How you see it

Just to placate those of my two fans who are tired of me complaining about snow, I'll admit that yesterday we had an actual spring day here. Complete with melting and everything (which, naturally, caused some minor flooding in one of the creek beds since the ice isn't out yet and the meltwater had nowhere much to go). It's supposed to rain real, liquid water today instead of the white frozen stuff, so maybeee? Maybe there's hope that we'll see some green, growing things before July after all.

----------

Blogger told me today that there's some different ways to look at the blog now, if anyone's interested. Just add /view to the URL and you'll be given your choice of a few viewing options. Look for the drop-down list on the upper right corner.

So, given that I've made some specific choices about the way the blog looks on normal view, what do I think of all this monkeying around? Well...

I am sort of partial to Mosaic view, I suppose.

And I guess I'm not overly bothered either way.

The fact is that I've been putting a lot less effort into the way the blog looks these days because it's become too easy to make changes. Back in the old, pre-Google Blogger days when a person had to hand-code any changes she made, this particular person was a lot more into it. Somehow the challenge of trying to make things look the way I wanted to even with my extremely limited skill set made it interesting. Or maybe I'm just a sucker for punishment, I don't know.

I do know that, even though I've seen a great many nicely personalised templates out there, I'm far too ready to say oh, that's good enough these days rather than spend a few extra minutes to make it oh, that's just what I wanted.

All this is by way of saying that I've been thinking of making some changes again. This weekend? Maybe, if I'm in the mood and don't decide to be the responsible adult instead and do my taxes.





And yes, I'm finding it fairly sad that there's a possibility that responsibility will win out over creativity on this one.

Pointless pet peeve of the day:

Pointless photo? Well, if we were actually having spring, the trees might be starting to look like that...

I should warn you -- I'm in a bit of a mood. This might be short just because I don't know how long I can hold off the grumpy.

----------

One thing that drives me a little mad (yeah, I know. More of a short putt than a drive) is the way that natural is used in marketing. "All natural" ingredients in food, "natural minerals" in make-up, "natural" cleaners... and now, I notice, a company that doesn't need advertising via this blog is pushing a "natural" deodorant.

It bugs me that people get sucked in by that stuff, really: natural equated with pure, wholesome, healthy, or whatever other touchy-feely sentiment you want to add in there. Well, boys and girls, I know a couple of things about nature, and I can tell you that natural isn't always a good thing.

Do you want to know something that could easily be advertised as natural? Cyanide. It's natural. You can find its precursor in members of the Cherry family, amongst other plants. And those highly-touted "natural mineral" formulations currently in fashion for high-end make-up? Well, the word natural in there doesn't mean a bloody thing. Asbestos is a natural mineral, for pity's sake, and I certainly don't want to put THAT on my face. And even something as natural as milk, if it isn't treated properly, can cause you a whole lot of dead.

I guess what I'm saying is that a person shouldn't buy into the buzz words. Yes, look for healthy products. Yes, do -- but do your research, too. Look for words that are actually regulated in advertising, not just words that make you feel all fuzzy and warm. Be smart, not sucked in.

And ferwhomever'ssake, don't assume that natural is the same as benign. The world just doesn't work that way, folks.





It'd be pretty boring if it did.

Chapter 1315: Wherein Dee has a headache

I do, actually. And this office chair is driving my back nuts, which isn't generally the case.

I think my slidey-car misadventure on Friday has put things out of whack a bit.

WONderful.

So now we go one of two ways with this: Either I type a full page of whinge that no one -- not even Yours Moaningly -- wants to read, or else I...

Um...

Talk about Blue Flax?

I guess I could talk about Blue Flax. Although that might make the pointless photo somewhat less pointless than usual, seeing as today's random I'll-be-damned-if-I'm-posting-a-picture-of-snow-so-here's-a-flower-instead is, in flact, Blue Flax.

I like Blue Flax, though. I love its delicacy, and the apparent simplicity of the flowers. I say apparent for a few reasons, most of which are pretty boring and technical, but one of which has to do with that gorgeous colour and the way it's highlighted by the darker stripes on the petals.

Yep. Blue Flax is purty.

This particular flax plant comes up every year from between the patio stones at my father's place. My mother had tried to get it to grow in the planter it's currently beside, but it decided it was happier making its own, less-coddled way in the world. I always find myself cheering for plants like that. We do have a bigger patch of flax growing properly in one of the back beds, but I much prefer the scrubby one coming up on its own terms.

Says something about me, I suppose, but people with headaches are officially excused from self-reflection today. My house, my rules, remember. And with that, I think that since this almost turned into a post instead of a whinge I should be excused from making it any longer.

Sounds good to me.

All shook up

My first words upon getting to the office this morning were "I feel like I'm going to be sick" and "I'm shaking".

That would be because of what happened a couple of minutes earlier.





Oh, you're wanting details?

Well, I was driving down the street to the Nature Centre and just passing a school (well, the thing next to the school, but that takes too much explaining), when someone backed up very quickly into the street.

Icy street.

Without looking.

Straight into where my car would have been if I hadn't braked (read: slid like nuts) and swerved.

I stopped about a foot and a half from her minivan. No exaggeration.

And now I have a headache, and I'm looking forward even less to this afternoon's planetarium's shows than I was, if that's possible. And the courier hasn't arrived yet to pick up the equipment, so I have a feeling I'll be rushing to set up on site.

