A word about stubble

This will, hopefully, be quick. I have work to do.

The Toronto office and I have a fundamental disagreement about stubble. Male, facial stubble, that is. Or, to be more exact, designer stubble.

See, I don't mind if a guy is on holiday or something like that and chooses not to shave for a couple of days. That's fine. No problem. I do mind, however, if it's obvious that a man is carefully grooming the I'm Too Busy (or Careless, or Cool) to Shave look.

I'm sorry, but if you're walking around with a constant three-day beard, you're working hard at it.

I know that it's a little different for television characters -- you have to have some costume consistency -- but even there, I'd like to take three quarters of the fashionably scruffy men on t.v. and introduce them and their stylists to the concept of razors.

There's a reason for this slightly hostile attitude, you know.

The Eighties.

Specifically, the fact that in the Eighties (when I was regularly dating) (and yes, I am that old) (and shut up) too many men were walking around trying to rock the whole Miami Vice look.

Ugh.

I wasn't a particularly busy dater, but even at that I went out with far too many men sporting stubble, pastel blazers, and no socks.

We do not need to return to that, people.

Besides...

Do you scruffy men realise how frigging uncomfortable it is to snuggle up to you?...





Ok, maybe a little too much information there. Anyway, that's my opinion and I'm sticking to it. I won't be blathering tomorrow since the weather's not my friend at the moment. The Toronto office is quite welcome to post a rebuttal in the meantime, but I'll see you later.

I have a headache

That's so not news I don't even know why I typed it, but there you go. I have a headache.

A sinus headache.

Started last night.

Probably means I'm getting a cold.

I'm thrilled.

Anyway, here I am with a headache and an evening program to do (and really? Who books a walk about beavers in the winter? At night? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?), so you can imagine that I'm absolutely in the mood to blather.

A nature walk in the dark? While it's snowing?

Good lord.

Now, where was I? Oh yeah, nowhere. Whinging.

I'd whinge about the Oscars last night, but I don't think I will for a few reasons. One would be that I haven't seen any of the films so I couldn't care less who won, another is that it was somewhat less painful to watch than it often is, and a third is that I was being entertained (for the most part. When my head wasn't hurting too much) by the person I was watching the show with.

Who was in Toronto.

Yes, the infamous Toronto office. We were watching together by text. Kinda weird when you stop to think about it, but it apparently works for us. In some way or other.

Not too many opinions about the show, then (except the MUSICALS ARE BACK!!! number. Sooo painful. West Side Story vs High School Musical? Really?), and not too terribly many about the fashions either. I told the Toronto office that Beyonce was wearing a bordello carpet and I stand by that (but not on that, of course), Tilda Swinton was... Tilda Swinton, and I couldn't join the silly entertainment reporters in gushing over Heidi Klum's geometric whatever-that-was, but overall the dresses were nice, more of them men wore bow ties than I've learned to hope for lately (yay boys), and even though I haven't checked out too many sources of internet fashion review yet I've already found a couple of looks that were labelled BEST! by one site and WORST! by another, so I'm happy.

Yes, that kind of nonsense makes me happy.

Or it would if I didn't have a headache.





Ah well. Can't have everything. Unfortunately, my brain chose the headache over the happiness. Silly brain.

You had to know this was coming

I've got nothing.

Just not in the mood to think, I guess.

So... have a daylily photo.

I'll see you Sunday, maybe, since I won't be around a computer tomorrow. We can talk Oscar fashion preview or something, or maybe I'll just complain about the planetarium some more.

Later, all.

Pointless out of season photo of the day:

I see that I titled this photo orange when I saved it. Apparently I was too tired to type the word lily as well that day.

I probably should have just titled the thing shadow, though, because the shadows are the only reason I even bothered to keep it.

OLF, remember. I sometimes find photos interesting for reasons that make no sense to anyone who doesn't live in my pattern-addled brain.

Anyway.

That'll be it for today. I'm tired, cranky, and sore after the last three mornings spent wrestling the planetarium (yes, that's exactly what I do. Shut up), and I actually got busy talking about work-related stuff for a few minutes in a row so I haven't had time to formulate the day's blather anyway.

Tomorrow is a non-planetarium day. AND I won't have to be here so flipping early besides. Maybe -- just maybe -- the above two facts will put me in a more blatherific mood.




Don't count on it, though.

The problem with planetarium programs

The problem with planetarium programs (I mean besides the obvious aches, pains, and mystery bruises) is that when you've done a planetarium program or two you have no brain left for anything else you might have been planning to get done with your day.

And, on a side note, the problem with not having taken any photos lately is that now the photos on the blog have turned into random garden left-overs from the past couple of years and make even less sense than they normally do.

Don't think I haven't noticed.

Anyway, now that the planetarium has done it for my brain (which at least exists today. There was actual sleep last night, in other words. Wheat's first words to me this morning were something to the effect of my looking a hundred percent better today. I must have looked like absolute hell yesterday, I guess, because right now I look... planetariumed), I have no idea what's supposed to end up on the blog. Not unusual, I know, but at least today I have an excuse. Same excuse goes for tomorrow, by the way.

Just saying.

I suppose I could tell you what planetariumed looks like? It'll have to be tell, because I'm sure as heck not going to show. I avoid putting photos of myself on the blog whenever possible, and I'm certainly not going out of my way to post a photo of myself looking like I do just now.

Planetariumed.

Ok, for those new to the program, when I say planetarium I'm not meaning big room with curved ceiling. I'm meaning smallish blow-up bubble that you crawl inside to project the stars in. Portable planetarium, in other words. And when a person's doing planetarium programs a person is crawling in and out of the blow-up bubble repeatedly, creating more static (and a more interesting hairdo) with every pass.

I look ever so slightly like I've been hit by a minivan. A small minivan, perhaps inhabited by passengers who have been enjoying some on-the-go baked beans or something.

I look, in other words, like a combination of being run over and being hit by a freak windstorm.

I've learned over the years not to bother doing anything much with my hair on planetarium days. I have fine, somewhat flighty hair to begin with, and there's just no point in trying to save the 'do once you add planetarium into the mix. Sooo... I do my best to ignore it. What else can I do but pretend that I was aiming for the absent-minded professor look?

Which I've definitely got at the moment.

And that, my friends, is what being planetariumed is all about. No brain, and the head to match.




Going back to pretending to work now. Later, all.

More of the same

Believe me, you don't want blather from the sleepless one today. Getting a few hours of sleep a night is one thing, but none at all? Is completely ridiculous.

I'm crawling under my desk now.

May or may not come out.





Yep.

Nada

Yep, nothing. Again.

Not for lack of trying, though. I've been sitting here attempting to get into blather mode, but apparently it juuust isn't going to happen today.

Or tomorrow, since I likely won't be anywhere near a computer.

I suppose I should get my own computer.

Prices have come down quite a bit, after all, and if I had a computer at home I could blather whenever the blather mood hit.

I'd have to pay for an internet connection, though. That's a problem when you're as cheap as I am. It'd be pay for internet, or hope that someone in the vicinity is silly enough to have unprotected wireless to... borrow.

I'm not sure I'd want to go to that length just to blather, though.

I do still have that annoying ethical streak to deal with, after all.





Anyway. There's your lack of blather for the day. I'll see you in a couple, when no doubt I'll be whinging about the exciting things that multiple planetarium programs do to a person's brain.

Glad to be of predictable service.