Wednesday 29 December 2010

Pointless photo of the day:

This'll be it from me for the year. The next couple of days are supposed to have nasty windchill, so rather than turn into a rashy red blob I'm planning to stay home, play with my new art supply toys (and what did I decide to get with my gift card? Ah, you'll have to wait to find out. Consider it a fairly lame cliffhanger), occasionally do some work (yes, I'm bringing homework from the office), and mostly just keep warm. I may even have some New Year's plans for a change, but if that comes through I'll be sure not to tell you anything about it.

After all, it'll be old news by the time it's blogged, right?

Anyway, Happy New Year to all of my two fans, and even my non-fans. I'm nice that way, you know? Today's end-of-year pointless photo is me going slightly photoeditor abstract with an innocent tree picture. I've been in an abstract frame of mind lately, I guess.

Which probably doesn't bode well for the art that may happen in the next few days, but we'll see how things go.

See you in January, everyone.

Tuesday 28 December 2010

Enjoy!

The pointless photo, as usual, has nothing to do with anything. I just thought the reflection and that dusting of snow looked kind of cool.

----------

Now, on to enjoy. The word, I mean. I'm starting to think that enjoy, in an unfortunate context, can be one of the most annoying words in the English language. And the annoyance happens so innocently, too. Here's my (insert whatever item here). I hope you like it. Enjoy!

Sounds friendly enough, right? But... it's used so often without thinking that it starts to sound like a command. Enjoy! Enjoy, dammit! You'd better effing well enjoy this!

It can also come across as a monstrous guilt trip if a person's not careful. I did this for you, you know. Enjoy! It took up some of my valuable time. Enjoy! I hope you appreciate these things I do. Enjoy!

Yeah, I'm probably a little Enjoy! oversensitive. I'll freely admit it. It's just that the word can so easily become a meaningless bit of nothing tacked on to the end of a statement when you've run out of things to say, and enjoy deserves better than that. It's a happy word that shouldn't be filler. And it shouldn't ever become annoying.

It does, though.

There was someone on I'm-sure-you-know-which-site whose video offerings I was checking on a regular basis for a while, but I don't anymore. I couldn't take the Enjoy! she tacked on to the end of every. single. blurb she wrote for them. It starts to get a person's back up after a while, you know? It's almost a challenge: I'll enjoy it it if I bloody well feel like it, thank you very much. And if I don't... none of your business.

Enjoy! overkill can be downright amusing too, of course. One of our local television news teams (or as local as they get since Canwest Global killed our local station. Can't say I'm mourning the demise of that particular television empire) put out a collection of family recipes for the holidays, and as I was flipping through it I couldn't help laughing at the reflex Enjoy! ending almost every recipe write-up. Copy editor, anyone?

Ah well. I guess what I'm saying here is that I wish people would give the easy Enjoy! a bit of a break for a while. Call it a New Year's resolution, if you want to. I'll even take a needy I hope you like it! over Enjoy! at the moment. Yes, even with the artificially cheerful exclamation point.




We'll have to talk exclamation points at some time or other as well, I think. There are far, far too many of them roaming around the internet, as far as I'm concerned. I'm only one person, though. I can only do one snit at a time.

----------

Well, what with some upcoming chilly weather and a few days off, I'll just say that blogging may be a little hit and miss from me in the next while. I'll probably be around, but just in case something unexpected comes up I'll warn you that things should be back to normal after about the second of January.

Warn you, yes. Everybody deserves a chance to run for it.

Monday 27 December 2010

Blank

Yep, blank.

Blank screen, blank post, blank mind apparently.

I've gone totally blank. Not sure if I had much on the brain to blather about in the first place, but it seems that whatever small thing might have been there is gone now.

For those new to the program, what usually happens next is that I type for a while in hopes that the blankness will resolve itself or, at the very least, I'll think of something to complain about. Should that occur I'll often delete the top I've got nothing part of the post and pretend that I did, in fact, have something the whole time. If nothing comes up then the entire post becomes I've got nothing and my two fans all say oh not that same old song again.

Erm... should I explain that my two fans apparently have multiple personalities? Either that or they've ACTUALLY multiplied lately. Welcome, to those of you who really are new to the program. I have no idea why you're here, but make yourself at home. I'll put the kettle on.

So, status update?

Still blank. Sorry.

Oh, there are things I could blather about, of course. The east coast's crappy weather (my sympathies, folks. For real), my lack of ambition to hit the Boxing Day/Week sales, an explanation of what Boxing Day has evolved into in Canada for those of you from away who've never experienced the madness, batteries (yes, I could blather about batteries)... I guess I'm just not in the mood.

And what am I in the mood for?

