Something I only just learned

Did you know that NeoCitran is a Canadian thing? I didn't, until just now.

I was about to mention how much I'd like to toss back a NeoCitran at the moment and just fade off into an antihistamine-induced fog for a bit (and likely will, as soon as I get home from work. The cold's coming along just swimmingly, thanks), when it occurred to me that I said something about NeoCitran on a forum years ago and was met with an almost-universal reacton of NeoWhat?

Except from the Canadians, of course, but now I know why. It's a Canadian thing. Apparently you folks in the States go into TheraFlu comas instead, and in Europe... hmmm. Gimme a sec. Does Lemsip sound right? It's what Wikipedia's telling me, anyway.

It's kind of a funny thing to me, in a way. We start to assume that the world's becoming a homogenised thing via the internet and, well, interconnectedness in general, but we still live in very different places. I'm not about to go into a whole retail comparison here (don't have the head for it, anyway. See above re: NeoCitran. My sinuses are killing me right now), but I will tell you that if I say Smarties I can guarantee you that the Americans amongst my two fans will be picturing a very different thing than the Canadians or Brits will.

And hands up all who even know what I mean by Ribena (no points awarded to UK participants. Too easy). Hey, it's a staple at my place. Way better than those powdered water-additives, as long as you don't mix it kid-syrupy-sweet.

And for those of you who do know what Ribena is... shush. I'm allowed to like Ribena. At least it has vitamin C.

Anyway. This has nothing to do with anything, and just shows where my head is. I'm going home in a while to curl up in a blanket and watch whatever stupid television programs I recorded yesterday. Sounds perfectly mindless, and I mean that in a good way.



I wonder if Ribena goes with NeoCitran?

Pointless photo of the day:

Well, I suppose not entirely pointless since I felt like a flower.

Seeing a flower, that is; not being one.

I'll be back later if I can think of an actual blather. If not? Well, at least you've got something to look at.

Augh

Not to be disgusting, but you know you've coughed too much when you start tasting blood.

And before any of my two fans start to panic and think that I'll either be guest-starring in an Italian opera or on an episode of House, not much blood. Little flecks. Just enough to tell me that the past few days have been pretty violent on my poor throat, that's all.

Like I didn't know that already, what with the screwed-up voice and all, but whatever.

Yeah, this current round of admittedly-minor-but-very-annoying illness has definitely hit old by now. That, plus the headache (and gee? Do you suppose that might have something to do with being kept up at night by -- I dunno -- coughing, maybe?), hasn't exactly made me enthusiastic about blathering today.

Ah well. Could be worse, as I just found while searching the Mayo Clinic site for bloody sputum. Only out of curiosity, you understand. I know full well that I just have a cruddy throat and nothing more than that. It's easy to see, though, how the internet feeds hypochondriacs. Geez. If you have any susceptibility at all to being convinced that you're dying from something minor, the internet can go a looong way towards helping you run with that thought. Doctors must really hate our current culture of electronic diagnoses.

Anyway. Sadly, this is all I have at the moment to blather about. I'll try for something a bit more substantial (and a lot less gross) tomorrow, assuming that I have at least a slightly better night's sleep than I have the past couple.

Later, all.

Pop

I've spent a rather odd amount of my workday this past couple of weeks throwing strings of Christmas lights.

Not putting them up; throwing them.

It's all part of our city's annual light exchange, you see. As an effort to get people to stop using old-fashioned incandescent Christmas lights and switch to the much more energy-efficient LED version, the City in conjunction with a local retailer and, well, us, has sponsored a program where people can exchange two sets of old lights for a set of new ones. As an added bonus, we pass the old lights off to a recycler to reclaim the copper wiring &c that would otherwise go to the landfill.

Pretty neat idea, really.

Of course, what it means for those of us at the nature centre is hauling cart load after cart load of tangled-up light strings to the giant bin outside the loading dock, and throwing them in. Not dumping, no. If all a person did was dump, pretty soon you'd have a huge pile right at the near side of the bin, and a big open space towards the back. So, we throw. Aim for the far end of the bin as much as possible (which, for me? Let's just say that any softball team I've ever played for can tell you that I'm not exactly a natural tosser thrower. No comment on the tosser bit, ok? I don't want to know if I'm a natural one of those). Aim for the far end, and hope for the pop.

You see, the unexpectedly fun thing about throwing strings of lights is that it's a little like having a miniature firework show, only without the brightness. Bulbs make a fantastic sound when they pop, and then you get a spray of little shards of glass all over the place (except, hopefully, where you happen to be standing. I'm sure the whole thing is a bit of an OH&S nightmare, come to think).