Not rushing on the slippery roads, though. There's probably at least one more idiot who's about to intersect my path yet today.

I just hope it's not quite so literally this time.

----------

And with that... well, I'll see you in a couple of days or so, since I likely won't have computer access on the weekend.

I'm sure you're getting used to intermittence, though.

Pointless question of the day:

Will spring ever happen in Alberta, do you think?

I'm not certain.

There's a lot of snow out there, you know. I might have mentioned.

In Edmonton one of the television stations is having a contest to see who can guess what date the snow pile from street removal will actually melt. From the looks of that thing, and considering how long it'll take just the small pile in our apartment parking lot to melt, I'd have to guess sometime in November. By which time, of course, there will have been more snow added to it...

Perpetual mountain.

Sigh.

Anyway, I wish I had something more upbeat to be blathering about. The fact is that I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping lately, so the brain's just not in it at the moment. Sad, though, considering that my appearances here might be pretty spotty in the next few days. Busy day tomorrow, may or may not be around a computer on the weekend... Ah well, we'll see how things go.

In the meantime I should find something for you to play with just to keep you occupied, right? Ok, let's see what we can manage.





Ok, how about this? Via BB-Blog (a fun place to visit anyway), here's a test for your Colour Accuity. I got an 8, which I think is pretty darned good considering that I did the test pretty quickly and I have no idea how well my monitor is calibrated.

If anyone else does the test, I'd be curious to know how I stack up.




Back to work now. See you when I see you.

So not in the mood

For what? Lots of things.

For posting? Well, yes, because I'm tired and snarky and I know that when I'm this way posts never go well.

For daylilies in the rain? No, I'd be happy to be in the mood for both daylilies and rain, but unfortunately I have neither of those things.

What I do have is snow.

Too much snow.

I'm not in the mood for snow.

I'm also not in the mood for driving back to my place in the snow, because even though I'm sure the highways will be fine I'm entirely not sure that the city streets will be. I'd be fine with that, even, if I was the only one driving them, but there are sooo many idiots out there who haven't figured out that you drive differently when there is fresh snow on the streets than you do in August.

When, hopefully, there won't be fresh snow on the streets.

I'm beginning to think that there might be, though.





I was going to post a photo of my father's back yard so that you could see that I have good reason to be so whingy (spring? On whose planet?), but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

I need the white menace to start melting, not start round seven or whatever it is by now.









Sigh. I'm going to stop typing, because it's obvious that this mood isn't going anywhere.

Just like the snow, yes.

gkihjt

The post title should be read as: Head Hits Keyboard.

Yeah.

Tired.

See, here's the thing. Yesterday neither Dad nor I got much sleep because we both knew he had to be out the door pretty early and we were both, I think, afraid that he might oversleep. I'm bad for that sort of anticipation, which is stupid. I darn near always wake up at stupid o'clock at the best of times, but when I (or, apparently, anyone else) have to actually be somewhere stupidly early I keep waking myself up in case I miss stupid o'clock.

It's stupid, did I mention?

Anyway, that was yesterday. Last night? Well, Max almost met his maker, I'm afraid. That cat's middle name should be pest sometimes, and last night Max Pest Ol decided that the night before's wakefest was FUN and we should be up over and over again because it's FUN!!!

It was not fun.

And tonight my door will be closed, even if it means dealing with hurt cat feelings the day after.

Yes, I'll be here tonight as well instead of going home, I'm figuring, and for two reasons. Number one is that I'm currently too tired to trust myself on the highway (and boy, do I wish that more people would know when they shouldn't trust themselves to drive), and number two is that we're having a snowstorm anyway.

You read that right. We're celebrating spring equinox by having more winter. Like we don't already have enough. Could be worse, I suppose, since the southern part of the province is supposed to get twice as much we are here. Doesn't make it easier to take, but it could be worse.

All of this snow nonsense is the reason for today's not-entirely-pointless photo, by the way. The flower bud belongs to a Prairie Crocus (also known as Pasqueflower since it's not the same thing as the European Crocus), and the parts of the yard where my father's crocusses will eventually be coming up are currently covered with at least half a metre of snow.

Spring. Right. Whatever.

Have a happy one if you're actually having it.

----------

To keep this post from ending on such a petulant whinge, I thought I'd update my fans on the shoulder hole situation. I'm sure you're dying to know, right?

Big day yesterday, believe it or not. I've switched to an even smaller bandage (and managed to get it on all by myself, too. I was worried about my ability to aim, but there was no point in asking my father to help because no one will be around to help most of the time) because the HOLE IS CLOSING.

Yay! Serious yay.

Things must have reached a tipping point yesterday, because when I took the dressing off after I showered the hole's look had changed noticeably. I'm still going to be wearing a bandage for a while, but it appears that it might not be for the weeks more that I was afraid of.

This was a big abscess, if I hadn't made that clear already.

Seems like the end's in sight now, though. I'm looking forward to not living my life as a biohazard anymore, as you can imagine, and my skin will be extremely thankful when it finally gets the chance to recover from all the adhesive.





That sounded a lot less grumpy than the first part, didn't it? Good. Time to stop typing then. If I can get my head to work there might be a bit more doodling posted on the other blog some time tonight, but if not I'll probably just sit staring into dead space for a while.

