Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down.... I was well into the grocery store by the time I realized why that song sounded so familiar. Yes, I got rickrolled... by Fred Meyer. I burst out laughing, then looked around to see if anyone else got it. One lady gave me a "please don't pull out a gun" smile, and it occurred to me that maybe most people don't spend as much time on the internet as I do.
By the time I reached the cereal aisle, Billy Joel was pounding out "Piano Man", and I spotted a man singing along to the little boy in his shopping cart. "What is that song?" asked the kid. "That is a very great piece of music," said the man as I walked past. Awww.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Mr. Sparrow vs. the Evil Doppelgangers!
The latest in an ongoing series of Fun Tricks Nature Plays on Lindsey:
A couple of days ago, I noticed a lot of bird crap on the driver's side door of my car, small deposits localized right behind the mirror and smeared around on it. As I was in a hurry to get somewhere, I didn't think much about this odd configuration beyond "Gross, I'd better clean that soon."
While it was being sunny out this weekend, I noticed a sparrow with pretty markings darting around the front yard. It perched on my car's side mirror, so I could see it well from the kitchen. I admired it for a moment before it clicked: that feathered freak has been picking fights with himself in my mirrors.
"Hey, buzz off!" I hollered (or words to that effect), banging on the window. The bird removed himself to the opposite mirror, the one that was heavily smeared with tiny diagonal poop-streaks. (I never realized sparrow combat involved so much excrement.) He did not leave until I tied grocery bags over both mirrors.
The bags have been an effective deterrent, but they also keep all the crap from getting washed off by rain, which I was sort of hoping would save me the chore. Ah, well, I've cleaned up worse. Here's hoping that without mirror-foes to battle, Mr. Sparrow will get himself a girlfriend (or at least some real live opponents) and leave my car alone.
A couple of days ago, I noticed a lot of bird crap on the driver's side door of my car, small deposits localized right behind the mirror and smeared around on it. As I was in a hurry to get somewhere, I didn't think much about this odd configuration beyond "Gross, I'd better clean that soon."
While it was being sunny out this weekend, I noticed a sparrow with pretty markings darting around the front yard. It perched on my car's side mirror, so I could see it well from the kitchen. I admired it for a moment before it clicked: that feathered freak has been picking fights with himself in my mirrors.
"Hey, buzz off!" I hollered (or words to that effect), banging on the window. The bird removed himself to the opposite mirror, the one that was heavily smeared with tiny diagonal poop-streaks. (I never realized sparrow combat involved so much excrement.) He did not leave until I tied grocery bags over both mirrors.
The bags have been an effective deterrent, but they also keep all the crap from getting washed off by rain, which I was sort of hoping would save me the chore. Ah, well, I've cleaned up worse. Here's hoping that without mirror-foes to battle, Mr. Sparrow will get himself a girlfriend (or at least some real live opponents) and leave my car alone.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Throwing Things Out, Driving Around, and Talking About Sailing.
I never posted a Discardia wrap-up, did I? The end of it got upstaged by Earn-money-a. Due to diverse work schedules, hhw and I didn't make it to the Hazardous Waste facility (though we still intend to go). And I bought something on the last day of the holiday, which is the day you're supposed to not "buy anything or bring anything into your home and enjoy the fact that you have enough." I bought some fish and chips and a milkshake, because in the rush to get from work to a show (which I was too early for), I forgot all about Discardia. I'm not sorry though. They were tasty.
I'm not sure how summer Discardia will work for me. Maybe by the time I've been in Hawaii for a few weeks I'll have accumulated some stuff to discard? Maybe I'll clean up my hard drive. Or maybe I'll have to actually examine "ideas and habits [I] no longer need." That sounds almost painful.
In the spirit of Discardia, and also Obtainia or perhaps just Rearrangia (Q: Am I taking this wordplay too far? A: YES), there is a Stuff Swap going on in Portland this Saturday the 19th. It's basically a free garage sale: bring your old stuff and/or take home new stuff without ever getting out your wallet. I heard these have been pretty cool in the past; this will be my first time to actually attend and not just drop stuff off beforehand. E-mail me if you're interested and I'll give you the details.
I had a fun weekend driving around in Washington. Oregon is the landscape of my heart, but Washington is my favorite place for a road trip. Crossing the Columbia, heading north with the windows down and adventure ahead, is greatly giddifying. Doubly so when the weather suddenly turns fabulous.
I went to Gig Harbor for Truck's hitchin' (daah hah), which was pretty good times, as weddings go. And I crashed at Piri's place for a couple nights, so we had a little time to catch up on our respective plans and (mis)adventures and creative projects, and even planned to revive one of the latter for collaboration (woo exciting!).
