Friday 31 July 2009

Moving

Well, my father will be back tonight, which I'm sure will make his cats happy. I'll be leaving before he gets here, because I have to work tomorrow and I'll need to get some groceries, amongst other things. Unfortunately, leaving also means that I have to haul back all of the crap personal belongings I brought here from my place for the week.

That's always fun.

I can never decide what I might want to be doing all week when I initially pack things, so I end up bringing whacks of stuff that generally never gets used. It could be doodling supplies, knitting, books (plural, yes. Who knows what I might be in the mood to read?), my briefcase if I've just come from work... altogether a ridiculous pile of garbage to be carrying around.

And did I mention that it generally never gets used?

Well, except for this time. In a rare case of actually doing what I'd planned to do, I got a few things done this week for which I used the stuff I brought with me.

Amazing.

It'll probably never happen again.

Anyway, I should go get myself together so that I can get back to the city at a reasonable time. Dad, if you see this before I talk to you I hope you have (or had, depending on what time it is now. Your now, I mean) a good flight. Cats, don't tear the house apart before your daddy gets back.

Later, all.

Thursday 30 July 2009

Later that same day...

Further to this post, you'll notice two new round brushes and a 2B pencil.

Sigh.

I needed the pencil, you know. Well, not needed... "needed", as in one of my current 2B pencils is getting a little bit short.

At least I opted for Gold Sable (which is really rayon) over actual sable. It meant that I didn't have to take out a loan just to buy brushes. They may not work as well, but I just couldn't see shelling out the money for good brushes when I don't even know yet if I'll be able to do much with them.

Cheapness (relatively speaking. Even synthetic brushes cost more than you might expect if your only exposure to brushes is the one that came with your elementary school paint kit) wins again, yes.

I don't mind that so much.

Now, if I only knew for sure that I'd cured the art supply craving for a while...

Danger, Will Robinson...

Today's pointless photo is... pointless. But you probably expected that.

For anyone too young or too whatever else to recognise the post title, check here or here. And for the record, I am not old enough to remember Lost In Space. Not first-hand, anyway. Although if a person was to judge from my internet radio playlist in the past few days you'd pretty much come to the conclusion that I'm living in the Sixties as we speak.

Or type.

Well, I type. You read.

And roll your eyes, probably.

Where was I? I mean besides interrupting a perfectly good chairdance just to blog? Oh, that's right. I was in imminent danger.

Of what, you say? It's pretty terrible. Are you sure you want to know?

Really sure?

Really?







Ok, ok, I'll tell you. You didn't have to get so irritated about the whole thing. I'm in serious, grave danger of...

buying art supplies.

No, really. It's a dangerous thing for me to be contemplating buying art supplies. They're my substitute for buying new school supplies, and since we've entered the season of back-to-school ads the urge for that is already pretty strong. That in itself would be enough to make me want to keep myself away from art stores for a while to stop the yearly impulse purchase, but now? Well, now there's a new problem.

I think I may actually need some art supplies.

By need I of course mean want. No one needs art supplies. Not the way a person needs oxygen or water, I mean. My particular art supply want at the moment is somewhat more directed than it normally is, though, so it's rapidly starting to put on its need costume in order to persuade me that I do, in fact, need to make my way to an art store soon. For my own mental health, you know.

And what could be causing this want/need/mental health crisis all of a sudden? Something that I never in a million years thought would be causing a want/need/mental health crisis in my life.

I think I need some brushes.

Let me give you an idea of how weird that statement is. First off, I don't paint. I doodle at the best of times. I've not really ever had a desire to paint. I don't think like a painter; I think in lines. I like it that way. I do.

But.

But but but but...

About a month ago I bought some watercolours. Oh, wait. Rather than type about that all over again, I'll just have you read it here. Quicker for both of us. Or me at least. So, yeah. I bought some watercolours, and I've since been mucking about with them a bit. If you're desperate to see some of the early results you can find them on the other blog, but if you decide to look please keep in mind that I DON'T PAINT.

Anyway, I've been goofing around with the watercolours, and I've discovered that a person needs brushes to paint. Well, mostly. I know that you can do some things with sponges and the like, but if you're going to paint it's almost inevitable that at some point or other you're going to need brushes. And my brushes? Are crap.

For the most part. I have one not-too-bad brush, but all of the others are just cheap craft brushes that I've kept on hand to use for the occasional wash when I've been doodling with watercolour pencils and things like that. That sort of thing doesn't demand much of a brush, and I've since found out that not much of a brush is exactly what I have.

I think I need something that is, in fact, a brush.

I can't believe that I'm thinking of buying brushes. And not just plain brushes. I've been finding myself thinking of sable rounds that actually (gasp!) come to a proper point when you want them to. Wash brushes. Maybe a fan brush...

I think I'm in trouble here.

Anyway, the good thing is that I'm currently in a small town and the stationery store that carries art supplies is likely to have a blessedly limited selection that may keep me from emptying my wallet. For a day. After that I'm headed back to the city and the figurative apple tree.

Er, so to speak.





Wish me and my bank account luck. And warn me if you happen to see any brush-wielding snakes about, all right?

Wednesday 29 July 2009

Will it go round in circles...

No, I'm not going to link yet again to the Billy Preston song (although I suppose I could link to this version... you really should go and buy the actual cd/dvd though. Proceeds go to some pretty decent charities). I was more thinking about blog posts. Will it go round in circles like this blog usually does, in that I'll go for several days in a row of long-winded blather and then suddenly sit down and have absolutely nothing to say?

