turned to watch the camera as soon as I got it into position), and the second one is... I dunno. An Orb Weaver, I guess. It was in a pretty inaccessible corner, so I couldn't get a very good look at it. Or shot of it.

Spiders.

Yay, spiders.




Almost makes me non-cranky, you know.

mutter

Yeah, I know. Mutter belongs to the other blog. Don't care, though.

No post yesterday because I'd hardly had any sleep and couldn't have made sense even if I'd attempted it. Last night? Well, things were going fine... until they weren't.

How can someone be so tired and yet still be bolt-upright awake at godawful in the morning?

Incidentally, if anyone was wondering about the state of the snow moulds around here, I (or at least the tightness in my chest) can inform you that they're happy and healthy and making me pretty much miserable to be with.

Not that I'm all that great to be with at the best of times, but can't say I care just now.

So anyway. Here I be -- tired, cranky, and allergic. I can already tell that lots is going to get done today. Yep. It'll be either doing up my taxes... or sitting around doodling for no apparent reason.

I know what I'd put my money on.

I wonder if cranky doodles are really that good an idea...




I guess we'll see.

Tomorrow stay tuned for a very exciting photo of mostly bare ground with a few tentative tulip leaves trying to poke through. I have to take their picture before the deer get to them, you see. Juuust so that the world (aka my two fans) knows that they did have a brief window of existence.

Next year maybe we'll give up the tulips to the deer completely and just plant daffodils.

Or... whatever. Can't even care about that at the moment.



I'm off, then.






If anyone cares.

Pointless photo of the day:

Still no flowers here yet, but they'll come eventually.

If we ever stop having winter.

Like that'll happen.

Anyway, I haven't got much on the brain today so I'm not going to bother with the blather. Tomorrow I'll be blathering in an invisible font, so don't be surprised if you don't see a post here.

Later, then.