It's also very silly amusement to get to break things on purpose.

Now that the bin's almost overflowing, though, there's an added dimension. A challenge. The bulbs have to contact other bulbs squarely, or they won't pop at all because there's too much of a cushion of other light strings. We've hit the point where the occasional pop is almost cause for celebration.

And?

Well, not for the first time I find myself thinking, "I get paid to do this?"

My job is weird.

But you should see all the lights.



In fact, go to the work blog if you want to see the latest pictures of the full bin. Don't know where the work blog is? E-mail me. Don't have my e-mail? Well, then we have a problem, I guess. You see, I do try to make an effort to keep my personal internet self a little separate from my work internet self, and I just can't go passing these things along in the blather...

But still. Popping lights on purpose? Just way too much fun.





I guess I should go check to see if we have another load of "fun" now then, shouldn't I? Yeah, I should.







I get paid to do this. Seriously.

Weird

This day, I mean. I've been fairly busy, but I can't really tell you what I've been busy about. I mean, I suppose if I sat down and listed things moment by moment it would all add up to I've been busy, but as it is it just seems weird.

As is my voice, at the moment. You know, for anyone who was wondering about that situation. Better -- definitely much less rodential -- but at the point where it's a bit scratchy and definitely not trustworthy. I did yell between offices just now, though (we have intercoms but don't tend to use them, I guess), so things are looking up.

Now then, topic. Shall we talk hoodie? I've haven't talked hoodie for a while because I haven't worn it for ages, but we can talk hoodie today.

As you might have guessed, I'm currently wearing a hoodie. It's a work hoodie since it has the work logo. We wear uniform shirts here at the nature centre, and one of our approved shirts is (well, obviously at this point) a logo-ed green (maybe the green part wasn't obvious) hoodie.

I have a love-hate relationship with the hoodie. I hate the hoodie, and I love... um. It's... warm? Yeah, ok, that'll do. I mostly just hate the hoodie, however, and I think I wore it today partly out of a sense of guilt because I've noticed that everyone else has been wearing hoodies with the cooler weather and some of those hoodies are looking a bit faded with use. Mine? I have one that I haven't even worn yet, to be honest.

That's how much I love the hoodies.

I guess I'm just not a hoodie person.

Ok, let's qualify that. I wouldn't mind the hoodie if it was a zippered hoodie. As it is, it's a big bulky sweatshirt-y thing with a far-too-bulky hood hanging off of the back that makes my hair look even stringier than it generally does. Zippered hoodies tend to be lighter, in my experience, and they don't have that whole wedded-to feeling. Wedded-to, Dee? What I mean is that once I put this thing on for the day it's staying on unless I'm absolutely and completely overheated. With thin hair like mine, if I try to pull the silly hoodie off I become a total science experiment.

Oh, and as I was looking for the above clip, I found this one.  Bonus static!

Aaanyway.  Kind of got distracted by work stuff for a moment. And then non-work stuff for another moment. I've totally lost my train of non-thought.

That part? Doesn't fit today's post title. It's most certainly not weird for me to get distracted.

I may as well end with a pointless question, then. When exactly did hoodies become hoodies? When I was growing up they were kangaroo jackets (you know, because of the pouch pocket). I know in Saskatchewan they are (or were, at least) bunny hugs. Hoodie? Descriptive, yes, but very boring. I also wonder when thongs became flip flops, but nowadays I'd imagine that a person would feel weird wearing thongs on their feet...

Yeah, weird again. Time to stop typing. Happy birthday, Wheat.





And where does Wheat fit on the scale of weird?...

Just changed the title

I was about to go off on a rant about the reasons stupid people shouldn't be allowed to have kids, but I've changed my mind. Guess I'm just not up to working myself into a tizzy about stupidity today.

I will say, though, that if you're not willing to lead by example when it comes to road and parking lot safety, then you shouldn't be surprised when your child ends up being hit by a car because he had no concept of the fact that not all cars automatically stop. This was one incredibly stupid, entitle-minded woman ambling through the middle of our parking lot with her toddler son only sort of following her this morning, folks.

Anyway.

And now that I've said anyway, I don't really know what comes next. Yep, that's right. A week off and I didn't even bother to think of anything to blather about.

So, then...

um...

Sorry, work thing. Where was I?



Oh yeah. At um. Doesn't bode well for this edition of Randomly Typing Will Lead to an Idea, so maybe I'll just stop here. See you later.

So...

To recap the past... geez, is it really a week:? Ok, the past week then:

- I had a birthday surprise. You're not getting any details.
- We had winter. I didn't get outside for a few days, got p.o'd about the whole thing, and watched way too much Silent Library. And no, I'm not proud of that last bit.
- I lost my voice. This sucks.

