Thanks to the Hoser, I'm now a flickr member. So I'm posting some pics of the place where I worked this summer. My last day was last Sunday, and I already miss it... sort of. The pics aren't great, but you'll get the idea of what the place is like.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Sunday, September 12, 2004
I Suppose It Was Inevitable...
My parents officially disinherited me this evening. And not even for the reasons I would have imagined--all my grevious wrongs as a daughter apparently weren't enough to push me over the ledge of parental non-ownership. No, my unforgivable sin was that I confessed to not liking Frank Sinatra. Yes. It's true. I don't like Bing Crosby either; I think that was the real deal-breaker right there. It began with an argument over whether "High Society" is a superior film to its non-musical counterpart, "The Philadelphia Story." Naturally, I hold that any film with Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart and Ruth Hussey is by definition superior to one with Frank and Bing. Pressed, I finally said "But I just don't like Sinatra...." and it was all downhill from there. My favorite movie musical is "Singin' in the Rain," and therefore my favorite musical singer is Gene Kelly. Mom insists that Gene isn't a singer, he's a dancer, to which I say well he sure sounds like a singer when he's actually SINGING in the RAIN.... You can guess how things progressed. And then the final straw was when I reluctantly admitted that I haven't actually watched "High Society," although I've seen many other films with Bing and Frank and haven't warmed up to either of them in the slightest. So I'm out of the will. They're giving it all to the Republican Party instead because they know that will really twist the knife for me. Guess I'll have to watch the movie to get out of el casa de canem.
Oh, and while I usually shy away from reading political blogs when I don't actually know the person behind them, I'm totally taken by Fafnir and his Fafblog. I've been reading it periodically when Rubber Hose links to it.... but I think I'm going to be a regular now. "Laundry Day" convinced me that these guys are above average, high-quality lunatics; it's like political commentary on an extended acid trip. I love it. I wish I could write like that.
My parents officially disinherited me this evening. And not even for the reasons I would have imagined--all my grevious wrongs as a daughter apparently weren't enough to push me over the ledge of parental non-ownership. No, my unforgivable sin was that I confessed to not liking Frank Sinatra. Yes. It's true. I don't like Bing Crosby either; I think that was the real deal-breaker right there. It began with an argument over whether "High Society" is a superior film to its non-musical counterpart, "The Philadelphia Story." Naturally, I hold that any film with Katherine Hepburn, Cary Grant, Jimmy Stewart and Ruth Hussey is by definition superior to one with Frank and Bing. Pressed, I finally said "But I just don't like Sinatra...." and it was all downhill from there. My favorite movie musical is "Singin' in the Rain," and therefore my favorite musical singer is Gene Kelly. Mom insists that Gene isn't a singer, he's a dancer, to which I say well he sure sounds like a singer when he's actually SINGING in the RAIN.... You can guess how things progressed. And then the final straw was when I reluctantly admitted that I haven't actually watched "High Society," although I've seen many other films with Bing and Frank and haven't warmed up to either of them in the slightest. So I'm out of the will. They're giving it all to the Republican Party instead because they know that will really twist the knife for me. Guess I'll have to watch the movie to get out of el casa de canem.
Oh, and while I usually shy away from reading political blogs when I don't actually know the person behind them, I'm totally taken by Fafnir and his Fafblog. I've been reading it periodically when Rubber Hose links to it.... but I think I'm going to be a regular now. "Laundry Day" convinced me that these guys are above average, high-quality lunatics; it's like political commentary on an extended acid trip. I love it. I wish I could write like that.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Well, THIS Should Come as a Surprise to No One....
What Color is Your Brain?
brought to you by Quizilla
: I need to be "hands on": I like to play games, to compete, and to perform. I enjoy flexibility, changes of pace, and variety. I have difficulty with routine and structure. My favorite subjects are music, art, theatre, and crafts. I often excel in sports. I like solving problems in active ways and negotiating for what I want. I can be direct and like immediate results.
With friends: Planning ahead bores me because I never know what I want to do until the moment arrives. I like to excite my friends with new and different things, places to go, and romantic moments.
With family: I need a lot of space and freedom. I want everyone to have fun. It is hard for me to follow rules, and I feel we should all just enjoy one another.
Once again, surprisingly accurate. Maybe I should go buy that bike....
What Color is Your Brain?
brought to you by Quizilla
: I need to be "hands on": I like to play games, to compete, and to perform. I enjoy flexibility, changes of pace, and variety. I have difficulty with routine and structure. My favorite subjects are music, art, theatre, and crafts. I often excel in sports. I like solving problems in active ways and negotiating for what I want. I can be direct and like immediate results.
With friends: Planning ahead bores me because I never know what I want to do until the moment arrives. I like to excite my friends with new and different things, places to go, and romantic moments.
With family: I need a lot of space and freedom. I want everyone to have fun. It is hard for me to follow rules, and I feel we should all just enjoy one another.
Once again, surprisingly accurate. Maybe I should go buy that bike....
Sunday, September 05, 2004
In Your Satin Tights....Fighting For Your Rights....
And the Old Red White and Blue-ooooo!
It's been a glorious few weeks for me, for sure. Pure happiness arrived, in the form of the full first season of "Wonder Woman" on DVD. Rat Girl brought to my attention the fact that this had been released (by saying, "this is what I would have got you for your birthday if I'd had any money." She got me a cool stuffed "Animal" from the Muppet Show instead, and I bought the DVD myself. So it was like two gifts for the price of one, and now I can make Animal shout "WO-MAN! WO-MAN!" whenever Lynda Carter is on the screen.) Naturally I hit Amazon up for it right away with some of my birthday money, and in no time at all I was watching Diana Prince twirl and explode into my favorite superheroine of all time. What an awesome show. This is just the first season, which takes place during World War II (as did the old comic book) and Wonder Woman aids America in its battle against the Nazis--who are slightly less incompetant than Hogan's Heroes' Nazis, but only slightly. She spends most of her time rescuing Major Steve Trevor, who gets hit on the head and knocked unconcious an average of twice per episode. He's supposed to be a decorated Air Force hero and veteran, and yet he's constantly a victim of the sap, the sucker punch, and the chloroform rag (apparently the Nazis buy chloroform by the gallon jug. They use it all the time. Maybe there were Sam's Clubs selling this kind of stuff in bulk during the Third Reich.) Yet every time Wonder Woman rescues Steve it's always "Gosh, thanks Wonder Woman! What would I do without you?" He's never embarassed that he has to get saved by a chick every freakin' week.... He never seems particularly emasculated or threatened by Diana's physical superiority, and I think this is an interesting point. I can't think of many other women superhero shows like this; "Xena" leaps to mind as a good example of the opposite, where the guys are consistantly underestimating Xena, and always embarassed that she can whip their butts so easily. I can't remember details of "The Bionic Woman" quite so well, but it was on during the same time period as WW, and I seem to have the sense that it too took the attitude that physical strength and femininity are at cross-purposes--and of course, Jamie's love interest is the Bionic Man, who is stronger/faster/better than she is. The more I think about this, the more intrigued I become. I'm not saying that "Wonder Woman" broke all the stereotype barriers--we won't even talk about Etta Candy, the chubby, man-obsessed, compulsive eater best-friend--but I think it did venture into some then-uncharted waters as far as female hero models.
And of course, Lynda Carter is seriously hot.
And the Old Red White and Blue-ooooo!