I think we're there, folks.

Actually, part of the problem is that I just finished reading a friend's blog post and was so blown away by the absolute and utter jackassery of some "humans" that I honestly couldn't think of anything to say in reply. Kind of makes my little corner of internet nonsense seem even more pointless than the blog title already indicates, you know?

Anyway.

So what's new in my world? Not a whole lot. I'm typing with a bandage on my finger at the moment, which is incredibly annoying and throws off my whole rhythm. It's not like I'm a great typist to begin with (I used to be not too bad, but I've gotten lazy over the years. Sorry mom), so I don't really need the added help of an unfamiliar piece of plastic and cotton.

Why the bandage? Cat food tin lid. Yep, I cut myself (on a pull-tab can lid, no less) this morning at feeding time. The weird thing is that the cut is on the front of my right index finger slightly below the nail. What kind of magic juggling trick do you have to be doing to cut yourself just there with a pull-tab can lid?

Um, maybe don't answer that. Anything's possible for a lefty.

At least Penny aka Lumpy aka The Cat I Haven't Talked About Much appreciated the effort. She's kind of demanding about her stinky breakfast.

In case you're wondering, I haven't talked about Penny much because she's a bit easier to satisfy than Max is. Penny likes food, talking, being given a shoulder ride, food, sleeping, and food. As long as those ingredients are in the mix Penny's a pretty happy camper. She might be happier if she got a whole can of food to herself and could avoid the crunchy stuff altogether, I suppose, but unfortunately for her she has to share.

Share in that there are two dishes that the food's divided up into. Penny generally licks the gravy (or whatever you choose to call that delightfully scented slime) off of both dishes, and Max gets to share whatever's left over.

It seems to work for them, so I don't argue.

Hey, look! This turned out to be a post after all! I guess we'll have to wait until I'm back posting from the office for the usual too busy/too brainless to blather coming around again. I guess I even have a couple of things to leave you with (like it or not). First, I'd like to mention that today's pointless photo features true bug porn as opposed to beetle porn, since we all need a little variety in our insect sex. Second, I currently have an earworm. If you'd like to have it too, just click here. But you've been warned.

Tuesday 28 July 2009

Well, let's see.

Where do we go with this particular post?

We could talk about the fact that I've found yet another blog that I'd rather like to read but can't because the blogger chose to use white letters on a black background and even a quick look caused my astigmatic eyes to water, hurt and form a helluvan afterimage. Oh, but wait. I talked about that particular annoyance here. Read it at your leisure. You know, if you want to.

We could mention that my father has one more bird nest in his yard than he thought he did. Check the backyard spruce tree closest to the house, and with any luck you'll see the back end of a robin incubating eggs. With even more luck you might see the front end. And with even more luck than that, the crows won't have found the nest before you get home.

We could wonder why the power's been off twice already today. First time? Sometime before five in the morning. And how do I know this? Because it must have come on briefly at five, since that's when the doorbell (which, I'd completely forgotten, chimes when its electricity is reconnected for whatever reason) woke me up and I found myself in a half-asleep daze wondering who the h-e-double-hockey-sticks would be at the door at five in the morning. Wondering, that is, until I tried to turn on a light to find out and discovered that the power was off again.

We could discuss the trip that I actually managed to make into the city today... but it was kind of boring. Stopped at my place, watered the plants, spent a couple of hours at work, and came back to two annoyed cats who want to be ooouutside even though I told them that it was too wet and I don't want to clean up muddy cat footprints all over the house.

Oh. That's right. I was going to discuss Max the Neediest Cat in the World. Ah well. He's as good a way as any to end this slightly odd post.

Max, as you might have guessed, is the Neediest Cat in the World. Anyone who thinks that cats are antisocial needs to meet Max. You'd either change your mind right away or decide that Max is, in fact, not actually a cat.

Sometimes I wonder which view is the truth.

Anyway, Max's daddy isn't home at the moment, so I'm the one who has to entertain Max. Usually not a big deal (even if it does get to be a bit much at times), but this time around a new variable has been causing some new problems. I mentioned that I've been sleeping in the basement room because it's cooler? Well, for some reason or other Max figures that this is the Best. Sleepover. Ever. Having me in the basement is a novelty for him, I guess. A novelty to the point where I feel like I have a little cat voyeur hanging on my every movement. Seriously. For the past few nights, every time I've dared to stir slightly or, Whomever forbid, roll over in bed, the very next moment I've had a very happy cat right in my face wondering what game we're going to play this time.

And I tell you, it's got to be something about the basement room. He's not like that when I sleep upstairs. He'll come in (waaay too early, unfortunately) in the morning wanting his belly rubbed, sure, but I'm not constantly treated as though I've been put on earth solely for His Catness's amusement. Like I apparently am right now.

Sigh.

Oh well. That's enough blather for today, I suppose... except that I should tell my two fans to go up and look at the top, rather strange photo of Erigeron flowers again. Didja find the spider? Didja?

Come on. You knew that there had to be a spider somewhere in this post. It seems to have everything else in it.

Monday 27 July 2009

Um, Dad?

I've been helping myself to the peas.

Just thought you should know.

I've been helping myself to the raspberries too...