Well, it might turn out to be a doodling day later. Or I may just sit down here and watch silly British sketch comedy on the Home of All Things Plagiarised, depending on what game my father ends up watching this afternoon (one sucky thing about the fact that he's gone to satellite television? He only has the one receiver so we watch one thing in this house now. Not a big deal during the week when he's the only one here, of course, but it's a bit inconvenient for Yours Non-Sportingly when she visits). In other words, I'm kind of a blank on my mood as well.

I guess that pretty much explains this whole post, then.



Pity I just didn't stick with the first sentence. It would have saved me a lot of unnecessary letters.







Later, all.

Sunday 26 December 2010

To paint or not to paint?

The pointless photo is not of paint. But then, I'm sure you got that one on your own.

----------

So here's the thing. I'm taking a topic that's probably better for the other blog and putting it here instead because I feel like blathering about it a bit: I did a painting for the staff show at work this year. You can find it here. You know, if you actually want to. Shall I explain the diffidence about it that you might be feeling from me right about now?

Well...

I don't paint. Or, obviously, I did paint that particular... um... thing?... but normally I don't paint.

I don't know how to paint, you see.

I know how to draw. They don't always come out exactly the way I want them to, my drawings, but I know the basic techniques when it comes to graphite and pens, and I can usually figure out the non-basic things as I go since I've been doing it for a while now (not so very long publicly -- it took some doing for me to be brave enough to share my doodles -- but for years for my own pleasure). I'm reasonably comfortable with drawing.

But painting?

Gah. I don't know how to paint.

Part of it is that for a long time I wasn't the slightest bit interested in painting. I'm pretty tactile when it comes to my artsy endeavours, usually. I like the feel of paper (and if I don't like the feel of paper it's not going to be used. Witness my highly-neglected field sketchbook and it's very, very boring paper that I just can't get into). I like the feel of smudging graphite. It took me a little while to grow fond of sketching with pen simply because it's not as all-fingers-in as graphite can be (or is for me. I'm a total mess by the time I've finished a graphite sketch. It's a good thing, though), but it's still an immediate contact with the surface. Painting? Well, for whatever reason the idea of working with a brush has always seemed a remove from the immediacy of pencil or pen. It puts you at a distance, doesn't it? That, and you lose some of the control you have when you're working closer to the surface.

Yeah. Is it too obvious that I have the brush skills of a five-year-old?

The other part of this I don't know how to paint mentality is that I've never been taught. I had one whole art course in school before science took over my academic life, and in that course we learned drawing basics and a little sculpting (thus my fondness for Play-doh? Maybe. You can find the evidence on the other blog, at any rate), but no painting. Painting would have been introduced second year, if I had taken it.

What did I take instead? Hmm. It was junior high and there wouldn't have been more than one science course at the time, so I guess maybe science wasn't to blame after all. I took... um... let's see. Oh, drama. That was it. And Outdoor Ed, which consisted mostly of doing the Alberta Hunter Education course. Doesn't sound much like me, I know, but the course had, amongst other things, sections on IDing animals in the wild, so it's had some unexpectedly lasting value.

Now, I know that there are a heckuva lot of self-taught painters out there. And I also know that, since I already have a decent feel for form and shape, I could probably get my head around creating the illusion of it with paint rather than pen. I also have a couple of reference books that have decent pointers about techniques that I might not be able to guess on my own. But still. I'm so, so not comfortable with the whole shift.

Painting. How does a person paint, anyway?

You might be wondering about now why I'd even be thinking about painting if I'm not terribly comfortable with the idea. Well... a couple of things happened in the last year or two to make me think that it might be time to play around with paints a little more. One was a gift card for art supplies, and I have a habit of trying to buy something different than I normally would when I have gift cards. The way I see it, if I'd been given the gift directly it might be something on the unusual side, so when I'm using someone else's money to buy myself a gift I try to think outside my usual. That's how I ended up with a set of actual artist-quality watercolours a few years ago, that's how I ended up with some non-sketching paper last year, and this year? I'm thinking maybe acrylics.

Yes, I'm seriously thinking about real, not-totally-cheap (which is all I have now) acrylic paints.

And probably a few canvasses too.

What on earth am I getting myself into?





I... dunno...






Oh, sorry. Lost my train of thought for a moment. Where was I? Oh yeah. One of the other things that happened to make me start thinking about painting is that I got into doing some mixed media journalling this year. Mostly it's just me making a therapeutic mess, but I can't deny that it's given me the chance to get a feel for different media used in unusual ways. It's also made me think more about building texture with things like gesso instead of just depending on the paper's texture to turn me on.

I've been having more fun with gesso than anyone should be allowed to, by the way. Aaand I'll have to remember to put gesso on the list when I'm spending this year's gift card, because it seems to me I'm almost out.