It's been a glorious few weeks for me, for sure. Pure happiness arrived, in the form of the full first season of "Wonder Woman" on DVD. Rat Girl brought to my attention the fact that this had been released (by saying, "this is what I would have got you for your birthday if I'd had any money." She got me a cool stuffed "Animal" from the Muppet Show instead, and I bought the DVD myself. So it was like two gifts for the price of one, and now I can make Animal shout "WO-MAN! WO-MAN!" whenever Lynda Carter is on the screen.) Naturally I hit Amazon up for it right away with some of my birthday money, and in no time at all I was watching Diana Prince twirl and explode into my favorite superheroine of all time. What an awesome show. This is just the first season, which takes place during World War II (as did the old comic book) and Wonder Woman aids America in its battle against the Nazis--who are slightly less incompetant than Hogan's Heroes' Nazis, but only slightly. She spends most of her time rescuing Major Steve Trevor, who gets hit on the head and knocked unconcious an average of twice per episode. He's supposed to be a decorated Air Force hero and veteran, and yet he's constantly a victim of the sap, the sucker punch, and the chloroform rag (apparently the Nazis buy chloroform by the gallon jug. They use it all the time. Maybe there were Sam's Clubs selling this kind of stuff in bulk during the Third Reich.) Yet every time Wonder Woman rescues Steve it's always "Gosh, thanks Wonder Woman! What would I do without you?" He's never embarassed that he has to get saved by a chick every freakin' week.... He never seems particularly emasculated or threatened by Diana's physical superiority, and I think this is an interesting point. I can't think of many other women superhero shows like this; "Xena" leaps to mind as a good example of the opposite, where the guys are consistantly underestimating Xena, and always embarassed that she can whip their butts so easily. I can't remember details of "The Bionic Woman" quite so well, but it was on during the same time period as WW, and I seem to have the sense that it too took the attitude that physical strength and femininity are at cross-purposes--and of course, Jamie's love interest is the Bionic Man, who is stronger/faster/better than she is. The more I think about this, the more intrigued I become. I'm not saying that "Wonder Woman" broke all the stereotype barriers--we won't even talk about Etta Candy, the chubby, man-obsessed, compulsive eater best-friend--but I think it did venture into some then-uncharted waters as far as female hero models.
And of course, Lynda Carter is seriously hot.
Wednesday, September 01, 2004
It's All About Me, Me, Me.
Once again, I find myself captivated by the Jenny Turpish Slapped Me website. This time it's quizzes, thanks to Jane.... But I also highly recommend her "Oregon Trail As I Play It" page, which made me laugh so hard I cried.
Anyway, here's my fun quiz result for the day.
Better Relationship Quiz
eXpressive: 4/10
Practical: 3/10
Physical: 6/10
Giver: 8/10
You are a RSYG --Reserved Sentimental Physical Giver. This makes you a Nice Guy/Nice Girl .
Oh, poor RSYG. You're the one all your friends of your target sex *should* be dating when you have to watch them go out with jerks. You're the sweet one that the lead in a romantic comedy ends up with after s/he learns a valuable lesson. You're the best friend, the chaperone and the shoulder to cry on when you should be the lover. Well, no one ever said people were smart.
You dislike conflict -- you prefer to express yourself through action, not discussion -- but you know it is necessary. This means you are more likely to tackle an issue before it grows, but you're also more likely to stop fighting before the issue is resolved to your satisfaction. This isn't necessarily a bad thing -- it's kind of a nice compromise between fighting about everything and fighting about nothing -- but you have to remember to look out for your own interests sometimes.
You have a strong sexual appetite, but it seems so out of place with the rest of your persona that people find it hard to believe. Often they try to shield you from sexual content -- it's ridiculous, but you can use it to your advantage: everybody wants someone clean in the kitchen and dirty in the bedroom. That's you.
You don't want to cheat, but you might. Especially since it's only when you're in a relationship that you start getting the attention from your target sex that you should have been getting all along. Your experiences could make you misanthropic if you weren't so tenderhearted.
A lot of RSITs think they're RSYGs. They're not.
You'll end up with someone who deserves you in the end.
Of the 39124 people who have taken this quiz, 4.2 % are this type.
Uncanny, no? I'm not sure if I'm more entertained by the description of my relationship style (which is not bad at all) or by the repeated use of the phrase "your target sex." I realize that they're just trying to keep the quiz gender and preference neutral, but "target sex" is just funny. If you flip it around, it becomes "sex target," which is even funnier. I've always wanted to be a sex target! And yet, as an RSYG, I'm just not on the targeting radar.... Hee hee hee. Ok, sorry. Moving on.
Right, so classes have started, I'm once again a student--it's getting old, folks, I'm almost no longer excited by the purchase of new pencils and notebooks--and the class consists of 8 undergraduate graphic design majors, and 2 museum studies students who wouldn't know Adobe Illustrator if it came up and bit us on the butt. For all I know, it has that capability.... the butt-biting plug-in, or something. Anyway, I'm hoping to come out of this with at least a passing knowledge of GD software and something to put in a portfolio. All design majors have portfolios, and I want one too! In other news, there's some stirrings on the job front, but I'll save that for a future post when I can leave out words like "maybe" and "possible" and all that.
Once again, I find myself captivated by the Jenny Turpish Slapped Me website. This time it's quizzes, thanks to Jane.... But I also highly recommend her "Oregon Trail As I Play It" page, which made me laugh so hard I cried.
Anyway, here's my fun quiz result for the day.
Better Relationship Quiz
eXpressive: 4/10
Practical: 3/10
Physical: 6/10
Giver: 8/10
You are a RSYG --Reserved Sentimental Physical Giver. This makes you a Nice Guy/Nice Girl .
Oh, poor RSYG. You're the one all your friends of your target sex *should* be dating when you have to watch them go out with jerks. You're the sweet one that the lead in a romantic comedy ends up with after s/he learns a valuable lesson. You're the best friend, the chaperone and the shoulder to cry on when you should be the lover. Well, no one ever said people were smart.
You dislike conflict -- you prefer to express yourself through action, not discussion -- but you know it is necessary. This means you are more likely to tackle an issue before it grows, but you're also more likely to stop fighting before the issue is resolved to your satisfaction. This isn't necessarily a bad thing -- it's kind of a nice compromise between fighting about everything and fighting about nothing -- but you have to remember to look out for your own interests sometimes.
You have a strong sexual appetite, but it seems so out of place with the rest of your persona that people find it hard to believe. Often they try to shield you from sexual content -- it's ridiculous, but you can use it to your advantage: everybody wants someone clean in the kitchen and dirty in the bedroom. That's you.
You don't want to cheat, but you might. Especially since it's only when you're in a relationship that you start getting the attention from your target sex that you should have been getting all along. Your experiences could make you misanthropic if you weren't so tenderhearted.
A lot of RSITs think they're RSYGs. They're not.
You'll end up with someone who deserves you in the end.
Of the 39124 people who have taken this quiz, 4.2 % are this type.
Uncanny, no? I'm not sure if I'm more entertained by the description of my relationship style (which is not bad at all) or by the repeated use of the phrase "your target sex." I realize that they're just trying to keep the quiz gender and preference neutral, but "target sex" is just funny. If you flip it around, it becomes "sex target," which is even funnier. I've always wanted to be a sex target! And yet, as an RSYG, I'm just not on the targeting radar.... Hee hee hee. Ok, sorry. Moving on.