And isn't that a nice glimpse of the scar on my left wrist? There's a story behind that scar, you know, and it has nothing to do with being ineptly suicidal (you'd have to be pretty inept to end up with a botched-suicide scar in that particular position...). I don't have time to talk about it now, though. Maybe later.

I don't have time for much right now since I was going to attempt to drive in to the apartment to check the plants on the balcony (oh yeah, and maybe stop in at work too) but stupid me got the tunes playing on the internet radio and got wrapped up in chairdancing the morning away. Gotta get my butt in gear if I'm going anywhere now.

Back later then, maybe.

We really do need to discuss Max the Neediest Cat in the World, after all...

----------

And later (like, half-past-six later)...

By the time I got my act together the play was over. Translate that as: I decided to go into the city tomorrow instead.

Max? Can be my topic for the next post, I guess.

My afternoon? I... um... drew some pea pods, took the cat out for a while, and... um... I think that was about it, actually.

Sad.

This, however, is awesome. Makes me wonder what the little clay men could get up to if I ever found a bit of ambition somewhere.





Don't worry. My "ambition" didn't even manage to get me into the car today, remember?

Sunday 26 July 2009

Bed

But first...

I've had Eric the Half-a-Bee going through my head all morning and had to look it up. Found this clip too, if you need a bit of background.

So anyway, about bed. I'm house-sitting at my father's place this week, and when I got here the house was sitting at about 30C. That was... disappointing. You see, my apartment's been at about 30C all week too, and it's made it damned near impossible to get a good night's sleep. I've been waking up exhausted and sweaty every morning, and it's about as pleasant as it sounds. I was looking forward to a more comfortable situation here at the house, so when I got here and it was the same 30 freaking degrees that I'd just left I was somewhat... miffed, I guess we'll say.

However.

This house has a basement. A cool basement. And there's a bedroom in the basement.

Problem solved, she thinks. We'll (me 'n alllll the voices) just move into the basement room for a while. And that's what we did. With some completely unnecessary (and mostly unwelcome) help from Max the cat, I made up the spare bed and prepared myself for an actual, comfortable sleep.

I'm sure everyone who's ever read this blog more than once knows what I'm going to say next.

It took me a frustrating forever to get to sleep. Even with Max's unnecessary (and, yep, mostly unwelcome) help.

Max has apparently been a little bit lonely since my father left. Max is a pest when he's lonely. A cute pest, but a pest all the same.

And why so very little sleep? It was the bed, you see. There's not a thing wrong with the bed, but I've never slept on it before. That's all it takes, sadly. I could be in the best bed in the world, but if it's an unfamiliar bed there's not going to be much sleeping going on.

And that's exactly what happened.

Back in the days when I used to travel a lot more than I do now (any travel is a lot more than zero travel, right?) I always took sleeping pills with me. I generally only took one on the first night -- after the first night I was fine -- but on that first night in a new bed they were definitely a godsend.

I should have thought of that last night. Not that I had the option of pill popping since I don't have any with me, but if I'd remembered the old routine maybe I wouldn't have been so frustrated with myself for being in a comfortable bed in a cool room and still not sleeping.

Sigh.

Anyway, it looks like it'll be another day of somnabulism, more or less. Or at least that's what it feels like. Tomorrow? Well, I fully intend to sleep in the basement again, so maybe the second night will be more acceptable to my brain.




Here's hoping.






Cyril Connolly....

Saturday 25 July 2009

Photo and that's all you're getting because I'm busy of the day:

Sorry. I forgot to add the word pointless to the post title.

I'm sure you've already imagined it there anyway...

Friday 24 July 2009

Photo. Probably pointless.

I like sunflower buds. Something about the growth pattern (gee, pattern. Big surprise there, OLF). You'll probably be seeing a few of these.

Maybe I should get off my butt and draw one, even.

We'll see.

Anyway, continuing my current theme of lack-of-content, this'll be it for today. Kind of busy at the moment since I was sick for the past couple of days.

Yes, again.

Really, it's surprising I haven't managed to come down with H1N1 yet. Or at least the plague or something.






Catch you later.

Tuesday 21 July 2009

Boy, there's been a lot of pointless in the post titles this month

What can I say? I guess I've been having a bit of a pointless time of it lately.

So, to vary from the pointlessness of it all, how about we go headless instead? As in the apparently headless goldfinch in the pointless (oh, shoot. There it is again) photo?

I say apparently headless because of course he really isn't. I wouldn't do that to a goldfinch. Max would, but then Max also likes to eat dragonflies so he shouldn't be counted on as an arbiter of taste.

The goldfinch in the picture had just turned his head at an inopportune moment, and the resulting shot was weird enough that it had to end up on the blog.

We only do what we have to, you know.

And for anyone who isn't into apparently headless birds, here's a not-a-headless-bird photo from yesterday:

This not-a-headless-bird isn't a bird.

I'm sure most of you picked up on that.

The non-bird happens to be red flax. Linum grandiflorum, if you prefer. I don't have anything in particular to say about red flax (I'm usually more of a blue flax gal myself), but I thought I'd mention it just in case anyone else had something to say about red flax.

Has anyone guessed yet that last night wasn't a great one for sleeping? Yeah. I'm currently making juuust about as much sense as I can muster, believe it or not.

So.

Random video time, then?

Ok, let's see what I can find.

Well, if anyone in the world hasn't seen this one yet... not my usual style of music, but you gotta love the press they got as a result.