You know, I think that even if you're a fairly quiet person you'll have a tendency to want to talk to people when you finally get out after a few days of being housebound. When you finally get out after a few days of being housebound and attempting to hack up a lung, you end up getting TOTALLY FREAKING FRUSTRATED that your throat doesn't want to work. My life is allllll about the Strepsils at the moment. Good thing that I'm not programming, I guess. I'd have to do it at a whisper.

Which, I suppose, would at least amuse the kids.

One of the things that bugs me the most about having a screwed-up throat -- and I say this pretty much every time it happens, so bear with the reruns -- is that it reminds me just how often I sing. I mean, I sing all the time. I sing instead of mumbling. I try not to sing in the office, especially if Wheat's in (seems only polite to make it less like he shares the office with a malfunctioning radio), but even with that I apparently sing when I'm doing manual tasks like sharpening pencils or photocopying. I say apparently because i don't really realise it... until I open my mouth and all that comes out is a squeak.

Like, for example, today.

Ah well. Throat lozenges today (partly to remind myself to shut up as much as possible), tonight hopefully a little less coughing, and tomorrow?

Well, I'm not going to push it.

And I'll try my best just to hum...



dammit.

42

Some of my two fans will think that they know all about today's post title.

Ok, then.

----------

I have to be honest -- I don't really have the head for a post right now. I'm in the midst of one of the most frustrating parts of my job, and it doesn't put me in the mood for much of anything. It's called... THE NEWSLETTER. Yeah, that should have come with a DUN DUN DUUUUUUN...

I edit the Centre's quarterly newsletter. Yep, I do. We're in the business of communicating, you know. Communicating in many ways except, apparently, by writing. Between pulling teeth to get actual submissions within a week or two of the deadline and then trying to wrangle any sort of recognisable English out of what I receive (ok, to be fair? Not all of them. We do have one or two people who can write without my magical -- ha! -- editorial makeovers), the newsletter equals one big headache for Yours Proofreaderly.

I'm done working on the newsletter for today, though. The newsletter is a thing to be taken in small doses lest you pass out from bashing your head against the desk once too often.

Too dramatic, do you think? Well, it's pretty darned close to that.

Anyway. Today's pointless photo is of snow sliding down the window of Dirty Moe, who's still living at my father's place because I haven't sold it yet. Today's post title? Mind your own business. And now I think I'll just head off in a huff, if you don't mind.





Hmm. That sounds like a potential car name if there ever was one. Huff. I kind of like it...

Pointless photo of the day:

That'll have to be it for today, I'm afraid. I was out at a school this morning, and I have at least a bazillion things that need doing this week. In other words, don't expect too much blather in the next little while.

I was wordy enough on the weekend for three blatherers, wasn't I?

Things

 But first...

I have a ratty pink blanket that I put over the sofa bed in my old room here at my father's place when it's folded up but not actually being used as a sofa. It looks like heck, yes, but it does have the advantage of keeping the cat hair off of the sofa if the cats decide to use it.

The pink blanket works.

Or, you know...



Not.

Way to go, Max.

----------

And now, things.

Material things, I mean.

No doubt it's a sign of getting older, but I'm starting to find that I don't really care about most things. I don't have to have many things. My cell phone's pretty much five years old now because I don't care if I have the latest one. My wardrobe? Well, my wardrobe probably suffers from the fact that I wear a uniform shirt at work. If I didn't I might have to have more wardrobe-y things, true, but I still probably wouldn't have the absolute latest wardrobe things. My television isn't HD, but it works well. My apartment is a one-room with a horrid 70s carpet, but it fits my books and my art stuff and my instruments and has a balcony for my planters, so it'll do. I could go on, but it would be in much the same vein. My life definitely isn't about the latest and greatest things.

Anyone with thing ambition is probably cringing right now, or at least wondering how a person can live that way. Don't I want things? Well, sure. There's lots of things that I see on television that I know would be nice to have, but I don't need them. I don't intend to go into debt for them. I can do without them. I'm not amaterialistic by any means; I just have my own priorities. As my boss said once when we were laughing about the fact that the person who does much of the looking-after of the work blog and twitter account and maintains two blogs of her own doesn't even have a computer at home, " you just haven't bought into it, have you?"

I guess. Either that, or I like the way my life is without adding more things.