Right, so classes have started, I'm once again a student--it's getting old, folks, I'm almost no longer excited by the purchase of new pencils and notebooks--and the class consists of 8 undergraduate graphic design majors, and 2 museum studies students who wouldn't know Adobe Illustrator if it came up and bit us on the butt. For all I know, it has that capability.... the butt-biting plug-in, or something. Anyway, I'm hoping to come out of this with at least a passing knowledge of GD software and something to put in a portfolio. All design majors have portfolios, and I want one too! In other news, there's some stirrings on the job front, but I'll save that for a future post when I can leave out words like "maybe" and "possible" and all that.
Sunday, August 22, 2004
Gimme a G! Gimme an E! Gimme an N! Gimme a CON!
What's That Spell?? NERDCON!!
I just spent the better part of a week in GenCon mode. This means out-of-town guests, an orgy of game-related activities, and cash flowing away like water down a hill. It feels like I've been running non-stop since Wednesday; while I've had a great time, I'm utterly dead tired and looking forward to a nice quiet evening at home, painting the minis I bought to sell on Ebay. I'll blab at more length about the con on my gaming blog, which has lain fallow and dusty since....er....February, apparently. Hmm. I fail.
Mainly, though, I spent much of this weekend eating and drinking through the kindness of others. I was bought lunches, dinners, beers, toys, and snacks by friends both local and visiting. Alex, Karen, Rob, Gareth, Andy--your generosity was much appreciated. Really. Next Gencon, dinner is on me!
And in the meantime, I'm happy to announce that A Cautionary Tale has decided on its Official Endorsement for the 2004 Presidential Election. Throw your votes behind the candidate who IS a Weapon of Mass Destruction! No More Years! No More Years!
What's That Spell?? NERDCON!!
I just spent the better part of a week in GenCon mode. This means out-of-town guests, an orgy of game-related activities, and cash flowing away like water down a hill. It feels like I've been running non-stop since Wednesday; while I've had a great time, I'm utterly dead tired and looking forward to a nice quiet evening at home, painting the minis I bought to sell on Ebay. I'll blab at more length about the con on my gaming blog, which has lain fallow and dusty since....er....February, apparently. Hmm. I fail.
Mainly, though, I spent much of this weekend eating and drinking through the kindness of others. I was bought lunches, dinners, beers, toys, and snacks by friends both local and visiting. Alex, Karen, Rob, Gareth, Andy--your generosity was much appreciated. Really. Next Gencon, dinner is on me!
And in the meantime, I'm happy to announce that A Cautionary Tale has decided on its Official Endorsement for the 2004 Presidential Election. Throw your votes behind the candidate who IS a Weapon of Mass Destruction! No More Years! No More Years!
Sunday, August 15, 2004
3...2...1.. MAWIDGE!!
I just got back from my friend Jane's wedding in San Francisco, which was lovely except that I don't do 4 hour plane rides so well anymore. I was feeling pretty barfy on arrival, and again when I got back today. I know I should look into taking drugs for this, but I have an irrational paranoia that the plane will crash and in my half-witted state I won't be able to follow the directional floor lighting to the safety rafts, and I'll be trampled to death by the people in business class.
Anyway, it was such a fast trip I'd think I dreamed it, except for the tiny agonized screams still coming from my calf muscles after spending Friday cruising the hills and valleys of SF. Chinatown, my main target destination for that day, was all I'd ever imagined it to be, though slightly (if you can believe it) cleaner. I can't tell you what a joy it was for me to walk the streets with the voice of Egg Shen in my head: "We'come to beautifow Chinatown..." sipping buttery green tea from a styrofoam cup and perusing a vast selection of tacky crap for my purchasing pleasure. It was like a little slice of tchotchke heaven. So yeah, I had a good time. Rocklawn took me on a stroll around That-Which-Is-Not-Chinatown, including The San Francisco Cable Car Museum, which I thought was excessively cool, and the incredible Musee Mechanique at Fisherman's Wharf. I still haven't forgiven DisneyWorld for dumping the Penny Arcade on Main Street; the MM is a paradise of old coin-op dioramas, fortune tellers, orchestrions, skill games, and mutoscopes. Again, what more could I have asked for? Well, I could have asked for a BART train not to have broken down on the track right when I was trying to get back to Oakland for the wedding Friday afternoon.... Talk about the cold taste of pure fear; I was actually preparing to begin running frantically along the tunnel under the bay, when the problem was suddenly solved and I was on my way again. Gah.
Sarah, my wonderful yet loud-snoring roommate has kindly taken the task of wedding review. I don't have a lot to add, except to say it was fantastic, I had a great time, and the awesome pint glass party favor will have a place of honor in my glassware collection forever. Jane and Sarah, thank you so much for inviting me to share this weekend with you and all your friends. It was a blast. Love you guys, hope you're having a great time on the honeymoon.
I just got back from my friend Jane's wedding in San Francisco, which was lovely except that I don't do 4 hour plane rides so well anymore. I was feeling pretty barfy on arrival, and again when I got back today. I know I should look into taking drugs for this, but I have an irrational paranoia that the plane will crash and in my half-witted state I won't be able to follow the directional floor lighting to the safety rafts, and I'll be trampled to death by the people in business class.
Anyway, it was such a fast trip I'd think I dreamed it, except for the tiny agonized screams still coming from my calf muscles after spending Friday cruising the hills and valleys of SF. Chinatown, my main target destination for that day, was all I'd ever imagined it to be, though slightly (if you can believe it) cleaner. I can't tell you what a joy it was for me to walk the streets with the voice of Egg Shen in my head: "We'come to beautifow Chinatown..." sipping buttery green tea from a styrofoam cup and perusing a vast selection of tacky crap for my purchasing pleasure. It was like a little slice of tchotchke heaven. So yeah, I had a good time. Rocklawn took me on a stroll around That-Which-Is-Not-Chinatown, including The San Francisco Cable Car Museum, which I thought was excessively cool, and the incredible Musee Mechanique at Fisherman's Wharf. I still haven't forgiven DisneyWorld for dumping the Penny Arcade on Main Street; the MM is a paradise of old coin-op dioramas, fortune tellers, orchestrions, skill games, and mutoscopes. Again, what more could I have asked for? Well, I could have asked for a BART train not to have broken down on the track right when I was trying to get back to Oakland for the wedding Friday afternoon.... Talk about the cold taste of pure fear; I was actually preparing to begin running frantically along the tunnel under the bay, when the problem was suddenly solved and I was on my way again. Gah.
Sarah, my wonderful yet loud-snoring roommate has kindly taken the task of wedding review. I don't have a lot to add, except to say it was fantastic, I had a great time, and the awesome pint glass party favor will have a place of honor in my glassware collection forever. Jane and Sarah, thank you so much for inviting me to share this weekend with you and all your friends. It was a blast. Love you guys, hope you're having a great time on the honeymoon.
Thursday, August 12, 2004
You Know You've Been Working at the Zoo Too Long When....
....you're sitting on the patio of an Italian restraunt, waiting for your parents to meet you, and you hear a dog bark in the distance and think "Dang, what's a sea lion doing around here?" Sheesh.
Brilliant post from last time will have to wait. I'm off to San Francisco today, for Jane's wedding. I'm greatly looking forward to it, I've never been out there. Also meeting up with Sarah, (at least I hope I am, the room reservation is in her name) and Rocklawn, who I haven't seen in a couple years. This departing at 3 pm is great, I slept in and still had time to pack, clean up the house, and blog. Of course, coming back I have to be at the SF airport by like 6 am.... Gah.
....you're sitting on the patio of an Italian restraunt, waiting for your parents to meet you, and you hear a dog bark in the distance and think "Dang, what's a sea lion doing around here?" Sheesh.