Oh, and periodically poking the cat. There's no reason he should get to sleep all day now, is there?

Let's rifle through the art supplies

I'm sort of babysitting the house today since my father's at a workshop, and I figured that I'd do a bit of doodling this afternoon. Not really all that unusual a plan even when he's here, to be honest, especially in the winter. I'll sit down here at the computer since it's the easiest way to get source pictures if I'm planning to attempt realism, turn on the internet radio, and use the computer desk as a drawing table.

Not the ideal table, as you can imagine, but it works. It works even better now that the father figure has a wireless keyboard that I can just move aside. It was... interesting to work at the desk when I was still sharing it with the old keyboard. I'll leave the contortions behind that to your imagination.

Anyway, I plan to be doodling something this afternoon, but I'm not yet sure what. And since I'm not sure what I'll be doodling, I wasn't sure how I'd want to go about it. Because of that, I've brought down an assortment of whatsits to have at the ready. And because I don't have a blather topic today, I thought we'd may as well have a look at what whatsits fit my fancy today.

First up, top photo. Two moleskines, sketching pens, and my half-pan watercolours. The small moleskine and the pens (the latest set in my attempt to eventually try every single brand of nylon-tipped sketching pens) live in my purse for the most part. The watercolours and watercolour moleskine don't. It'd be crowded if they did. Oh, and if anyone who knows their art stuff is wondering why a non-painter like Yours Fumblingly has (relatively) expensive Winsor & Newton watercolours, the answer comes in two parts: A) they're actually Cotman, which is W&N's lower priced line, and B) I got them on sale. Moving on.

Next up, my catch-all burgundy pencil case, which contains very important things in the small top pocket and not-at-all important things in the large lower one.

To the right, kneaded and plastic erasers, a pencil sharpener, and my Olfa craft scalpel which is incredibly useful but should probably be taken away from me (see: left-handed comma accident-prone).

To the left, assorted crap pens and pencils, most of which I  can't even remember obtaining. This set of... things includes a couple of red proofreading pencils, for some reason. I must have needed them for something at some point.

Also living with the pen/pencil grab bag are my charcoal pencils. Pressed charcoal rather than charcoal sticks, because they're cheaper and I don't do much charcoal work. They live with the garbage pencils because they're too messy to keep anywhere else.

And finally, the more fun stuff.

On the left, Conté pencils (does a person still call them Conté crayons when they're in pencil form?), soluble graphite pencils (way easier than doing an ink wash if you're inept like me), Wolff's carbon pencils (I looove carbon pencils. Such a fantastic, smooth feel), a couple of watercolour brushes and some cheap bamboo brushes (which are surprisingly nice to play with).

On the right, spider writers (I honestly can't remember why I'm carrying those things around), my beloved Microns which, so far, are still winning the sketching pen war, some white out/liquid paper/tippex/whatever other genericised brand name you find yourself using for correction fluid, and another eraser which, for some reason, came with its own carrying case. Posh eraser, I guess.

And not at the computer desk but still up in my room you'll find sketching pencils, two sets of watercolour pencils, Inktense pencils, more erasers, my other moleskine, and several pads of paper. Oh, and a tub of modelling clay for when the little modelling clay men feel like coming out to play.

And what's all this have to do with anything besides giving me a post topic? Well, a couple of things. The first one is obvious: I like art supplies. Believe me, this is just the tip of the iceberg. If I started enumerating everything I have at home, you'd be scratching your head even when you consider that the collection has been accumulating over a number of years.

The other thing, and the one that has me scratching my head, is that with the exception of the sketching pencils, one set of watercolour pencils, a couple of erasers, and a pad of sketching paper, everything I've listed here travels with me every weekend. No, I'm not kidding. I haul this stuff around in a pocket of my duffel bag along with my laundry every time I come to visit my father.

And why?

Well, you never know when you're going to need... stuff...





I should get help, shouldn't I?

Ah well. Off to find some lunch now. If anything comes of this afternoon's doodling (with whatever I happen to choose to do it with, after all of this), you'll find it on the other blog, as usual.

Things men will just never understand

More lilacs from last year. I like lilacs... but not indoors. Why do people insist on bringing heavily perfumed things indoors when they're so much better out in the garden?

Anyway. Men.

Or actually, just a woman thing. Or things, depending on how much I feel like typing.

I like men. I have a lot of respect for men. They're not generally the evil creatures you'd think they were if your only knowledge of men was from the daytime talk shows. However, there are many things in this world that men just will simply not understand.

Like why I was a little bit later to work today than I was planning to be (my two fans have probably gathered by now that my work hours are pretty flexible. I like that, and I'd miss it if I left). I was late because of a bra emergency.

Yes, a bra emergency.

Just as I was getting ready to leave, one of my underwires (hmm. Is the fact that underwire isn't in the spellcheck's dictionary proof that the dictionary wasn't compiled by a woman? Probably not, but it was an interesting coincidence) poked through the top of the bra, and since I'm a little low on bras at the moment and haven't had the chance to do laundry in a while I had no other choice but to take it off and do a quick sewing job (quick enough that I didn't even take off the green thread that was already on the needle. Sigh) before I left.