What else?... Oh, I don't know. It's hard to be in the mood for anything in particular when your brain's having trouble processing what a mood might even be...

Hmmm...

Music?

You know what? That last one's a long enough clip that I feel justified in calling this a post, almost. Feels like there's something missing though. Can't think quite what...

Oh yeah. Lavatory humour.






That ought to do it now. Later, then.

Monday 20 July 2009

Pointless post title

Frank McCourt died.

Damn.


----------


I have to be honest -- right now I'm a bit more concerned about finding something to eat for lunch than I am about blathering. I'll try to come back and edit this later when I have more on the brain than just food.

In case I don't, though, enjoy the poppies. Definitely not a recent picture.


----------


Edited later to say:

Well, I never did find much on the brain today. I did, however, find this bee on the Mother-Of-Thyme.

I'm sure you all wanted to know that.

Especially the bee.

Sunday 19 July 2009

I dunno... probably something about a pointless photo

How about some more horny beetles? I'm telling you, guys, that there's just something about roses that put a girl in the mood...

Now, that was a silly thing for me to say. Even when I was still pretending that I wanted a relationship with anybody, the whole idea of roses never did turn me on. Ah well. Guess that's why I'm not a beetle.

I've got nothing in the way of blather today. Is it glaringly obvious?

In fact, now that I've started typing I'm even more sure that I have nothing. Time to stop typing then. Starting... now.

Saturday 18 July 2009

Pointless effing photo...

And for those of you who weren't expecting a photo of literal effing... come on. Haven't you been paying attention? How many times have I already posted photos of mating insects on this blog?

More times than is healthy, no doubt.

Anyway, the photo isn't really the reason for the euphemistic expletive in the post title. This is. And on the off chance that for some reason you can't read the article I've linked to just now, the gist is that a recent study indicates that swearing may actually help increase tolerance to pain.

Who knew? I mean, I knew that swearing was good for an awful lot of things already, but pain tolerance as well? Cool.

And yes, swearing is good for an awful lot of things. Seeing who around you can handle a bit of swearing, for example.

I'll admit, I'm not shy about using the four-letter words. Erm, given the right context, of course. I'm not likely to go that route when I'm leading a group at work, and I don't often use them here on the blog just because... wait. It's not just because. I was going to say something along the lines of just because I know that not everyone's as tolerant of that kind of language as I am, but that's really telling only half of the truth. I don't bother with raw language here (in general, anyway) because I'm perfectly capable of expressing myself without it, and because I know that there are people out there who consider the use of curse words to be an indicator of lack of intelligence or education.

That's bullsh garbage, frankly, but I know that some of you out there think it. The fact is that there are many highly intelligent, highly educated, highly literate people who enjoy throwing in the odd blue note here and there (think Stephen Fry, for example. I doubt that anyone who knows even a little bit about his career could believe that he's incapable of expressing himself without cursing. It's there, though. In a uniquely adverbial sense, often, but it's there). As for me, I'm reasonably intelligent, reasonably educated, and... ok, pretty damned literate. And I like to swear.

Why?

Oh, partly for effect, no doubt. Sometimes the shock value amongst the prudes is entertaining. Partly in camaraderie when I'm around friends who feel the same way about it that I do. And partly, I suppose, as a bit of a linguistic stand. Those of us with one whole university-level course in linguistics can form some pretty dangerous opinions about language, you know.

To be fair to myself, one whole university-level course in linguistics plus a lifetime of interest in language and the way it works. I've done my share of reading over the years, boys and girls, so my opinions about things like swearing haven't just been pulled out of my left ear.

You see (and boy, am I trying to make this a very short summary of a certain school of thought in both linguistics and philosophy) in the world of words the words only have whatever value we put on them. If you choose to be offended by some word or some form of expression, you're the one who chose to be offended. Words only have meanings when we attach meanings to them.

So... does this mean that we should never take exception to the use of curse words or racial slurs or whatever else just because they're only words and names will never hurt me? No, of course not. The words we use do have certain meanings attached to them and certain thoughts understood to underlie their use, and we, as a culture, agree on those thoughts and meanings. For the most part. What I'm trying to say is that I find it massively ridiculous for someone to get all up in arms and be offended if I happen to blurt out shit! in exasperation after I've hit my thumb with a hammer or something.

And besides, I'm much more likely to blurt out bugger. It's a much more well-rounded expletive than shit. In my experience, anyway.




I really should get back to work. Ah well. At least now I know what to do if I find myself in sudden pain from running into something.






And yes, that's been known to happen. Shut up.

Friday 17 July 2009

Pointless photo of the day:

How sad is it that I didn't even preview this photo before I uploaded it? Just trusting in the innate pointlessness at this point, I guess.

I'm so tired.

I'm so tired that I can't even consider myself to be even slightly functional.

Which begs the question: how can someone be this tired and STILL NOT SLEEP? Absofrigginglutely ridiculous, is what this is becoming.

Last night I was up until at least three in the morning, which is great except for the part where I woke up at quarter to six. In the same bloody morning.

Yay me.

I think I need to schedule a three-day coma or something.



Going now.





Insane, probably.

Thursday 16 July 2009

Pointless photo of the day:

It's a self-portrait.

At least I'm pretty sure that those are my fingers playing peekaboo with that Two-Spotted Ladybird.