And both times I passed the Aberdeen exit, I got that little tug that said "turn off!" Even though the tall ships are still in California and everyone in the Seaport office was home for the weekend, even though Aberdeen is a really wretched town and Westport doesn't have a lot going for it, still I knew the sun and the wind and the water were doing amazing things out there, and I really really wanted to be part of it.
So it was gratifying to get back to my speedy internet connection and read a post from former crewmate Annie about realizing how much sailing lingo you've learned. I only know maybe half of the terms on her list, which is appropriate because she is at least twice the sailor I am. But I definitely know what a vang is (and that there are four of them on the Chieftain, two of which need to be moved from pinrail to kevel before setting the mains'l, and by the way they go three times round the kevel before the locking hitch, or they're impossible to undo if there's any wind to speak of). The article she references articulates something about the language of sailing I think I've tried to say before, but not nearly as eloquently:
But there’s no glazing over [the vocabulary] when you begin sailing, as I did under tutelage for the first time a few weeks ago. You find yourself at sea, awash in the natural world, and yet at the same time you find yourself immured in a vigilant kind of properness, a clear sense of how things should be. It’s not just a matter of proper names. It’s a matter of proper actions and responses, without which there is a world of trouble. There is something deeply ethical about it, as there always is in the command of language.
This was one of the things I found deeply comforting about sailing, even while being utterly confused by it: that there is a unique way of talking about things, and a particular way of doing things, both of which have been derived from centuries of trial and error. Taken out of context these seem odd, even nonsensical, but in a world where creatures of earth move across the water using wood, metal, and air, they make sense. I mean, literally, they make sense, taking something ridiculously complicated and improbable and distilling it into something anyone can quickly learn to contribute to and even understand. The way we've shaped this technology is amazing, but no more so than the way it has shaped us.
I'm not sure how summer Discardia will work for me. Maybe by the time I've been in Hawaii for a few weeks I'll have accumulated some stuff to discard? Maybe I'll clean up my hard drive. Or maybe I'll have to actually examine "ideas and habits [I] no longer need." That sounds almost painful.
In the spirit of Discardia, and also Obtainia or perhaps just Rearrangia (Q: Am I taking this wordplay too far? A: YES), there is a Stuff Swap going on in Portland this Saturday the 19th. It's basically a free garage sale: bring your old stuff and/or take home new stuff without ever getting out your wallet. I heard these have been pretty cool in the past; this will be my first time to actually attend and not just drop stuff off beforehand. E-mail me if you're interested and I'll give you the details.
* * *
I had a fun weekend driving around in Washington. Oregon is the landscape of my heart, but Washington is my favorite place for a road trip. Crossing the Columbia, heading north with the windows down and adventure ahead, is greatly giddifying. Doubly so when the weather suddenly turns fabulous.
I went to Gig Harbor for Truck's hitchin' (daah hah), which was pretty good times, as weddings go. And I crashed at Piri's place for a couple nights, so we had a little time to catch up on our respective plans and (mis)adventures and creative projects, and even planned to revive one of the latter for collaboration (woo exciting!).
And both times I passed the Aberdeen exit, I got that little tug that said "turn off!" Even though the tall ships are still in California and everyone in the Seaport office was home for the weekend, even though Aberdeen is a really wretched town and Westport doesn't have a lot going for it, still I knew the sun and the wind and the water were doing amazing things out there, and I really really wanted to be part of it.
So it was gratifying to get back to my speedy internet connection and read a post from former crewmate Annie about realizing how much sailing lingo you've learned. I only know maybe half of the terms on her list, which is appropriate because she is at least twice the sailor I am. But I definitely know what a vang is (and that there are four of them on the Chieftain, two of which need to be moved from pinrail to kevel before setting the mains'l, and by the way they go three times round the kevel before the locking hitch, or they're impossible to undo if there's any wind to speak of). The article she references articulates something about the language of sailing I think I've tried to say before, but not nearly as eloquently:
But there’s no glazing over [the vocabulary] when you begin sailing, as I did under tutelage for the first time a few weeks ago. You find yourself at sea, awash in the natural world, and yet at the same time you find yourself immured in a vigilant kind of properness, a clear sense of how things should be. It’s not just a matter of proper names. It’s a matter of proper actions and responses, without which there is a world of trouble. There is something deeply ethical about it, as there always is in the command of language.
This was one of the things I found deeply comforting about sailing, even while being utterly confused by it: that there is a unique way of talking about things, and a particular way of doing things, both of which have been derived from centuries of trial and error. Taken out of context these seem odd, even nonsensical, but in a world where creatures of earth move across the water using wood, metal, and air, they make sense. I mean, literally, they make sense, taking something ridiculously complicated and improbable and distilling it into something anyone can quickly learn to contribute to and even understand. The way we've shaped this technology is amazing, but no more so than the way it has shaped us.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Life After The Third.