Brilliant post from last time will have to wait. I'm off to San Francisco today, for Jane's wedding. I'm greatly looking forward to it, I've never been out there. Also meeting up with Sarah, (at least I hope I am, the room reservation is in her name) and Rocklawn, who I haven't seen in a couple years. This departing at 3 pm is great, I slept in and still had time to pack, clean up the house, and blog. Of course, coming back I have to be at the SF airport by like 6 am.... Gah.
Sunday, August 08, 2004
God. Damn.
Once again, a single wrong keystroke has deleted an entire post I was working on; blogger's text editor is remarkably unforgiving, there's no "undo" once something's been done. And if I write posts offline and paste them into blogger, the formatting is massively screwed up. I'm too irritated now to reconstruct--it was a good post too--so it'll have to wait til later when I've cooled down a bit. Snarl. Growl.
Once again, a single wrong keystroke has deleted an entire post I was working on; blogger's text editor is remarkably unforgiving, there's no "undo" once something's been done. And if I write posts offline and paste them into blogger, the formatting is massively screwed up. I'm too irritated now to reconstruct--it was a good post too--so it'll have to wait til later when I've cooled down a bit. Snarl. Growl.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
Hey, lookit me! I'm old!
34 as of yesterday, to be precise. No secrets on this blog....
I like to think i share my birthday month with thousands of Brood X cicadas; not again til I'm 51, what a thought! Anyway, it was lovely, I bought some perennials for my yard, went to lunch with my mom, went to a baseball game with Karen and Andy, saw some fireworks, had a great time. Tonight I'll be going out with a few friends, including the now-infamous Rat Girl and Butterfly Woman. Tiptop in the loot department, got a bike helmet and a Camelbak, a David Sedaris book and a set of handkerchiefs. What more could a girl ask for?
34 as of yesterday, to be precise. No secrets on this blog....
I like to think i share my birthday month with thousands of Brood X cicadas; not again til I'm 51, what a thought! Anyway, it was lovely, I bought some perennials for my yard, went to lunch with my mom, went to a baseball game with Karen and Andy, saw some fireworks, had a great time. Tonight I'll be going out with a few friends, including the now-infamous Rat Girl and Butterfly Woman. Tiptop in the loot department, got a bike helmet and a Camelbak, a David Sedaris book and a set of handkerchiefs. What more could a girl ask for?
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Dep-itty Do Dah Day
Pictures can be found here. The before picture is me about a month ago, doing my monkey face. The after pictures are one wet, with gel still glimmering on my bonnie brown hair, and the other is after it's dried and gotten mucked around a bit. In the background of the latter is my hammock, which is right now the best thing I own. (Well, other than the bottle of Dep, of course.) I've had this hammock since I went to Brazil in 2000; I bought it because everyone there sleeps in hammocks all the time--at least in small villages in Amazonas, which is where we were. So, romantically, I thought I would use it to kick back on the boat we were in. Then I realized that all the hammock hooks on the boat were right over the sides; while our Amazonian boat dudes cheerfully swung their hammocks from these hooks each night, I was confident that any attempt to mount a hammock hung in this fashion would end with me dropping about 20 feet straight down into the dark waters of the Rio Negro, never to be seen again. Undaunted, I brought it home to my rental house whose yard contained.... One. Tree. You see the problem. So when I moved here I was all about the hammock again, plenty of large trees here. So large, in fact, that I would have had to drill a huge eyebolt into them to secure the hammock since there were no branches at the proper height. Once again, I failed--didn't want to drill, and didn't trust the hardware I might have used to secure it. Now, finally, Restoration Hardware has come to my rescue with a miracle product: Tree Straps. With no harm to either tree, I am now swinging blissfully outdoors in my authentic Amazonian hammock on a daily basis. It rules.
(By the way, MLE, this is your cue to say, "My god, Cathy, you haven't aged a day since college!" Since I don't think we've actually seen each other since 1991.... Or at least, don't say "My God, Cathy, what happened to you....")
Pictures can be found here. The before picture is me about a month ago, doing my monkey face. The after pictures are one wet, with gel still glimmering on my bonnie brown hair, and the other is after it's dried and gotten mucked around a bit. In the background of the latter is my hammock, which is right now the best thing I own. (Well, other than the bottle of Dep, of course.) I've had this hammock since I went to Brazil in 2000; I bought it because everyone there sleeps in hammocks all the time--at least in small villages in Amazonas, which is where we were. So, romantically, I thought I would use it to kick back on the boat we were in. Then I realized that all the hammock hooks on the boat were right over the sides; while our Amazonian boat dudes cheerfully swung their hammocks from these hooks each night, I was confident that any attempt to mount a hammock hung in this fashion would end with me dropping about 20 feet straight down into the dark waters of the Rio Negro, never to be seen again. Undaunted, I brought it home to my rental house whose yard contained.... One. Tree. You see the problem. So when I moved here I was all about the hammock again, plenty of large trees here. So large, in fact, that I would have had to drill a huge eyebolt into them to secure the hammock since there were no branches at the proper height. Once again, I failed--didn't want to drill, and didn't trust the hardware I might have used to secure it. Now, finally, Restoration Hardware has come to my rescue with a miracle product: Tree Straps. With no harm to either tree, I am now swinging blissfully outdoors in my authentic Amazonian hammock on a daily basis. It rules.
(By the way, MLE, this is your cue to say, "My god, Cathy, you haven't aged a day since college!" Since I don't think we've actually seen each other since 1991.... Or at least, don't say "My God, Cathy, what happened to you....")
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Behold, the Power of Gel....
Pardon the lengthy pause. Just presume that had I been blogging in the last couple weeks, the posts would have been titled as follows: "It was hot at work today." "Why won't it rain? I hate watering plants. It was hot at work!" "I found a $100 bill in the street, so I'm probably going to die soon." and "Jesus, it's hot."
I'm pretty OCD about my hair. Actually, I'm pretty OCD about a lot of things, but that's another story. (At least I'm not OCD about watering the petunias on the trellises at work--wait, that's ANOTHER other story. Rewind. Hair.) My haircut hasn't changed substantially in quite some time, and I tend to obsess just a little about its length and shagginess level.... But the summer weather has conspired against me, as you can see in all those posts I didn't write; I finally decided it was time to get my hair cut short. Not super short, but a lot shorter than I usually do. It's sad how freaked I was at this prospect before I finally did it--would my ears show? Would they look stupid? Would >I< look stupid? Would people point and laugh? Rationally, of course I know no one except me gives a crap what my hair looks like, but irrationally it's right up there with, say, the Space Program and Oprah's Book Club. So I bit the bullet, got the cut, and you know, it looked just fine! And felt cool, which was key.
Well, the next thing I knew, the trickle of change led to a rivulet of styling gel. Two friends, who we'll refer to here as Rat Girl and Butterfly Woman (sort of to protect their identities, but mostly because it makes them sound like really lame superheroes) took me to Target, stood me in front of the hair products section, and forced me to select gel.
ME: How about this one? It says "Sports" on it!
BW: No.
ME: How about this one? It's in a cool shaped bottle!
RG: No! Be serious.
ME: Hey, this one is purple! Can I--
BOTH OF THEM: NO.
Eventually, the proper gel was selected--in an odd coincidence with previous posts, the one I chose was orange--and we went back to RG's house to sculpt me out. I have a powerful aversion to anything that reminds me of those horrible makeover slumber parties in 7th grade where they'd pick the one girl who didn't wear makeup (me) and hold her down while they "fixed her up." But I trust the dynamic duo, stifled the tiny flame of internal panic, and let them do my hair. It was fun. Admittedly I look kind of like the dudes from "Grease," in the Go Greased Lightnin' number... But I kinda like it. It's worth 2 extra minutes in the morning and a glob of orange non-sport "Dep" gel. So we'll see how long it lasts.