I was going to crop myself out of this shot, but then I figured that you may as well see the weird way I spend my time on the weekends. Chasing down innocent beetles, yep. It's a necessary job when there aren't any spiders out and about to distract myself with...

This is all you're getting today, by the way. Sleep and I haven't been the best of friends lately, so finding the brain to blather with just isn't high on my list of priorities at the moment.

Bye now.

Tuesday 14 July 2009

Handed

Hey, it's a non-pointless photo! Now the blog will turn into a pumpkin...

Anyway. What you see in the photo is something that's hung in my old bedroom here at my father's place since I was... oh, about three. It's a hand print in plaster of Paris, covered in gold spray paint which the plaster is slowly making its way through (that's why it looks a bit blotchy). It was a Sunday School project for Mother's Day if I remember right, and on the back there's a poem that has something to do with helping hands. I think. I didn't bother to take it off the wall to read it again when I took the picture.

The hand that made the print, you might have guessed, belonged to my three-year-old self, and it's very obvious that an adult helped me make that print. Obvious to me, anyway.

And why is it so obvious? Well, look at which hand made the print in the plaster. If I'd done it on my own initiative I never would have used that hand.

I'm a very left-handed person, in other words. It wouldn't have ever occurred to me -- especially three-year-old me -- to make a hand print with my right hand.

It's kind of a weird reminder to me of how much things have changed for left-handers even during my lifetime. Before I was born it was an all-too common thing to force children to use their right hands. Left-handedness wasn't allowed in school classes, and if you made the mistake of trying to write with your left hand you got your knuckles rapped with a ruler or (hard to believe that this ever happened, but I've heard from more than one person who suffered through it) had your left arm tied to your side to "remind" you to use your right. I'm not sure why left-handedness was seen as so wrong, at least in this country. I know that in other cultures the left hand may be seen as unclean (because people would generally use their left hands to clean themselves in the bathroom but their right hands to eat with, or so I've read), but the bias remained in western culture long after such reasons should have mattered. This article suggests that the rise of literacy and the difficulty of writing left-handed with a dip pen might be to blame. I suppose that's possible, but the reasoning there just doesn't seem to match the enthusiasm with which many teachers tried to prevent left-handedness.

Even for me things were a bit difficult, although not because I was told not to use my left hand. For me it was more the fact that I was part of the first generation (around here, anyway) that was allowed to write with whatever hand felt most natural. Being amongst the first meant that my teachers had no idea how to teach someone to write left-handed, and that meant that I was pretty much left on my own to figure it out. I don't know if it's different for left-handed kids nowadays, but to my mind it explains why lefties my age all seem to have slightly different methods of attack when it comes to writing. Some of us do the hook-handed thing, some of us tilt our papers in odd ways to get the right angle, and me... well, come to think of it I'm not sure what I do. Let me write something right now and check.

Well, allowing for being all self-conscious about it at the moment, it looks like I tilt the page a little bit but mostly just barge through. I guess that would account for all the smudginess of my school papers, eh? That only improved when I got old enough to look for my own school supplies, and smart enough to realise that some pens are much less prone to smudging that others. I still to this day won't use gel pens or roller pens, for example. Too many of those things are just evil.

One common lefty problem that I (thanks, mom and dad) never had to suffer through in school was the whole scissors issue, at least. I always had left-handed scissors, and as a result I didn't have to go through the fun of feeling like the most inept cutter in class. Parents, if your child is left-handed please please PLEASE take the time to find him or her some proper lefty scissors. It really does make all the difference in the world. Left-handed scissors are put together differently, you see, so a lefty can both see where she's cutting and not have the fun of trying not to force the blades apart as she cuts. That's what happens with right-handed scissors, by the way. Most lefties can learn to use right-handed scissors eventually, but it's not fair to a kid to have to start off that way. Oh, and don't be fooled by those scissors that say good for right or left hand. They aren't. They're just right-handed scissors built with grips that won't hurt the left hand. They still won't cut properly for lefties. Not a lot of people realise that, you know (unless they're left-handed and have tried to use them). In fact, years ago when I was taking some Early Childhood Development courses at the local college (looong story) I had to explain to the art teacher that the scissors she was fond of and was recommending to her students would be nothing but frustrating for any of the left-handed kids those students might end up trying to teach.

Um, yeah. I guess you can tell that I have a bit of a scissors thing.

Anyway, I've blathered enough just now that I'm not really in the mood to turn this into a novel and start in about life as a lefty. I've said stuff about that on the blog already, if you're interested (just use the search box at the top of the page to find it, assuming that you are interested), and I'll no doubt be saying more in the future. It's a big part of who I am and, to be honest, how I identify myself. Shut up. That's not weird. If you want weird, ask me sometime about how often I surreptitiously count the number of left-handed kids in the classes I see at the nature centre.

Now that -- admittedly -- can definitely hinge on weird.

Later, all.



*waves*
*with left hand, of course*

Monday 13 July 2009

Pointless post of the day:

And boy, will this ever be pointless. Last night was a horrible one as far as sleep is concerned. It's something I'll never understand, you know? I'm tired, I want to sleep, and I don't. The whole thing sucks, frankly.

So. Post. I have no idea what this will turn out to be about.

We could start with the pointless photo, I suppose. Click on it for a closer look, because it's not a bad shot. It's of a ladybird beetle larva. They're not evil, so don't squish them. Unless you happen to like extra aphids in your plants, I guess.