So. Things in that paragraph that your average man would probably have a little bit of trouble understanding? Let's see:

• running low on bras
• underwires
• underwire burstage
• emergency sew-job instead of just taking another bra out of the laundry
• being late because of underwear

 I'll admit that some of it does sound a little weird now that I've typed it out, but still. If I told the story to just about any woman she'd have a pretty good idea of how my morning went. A guy? Well, a lot of them (not all of them. Not painting anyone with the same brush here) probably wouldn't get the engineering of chest suspension. Some of them wouldn't catch on that you can't just turn a bra inside out and wear it for another day. And none of them would have a clue about the frustrations of the finite life of bras.

I really hate that part.

Boys, did you know that the average bra is only meant to last three to six months? And do you know how much we pay for the blasted things? Wouldn't you be more than a little ticked if your underoos (sorry, couldn't help myself. And I hope that most of you aren't wearing underoos anymore) stretched to the point of unwearability in three to six months because they couldn't handle the weight of your testicles?

Um... granted, those would be SOME testicles.

Ah well. Hopefully this morning's patch job will help the current bra last out its predicted life span. At least it was only a poke-through and not the dreaded underwire snap (which... hands up if you've had that one happen at work. Fun, isn't it? The sudden one-sided sag. Talk about things men couldn't understand), so the bra should be wearable for a while yet.

And in the meantime I guess I need to go shopping.




Men, believe it or not there are some types of shopping that I as a woman really don't look forward to.

Shocking, I know.

Chapter 1308: Wherein Dee is ooooold

No, the lilacs aren't blooming yet. This is from last year.

I'd take a photo of what it really looks like today, but all you'd see is white. And not from flowers, let me tell you.

The phrase Bah Humbug comes to mind. Also, the phrase Bugger.

Hey, bugger can be a phrase all by itself if it wants to, you know.

----------

When I got to work this morning I had an e-mail (in my personal mail, not my work mail. I do keep them separate, in case you wondered) from the alumni association of the university choir I sang in when I was... um, at university. But I guess that last was obvious. Anyway, the e-mail contained a link to their newsletter, so I thought I'd have a peek at it before I got down to business

So far, so good.

I read through the information about the spring concerts and the upcoming tour (add a few et ceteras here if you want to) and then got on to the main article, which was an interview with the choir's director. It was in honour of his twenty-fifth anniversary conducting the choir.

Twenty-fifth.

When I started in the choir it was his second year as the director.







WHAT?

How the h-e-double-hockey-sticks did that happen? Twenty-four years since I was a first year First Alto? NO WAY. NO.

Oh, and if anyone's wondering, I'm actually a mezzo so I probably should have been singing Second Soprano. The director in question was the first person to really recognise what my adult voice was doing, though. I'd gone through some pretty drastic changes during puberty (it's not just you boys that have that problem, you know) and had taken to singing alto when I -- temporarily -- lost my high notes. He saw that I could have managed it during my audition and called me a big chicken. My first audition for a big choir and I get called a big chicken... not an auspicious start, you'd think. Things turned out all right, however, and he ended up putting me in with the altos because he thought I could carry a middle part well without being pulled away from it.

Give me just one more moment of denial here before I continue, all right?

Ok. So almost twenty-five years have gone by since I joined my first-ever adult choir because I was intimidated at the thought of being at a university whose population was six times bigger than my entire home town's and because I thought I'd really miss music if I dropped it completely.

I was right. That choir became both a social and an artistic lifeline, even though four hours of practice a week was pretty tough while managing a full lab schedule as well (kept me from becoming a drinker at school for sure, at least. It only takes one two-hour Saturday morning practice with a hangover to make you decide to never, ever do the Friday night thing again). I have fantastic memories, I was introduced to an amazing variety of music, I experienced the occasionally questionable fun of touring by bus, and I stayed sane enough to be able to enjoy the science side of my life as well.

Not a bad thing at all.

Even if it was twenty-four years ago.









Sigh.

----------

In other news, yesterday was a red-letter day in the world of shoulder holes, as I was able to get through an entire day wearing just a bandage instead of a full dressing and I didn't manage to leak through it.

Yay, I guess.

The biggest problem now is that as I move to smaller coverings they get increasingly difficult to put on by myself. With the big ones I could use the wall to help smooth things, but a bandage needs much better aim. Don't suppose anyone would like to come over to my place every morning to help me with my owie?

Yeah, didn't think so.

Stupid shoulder hole anyway.

----------

Edited a couple of hours later to add that I just realised I'd forgotten to mention excuse for drinking on a weekday St Patrick's Day, which, I suppose, is a horrible thing for someone who's an entire 1/16th (or is that 1/32nd? It was a great great grandma, I think. Or something like that) Irish.

And am I wearing green?

Yes.

It's my work uniform shirt, which makes things extremely convenient.

Erm... you can go back to whatever you were doing now. I think I'm done typing.

Crickets

And this'll likely be short (yes, even after a few days off) since I'm busy at the moment.

Now, crickets. Today's pointless photo is not of a cricket because then A) it wouldn't be pointless and B) I don't especially like crickets.

They smell.

And they're not very smart.

One of the weirder jobs I have around here is making sure that the salamanders are fed, and the main reason why it's a weird job is because of the crickets. We usually buy crickets in a tub of about a hundred, and then I have to transfer them into the jar they live in (and sometimes die in, depending on the quality of the store's supply) without getting them all over the office.