Pardon the lengthy pause. Just presume that had I been blogging in the last couple weeks, the posts would have been titled as follows: "It was hot at work today." "Why won't it rain? I hate watering plants. It was hot at work!" "I found a $100 bill in the street, so I'm probably going to die soon." and "Jesus, it's hot."
I'm pretty OCD about my hair. Actually, I'm pretty OCD about a lot of things, but that's another story. (At least I'm not OCD about watering the petunias on the trellises at work--wait, that's ANOTHER other story. Rewind. Hair.) My haircut hasn't changed substantially in quite some time, and I tend to obsess just a little about its length and shagginess level.... But the summer weather has conspired against me, as you can see in all those posts I didn't write; I finally decided it was time to get my hair cut short. Not super short, but a lot shorter than I usually do. It's sad how freaked I was at this prospect before I finally did it--would my ears show? Would they look stupid? Would >I< look stupid? Would people point and laugh? Rationally, of course I know no one except me gives a crap what my hair looks like, but irrationally it's right up there with, say, the Space Program and Oprah's Book Club. So I bit the bullet, got the cut, and you know, it looked just fine! And felt cool, which was key.
Well, the next thing I knew, the trickle of change led to a rivulet of styling gel. Two friends, who we'll refer to here as Rat Girl and Butterfly Woman (sort of to protect their identities, but mostly because it makes them sound like really lame superheroes) took me to Target, stood me in front of the hair products section, and forced me to select gel.
ME: How about this one? It says "Sports" on it!
BW: No.
ME: How about this one? It's in a cool shaped bottle!
RG: No! Be serious.
ME: Hey, this one is purple! Can I--
BOTH OF THEM: NO.
Eventually, the proper gel was selected--in an odd coincidence with previous posts, the one I chose was orange--and we went back to RG's house to sculpt me out. I have a powerful aversion to anything that reminds me of those horrible makeover slumber parties in 7th grade where they'd pick the one girl who didn't wear makeup (me) and hold her down while they "fixed her up." But I trust the dynamic duo, stifled the tiny flame of internal panic, and let them do my hair. It was fun. Admittedly I look kind of like the dudes from "Grease," in the Go Greased Lightnin' number... But I kinda like it. It's worth 2 extra minutes in the morning and a glob of orange non-sport "Dep" gel. So we'll see how long it lasts.
Sunday, July 04, 2004
Gardens, 911.
I know a lot of people have been asking themselves, "So what's wrong with Cathy? She hasn't injured herself or released a dangerous animal at the zoo in months!" I know, it's disappointing. I made up for it Friday, though, by self-inflicting an injury messy enough to require an accident report and a trip to the first aid office. Jane's first question: Was there an animal involved? No. Now that I'm working full time in the Gardens, I seldom have those rich opportunities to fall into animal enclosures that last summer afforded me. Mundanely, I caught my finger in the door to West Receiving, removing a small circle of skin and causing me to bleed profusely. I thought I'd actually broken it, because it hurt like a...well, it hurt a whole lot. I stumbled back through the door, gripping my finger with my other hand, tears mingling with the sweat on my face (it was plenty hot here Friday, and I'd been out planting red, white, and blue petunias for the holiday weekend. Curse you, patriotic spirit of the 4th!) Anyway, so my coworker, Susan, is one of the nicest people I've ever worked with. She's a Christian, and disapproves of obscenity, so I try very hard when I'm around her to curb my natural tendencies toward profane utterance. I drop into a chair, blood dripping from my hand, teeth clenched, and Susan is going, "You look like you're going to faint! Are you OK? I'll call security. We'll take you to Summit (the occupational health clinic) right away and get it x-rayed!" I didn't want to tell her that the reason I looked so agonized was not just the extreme pain in my hand, or the sight of blood--I don't faint--but because I was trying so hard to supress the torrent of obscenity which would, under other circumstances, have been flooding from my lips.
All's well, though, no x-ray needed, just bandages and antibiotic ointment. Maybe next time I'll have a butterfly related injury for you all.... but this time, just a door.
I know a lot of people have been asking themselves, "So what's wrong with Cathy? She hasn't injured herself or released a dangerous animal at the zoo in months!" I know, it's disappointing. I made up for it Friday, though, by self-inflicting an injury messy enough to require an accident report and a trip to the first aid office. Jane's first question: Was there an animal involved? No. Now that I'm working full time in the Gardens, I seldom have those rich opportunities to fall into animal enclosures that last summer afforded me. Mundanely, I caught my finger in the door to West Receiving, removing a small circle of skin and causing me to bleed profusely. I thought I'd actually broken it, because it hurt like a...well, it hurt a whole lot. I stumbled back through the door, gripping my finger with my other hand, tears mingling with the sweat on my face (it was plenty hot here Friday, and I'd been out planting red, white, and blue petunias for the holiday weekend. Curse you, patriotic spirit of the 4th!) Anyway, so my coworker, Susan, is one of the nicest people I've ever worked with. She's a Christian, and disapproves of obscenity, so I try very hard when I'm around her to curb my natural tendencies toward profane utterance. I drop into a chair, blood dripping from my hand, teeth clenched, and Susan is going, "You look like you're going to faint! Are you OK? I'll call security. We'll take you to Summit (the occupational health clinic) right away and get it x-rayed!" I didn't want to tell her that the reason I looked so agonized was not just the extreme pain in my hand, or the sight of blood--I don't faint--but because I was trying so hard to supress the torrent of obscenity which would, under other circumstances, have been flooding from my lips.
All's well, though, no x-ray needed, just bandages and antibiotic ointment. Maybe next time I'll have a butterfly related injury for you all.... but this time, just a door.
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Supersize THIS....
I'm never eating fast food again. Seriously. In the space of two weeks I've gone completely off it. This is a result of an impulse buy at Borders, and having gone to see a movie for the first time since Return of the King came out in December. This is going to be hard.... But honest to god! Yeesh.
I picked up Fast Food Nation when I was shopping for father's day presents at Borders. This was a testament to the power of product placement; it was right on the corner of a gondola en route to the cashwrap, faced out in a bulk stack, with a bright colored cover. I didn't plan to buy anything for myself on the way in; on the way out, I was a tool. So I bought it (though I see by my link above that I could have bought it for $8 less used on Amazon....damn) and have been horribly entranced by its sordid tales of the history of fast food culture and the deplorable state of the meatpacking industry in America. While there is a certain amount of sensationalism in its tone, and a lot of bashing of "Republicans in Congress" as if a) they were a homogenous entity, and b) Democrats weren't also responsible for the passage of much of the harmful legislation he details, it's still a frightening, fascinating book. All I can say is, read it. Give it to your friends when you're done with it. And then go out and buy some fresh produce and a new cookbook.
"Supersize Me", if you haven't heard of it, is a documentary film by a guy who went on an All-McDonalds diet for 30 days, in order to disprove the company's assertion that there is no direct link between eating their food and ill health. Of course we all know that fast food isn't great for you, but many Americans still eat it 4-5 times a week. Eating McDonalds 21 times a week for 4 weeks is excessive (some would say nuts, including the filmmaker's vegan girlfriend) but it does demonstrate a very clear link between the food and overall health. He gains 20 lbs. His liver begins to malfunction. His sex drive drops. His moods swing. It's excessive, but hey--so is America.