Well, there's that done. Any other ideas, voices? The ones in my head, I mean. Any ideas? Anyone? Here's your chance, you know. It's a wide open playing field...




Anyone?







No?







Sigh.
We'll try again tomorrow then, I guess.

Sunday 12 July 2009

Something something green pepper...

I suppose that the something something could be the insect in the photo, since I didn't know what it was when I took the photo and haven't bothered to look it up yet. So why did I take the photo? I dunno. I thought that the something something looked neat sitting on the daisy, I guess.

That's pretty much the reason for most of my pointless photography. I thought it looked neat at the time.

That doesn't explain the reason for the green pepper you'll find on the other blog today (and I bet you thought that the green pepper in the post title was just random muttering...), but then I'm not entirely sure what could possibly explain that. Oh, and I'm too lazy to link to the other blog at the moment. Look for Shrubbery on the sidebar if you're desperate to see a green pepper.

I personally wasn't desperate to see a green pepper, and yet I spent over half an hour trying to paint one last night. Paint a picture of one, I should say. I'm sure it wouldn't take a half and hour to give a green pepper a coat of paint if you really wanted to.

Why you would I don't know, but maybe some of you are into that kind of thing.

Anyway, I decided yesterday that I'd use a green pepper as my Illustration Friday entry this week. That was weird. The fact that I decided to paint it rather than draw it was pretty weird too, but let's stick with the weirdness of the green pepper choice for now, ok?

Now, I know that people have been using green peppers in still life drawing (and painting) for ages -- you only have to google green pepper images to find a whackload of green pepper art -- but it's a strange choice for me because I don't like green peppers. I mean really don't like them. To the point where I'd have trouble eating a pizza as a kid if I could smell green pepper on it. Not if there was green pepper on the pizza, mind... if I could smell green pepper. Like if the pizza preparer had made a green pepper pizza before s/he made mine and there was still green pepper essence on the person's hands. Yep, I was that sensitive to green pepper.

Not that I'm allergic to it or anything. I just don't like it.

I've gotten a bit better about it over the years, of course. Now I can even eat a (tiny) bit of it if it's mixed with other really strong flavours like in ginger beef. Yay me. I still, though, can't figure out why people would choose to eat it in so many ways that cause it to overwhelm every single other ingredient in a dish. Raw in salads or subs? Ew. Stuffed? Double ew. I can't imagine using a vegetable that I hate as a container to cook other things in. The damned thing is so flipping strong. Can you actually taste anything but green pepper in a stuffed green pepper? Honestly?

So, yeah. My feelings about green peppers are about as strong as the taste of them is obnoxious. So why paint one? I... don't know. Interesting shape, maybe. That could be. After all, I don't particularly like wasps but I've taken my fair share of wasp photos.

I've never painted one, though.






Maybe I should.

Saturday 11 July 2009

Ah, toys

Ok, so today's pointless photo isn't of toys. It's of my foot. And some rocks. Yeah, I don't know either.

Anyway, toys. I've decided that my toys are becoming decidedly weirder as I get older. I've already mentioned that art supplies are definitely toys for me anymore (and speaking of art supplies, I have yet to think of an idea for this week's Illustration Friday prompt. Hollow, anyone?), I know. Well, my latest thing is even stranger than that.

It's a butter bell.

Sorry... butter bell. French butter crock, if you prefer. It lets you keep butter at room temperature for weeks, as long as you change the water regularly. I'd been wanting one for a while, so when I saw one in the store the other day I figured I'd may as well give it a try.

Does it work?

Yes, it does.

Is that a problem?

Only when you find yourself treating it like a toy.

Not that I'm really playing with it, you understand. Just that it's still a novelty to know that I have softened butter available whenever I want it without having to nuke it.

And that, my friends, is making me go through a lot more butter than I normally do.

Oh, I don't mean that suddenly butter is going on everything. I just mean that I'm now using butter where I might have used, say, margarine before. Taste-wise? A good thing. Cost-wise? Well, I think the novelty better wear off soon. I can't afford to develop that sort of butter habit.

This is making it sound like I'm really overdoing the butter. I'm not. I promise. They say you can keep butter in one of those things for thirty days as long as it's in a cool place, and I may possibly make it that long. It's just that... well... I'm cheap. Ok, I admit it. I'm cheap, and the thought of what butter costs compared to good old non-hydrogenated vaguely-butter-tasting oleo kind of... bothers me.

My toys shouldn't be costing me money, you know. I'm not that kind of a person. Once I've paid the money for a toy, that's supposed to be it.

And, honestly?

HOW FREAKING WEIRD IS IT THAT I'M THINKING OF A BUTTER BELL AS A TOY???

Sometimes I really think I need some sort of professional help.





And I'm not talking about a personal chef here, boys and girls.
I'm... done typing now, I think. I should get back to work anyway.









Later, then.

Friday 10 July 2009

Pointless photos of the day:

Pointless photos will have to be it, I'm afraid, even with a couple of days away. My neck's been out, you see (YES, AGAIN), and right now I have enough of a headache that it's actually sort of hard to process anything.

Ought to make this afternoon's pond study reeeally interesting.

Anyway, photos.

Above, one of the busiest roses I've seen in a while. Obviously those mating beetles were too busy being mating beetles to notice the Goldenrod Spider having a snack right below them. There was another, smaller beetle crawling around the outside of the flower as well, but you can't see it from this angle.