Some days I'm more successful that others. Today? Pretty good. No crickets hiding in the office, and minimal stinky cricket poop on my desk.

Have I mentioned that I don't like crickets?

It's a wonder that I can deal with them at all, really, since they bring back my childhood entomophobia in nearly full-force. I've come a long way though, baby. When we first started feeding with crickets a few years back I had to get one of the other staff members to dump them in the jar because I honestly couldn't handle it. Now? No problem except the stinkiness. Well, nearly no problem. I still have a little bit of trouble catching the escapees, but that's more because I'm afraid of squishing them in my bare hands than anything else.

No, really.

Almost really.

But I do it anyway.

Ah well, the crickets have been dumped, the salamanders have been fed, the crickets have also been fed (yes, some of them to the salalmanders) and I need to get back to work.





Thus endeth the strange cricket interlude...

Armed. Ish.

Seems even more pointless than usual to blather on with all the sad news about the earthquake and tsunami coming out of Japan, but blather is what I do here so I suppose that's what's bound to happen. Just know that I'm well aware of how pointless this place is.

Especially on a day like today.

Yep.

----------

You may not know it, but I carry a concealed weapon on a regular basis.

Yeah, I'm that dangerous.

I am...

A pocket knife user.

No, really. I have a knife somewhere on me (generally in my pocket. Thus the name pocket knife, I guess) almost any time that I'm fully dressed. It's a long time habit, really. My current knife is a Victorinox (which I've apparently had long enough now that they don't make that particular model anymore. Or at least I couldn't find it on the website. It's not one of the so-many-tools-it's-unusable models, anyway. You know, if you were curious) that my parents gave me years ago when my old Barlow finally bit the dust.

And why do I carry a knife?

Well, because it's useful, of course.

When I was a kid I carried a knife mostly because it was cool that I was allowed to carry a knife, I think. At first I hardly ever used it. I was scared to. And rightly so, really -- I'm very much the picture of left-handed and accident-prone, so using a pocket knife was probably not the smartest thing back then. I did a tiny bit of whittling at one time because my dad could and I thought I might like to as well, but that was about it.

It wasn't until I got older that I discovered that a knife was more than just a neat thing to carry around. I'm not sure if my two fans know this, but a knife is, in fact, a tool. And tools can come in handy. I suppose that the knife really became a regular companion when I was doing fieldwork in university. You'd be surprised how often you find yourself needing to cut things when you're out in the field. And you'd also be surprised to find out how many people depend on your knife when they find out that you're a knife-carrying type. Hey Dee? Got your knife handy? Why yes, yes I do. Just call me the class toolbox.

Nowadays? Well, I'm a naturalist. That should about say it all. And if it doesn't, just believe me when I say that it's handy to be able to cut things without running back to the office all the time.

But isn't using a knife all the time dangerous? Well, it would be if I used the knife all the time, but I don't. Sometimes I use the scissors instead. Sometimes I use the screwdrivers (usually if I have to, say, drive a screw). Sometimes I use the corkscrew if for some reason we're drinking at the office (JOKE. We don't drink at the office. Usually). Sometimes I use the awl to make holes. Sometimes I use the knife blade and cut myself.

Hey, I never said I stopped being a left-handed accident-prone wonder. And I have the scars to prove it, believe me.

So there you have it. Me, armed and dangerous. To myself.

I just realised that I've never actually given my knife a name. Inexcusable, considering how much of a companion he seems to be. What do you think? Sweeney Todd, maybe?





I'll think about it.

----------

Looks like I'll be taking the weekend off from the computer, so unless pigs fly the Ontario office has something to say the blog will be blatherless for a couple of days.

You're all used to that by now, though, so I can't say I feel too guilty.

Or guilty at all, really. It's just blather, after all.

I think someone's out there...

And it's not my father's rhubarb monster from last year. That thing was huuuge.

Um, yeah. This would be a good place for an anyway, I guess.

I noticed the other day that for some weird reason my other blog (which, I'll remind anyone who doesn't go there, consists almost entirely of once-a-week quick doodles for the Illustration Friday prompt) now has ten followers. Or should I say has ten followers at the moment. The whole followers thing tends to fluctuate.

The blog you're reading also has followers, but I haven't got the followers widget up so you don't have to know how many followers there are. So there.

As far as I know, I don't know a single one of those people. Oh, there are people I know who do read the blogs (or dread the blogs, which is what I just typed and may, in fact, be true), but I know they don't do it by following. My followers are, apparently, people who have stumbled upon this place (or the other place) via the nav bar at the top, random searches, or just plain internet unluckiness.

So who are you people and why are you here?

I suppose I can understand the doodle appeal. There are a number of art blogs that I follow because they piqued my interest, so I get it. I don't quite get why my doodles would attract anyone since they're just a silly hobby, but I still do get following an art blog. I don't get, though, why anyone who doesn't know me would have the slightest interest in the odd mixture of whinge, pseudophilosophy, pointless photography, and just plain absence that you generally find on this blog.

Heck, a lot of the time even I have a bit of trouble being interested.

Although... ok, to be honest I'll sometimes find myself cruising through my own archives. Probably with a bewildered what the hell was I thinking when I wrote this? look on my face most of the time... but I do reread them on occasion.