On that happy note, I'm off to Chicago for the Taste. I plan to gorge myself on all foods not fast; it's worth the 3 hour drive.
I'm never eating fast food again. Seriously. In the space of two weeks I've gone completely off it. This is a result of an impulse buy at Borders, and having gone to see a movie for the first time since Return of the King came out in December. This is going to be hard.... But honest to god! Yeesh.
I picked up Fast Food Nation when I was shopping for father's day presents at Borders. This was a testament to the power of product placement; it was right on the corner of a gondola en route to the cashwrap, faced out in a bulk stack, with a bright colored cover. I didn't plan to buy anything for myself on the way in; on the way out, I was a tool. So I bought it (though I see by my link above that I could have bought it for $8 less used on Amazon....damn) and have been horribly entranced by its sordid tales of the history of fast food culture and the deplorable state of the meatpacking industry in America. While there is a certain amount of sensationalism in its tone, and a lot of bashing of "Republicans in Congress" as if a) they were a homogenous entity, and b) Democrats weren't also responsible for the passage of much of the harmful legislation he details, it's still a frightening, fascinating book. All I can say is, read it. Give it to your friends when you're done with it. And then go out and buy some fresh produce and a new cookbook.
"Supersize Me", if you haven't heard of it, is a documentary film by a guy who went on an All-McDonalds diet for 30 days, in order to disprove the company's assertion that there is no direct link between eating their food and ill health. Of course we all know that fast food isn't great for you, but many Americans still eat it 4-5 times a week. Eating McDonalds 21 times a week for 4 weeks is excessive (some would say nuts, including the filmmaker's vegan girlfriend) but it does demonstrate a very clear link between the food and overall health. He gains 20 lbs. His liver begins to malfunction. His sex drive drops. His moods swing. It's excessive, but hey--so is America.
On that happy note, I'm off to Chicago for the Taste. I plan to gorge myself on all foods not fast; it's worth the 3 hour drive.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
ZOOBILATION:(n.) the act of zoobilating; to zoobilate
There is nothing like seeing nearly 4000 people in formalwear drinking heavily at your place of employment. I know, coz I've seen it. This year I volunteered to be on the cleanup crew for the zoo's big fundraising event. The deal was, I got to empty trash for 6 hours, and in exchange I got a T-shirt, twice my usual wage per hour, and free food. Big deal, you say, free food--but Zoobiliation isn't the premiere black-tie event in this city for nothin'! Every high-end restaurant in Indy has a booth there serving Taste-of-Chicago style portions of classy food, included in the ticket price along with all the alcohol you can consume. Naturally, on the clock as I was, the latter was not an option; but the former nearly killed me. Filet mignon, shrimp, oysters, beef tenderloin, fried chicken, key lime pie, strawberries dipped in a fountain of chocolate.... All admittedly consumed on the run while emptying trash, but still! The Hungry Tiger would have been proud of me. I'd been warned that the job would be horrible, smelly, dirty, and with the chance of unpleasant surprises (like the crew last year who stumbled upon a couple engaged in, shall we say, consentual activities near the goat petting yard. Appropriately, this area of our zoo is called "Encounters.") Instead, it was the best food I've had in ages; I got to scope out the rich and famous of our fair city, saw some lovely (and not so lovely) formal dresses and tuxedoes crowding the pathways of the zoo, and got to see what a real fundraising event is like. Lord knows I'll never be able to afford a ticket to something like this! But man.... what a party.
There is nothing like seeing nearly 4000 people in formalwear drinking heavily at your place of employment. I know, coz I've seen it. This year I volunteered to be on the cleanup crew for the zoo's big fundraising event. The deal was, I got to empty trash for 6 hours, and in exchange I got a T-shirt, twice my usual wage per hour, and free food. Big deal, you say, free food--but Zoobiliation isn't the premiere black-tie event in this city for nothin'! Every high-end restaurant in Indy has a booth there serving Taste-of-Chicago style portions of classy food, included in the ticket price along with all the alcohol you can consume. Naturally, on the clock as I was, the latter was not an option; but the former nearly killed me. Filet mignon, shrimp, oysters, beef tenderloin, fried chicken, key lime pie, strawberries dipped in a fountain of chocolate.... All admittedly consumed on the run while emptying trash, but still! The Hungry Tiger would have been proud of me. I'd been warned that the job would be horrible, smelly, dirty, and with the chance of unpleasant surprises (like the crew last year who stumbled upon a couple engaged in, shall we say, consentual activities near the goat petting yard. Appropriately, this area of our zoo is called "Encounters.") Instead, it was the best food I've had in ages; I got to scope out the rich and famous of our fair city, saw some lovely (and not so lovely) formal dresses and tuxedoes crowding the pathways of the zoo, and got to see what a real fundraising event is like. Lord knows I'll never be able to afford a ticket to something like this! But man.... what a party.
Sunday, June 06, 2004
No fun.
This is a short one, and it's not pleasant. A good pal of mine's mom died suddenly of a heart attack this week. Her funeral was today. Like a lot of people, I think of heart attacks as primarily a men's health problem; but that's not true at all. It's a leading cause of death for women, and the symptoms of a heart attack are in many ways different for women than for men. This can lead to a slow or missed diagnosis when the symptoms begin. So go to this site now, and read up on it. You owe it to yourself to be informed, both for yourself and for the women you know and care about. Also, I know I don't have many friends who smoke. But if you do--knock it off. Seriously. Do whatever it takes you to stop, because honest to god no one deserves to get a phone call like this. Not your friends, not your family. We read about the slow painful deaths, like lung cancer and emphysema; but smoking can kill you quickly too, and it's every bit as horrible for those left behind. Think about it.
This is a short one, and it's not pleasant. A good pal of mine's mom died suddenly of a heart attack this week. Her funeral was today. Like a lot of people, I think of heart attacks as primarily a men's health problem; but that's not true at all. It's a leading cause of death for women, and the symptoms of a heart attack are in many ways different for women than for men. This can lead to a slow or missed diagnosis when the symptoms begin. So go to this site now, and read up on it. You owe it to yourself to be informed, both for yourself and for the women you know and care about. Also, I know I don't have many friends who smoke. But if you do--knock it off. Seriously. Do whatever it takes you to stop, because honest to god no one deserves to get a phone call like this. Not your friends, not your family. We read about the slow painful deaths, like lung cancer and emphysema; but smoking can kill you quickly too, and it's every bit as horrible for those left behind. Think about it.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Wide World of Shorts...er, Sports.
It's raceday at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway: the Indy 500, Indianapolis' secular Mardi Gras. I have almost no interest in car racing, as it happens, despite growing up here. A certain amount of "race fever" is unavoidable if you live in Indy.... I learned my color names in kindergarten from the assorted race flags (though darned if I remember what they mean--there's a blue one with an orange stripe, what the heck IS that?) If you live anywhere on the west side of Indy you can hear the cars running on race day; it's like a distant hive of angry bees, or a spaceship warming up for takeoff. It's been going on all day today, since the weather has been poor (but not bad enough to call it off) they've been running under a red or yellow flag for a good part of the afternoon which means they're running "slow" and it's taking hours longer than it ordinarily would. I turned on the radio a bit ago to hear what's up and they were only on Lap 130 (out of 200)... so they may overlap with the Pacer game tonight, which is unfortunate.