And on a nearby rose...

This fellow was probably looking for the lady with the bee in the other flower. He's a male Goldenrod Spider.

Colouration's a bit different and he's a lot smaller, but I promise that it's the same species.

And yes, he'll be taking his life into his hands when he decides to make a move on the female. Nature doesn't care; once he's done mating he doesn't have much use.

Things aren't much better for the female, though. She'll make an egg sac and spend the rest of her life defending it. She'll most likely die before it even hatches, actually.

It's so much fun being a spider.

That's why I'm not one, I guess.

Tuesday 7 July 2009

Rain

We had quite the rainfall yesterday. Probably at least 35 mm, and since it fell steadily over the night rather than in one massive downpour it might have even had a chance to sink in a bit. That's good. It's been really dry here.

Typical Alberta, though. We've been waiting for rain, but when it finally comes it's in July. Likely too late for most of the crops that needed it. Between the late spring and the lack of timely rain, I'd expect that food prices may be looking pretty scary in the next year.

Consider yourself warned, folks.

I was awake for too much of last night (I've buggered up my neck again -- yes, again -- and it was hard to find a comfortable position to sleep in), but at least I had the rain to listen to. I like the sound of rain. I especially like the sound of rain on canvas. One of my weirder things, I suppose, but there's a reason for it. The sound of rain on canvas reminds me of the tent trailer we had when I was a kid. I know that my parents weren't too thrilled at the thought of rain on the tent trailer, but since I wasn't the one who had to worry about leaks I thought that rain was fun. I have very vivid memories of lying back in one of the tent-wing beds and just listening to the sound the rain made as it bounced off of the fabric over my head. As long as it wasn't a violent storm the rain was incredibly relaxing, and to this day whenever I hear the sound of rain on a tarp or an awning or a tent, it's too easy for me to be taken back to comfortable feeling of that old Bonair trailer.

Hey, maybe that's what I need to get past this whole stupid insomnia thing. Maybe I should just string a tarp up on my balcony and sleep outside in the rain...

Or maybe not. With my luck I'd probably end up sleeping with the pigeons.

Hey, did I mention my surprising lack of balcony pigeons this year? It's been fantastic. I didn't know why I wasn't dealing with the usual crap machine menace until recently, but I was certainly thankful for it. Now I'm even more thankful for it, because it turns out that my lack of pigeons has a lot to do with the fact that there are peregrine falcons nesting on the hotel near my apartment building. Yay falcons. You can have all the pigeons you want as far as I'm concerned. I'm not a Bert.

Anyway, I think that's all I've got. Possibly more rain in the next few days, they say, so maybe we'll finally be damp enough for a while. I know some of my two fans are thinking that I'm all wet at the best of times, but I'm doing my best to ignore the hecklers.

Catch you later, folks.

Monday 6 July 2009

Pointless photo of the day:

See, the thing is that I'm on weekend brain right now and I don't really have anything in mind to blather about.

Yeeesss... I do know that it's not the weekend.

It's my weekend, though. I worked on the real weekend (you may have noticed) so now I'm taking my own personal weekend a day or two late. It'll probably be like that for the rest of the summer. You know, just in case you were into feeling disoriented or anything.

Anyway, I'm going to use the weekend excuse and not bother finding a blog topic. Besides, I'm too tired to post. Last night was just a weird one, what with the midnight thunderstorm and the not sleeping worth a hoot thing.

So, yeah.

I'm going to stop typing now, ok?




Ok.

----------

Edited to add: This made me laugh for no real reason at all. I guess you had to be there. In my brain, I mean.

Sunday 5 July 2009

Guess what I've been doing?

Go on, you'll never guess.

And it has nothing to do with the photo which is, as usual, pointless. Hey, this blog got its name for a reason.

So, did you guess?

Nope, you're so wrong.

I've been reading palaeontology papers.








I can tell that you're underwhelmed. But don't you want to know why I'd choose to be doing something like that? Too bad, because I'm going to tell you anyway. It's for work. I'm doing some research for a display (a palaeontological display, oddly enough), and when you're doing research for a palaeontological display it becomes necessary to read a few palaeontology papers.

It becomes necessary, yes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it becomes fun.

They're in a different language, you see. Some sort of impenetrable jargonisticable pseudolatin nightmare that really starts melting the neurons after a while.

I feel like I have brain puddles coming out of my ears.

There was a time when I could have made a bit more sense of this palaeospeak, of course. It was twenty years ago and even then I would have been much more comfortable with pseudolatin biospeak, but if you gloss over the geology parts (which I have to anyway, since I don't know squat about any of that) biospeak and palaeospeak are definitely very closely related.

And neither of them are English.

And on a completely unrelated topic, is it wrong that I've been skipping over all of the Jackson Five songs that keep coming up on the internet oldies station I'm currently listening to while I try to make sense of the palaeopapers? Sorry, MJ, but I hit Jackson overload daaays ago.

Anyway.

Don't get me wrong about all of this science lingo. I know that it exists for a reason. Hell, I spent four years of my life immersed in -- and, frankly, sort of enjoying -- that kind of thing. My problem at the moment is that it's reminding me how far removed I've become from that time in my life when I would have understood all of the words (well, most of the words) without having to dust off the ancient lexicon stashed way back in the recesses of my brain library.

I can't speak fluent geek anymore, and I'm kind of bothered by that.