When I first moved away from home I used to make mental lists of the things I would save in case of a fire. The list used to be pretty darned long, I'll admit, and probably would have resulted in multiple trips and my eventual death from smoke inhalation. Now? My personal ID, I suppose. Enough clothes to make sure I wasn't freezing to death as I stood outside watching my things going up in flames. Maybe, just maybe, and only if I had time to think about it, a small stuffed bunny...

Ah, there we go. Here's where we hit what things matter. The aforementioned bunny? Just a silly Easter gift my mother gave me just before she died. It was an impulse buy at the grocery store and there's nothing special about it. I wouldn't mourn it if it did disappear, but if I thought about it I might save it. And maybe my grandmother's topaz rings... but again, it honestly wouldn't kill me if I couldn't manage it.

The things that matter to me are the things that have associations, but if the things go away it doesn't mean that the memories do, right?

The other day I was drawing an old conch shell that came down through my other grandmother's family... oh, here. Rather than my typing the whole thing out again, let me just link to the post on the other blog and you can see for yourself if you're so inclined. Anyway, I've told my father that I specifically want the conch shells (juuust in case he ever planned to get rid of them for some reason). They're in my room at the moment, actually, since I'm considering taking them home to do a few more drawings of them. The old conch is a piece of family history. Continuity. A reminder of my childhood. Would I be upset if it disappeared? For a little while, yes.

And then I'd move on.

It's a thing.

Now, admittedly, there have been happenings in my life that have given me the current thingless attitude, most of which I don't want to mention because they're personal (and in one case fairly painful). I'll also concede that it's easier for a single person who plans on remaining single to not care whether she has anything to pass on to her nonexistent children. I just wish, though, that a few more people could find a way to be less thing-y (ok, that sounded funny even to me). Too many people argue over things. Too many relationships have been wrecked by things. Too many of us are in financial hell because of things. And you know what? In the end, they're just things.

And if things are all you have? Well, I guess you learn to be happy in your things.

I'd rather be happy in me.




Kind of a personal thing.

And now... a word from our sponsors

Today's pointless photo? It snowed last night. I needed some spring.

Ok, topic. We're going to talk (briefly, I hope) about commercials today. In numbered bullet form, even, because that's what I'm in the mood for.

1. I'm not going to ask is it just me? because I've already been asking around and people tend to agree with me, so I'm just going to say it outright: Stop being so freaking aggressive with your Christmas commercials, advertisers. We get it. In your world Christmas shopping season starts the second after Halloween (if not before), but somehow this year's crop of festive holiday buy-me bulltweedle seems like it's Completely. Bashing. Me. Over. The. Head. I'm finding myself starting to wince a bit at the sound of (albeit, highly commercialised) Christmas carols... and I love Christmas carols. I have a huge collection of Christmas carols. I usually have to force myself to wait until December to start singing Christmas carols (you know -- in order to keep from driving everyone around me completely bonkers). If someone like me is already getting the make-it-stop reflex, I think that's a sign that you should, collectively, rethink your advertising strategy. And speaking of rethinking strategy...

2. Why are Dairy Queen commercials either completely stupid or completely annoying? For years we had to put up with the creepy disembodied mouth, and now we've got a campaign whose designers looked at the success of the intriguingly-weird Old Spice ads (which, incidentally, have now taken a turn for the completely stupid...) and decided that riding the intriguingly-weird train would be a fantastic idea. Well, it might be... if the commercials were intriguingly weird. They're not. They're annoying. And slightly creepy. Maybe they wanted to keep a bit of the creepy strain just in case people missed the mouth? I dunno.

3. Sticking with fast food, I'm kind of wishing that the current A & W ad didn't feature the catchy bad singing. Don't get me wrong -- I've actually enjoyed the ongoing campaign (I'm talking about the ones featuring Allen Lulu as the manager and Ryan Beil as... well, Ryan), which is saying a lot because I have a short attention span for a lot of ongoing campaigns -- but with this latest one I find my brain singing That's enough, that's enough, that's enough in pseudo-mariachi a little too often. Well sold, fellas.

4. All this food stuff is reminding me that I should go have lunch, so let me just mention one more long-term campaign that has somehow managed to not have me beating my head against the wall in NOT THAT GUY AGAIN angst. Thom Sharp. Fountain Tire. Let's face it, that actor is really, really good at what he does. He'd have to be to not be driving me nuts after all of this time.


I suppose in a way that's the main thing I ask from commercials. Just please don't drive me nuts, ok? Is that too much?






Oh all right: that, and don't make me hate Christmas carols.
















Please.