But that's not what I came here to talk about! In an effort to make my blog more hip and relevant to today's blognews junkies, I'm pointing out a crucial news item I read yesterday. It's not about our horribly screwed up government, or Kerry's military service, or Bush's tie this time....in keeping with today's theme, it's about sports. At the French Open this week, Russian tennis star Marat Safin pulled down his shorts and flashed a moon to celebrate making a difficult shot against his opponent. ("Safin Cheeky in 5-Set Win", Chicago Tribune May 29) He got penalized a point for this, and was furious that match officials saw something wrong with him dropping his drawers. The best part in this article was this quote:
SAFIN: I felt like it was a great point for me. I felt like pulling my pants down. What's bad about it?"
Yeah--everytime I have a personal triumph, my first impulse is to pull MY pants down. I used to do it all the time in fencing. I think I saw Ron Artest moon the Detroit bench in the playoff game Friday night. My friend Jeremy, a labor lawyer, always moons the courtroom after a particularly incisive cross-examination. (At least, I bet he does. He probably thinks about it.)
Up til now, I'd have said that professional tennis interested me even less than car racing.... but now that I know there's shorts-dropping action at the French Open, I'm going to be a fan for life.
It's raceday at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway: the Indy 500, Indianapolis' secular Mardi Gras. I have almost no interest in car racing, as it happens, despite growing up here. A certain amount of "race fever" is unavoidable if you live in Indy.... I learned my color names in kindergarten from the assorted race flags (though darned if I remember what they mean--there's a blue one with an orange stripe, what the heck IS that?) If you live anywhere on the west side of Indy you can hear the cars running on race day; it's like a distant hive of angry bees, or a spaceship warming up for takeoff. It's been going on all day today, since the weather has been poor (but not bad enough to call it off) they've been running under a red or yellow flag for a good part of the afternoon which means they're running "slow" and it's taking hours longer than it ordinarily would. I turned on the radio a bit ago to hear what's up and they were only on Lap 130 (out of 200)... so they may overlap with the Pacer game tonight, which is unfortunate.
But that's not what I came here to talk about! In an effort to make my blog more hip and relevant to today's blognews junkies, I'm pointing out a crucial news item I read yesterday. It's not about our horribly screwed up government, or Kerry's military service, or Bush's tie this time....in keeping with today's theme, it's about sports. At the French Open this week, Russian tennis star Marat Safin pulled down his shorts and flashed a moon to celebrate making a difficult shot against his opponent. ("Safin Cheeky in 5-Set Win", Chicago Tribune May 29) He got penalized a point for this, and was furious that match officials saw something wrong with him dropping his drawers. The best part in this article was this quote:
SAFIN: I felt like it was a great point for me. I felt like pulling my pants down. What's bad about it?"
Yeah--everytime I have a personal triumph, my first impulse is to pull MY pants down. I used to do it all the time in fencing. I think I saw Ron Artest moon the Detroit bench in the playoff game Friday night. My friend Jeremy, a labor lawyer, always moons the courtroom after a particularly incisive cross-examination. (At least, I bet he does. He probably thinks about it.)
Up til now, I'd have said that professional tennis interested me even less than car racing.... but now that I know there's shorts-dropping action at the French Open, I'm going to be a fan for life.
Friday, May 21, 2004
It's not the heat, it's the stupidity.
I know, I haven't blogged in a while. The reason isn't particularly exciting; it's that, frankly, working outdoors in 85 degree heat and 80% humidity utterly exhausts me. Call me feeble and old... but every day for the last two weeks I've come home and basically fallen over. I've only had one day off since I got back from N.O., and I don't even remember what I did with it. I think I slept.
So what's to blog about? I could blog about the basketball playoffs--it's that time of year again, and my team (the Indiana Pacers) are in the conference finals. But that pretty much says it all about that, I'm rabidly watching TV when I should be cleaning my house, working in my yard, or gaming. I could blog more about work--like i said, it's drippingly hot. In the last two weeks I've developed a handsome tan, which stops just above my elbows and below my neck. I've also developed tons of bruises and the Death-Of-A-Thousand-Tiny-Cuts on my forearms from weeding in the Sun Garden. I could blog about my new hobby of trying to learn to identify bird songs; I have a CD, but it's like learning a new language. Well, a language where all the phrases mean things like "Hello! I'm a cardinal! Hello! I'm a cardinal!" Conversational, no. Interesting, yes. Going outside now is kind of amazing, i'?s like there's this background soundtrack that I'd never really paid attention to before and now I'm discovering it's this intricate web of signals between birds I didn't even know existed. There's a kingfisher hanging out on the canal lately, and I find it amazing that I know where he is even though I hardly ever see him. Yeah, OK, I'm easily amazed.
I had thought I'd blog about blogging this week, but this post is already getting longer than I'd anticipated without me ever actually having talked about anything, so I'll save that for the weekend.
I know, I haven't blogged in a while. The reason isn't particularly exciting; it's that, frankly, working outdoors in 85 degree heat and 80% humidity utterly exhausts me. Call me feeble and old... but every day for the last two weeks I've come home and basically fallen over. I've only had one day off since I got back from N.O., and I don't even remember what I did with it. I think I slept.
So what's to blog about? I could blog about the basketball playoffs--it's that time of year again, and my team (the Indiana Pacers) are in the conference finals. But that pretty much says it all about that, I'm rabidly watching TV when I should be cleaning my house, working in my yard, or gaming. I could blog more about work--like i said, it's drippingly hot. In the last two weeks I've developed a handsome tan, which stops just above my elbows and below my neck. I've also developed tons of bruises and the Death-Of-A-Thousand-Tiny-Cuts on my forearms from weeding in the Sun Garden. I could blog about my new hobby of trying to learn to identify bird songs; I have a CD, but it's like learning a new language. Well, a language where all the phrases mean things like "Hello! I'm a cardinal! Hello! I'm a cardinal!" Conversational, no. Interesting, yes. Going outside now is kind of amazing, i'?s like there's this background soundtrack that I'd never really paid attention to before and now I'm discovering it's this intricate web of signals between birds I didn't even know existed. There's a kingfisher hanging out on the canal lately, and I find it amazing that I know where he is even though I hardly ever see him. Yeah, OK, I'm easily amazed.
I had thought I'd blog about blogging this week, but this post is already getting longer than I'd anticipated without me ever actually having talked about anything, so I'll save that for the weekend.
Monday, May 10, 2004
Nawlins Rocks...
I got to spend 4+ days in New Orleans last week, leaving behind the daily grind of lawnmowing which had dominated both my life and my last two posts. I remember New Orleans as being a fabulous city from a brief visit 12 years ago; needless to say, Big Easy didn?t let me down on my return.
I thought about following Jane's post-trip model by scoring the major elements of my trip on a scale of A - F.... but I hate to be a copycat. Instead, I'll just pick out a few bits and pieces of things I noticed while I was there.
The Pigeons of Jackson Square. Jackson Square is known for its psychics and palmists and buskers. For my money, though, the scariest thing in Jackson Square are the pigeons. They're not like ordinary pigeons.... they're kind of greasy and vaguely scrofulous-looking. If a bum that looked like those pigeons came up to you, you'd give him five bucks just to leave you alone.
(Incidentally, I did not opt to have my fortune read. There were an awful lot of psychics there at little tables, and no one seemed to be doing good business when I passed by; I was afraid things might get ugly if I actually selected one psychic over another:
ME: What do you see?
PSYCHIC: I see....I see the large peroxided man three tables down breaking your kneecaps after you leave my table....
ME: Uh oh.
I did, however, pay $1 to a guy whose sandwich board read "I tell jokes for money." He did. It wasn?t a great joke, but hell, it was only $1. Maybe for $5 I could have gotten the one about the priest, the rabbi, and the insurance salesman.)