Anyway. It's going to be a few days before I have a chance to hit the art store, so I suppose we'll see what kind of mood I'm in by then. I have had my eye on a nifty set of soluble pencils (that almost counts as painting, right? I do use a brush on them), so we'll have to see whether comfort or adventure wins out. Either way, I definitely win. New toys? Always a good thing in my book.

Stay tuned to the other blog in the next weeks for the results of this dilemma.

Saturday 25 December 2010

Is it weird...

... for someone who doesn't currently own a computer to receive a scanner for Christmas?

I don't think it's weird, but it probably sounds weird.

Fans (fans. Ha. I almost typed that with a straight face) of my other blog should be happy to know that -- presuming the thing works -- they will no longer be suffering through ill-lit photographs of my latest "pieces" when I'm here at my father's place (as opposed to at work, where I can scan things on the photocopier).

Now the scanner for the computerless makes more sense?  I thought it might.

Fans of my other blog may also be happy (or scared) to know that I get to go spree on some more art supplies. It's been a fairly arty Christmas for Yours Doodly.

It turned out to be a Christmas for my father's computer, oddly enough. Printer/scanner for me, and a new keyboard and mouse for him. I haven't connected either yet, since I thought I'd post before I buggered up the system, but I'll be doing that soon. Either connecting things or buggering up the system. Take your pick, I guess.

I don't really have much more to add, since I should probably get some lunch and it's a bit odd to be posting on Christmas anyway, so I'll just say Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, Happy Holidays to those who are more secular, and My Sympathies and it Sucks to be You to all of those who are either working or stuck in an airport somewhere at the moment.

I think that probably covers everyone?

Friday 24 December 2010

Topic

Pointless photo? Pointless, as usual.

----------

Sigh.

I started this post with a topic. I even started typing the topic. The topic was boring. I bored even myself with the topic.

So now I have no topic.

The topic of this week's Illustration Friday is winter. But I don't want to draw winter, let alone type about it.

So I guess that doesn't help.

I suppose I should be having some sort of topic about Christmas, but I'm at the point in my life where Christmas has become a lot smaller (frankly, I don't mind). In about an hour I'll head in to my father's place. Tomorrow we'll open presents and have turkey. And that'll be it.

Not much of a topic there.




So... anyone else have a topic, or shall we just wait until tomorrow and see if I can come up with something then?

Hands?

Anyone?




Geez it's quiet here during the holidays.

Maybe that should have been my topic...








Ah well.

Thursday 23 December 2010

Weird

It's weird being in the office this time of year, when so many of the staff are already on holiday and there aren't many visitors. I always think that it's going to give me a chance to get more stuff done because things are quieter.

I always think that, yes.

Does it happen?




Well, I seem to be pretty busy. The thing is, I'm busy with stuff that normally isn't my stuff. I guess I should expect that, but for whatever reason it generally seems to surprise me every time it happens.

Weird.

Either that, or I'm a slow learner.

But at least I'm a busy one.

----------

In other weird news, I currently have one swollen eyelid. Just the one, yes. My right one. I think it might just be a stye so I'm not panicking (yet), but it sure the hell is annoying. Felt like I had something in my eye last night, so of course like a stupid idiot I rubbed it. Why do you suppose evolution decided that it's a good idea to instinctively rub your eye when there's something in it, by the way? If there is something in your eye rubbing it's going to cause problems, and if there isn't... well, you end up with one swollen eyelid, I suppose. Yesterday there was just a bump (I checked. Too late, but I did check), but after the rubdown things are well and truly hooped.

Incidentally, if you haven't been freaked out for a while and you feel the need to be so, just try googling anything medical. All I was looking for was a way or two to help bring down the swelling, but what I found? Oh boy. It's a good thing I'm not a hypochondriac, because some of that stuff (not to mention the pictures. Ick.) would be enough to send anyone running to the emergency room in total fear of losing her eyesight, if not of having her entire eyelid drop off right in front of her.

And of course if I did the aforementioned running to the emergency room, they would tell me that I have a stye.

Which I probably do.

And it's really annoying.

Which I already said.





Must be time to end this particular edition of the whinging then, right?

Right.

Back to work for me.

Wednesday 22 December 2010

Pointless photo of the day:

Got nothing. Creaky from a fall a couple of days ago (don't worry -- still mostly functional). Busy besides.

Going now.







Hi Max...

Sunday 19 December 2010

DO 10

If you've ever looked in on the other blog where I put my doodles (check the sidebar, if for some reason you're curious now), you might have seen the scribble to the left somewhere in one of each doodle's corners.

No huge mystery to it; it's just my initials and the year. DO 10 is the closest I ever get to signing any of my artsy pursuits.

And why is that, Dee?

Well... I suppose it's me reminding myself not to take any of it too seriously. DO 10 is still admitting ownership (in a way, at least, even if it needs a bit of deciphering) without saying to the world that I AM AN ARTIST, AND THIS IS MY CREATION.