Eleventh hour of the eleventh day

So, on this hot-off-the-camera apparently pointless photo, you'll see the random gaggle of stuff that hangs around the base of my monitor here at work. Paper shredder, tape dispenser, tissue box (an indispensable part of life for Yours Nasally), craft made by one of the staff for our usual Saturday craft activity, assorted weird toys (I get a kick out of seeing what people choose to fidget with when they're standing in the office), post-it notes, poppy...

Yeah, you've probably already guessed -- if you're from a Commonwealth country, that is -- that the poppy doesn't usually sit on my desk. I'd only just taken it off of my coat, you see, since eleven o'clock has passed.

I'm kind of torn about Remembrance Day, to be honest. On the one hand, I like to see people wearing poppies. Even if a person's doing it only because it's "the thing", there's always a chance that it might make someone stop and think for a moment. I think that the commemoration of those who served is important. I think that Lest We Forget needs to be more than just a motto.

On the other hand, I'm working today instead of commemorating. I haven't been to a service in years. Oh sure, I'll generally have the national service on the television if I happen to be home on Remembrance Day morning, but I can't really say that I observe my own personal two minutes of silence. I worry that commemoration turns too easily into glorification, and war is a stupid, wasteful thing (for both the servicemen and the civilians involved) that should never be glorified.

And on the other hand...

Yep. I have three hands today. Told you I was a bit torn.

The third hand? The fact that I wouldn't even exist if it wasn't for war. My Canadian grandfather met my English grandmother when he was serving in World War II. My father was born in England. I never knew my grandfather since he died when my father was a teenager, but his war service is the reason I'm here.

I've just noticed how many times I've used variations of the word service in this post. Memorial services, services to a country... isn't it a shame that we as a species haven't figured out a way for men (and women these days) to serve their country without leading to the memorial kind of service?

Anyway. I should get back to work. How to end my annual Remembrance ramble (as in, I'm sure if you searched the archives you'd find much the same blather every 11/11)? I don't know. Maybe I'll just say that I make sure to wear a poppy every year (and pay for it too, by the way), and I suppose you can draw your own conclusions from there.

----------

One quick comment about the 11-11-11 thing that the interwebs seem to think is so exciting: Yeah, I guess. It's a little less exciting when you think about how arbitrary our current system of numbering days, months, and years is, but... yeah, I guess.

Really?

I so love it when I've not been around the blog for a while, then finally get a chance to sit down and post, and... nothing.

No, really. I love having a totally blank blog. It makes blogging so incredibly worthwhile.

Or, you know, not.

Anyway. I have nothing, my last couple of days have given me nothing (but complaints, and I'm just not in the mood to whinge), and HAVE A POINTLESS PHOTO BECAUSE THAT'S ALL YOU'RE GETTING OUT OF ME.

I'll try a little harder tomorrow, I guess.

Quick post because I've been having issues

I meant computer issues, although we all know that I have plenty of other ones besides. Maybe not quite as many as the squirrel who keeps storing spruce cones in the bird bath...

Anyway. I need to get back to work, which sucks because I actually had a post. Short version, then:

- first snowfall
- I hate winter
- my new car is taller than my old car
-I'm short.
- I've never had a car that decides how best to winter-drive before
- I hate winter
- cold rash sucks

I'll try to remember to elaborate if it seems worthwhile the next time I have time. For now, though, back to work. Weekend off from the computer for me, so I'll see you Monday or Tuesday.

Weird things that are happening in my life

1. I'm getting most of my news -- especially breaking news -- from our work Twitter feeds. Twitter. Seriously? Seriously. At least I can say that the news is coming from actual news feeds...

2. I'm old enough now that my reaction when hearing that a former colleague is celebrating the birth of her first grandchild wasn't "oh how great for her" or anything like that. No, it was WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING, BEING OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE GRANDCHILDREN?

3. I slept for six and a half hours last night. That never happens. Well, except for last night, apparently.

4. I got excited by the fact that my new car has automatic headlights. I, um, never get excited about cars at all, and now I'm excited that I don't have to flick a switch? Someone needs to have her priorities examined.

The new car, by the way, still doesn't have a name. Maybe it'll grow into one? My dad suggested one based on the name of the dealership since that's how Dirty Moe got its name. Sounds a bit forced, though.

5. I'm actually pondering my new car's name.

6. I chose wasabi peas (mmm. Wasabi peas) over actual lunch simply because I was too lazy to go get actual lunch.

Oh, wait. That one's not so much weird as it is normal lately. And I suppose that's weird in itself right there. And on that weirdly moebius-strip moment (look it up if you don't know. Then make a few. They're kind of fun), I think I should probably get back to work already.



That part? Not really weird. I often should get back to work...

Pointless photo of the day:

That's all. Just letting you know that I'm still around, really.