I've been blogging for a long time now, although several years' worth of the original posts were deleted when I revamped the other blog. I started mostly accidentally, I kept it up mostly out of habit, and I have absolutely no aims with it in the end. It's nice to know that people read, yes (even if I haven't the foggiest idea why), but I'm not headed for a book deal or even a simple pay cheque from the nonexistent advertisements you can't click on. I just... blather.

Yeah, the name of the blog wasn't exactly an accident.

I just blather, and some of you out there have decided to become my two fans.

Erm... should I explain the two fans thing? Long time inside joke is all. Not sure I can handle any more than two fans at the best of times, but it's my own stupid little pleasure to mess with the plural by referring to a few of my two fans. Hmm. Kind of boring when it's spelled out, really.

Anyway. I need to get back to work, so this'll be yet another pointless post without a proper ending. Which, apparently, will have a tiny bit of a following.







Sometimes I just find the interweb so confusing...

Something goin' down

Photo? Pointless, as always.

Not sure what's going to come out of this post because I'm really, really tired and I have a thing. Um, thing going on.

Well, it's not actually me who has the thing going on, but I've been sort of been swept up from the sidelines and ended up...

Oh, nothing. Like I said, it's not really my problem to begin with, even though I got sucked into it and have been dealing with it for the past couple of days and I'M TIRED.

And just in case you wondered, I'm not that great a support system to rely on. Oh, I'll be there, obviously, but I think I run out of empathy a bit too quickly. I'm not a good hand-holder, is what I'm trying to say.

Or what I think I'm trying to say.

I'm sooo tired right now. You have no idea.

Erm... anyway. I'm getting the feeling that I'm making even less sense than I thought I was going to make, so maybe a stop-typing order would be appropriate for this brain? I think, yeah. For any of my two fans who are completely confused by all of this (and I imagine that pretty much everyone is) I'll just say that there's nothing to worry about. This isn't a family thing (or even a me thing, did I mention?) and I'm hoping to be happily back in the spectators' seats in the next day or two.

And hoping to have a good night's sleep even before then.

And in other news, have I said anything recently about the hole in my shoulder? Oh? Ok, then, let me just say this: it's kind of annoying having a hole in your shoulder. And I'd really like to have a nice long soak in the tub tonight, but I can't because I have a hole in my shoulder. Of all the stupid things in the world...

Kind of like this post, actually. Stopping... now.

About me

I'm not, in fact, a boot track. I might, however, take this space to mention that it's March, and I should not still have to be plugging in the car. This whole winter thing is getting stupid.

----------

On my other blog, one of the first things you'll notice is my Blogger profile. It's on the sidebar here too, but since the Ontario office is still a (phantom... who needs a good poking with a stick) co-blogger on this particular blog you'd have to click on my name to see the profile. Not that it's worth it. My Blogger profile says almost nothing about me, you'll notice. It says one thing that I am, one thing that I do, one thing that I'm not, one thing that I don't do anymore, and one thing that I dislike.

Very enlightening, I'm sure you'll agree.

When Blogger added the ability for static pages (the tabs you'll find just below the title) I thought maybe I should add an about me page to be a little more specific. I, um, wasn't all that successful. It got sort of sarcastic along the way, and while it does tell you a little bit more about me I'm sure you'd agree that it's not exactly a biography. The about me page on the other blog is a bit more conversational (and, at least, not in point form), but it's still not going to tell you a heckuva lot, really.

I guess I'm just not very good at writing about myself.

Part of it, I suppose, is that I'm not terribly comfortable with splashing the "me" me all over the internet. I'm under no delusion that people out there don't know who I am, of course (especially since a few of my two fans are family. I'd hope that they know who I am), but I still like having that slight curtain of alias when I do web things. There are very few places out there where you can find my full name, for instance. Other than work, I don't even have an e-mail address with my full name. I'm not on facebook by choice. I don't sign my posted doodles with anything but my initials (well... ok. So that has nothing to do with the internet. I never sign my doodles with anything but my initials). As far as I'm concerned, the cyberworld can just continue thinking of me as deeol. No caps on that, you'll notice. No reason, but no caps.

Incidentally, and somewhat weirdly, my father tells me that he has me listed as deeol on his new cell phone. Not sure of the why, there. Maybe because it was quicker to type?

Honestly, I think the reluctance to have myself as myself on the internet stems more from long-time habit than from any great fear that people might actually track me down, but that's how I've done things and it's how it's going to be staying, I'd imagine.

Another reason why my abouts are so massively unenlightening might be that I really don't know what people would want to know about me. Favourite colours? Childhood heroes? TV boyfriend? Tough luck on that last one if you do want to know, by the way. I don't have a TV boyfriend. I'm boring that way.

Maybe (and this ties in with the writing things down that I should be doing) it's time I did another random list on the blog. I haven't done one for a while, and it's a good way to fill space. If you searched the archives you'd probably be able to find at least one list of fifty things that I like; maybe I should sit down and figure out a list of fifty things about me.

But are there fifty things about me?

Hmm.

This might be a challenge for someone who's so very obviously bad at writing about herself.

Ah well. Stay tuned, I suppose. Or leave me a comment if there's something you do actually want to know about me. Who knows? I might even tell you if I'm in the right mood...