First of all, I'm not an artist. I doodle. Sometimes the doodles are fairly complete and get to call themselves drawings, but more often they're just little features of something-or-other that I've become interested in enough to draw but not enough to finish.

Story of my life in that last sentence, by the way.

I like to play with art, but I never want it to go much farther than play. I don't want it to stop being fun, or start being something that I have to do. And for whatever reason in my weird brain, actually signing one of my doodles would be dangerously close to not-fun.

Incidentally, I started joining up my initials not too long after I started learning cursive writing in elementary school. It was kind of fun to do all the loops that way, and I found out that I could make things out of my initials if I joined them. The owl's stuck with me the longest. Oh, just a second. I took a pointless picture of the owl too:

See? DO done grade-school carefully can make owl's eyes. Kind of neat, right?

Ok, so I was a bit of a weird kid.

Or a lot of a weird kid.

Anyway, none of this is leading to anything except that DO 10 will soon enough be turning into DO 11. And that means? Well, nothing but the end of the year, really, but since that human brain seems to be wired to look for milestones I just thought I'd mention one of my personal ones.

Besides, I really wanted an excuse to draw the owl again...

Saturday 18 December 2010

Cats don't wear bras

Today's pointless photo is not of a cat. Just saying.

As I was also just saying, cats don't wear bras. Those words actually came out of my mouth a few minutes ago. I was talking to a cat at the time, though, so it's not quite as well, she's finally lost it as it might sound.

Although some people might think that the whole talking to a cat thing in the first place qualifies on its own. Those people probably haven't owned cats. At least, I'd assume.

Penny, you see, was apparently in the mood for conversation as I was throwing out a dead bra (dead as in broken underwire, for those of you who have never killed a bra), so I let her know that I was just throwing out a dead bra.

She said maow.

I told her there was no point in keeping it, since it wasn't any good with a busted wire.

She said maow.

I told her it was ok since I'd actually got a fair amount of wear out of the bra before it died.

She said maaaow.

So I asked her if she wanted it.

She said maow.

That's when I told her that cats don't wear bras. She said maow, and I told her I didn't know how she was possibly going to use it since a) it was dead, and b) she's a cat.

She said maow.







You might have gathered by now that Penny likes to talk. You might have also gathered that I have no problem entering into a nonsensical conversation with a cat.

I mean, if you really look at it, it's the only kind of conversation you can have with a cat. Oh, you can understand each other's tone and body language, sure, but talking to a cat is always going to be a bit silly. I obviously don't mind it, because I do it anyway.

I also call cats names. Not just nicknames -- we've covered that before in the blather -- but insulting names. Hello, Max. Are you a pain in the arse? Why, sure you are! And incidentally, he certainly was last night. And is being one currently. I don't call him a pain in the arse just out of the blue, you know.

I guess I just don't buy into the school of thought that animals always know what words mean. Yes, they know some. These cats definitely know their names. Max knows outside and go to bed. Penny the Walking Stomach probably recognises more food terms than we realise. But as for everyday conversation? Say what you want to a cat, I figure. Just say it nicely. And for anyone who thinks that calling Max a pain in the arse is somehow cruel, I just have to say... really? He hears pain in the arse enough that he probably thinks it's a term of endearment.

The way I see it, having a stupid conversation with a cat is good for both parties. The cat (even if it's being called names, yes), gets attention, and the human gets stupid out of her system for a while.

Maybe we should all talk to cats.





The world could use a lot less stupid, really.

Friday 17 December 2010

Three wheeling

You know what bugs me about winter?

Ok, yeah. It might have been a lot quicker to say you know what DOESN'T bug me about winter? Let's try again.

You know one of the things that bugs me about winter? The way people seem to forget just how wide roads are. I'm sure you know what I mean  -- the first snowfall comes, and no matter how much of it there is (well, I suppose it would have to be enough to cover the roads) people all of a sudden start driving down the centre of residential roads instead of to their normal side. Or maybe not quite to the centre, but enough to the centre that there's one tire track down the middle of the road that's used by people going each way, and one off to either side.

People. Cars are NOT designed to leave a three-wheeled footprint.

What I don't get is why people do it in the first place. If it's a monstrous dump of snow (which very rarely happens here, thank Whomever) then, yeah. Make your way down the middle of the road as best you can. If it's not, though, stay to your own bloody side. Snowfall by and large doesn't suddenly shrink drive lanes.

The problem is that we're all such sheep. One person drives towards the centre, then the next person follows those tracks, and the next person after that, and a few snowfalls later it's impossible to get out of the stupidity tracks when someone dares to be coming from the opposite direction.

Personally, I try really hard whenever possible not to use the three-wheeled track. I have a fairly light car, though, and if things are at all slippery Dirty Moe (um, that'd be the car, for those new to the program) would prefer to use the same stupidity tracks that everyone else is using.