Food. I'm known, in some small circles, as The Hungry Tiger due to my ability to pretty much eat at any time. I'm nearly always hungry. Naturally, this means New Orleans is a baaaad place to be. I ate so much excellent food, it's a wonder I was able to fit into my Conferencewear (tm) by the time of my presentation.
Fishies. The very first thing I did Wednesday--literally, I dropped my bag at the hotel and started walking--was go to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. Pricy, yes, but worth every penny. It was amazing, one of the best facilities I've been to--and I've been to quite a few aquariums in my day. Hell, I worked in one until very recently! Our seahorses are nice, we've got more of them, but AoA's setting for theirs is exquisite. Man. Wow.
The Morial Convention Center.Jesus, that thing is huge. And I thought Javitts was big! Naturally, my conference was on the way far end of it, entailing a hell of a lot of walking in somewhat restrictive shoes. I doubt this did anything to mitigate the food mentioned above, though.
Chillin' in the French Quarter. Despite the Morial's vastness, I made my escape from the conference on a regular basis. I hit the Cafe du Monde. I found a magic and oddities shop called "Sideshow," which is owned by Elizabeth Anderson, wife of Harry Anderson of "Night Court" and SNL fame. I prowled around the voodoo shops and bought a tiny, worried-looking little matchstick poppet. Best of all, I hooked up with Marguerite, who I hadn't seen in about 5 years; she showed me around, took me out for good food and great music, and I had a blast. Overall, an excellent week. And now, back to the land of John Deere and 12-12-12 fertilizer.
I got to spend 4+ days in New Orleans last week, leaving behind the daily grind of lawnmowing which had dominated both my life and my last two posts. I remember New Orleans as being a fabulous city from a brief visit 12 years ago; needless to say, Big Easy didn?t let me down on my return.
I thought about following Jane's post-trip model by scoring the major elements of my trip on a scale of A - F.... but I hate to be a copycat. Instead, I'll just pick out a few bits and pieces of things I noticed while I was there.
The Pigeons of Jackson Square. Jackson Square is known for its psychics and palmists and buskers. For my money, though, the scariest thing in Jackson Square are the pigeons. They're not like ordinary pigeons.... they're kind of greasy and vaguely scrofulous-looking. If a bum that looked like those pigeons came up to you, you'd give him five bucks just to leave you alone.
(Incidentally, I did not opt to have my fortune read. There were an awful lot of psychics there at little tables, and no one seemed to be doing good business when I passed by; I was afraid things might get ugly if I actually selected one psychic over another:
ME: What do you see?
PSYCHIC: I see....I see the large peroxided man three tables down breaking your kneecaps after you leave my table....
ME: Uh oh.
I did, however, pay $1 to a guy whose sandwich board read "I tell jokes for money." He did. It wasn?t a great joke, but hell, it was only $1. Maybe for $5 I could have gotten the one about the priest, the rabbi, and the insurance salesman.)
Food. I'm known, in some small circles, as The Hungry Tiger due to my ability to pretty much eat at any time. I'm nearly always hungry. Naturally, this means New Orleans is a baaaad place to be. I ate so much excellent food, it's a wonder I was able to fit into my Conferencewear (tm) by the time of my presentation.
Fishies. The very first thing I did Wednesday--literally, I dropped my bag at the hotel and started walking--was go to the Audubon Aquarium of the Americas. Pricy, yes, but worth every penny. It was amazing, one of the best facilities I've been to--and I've been to quite a few aquariums in my day. Hell, I worked in one until very recently! Our seahorses are nice, we've got more of them, but AoA's setting for theirs is exquisite. Man. Wow.
The Morial Convention Center.Jesus, that thing is huge. And I thought Javitts was big! Naturally, my conference was on the way far end of it, entailing a hell of a lot of walking in somewhat restrictive shoes. I doubt this did anything to mitigate the food mentioned above, though.
Chillin' in the French Quarter. Despite the Morial's vastness, I made my escape from the conference on a regular basis. I hit the Cafe du Monde. I found a magic and oddities shop called "Sideshow," which is owned by Elizabeth Anderson, wife of Harry Anderson of "Night Court" and SNL fame. I prowled around the voodoo shops and bought a tiny, worried-looking little matchstick poppet. Best of all, I hooked up with Marguerite, who I hadn't seen in about 5 years; she showed me around, took me out for good food and great music, and I had a blast. Overall, an excellent week. And now, back to the land of John Deere and 12-12-12 fertilizer.
Monday, May 03, 2004
FIRST BLOOD, PART DEUX
Yeah, it's a little like being Rambo... only with a lawnmower. And with my shirt on.
I started my seasonal gig at WRG yesterday, and I'm already bleeding. Now, you might think that my injury potential has declined this year since I'm not actually working in or near the animal enclosures--WRG has no penguins. However, it does have rosebushes. The Gardens consist of two main parts; a Conservatory, which houses the butterfly show I worked at in March and April, and a series of outdoor gardens over about 3 acres of ground. The tour de force (from a marketing standpoint) is the "Wedding Garden" which is, of course, designed to be rented out for weddings. It's a large swath of green turf lawn, bordered by crushed limestone paths on one side and a brick walk covered by a trellis on the other. Framing the edges of the garden are those typical wedding plants, the rosebushes. One of my new duties is to mow the wedding garden, in perfect stripes and along the edges... which is where the blood part comes in. Just a few scratches, of course, but still. A peculiar thing, as my coworker pointed out, is that people like to sit and watch you mow the wedding garden. I'm not sure why this is--do they wish THEY were mowing the wedding garden? Are they fantasizing that their own lawns might someday look like this ode to turf? Or are they just glad to see someone else sweating behind a mower? Either way, sure enough, once i got started, a family of three just sat on one of the benches watching me mow. Point being, of course, that this seriously curtailed the stream of profanity that might otherwise have resulted from my encounter with the rosebushes. Just as well, a cussing gardener doesn't reflect well on the Gardens or the Zoo. Still, though.... %$#@&!
Yeah, it's a little like being Rambo... only with a lawnmower. And with my shirt on.
I started my seasonal gig at WRG yesterday, and I'm already bleeding. Now, you might think that my injury potential has declined this year since I'm not actually working in or near the animal enclosures--WRG has no penguins. However, it does have rosebushes. The Gardens consist of two main parts; a Conservatory, which houses the butterfly show I worked at in March and April, and a series of outdoor gardens over about 3 acres of ground. The tour de force (from a marketing standpoint) is the "Wedding Garden" which is, of course, designed to be rented out for weddings. It's a large swath of green turf lawn, bordered by crushed limestone paths on one side and a brick walk covered by a trellis on the other. Framing the edges of the garden are those typical wedding plants, the rosebushes. One of my new duties is to mow the wedding garden, in perfect stripes and along the edges... which is where the blood part comes in. Just a few scratches, of course, but still. A peculiar thing, as my coworker pointed out, is that people like to sit and watch you mow the wedding garden. I'm not sure why this is--do they wish THEY were mowing the wedding garden? Are they fantasizing that their own lawns might someday look like this ode to turf? Or are they just glad to see someone else sweating behind a mower? Either way, sure enough, once i got started, a family of three just sat on one of the benches watching me mow. Point being, of course, that this seriously curtailed the stream of profanity that might otherwise have resulted from my encounter with the rosebushes. Just as well, a cussing gardener doesn't reflect well on the Gardens or the Zoo. Still, though.... %$#@&!
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