I really need to start writing things down

Yes, I know that it's rosemary for remembrance,  but I don't have any pictures of rosemary on hand so you're going to have to live with rowan instead (that'd be mountain ash for those of us on the west side of the Pond, but mountain ash doesn't start with an R. Um, yeah. Thanks for that, Captain Obvious). Rowan and some random insect that I'd forgotten was in the photo. I can't tell what it is from the thumbnail and am too lazy to bring the thing up full-size, so random insect it is.

These photos are supposed to be pointless anyway, aren't they? I don't know why I'm spending so much time fussing about it.

Oh wait. I do. It's because I've forgotten what else I was going to fuss about. Or at least blather about. I had a thought earlier this morning, but it's gone away now.

I've really got to start writing down these thoughts as they occur, you know. Just imagine how many I've got nothing iterations I could save myself if I'd just take notes when I have something worth blathering about. I used to do that in my last poetry phase, actually (yeah, my poetry goes in phases. I'll spend months or even years producing scads of bad poetry, and then it just simply stops. I'm in a stop now, if you wondered. Probably a good thing. Saves the world an awful lot of needless angst). I had a little notebook with me everywhere, filled with ideas for the next epic. Come to think of it, I was given an odd little notebook for my last (erm, latest. Hopefully not last) birthday. Maybe it should go into my purse. Along with the moleskine, sketching pens, daytimer, granola bar, cat-shaped tape measure, wrist tensor, cat's cradle string...

Ok, maybe not in my purse. There's enough weirdness there already. Although the contents of my purse -- which is a surprisingly small, surprisingly full purse -- might make for a decent post some time or other.

Anyway. I still can't remember what today's blather was going to be, so I guess I'll tell you instead about how I made the cat happy.

We're talking Max the Neediest Cat in the World here, for anyone of my two fans who are familiar with the household's cat population. Penny the Lump will have to wait for another day.

I know I've mentioned before that Max has a usual nighttime schedule when I'm here at my father's place. He'll go to sleep with my father, and then if my father gets up he'll ping-pong over to my bed. He'll generally do that a few times over the course of a night, and it's kind of annoying since he can't simply plant himself on the bed. He has to be acknowledged. We're talking full-on in-your-face staredown in the middle of the night. I'm heeeeere. Are you awake? Are you awake now? Are you going to rub my belly? Yeah. Some nights it gets a bit aggravating.

Not to mention sleep-depriving.

So why don't you just close the bedroom door, Dee? Well, that's what I did last weekend, now that you mention it. I was tired, I was still being very careful of my shoulder (AHA! SHOULDER MENTION OF THE DAY!!!), and I knew that I wouldn't be able to roll over into cat petting position anyway, so I latched the door instead of just pushing it mostly shut like I usually do.

I confused the cat. Oh, wait. That needs a link. Be right back...

I confused the cat. Which will keep him from being in a rut, I suppose, but did hurt his feelings a bit.

At one point during the first night I distinctly heard the sound of the full weight of a cat thumping into a door that he didn't realise was latched. He really puts his shoulder (or more likely, knowing Max, his back end) into things when he wants to get into a room, you see. In the morning when I got up there was a cat waiting at the door with a very distinct don't you love me anymore? look on his face. I got followed around quite a lot that morning. Didn't get guilted into leaving the door open for him the next night, though.

This weekend?

Oooh did I have a cat friend when he found out the door was open. There's a reason that one of this cat's nicknames is Sucky Bob.

Ah well. At least he's happy again. Now if I could only get him to be happy a little less intrusively, I'd be able to get a full night's sleep when I'm here.





That's enough blather for now. I need to go change laundry loads. Tomorrow? Well, if I think of something topic-ish I'll let you know.

Assuming that I've written it down somewhere.

Chapter 1301: Wherein Dee is annoyed

Gee. You never, ever get to hear about me being annoyed on the blog, now do you?

Sorry for the later-than-usual post. I was working at a school today, so my computer time when I got back to the office was limited to actual work.

----------

Today's pointless photo, by the way, was chosen nearly at random since I was too lazy to even click the Thumbnails button to see what the picture labelled Pinks looked like. I just thought that pinks might be nice on a day that started out with me scraping Dirty Moe's windows in a -32C windchill.

Yeah.

Believe it or not, however, that's not the annoyance referred to in the post title. Although... it was pretty annoying. And painful.

Anyway.

The annoyance of the moment is the continuing saga of having stuff stuck to my skin. For those new to the program (or for those who haven't heard the whole story. I kind of forget who knows and who doesn't), a while ago I got bit by a spider. Not a big deal, since we don't have any truly dangerous spiders here, except for two things. Thing one would be that my body overreacted, which isn't entirely unusual (unfortunately). Thing two was that the little bugger must have been carrying around an extra load of bacteria, because the bite ended up abscessing. In a big way. I don't think I described exactly how big on the blog because it's kind of disgusting, but suffice it to say that for a week I was carrying around an egg-sized, painfully swollen alien on my shoulder. And boy, was it fun when it finally burst.

That part I won't describe at all, in sympathy for the squeamish.

Now? Well, it's clean, it's healing (slooowly, but that part's to be expected given the size of the thing), it feels mostly ok... but. But.

But (the squeamish I'm desperately trying to have sympathy for should probably look away now) the fact remains that I still have a dime-sized open hole in my shoulder. A hole that, of course, has to have a dressing on it to keep nasty things from getting in.

Therein lies the problem.

Geez. Therein? Wherein? Maybe I should add a Herein  just to get alllll the antiquated vocabulary working together. And I suppose there should be a Forsooth just for good measure.