It's like the day a few years back I pulled one of my old dissection manuals off the shelf (yes, I've kept my old dissection manuals. They come in handy more often than you might expect) to look up something for a program, and was struck by all the handwritten notes inside. Well, not literally struck. That would be weird, my own handwriting striking me. Um, yeah. What (metaphorically) struck me was that there were pages of notes, all in my left-handed scrawl, obviously done on the fly (well, not a literal fly... yeah, I'll stop) in the lab... and that I didn't even know what half of the words mean now. I'm sure they mean the same things that they did then (no, really. I'll stop for sure this time), but the meanings themselves have fallen out of my brain.

Sad, that.

And kind of makes a person wonder how much else has fallen out of her brain.

It happens to all of us, I know, but it's just not a happy thing to be confronted with by a desk full of palaeontology papers.

Speaking of which, I suppose I should get back to them...





Yeah.

Later, then.

Saturday 4 July 2009

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll be it, because I'm at work and busy being frustrated. Or something. So here's a spider.

Or, if you'd rather have something to point-and-laugh at, my Illustration Friday post is up on the other blog.

Later, all.

Oh, and for our neighbours to the south, Happy Fourth.

Friday 3 July 2009

11:37

There's something really weird going on. I mean even weirder than usual for me.

I'm being haunted by 11:37.

No, really.

You see, it's like this. I've been going to bed fairly early the past few days in a probably vain attempt to catch up on some of the... oh, three years or so of sleep I've missed during my career as an insomniac. I've bed going to bed, and for some strange reason I've actually been going to sleep.

The problem is that I've also been waking up.

At 11:37.

PM, that would be.

A couple of nights ago I woke up at 11:37. Kind of a bummer when you only went to sleep at about 10:30, but what do you do? Try to get back to sleep, that's what, and that's exactly what I did. Eventually.

The next night I woke up at 11:37. With a vague, half-asleep sense of déjà vu. My brain couldn't quite figure out why I'd seen that number on the ceiling before (yes, I do mean on the ceiling. I have a projection clock), but eventually it stopped trying to figure things out and went back to sleep.

Eventually.

Last night I woke up again. AT 11:37. This time my brain decided that, for whatever reason, the clock couldn't possibly be working. Otherwise it wouldn't be showing the same time every night, right? So I turned around and watched the actual clock (as opposed to the projection) for about five minutes just to make sure that the numbers were, in fact, changing.

They were.

It had been 11:37 again, that's all.

I'm starting to get a little weirded out by that, to be honest.

Still, I don't suppose I should be weirded out by it given my history of having a really persistent internal alarm clock. For ages I've been waking up without fail at five in the morning. And why five in the morning? Well, because at some point my stupid brain decided that five in the morning was the time to get up. Every day. No matter what you did or didn't have to do each day. Five in the morning it was.

Sucks, really. I used to be a real night owl, but I've been forced to become just the opposite simply because my brain seems to think that five in the morning is a really fun hour of the day. Or did. I've managed to stretch it a tiny bit in the past few months, but I still tend to be awake at godawful in the morning whether I want to be or not. And let me tell you, that's going to be a helluva lot of fun if my brain and I continue playing this game of 11:37 as well.

I don't suppose anyone would like to buy my brain, would they? I can let it go cheap because it seems to be slightly defective...






Ah well. I guess that's all I have for today's (somewhat fatigued) blather. And if you happen to be up at 11:37 tonight fergodssake DON'T call me. It seems that I'm likely be awake, but please.

Don't encourage it.

Thursday 2 July 2009

I dunno. Probably something pointless.

I really don't have anything today.

I don't know why, actually.

I mean, I'm in a decent mood and I don't seem to be having trouble talking to my coworkers or anything like that, so I'm not sure why none of it's translating to blather. That seems to be how things are going, though.

So.

What do we do here, do you think?

Do I keep typing in hopes that something might actually come out, or do I stop and just let you look at the purty water iris?

I'm leaning towards the iris myself.

Well, not literally leaning towards it. Seeing as the flower's at my father's place and I'm here at work, that would be silly.

Get the feeling that I'm going to stop typing at any moment?






Yeah, me too.

Wednesday 1 July 2009

Pointless photo of the new month:

It's an ant carrying a dead butterfly.

What? Not Canada Day enough for you? Ok then. Check out the one below. It's a hoverfly on a daisy.

Still not festive enough?

Well I'm sorry, but I just wasn't awake enough to grab the camera and take a shot of the magpies on my balcony this morning. They were entertaining, though. Both hanging on for dear life to my perchless metal feeder just so that they could steal a few sunflower seeds. Hey, I'll take magpies stealing sunflower seeds from the balcony over pigeons crapping on the balcony any day.

Even Canada Day.

So Happy Canada Day, then, all you magpies and hoverflies and ants with dead butterflies. I sure know how to celebrate, don't I?

Ok, so the fact is that I don't usually bother. It might be different if I had a young family or, you know, actually liked people well enough to want to join the crowds at one of the public festivals, but as it is it just sounds like far too much effort to bother. If we're not having a massive thunderstorm tonight I might venture out into the apartment's parking lot to get a better look at the fireworks, but really? No skin off my nose if I don't do that either. Still... we should have some sort of fireworks in honour of my home and native land's 142nd birthday, I suppose...

Here. This'll do.

Happy Day, Canada.
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