Ah, what to do.

Tomorrow maybe we'll discuss why stupid people in large 4X4s never seem to figure out that they should be the ones to move out of the ruts when a smaller car is trying to get through, but for now I'm in danger of causing myself a frustration headache just by thinking of it so I think I'll stop.

Both the thinking and the typing.

Later, all.

Thursday 16 December 2010

More sock stuff

Because the world needs to know about my socks, yes.

Actually, this is kind of a weird, head-cold-related thing. Oh, and before I go into it, I'm not as stuffy today so that's good. My throat hurts, though, so that's bad. Ah well, at least the stupid thing's moving.

So. First, you should know that I'm not generally a cold-feet person. Might be a bit weird for someone who has allergic reactions to the cold, but usually my feet are pretty good. My hands? Not so much. My face, and my legs if I'm not wearing long underwear? Fairly disastrous. But as long as I have half-decent boots on I don't have to worry about extra layers on my feet, for whatever reason.

You know, that really is kind of weird now that I've typed it out.

Anyway.

As is not terribly weird, dealing with this cold (head cold, I mean) has meant dealing with a little bit of a fever and all the odd sweating one moment/shivering the next that comes with it. Not a serious thing at all, really, except.

Except that my feet got cold.

Now, I'm usually barefoot year-round when I'm in my apartment. I wear slippers when I'm at my father's place (partly because the basement floors are cold and partly to avoid the WONderful feeling you get if you aren't paying attention and accidentally step in one of Penny the cat's little "gifts"), but around my place there's no need for anything. But in the past week my feet have been cold. Seriously cold. Cold to the point where, and I kid you not, I started to rash up like I would have if I'd gone out in the snow barefoot.

That's never happened before. Ever.

So I've been wearing socks. Everywhere. Even to bed, which feels very, very strange to someone who never wears socks to bed. I had to, though, because if I didn't wear socks I'd start to get itchy enough that I couldn't sleep.

I don't think I can express to you how extremely weird this has been.

Thank Whomever for the penguins, is all I can say.

I suppose I should explain that.







Yeah, I suppose I should. The penguin socks. Slipper socks -- you know, the kind with little rubbery grips on the sole. They're warm, they're fuzzy, and they're short enough that my lower legs don't feel like they're being strangled if I wear them at night. And I don't really have to thank Whomever, since I know that they were, in fact, a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law a few years ago. I thought I might have a photo of them on the blog somewhere but apparently I don't, so if you want to see some other Christmas socks and just think about the penguins, I suppose you could go here.

The things I take pictures of...

Ah well. In case anyone's concerned, the feet seem to be behaving better now and I think I'll be able to handle bedtime without the penguins tonight.

And since this has turned out way longer a blather than I thought it would (who knew socks could create so many words?), I really should get back to work now.

In my everyday, boring crew socks. You know, in case you wondered.

----------

One more thing, just because I can't get it out of my head so my two fans my as well have the earworm too:

Dan and Dan's Wikileaks Christmas song

Wednesday 15 December 2010

Holy sock, Batman

I have a hole in my sock.

Yes, that is the important thing I've chosen to report to the internet world today.

Sad but true.

I also have sinuses that feel like they're planning to explode, but then no one wants to hear about that.

Probably no one wanted to hear about my sock either, but there you go.

To add to the "have" list, today I have organic raspberry tea in my mug. It's good (and I'll save my thoughts about the whole organic thing for another time), but on the whole I'm not usually that into fruit-based teas. I find them a little like drinking hot Kool Aid, to be honest, and I'm sure that's not the effect the tea makers had in mind.

I suppose I'm kind of weird about teas, really. I like tea, and I like good tea, but I have no problem at all with bunging in a cheap tea bag as long as it has some sort of tea flavour to it. It's kind of like recognising the value of a good wine (which I definitely don't) but not minding if someone offers you the boxed stuff.

Tea-ish things that I'm not big on? Well, I guess I'm not the biggest fan of Earl Grey (mostly because it's everywhere, and I like a bit of variety) and there's the fruit thing that I've already mentioned, but I think one of the biggest tea crimes you're going to find is putting black pepper in chai. Yes, yes, I know it's traditional in many areas, but honestly? I just don't think it's a good idea to blend up a nice batch of spiced tea and then overwhelm it with pepper. Maybe I've just not had good pepper-inclusive chais, I don't know, but when there's pepper in the chai that's all I seem to taste.

I'm fine with ginger, though.

I'm also more than fine with chocolate-covered crystallised ginger, if anyone out there has some to spare. Make mine dark chocolate, please.





Um. Sorry. Got distracted by the thought of chocolate ginger.