Where was I? Oh yeah, dressings. I'm sick to death of dressings. I'm sick of trying to put them on (positioning something on the back of your own shoulder? Not an easy feat, and occasionally requires the services of the wall to smooth down the edges). I'm sick of struggling to take them off. I'm sick of smelling like adhesive. And I'm sick, sick sick of having something stuck to my skin.

My skin's a bit on the sensitive side to begin with, you see. I have to be careful of the dish soap I choose and of some types of lotions. And while I don't have to worry about looking for non-latex bandages, I'm definitely finding that I have to watch what adhesives I use when I'm wearing stupid dressings every damned day.

Which I'm sick of, I think you'll recall.

For example, if a package of bandages says Super Strong or Long Lasting, this is not a good thing. Well, it might be for the occasional paper cut or hangnail, I suppose, but for long-term use all that's going to happen with that sort of thing is that I'll end up removing skin every time I try to unbandage myself.

Which, sadly, I managed to do this morning as I was changing dressings before work. Even with using micropore tape that's supposedly designed for sensitive skin.

Apparently not my skin, though.

Which sucks.

Add that to the whole issue of constantly having anything stuck to your skin (WHICH IS MASSIVELY ANNOYING ANYWAY), and... yeah. There you go, I guess.

I'd be very happy not to have a hole in my shoulder, thank you very much.






And with that, I should probably stop the blather and go ask my father if he has any thoughts about supper tonight. I'd say that this is the last you'll hear about me and spider bites, but we all know that it's very likely not true so I won't.



I'll try not to make it a constant theme, though.

You're welcome.

Sauce

Today's pointless photo is, of course, not of sauce. It's of snow.

I'm so fricking tired of snow...

And yes, I do realise that I'm not the only one.

Shut up.

----------

Last night, after getting home slightly late-ish from work (or at least later than usual) and turning on the Food Network for no apparent reason, I decided that I didn't want to eat something from the freezer. I wanted mac and cheese. And not from a box (although I would have been out of luck if I'd wanted the KD variety anyway, because I don't have any at the moment).

So I made cheese sauce.

Good old-fashioned bechamel, with sharp cheddar, dry mustard, and worcestershire added. It was good. Went well with the penne. I didn't bother to bake the whole thing since it was well past my normal supper time by then, but it was still a pretty respectable dish for a last-minute thought.

And why is this news?

Oh, just because I can't remember the last time I did it.

The whole thing's kind of frustrating, when it comes down to it. You see, I can cook. I'm perfectly capable of it. I may not have the widest repertoire, but I know a few things. I'm also pretty good at following recipes if I don't know how to make something. I'm not a kitchen idiot, is what I'm saying.

Why, then, don't I cook?

I don't know.

I generally try to do a proper meal at least once a week so that I can have leftovers for a while and then eke out the remainder of the seven-day period with frozen whatsit, but lately I've gotten lazy about even that. It's stupid. Half the time I don't even want the convenience food, but it's what I have because it's what's on hand. I guess... I guess maybe it gets a little old cooking for one person all of the time? Yeah, that could be a big part of it. I have one person to cook for. If I make a big meal I'll be eating the same damned thing for days on end, and if I make a small meal it's a lot of effort for just the one meal.

And sometimes, frankly, I'm just not that enthusiastic about being enthusiastic about food.

Don't get me wrong -- I like a good meal. I just don't always crave a good meal. I'm not a foodie. I don't always savour what I'm ingesting. Often as not, I eat because I have to eat. Some days I'd probably be just as happy getting my daily diet from a pill. Makes a person wonder why no one's created a viable Human Chow, really.

Chow for humans, obviously, is what I'm meaning there. Not chow from humans. That'd be Soylent Green.

Ah well. This week was better than I've been for a while. Homemade meat sauce for the spaghetti on Sunday (more sauce, huh? Maybe that's what I need in my life after all), homemade cheese sauce yesterday, and nothing from the freezer all week.

Um, yet. Probably tonight, but I 'll see what I can do to keep the streak going.

In the meantime, could someone explain to me my sudden craving for lemons and limes? I swear, I recently went through a three pound bag of lemons in less than two weeks. And that's just with making lemonade or having lemon and soda water. There are definitely worse things, of course, but one person going through three pounds of lemons that quickly could make you wonder, don't you think?

It makes me wonder, anyway.

----------

In other news, as my shoulder starts to heal I find myself wanting to talk about the rather disgusting things that have happened to it, but no one seems to want to hear my disgusting stories. The Ontario office seems to be ok with it, but telling a gross story in 160 characters isn't always the easiest thing. I'd spread the grossness here, but I'm pretty sure my two fans really don't want to be bothered by the whole thing either. In an effort, then, to keep things family-friendly but still say SOMETHING:

1. I am tired of smelling like adhesive bandages/dressings.
2. I am tired of having an extra hole in my body.



That's all.

For now, at least.

Really quick post of the day:

Sorry for the silence again. I'm fine, but the weather's been crap again so I've been a bit housebound. The only reason I'm out today (windchill of -35C. Yes, seriously) is that I had to be. Now I've got work stuff to catch up on, so blather will have to wait.

You folks are getting used to that by now, I'm sure.





Is this winter ever scheduled to end, have you heard?