Actually, this whole post is nothing but distracted. I haven't a clue why tea even made an appearance in a post that was supposed to be about a sock with a hole in it.

 That's what happens when you blather on snot-for-brains, I suppose. I'm going to stop typing now, before someone gets hurt.





And there's no coffee in this post because I don't like coffee. Just saying. Not even with chocolate-covered ginger...

Tuesday 14 December 2010

Pointless photo of the day:

Sorry, no time to post properly. Or even improperly.

Still feel like crap, so apparently taking a weekend off to deal with a cold doesn't actually do much for the cold. Could have figured that, but had to give it a try.

Later, all.

Friday 10 December 2010

Freaky

Freaky how a person can be feeling fine one day, and then wake up the next with a head full of snot (yep, the cold that's been making its way around the office finally decided that it was my turn).

Freaky that it's already the tenth of December.

Freaky that I haven't done any Christmas shopping.

Freaky that this time of year I can wander around wearing a metre-long stocking cap in gaudy Christmas colours and all anyone ever says about it is nice hat (and yes, I'm serious about the hat. I should take a picture of it one of these days).

Freaky that this was Canada's warmest year ever on record, and yet we never really got a summer here in Alberta. A reminder that global warming = climate change, not necessarily warmer everything all the time.

And the freakiest thing of all, at least at the moment in my brain? This:

We recently got them at work, and I used one for the first time just before I started this post.

Freaky.

Effective, but freaky.

And I'm not sure how we're going to convince our preschoolers that their hands won't be chomped...

Ah well. Me 'n my stuffed-up freaky head need to get back to business. Look for blogging to disappear for the weekend -- I think I may be curling up under a blanket and doing my best to get this stupid cold over with as soon as possible rather than being out and about.

And as for the Christmas shopping? Well, it is only the tenth...

Thursday 9 December 2010

Oh, I don't know

What to blather about today, I mean.

I've been wordy enough in the past little while, haven't I? I think that earns me a miss for today.

Ok, I've convinced myself.

I'll leave you, then, with a photo of the incredibly rare CatDog. It must have been a CatDog. You can tell by the tracks. This one seems to be defective, though, since one of its feet is on backwards.

Um, yeah. Catch you later.

Wednesday 8 December 2010

Chapter 1246: Wherein Dee makes cookies

Today's pointless photo is, of course, not of a cookie. I didn't have one of a cookie.

Not too much for blather today, so I just thought I'd let everyone know that I was, indeed, making cookies last night. At a stupid time of night, especially for someone who wakes up crappily early no matter how late she was baking.

That, by the way, sucks as much as it sounds like it sucks.

Anyway, for whatever reason I found myself in the mood for baking last night. It would have been nice if I'd been in the mood for baking a bit earlier because at least then I could have stopped at the store on the way home, but no. I decide I have to bake at night. With no baking powder in the house, which makes things difficult. Which, in turn, leads to shortbread. Not too many other options out there, really.

So, one batch of shortbread wreaths later (and one stack of dirty baking pans still on the stove. It was laaate by the time the cookies were done), I've baked. Probably a good thing, because I've been out of the habit for a while. I used to do it all the time, but I guess it became a victim to my serial interests.

It's an odd thing, that, and a life-long habit. I get interested in something, I do it regularly for a while, then I just stop to do something else. That abruptly, yes. It doesn't mean that I won't get interested again -- in fact, I generally do get interested again -- but it does mean that it'll go by the wayside for a while. It seems to happen with everything. Knitting, baking, writing bad poems...

Hmm. Wait a minute. The other day I started knitting something for the first time in about half a year. And yesterday the baking bug hit. Does that mean we all have to suffer through a spate of poetry next? And I say we all on purpose, since you just know I'd end up blogging the best of the worst, as it were.

I bet you're all on tenterhooks.

And with that... back to work for me. I brought the cookies in to work, by the way. So far no one's died. And yes, for you shortbread purists out there, I made them with butter. No point in making shortbread if you don't use butter. Even I know that, and even when I'm baking at a stupid time of night.



Um, so there.

Tuesday 7 December 2010

Works as advertised

Another "this'll be quick" day. Boy, this working at work thing is getting out of hand.

And speaking of working...

Maybe I'm jaded (ok, I'm totally jaded), but I generally find myself completely amazed when an advertised product actually works as advertised. I'm not even really counting the infomercial stuff here because you just know that nothing can be as good as an infomercial wants you to believe it is. I'm talking about regular, 30-second fast-forwarded-through commercially advertised products. The kind you can find in your friendly neighbourhood supermarket. Or your massive, non-friendly big box terror, as is more likely these days.

I'm not that good with claims, I guess. If something claims to work miracles, then that something had better be a deity of some sort or other. And I've not seen many deities created in factories.

Imprinted on grilled cheese sandwiches, maybe, but not created in factories.

Well, with that kind of attitude you can imagine my trepidation at having to look for a carpet spot-cleaner recently. The spot in question was large, on the carpet in my rental apartment, and of the dark juice variety. Basically, your typical oh bugger situation that had me cursing my lefty physical ineptitude; especially when none of the usual hints in the "clean everything" book my mother gave me years ago seemed to do a blasted thing to help the matter.

So what else to do besides admit defeat and kiss my damage deposit goodbye? Look for an it works miracles! product and hope for something. Anything. I ended up buying something that claimed to work instantly on everything from pet vomit to set-in red wine.

Yeah, right. Take my money and run, then.

Ah well.

Figuring I couldn't do much worse than completely bleach out the carpet (actually, if I'd thought that through I might have just lived with the stain), I sprayed the crap out of the offending area and waited the instructed five minutes. And no, I didn't sit there watching. Spot removers aren't grilled cheese sandwiches, after all.

Five minutes later the stain was gone.





Holy Whomever.

The stupid thing that I'd blotted, scrubbed, and rubbed with assorted weird household items on the advice of a dubiously helpful book was just gone.

Product works as advertised.

Who knew?









Um... does this mean I have to start believing in infomercials now?

What about grilled cheese sandwiches?

Monday 6 December 2010

This'll be quick

She says, knowing full well that when she says it'll be quick it's usually waaay longer than the supposedly long posts.

Ah well. I came in to work a bit late because I had to wait for it to warm up a little before I could be out to scrape the car, and I need to get back to the work. So let's all do our best to keep it quick, ok?

Now, speaking of cars, this is what I was planning to blather about today. My two fans know that it's not a good thing for me to be out in the cold. What they might not know, though, is that I actually don't keep my car very warm when it's running. Warm enough to keep the windows from fogging/frosting, yes, but not much warmer than that.

This will seem like an incredibly weird habit for someone who gets hives when she's cold, but here's the thing. In order to get out to the car on cold days, I have to bundle myself up like I'm going on an arctic expedition. When I get in the car I'm not likely to go to the bother of peeling off the layers, right? So... warm clothes + warm car would = extremely overheated driver.

And suddenly I'm almost making sense. Scary, huh.

Now all this is fine when I'm the one controlling the car's thermostat, but it becomes a bit of a difficulty when someone who knows about me 'n the cold thing offers me a ride somewhere. Almost inevitably, I'll dress (as I have to) for the weather, only to hop into a car that's about twice as hot as I normally ever have mine. Well-meaningly hot, yes, but there's no escaping the hot. And I'm always a little sheepish about asking to turn the heat down, seeing as the driver has probably gone out of his/her way to warm things up for me in the first place...

Ah, winter. How much do I loathe thee? I'd count the ways, but as I said before I really need to get back to work.



Later, folks.

Sunday 5 December 2010

You're a big chicken

The pointless photo is not, of course, of a big chicken. It's a red birdhouse in a snowstorm.

I don't think that there was even a small chicken in the birdhouse.

So, now that we've established that the photo is as pointless as usual, let's get on with the story.

Apropos of nothing but a bad sleep and the apparent need for a little nostalgia, let's have a brief look at my choral singing career. I love choral music... or at least I used to. I probably still do, come to it, but for various reasons (including having a childrens' choir of my own for a number of years) I haven't sung in a choir for ages. I grew up doing it, though, and continued for a while as an adult.

When I was a kid I sang in choirs, plural. Not an easy feat to find choirS when you're growing up in a small town, but I did it. I sang alto because that's what my voice thought it should be doing at the time. It wasn't always like that; when I was quite young I had a pretty decent soprano voice, but when I hit puberty I lost half an octave in the space of a summer.

Yeah. Don't ever let anyone tell you that girls' voices don't change. It's just not as extreme as the boys, folks.

Unfortunately one of my choir directors either didn't know that or didn't believe it, and called me out in the middle of a practice (in front of everyone, yes) for being lazy when I couldn't hit the notes I could hit last spring. Me being the stubborn sort and not appreciating the embarrassment (and, let's face it, not trusting my voice anymore at that point), I abruptly quit that choir. Um, just by not showing up ever again. In retrospect I maybe should have given notice or something, but at the time I was too pissed and hurt to want to be anywhere near the woman.

I stayed with my other choir, though. It was directed by my voice teacher. She let me sing alto.

I was a great alto. I have a good ear for harmony, and I'm pretty good at holding a part even if the chords sound a bit weird. Alto was a good place for me, especially since it took a helluva long time for my adult singing voice to develop. I used to compete at the local music festival (which... small town, remember. This wasn't exactly a gigantic competition) and all through my teens never won a damned thing in a solo category. Duets, trios, quartets? Absolutely. I was a fantastic supporting player. And I guess that if you can accept that you're going to be a fantastic alto supporting player and never be much of a soloist, you can still enjoy yourself, right?

I genuinely learned to enjoy myself. No, really. I sang alto in the choir and in competitions, I sang character roles in our amateur productions, and I had a lot of fun.

Enough fun, in fact, that when I went to university -- and even with a heavy lab schedule -- I decided that I wanted to keep up the choral singing and auditioned for the Mixed Chorus.

It was my first ever audition. One of the advantages of the small town thing is that if you want to be in something you're generally going to be in it without having to prove that you should be in it. But this was a different sort of animal, so I gathered my courage and headed to the audition room. The choir director was the one doing the auditions. Since the choir was a club rather than a credit course, the whole thing wasn't too strenuous. Some scales, some finding notes in chords, singing a song (O Canada, if I remember right). It was all going pretty well... until he turned away from the piano, looked straight at me, and said

You're a big chicken.

Huh.

Not what I was expecting from my first ever audition, and I was thrown. See, what I hadn't noticed but the director easily did was that during all those years of singing alto my voice grew up. I'd gotten my range back (and, through working pretty hard afterwards, got even more). I'd developed my adult tone. But I was so busy being the alto supporting player that I hadn't seen it coming. I was a lyric mezzo who was hiding in the alto section.

I should say here that the choir director wasn't being mean, even if it sounds that way. I found out later that he was a fantastic man with a wonderfully sarcastic sense of humour. What I think he saw in me was someone with a decent music education who wasn't using it properly. And he was right, of course.

So what happened? Well, he made me a First Alto.





But Dee! Wasn't this story supposed to be about you gloriously becoming the choir's featured soprano soloist and showing your childhood choir director that she was an ignorant witch (or whatever word you want to use there)? Well, no. Not really. See, all that alto time growing up had turned me into a good alto, and choirs need good altos. And good sopranos, good tenors, good baritones, good basses... without all of them, you don't have a good choir. I continued to enjoy being a choral alto, but in my private practice time I worked on becoming the mezzo soloist that I was capable of being. And a few years later when my former vocal teacher encouraged me to enter the adult solo section of that small-town music festival, I won!

And was the first person at the festival to ever sing jazz, but that's completely a different story.




And this is definitely enough typing for today. Go find something else to read now, ok?

Saturday 4 December 2010

This is the part where I should blog, right?

To be honest, I've been busy enough checking up on some of the internet nonsense that I've had to neglect this week (and my world absolutely collapsed, yes. Still no closer to getting my own internet connection at home, folks. As weird as that sounds in today's world) that I haven't really bothered to think about a blog topic.

So, um... have a p.o'd cat.

He though for some reason that last weekend was a good time to go outside. I disagreed.

Anyway.

I should be able to come up with something after being away from the blather for days, right? I mean, really I should.

Yep.

Yep, I really should.

Uh huh.





Oh hey, I could tell you about something sort of weird that happened last night. I went to bed around eleven o'clock and the next thing I knew it was SEVEN AM!

Seriously. That warranted caps. It so rarely happens in my life anymore that the night just disappears without my even once spending time communing with my projection clock. But I did, indeed, have a full night's sleep yesterday.




With my luck, it probably means that I'm coming down with something.

Sigh.

Well, that topic sucked. Sooo... erm... have a non-p.o'd cat, I guess:

This is what Penny was doing at the exact same time (ok, well, a second or two after, since I haven't yet figured out how to be in two rooms simultaneously) that Max was being a pain about going outside.

Penny? The ultimate bed cat. In fact, it totally doesn't surprise me that when the father figure was having his ceilings painted this week she wasn't so much put out by the fact that there were strangers in the house as she was by the fact that she couldn't sleep on her my father's bed for part of a day.

Gotta have your priorities straight when you're a cat, I guess.





Has this filled enough space to be considered a post now? I'm going to stop typing, ok?

Ok.

Friday 3 December 2010

Pointless photo and that's it of the day:

It's UFOs. Or off-season fireflies. Or the flash reflecting off of falling snow. One of the above, anyway.

Sorry for the lack of words here lately. I'll aim to get back to regular-ish blather by next week.

Wednesday 1 December 2010

Slight disruption

Or dispruption, which is what I actually typed. Not a big fan of this keyboard, she said while refusing to blame her own occasionally inept fingers.

So, yeah. Slight disruption. As I figured, the office (well, pretty much the offices, plural) is more or less disassembled at the moment, which means I'm typing this on a computer that I really shouldn't be using for personal business, which also means that there might not be another post until I can get my professional life back in some sort of order.

Or oder, which is what I actually typed.

Isn't that a river somewhere? Well, what do you know? It is.

Anyway. That's it for now, and possibly the next couple of days. See you when I see you.
Related Posts with Thumbnails