So on the Fourth I worked all day, and then met up with Alissa (check out her new 3/3rd and Trip To Japan comics) to see an art opening at Grasshut Gallery. Then we had some tea and one of those conversations that only starts winding down when you look at the clock and wonder how it could possibly be that late.
And on the Fifth I worked nine hours, and went to see Upsidedown Cat (check out her Trip To France comics) opening for Lake, which was so fun it made me grin from ear to ear. Ear to ear, I tell you! But I went home before Lake even started, although I like Lake, because of the Sleepy.
And on the Sixth I worked ten hours, and went to the home of Bee and Spider's parents (Mr. and Mrs. Bug) for dinner. Mr. Bug grilled chicken and Mrs. Bug tested several new recipes on us. I was alternately giggly/chatty and dazed, due to the Sleepy.
And on the Seventh I rested. Sort of. There were an awful lot of interruptions from taking my car to the shop, picking it up again, running errands, the phone ringing a bazillion times, etc. And I drew two comics, but had to quit because my eyes and hands were not working quite right, thanks to the Sleepy.
And on the Eighth I drew the last comic and uploaded all three and blogged about why I hadn't done that earlier.
But wait, don't go away yet! I have to tell you about this crazy temp job I did for nineteen hours this weekend! I worked for an auction house that specializes in stamps.
All these collectors and dealers wanted to look at the merchandise before the auction on Sunday, so for all of Saturday and half of Sunday I pulled boxes and albums and envelopes full of stamps (and postcards and old letters and coins) for these people to look at, and then put them back again. There were a bunch of us doing this all at once, inside a corral of tables at which the collectors were sitting, and it was pretty fast-paced and a lot more fun than I have yet figured out how to describe. Maybe it was like waiting tables, but with fewer things to remember and heavier things to carry. I don't know. I've never actually waited tables. Honestly, it would appeal to me a lot more if there were fewer things to remember and heavier things to carry.
Part of why it was so fun was that I am fascinated by little subcultures like this. What kind of people collect and sell stamps? What kind of people sail tall ships? What kind of people work in tattoo parlors? I might not want to spend all my time with stamp collectors (no offense to any closet philatelists!), but observing them for a weekend is terribly entertaining.
(If you're wondering, the answer to the first question above is introverted conservative wealthy white dudes over 50. Although I'm told the hobby is also popular in Japan.)
The auction took place on Sunday afternoon. The auctioneer didn't do the old-time patter style of auction-speak, but he still moved through the lots at quite a rate (which was a good thing, because it still took over four hours). This was intense because I was asked to represent a phone bidder in California. That meant I had to call this person at various points during the auction and slow down the bidding while I checked to see if each price increase was acceptable. And if I messed up, that would obviously be a pretty bad thing.
But I didn't mess up. Whew! In fact I helped the dude in California spend quite a bit of money. He was not the biggest spender there, but to give you an idea of the kind of cash being dropped, one of the more valuable stamps went for $1400.
I know, huh?
And on the Fifth I worked nine hours, and went to see Upsidedown Cat (check out her Trip To France comics) opening for Lake, which was so fun it made me grin from ear to ear. Ear to ear, I tell you! But I went home before Lake even started, although I like Lake, because of the Sleepy.
And on the Sixth I worked ten hours, and went to the home of Bee and Spider's parents (Mr. and Mrs. Bug) for dinner. Mr. Bug grilled chicken and Mrs. Bug tested several new recipes on us. I was alternately giggly/chatty and dazed, due to the Sleepy.
And on the Seventh I rested. Sort of. There were an awful lot of interruptions from taking my car to the shop, picking it up again, running errands, the phone ringing a bazillion times, etc. And I drew two comics, but had to quit because my eyes and hands were not working quite right, thanks to the Sleepy.
And on the Eighth I drew the last comic and uploaded all three and blogged about why I hadn't done that earlier.
But wait, don't go away yet! I have to tell you about this crazy temp job I did for nineteen hours this weekend! I worked for an auction house that specializes in stamps.
All these collectors and dealers wanted to look at the merchandise before the auction on Sunday, so for all of Saturday and half of Sunday I pulled boxes and albums and envelopes full of stamps (and postcards and old letters and coins) for these people to look at, and then put them back again. There were a bunch of us doing this all at once, inside a corral of tables at which the collectors were sitting, and it was pretty fast-paced and a lot more fun than I have yet figured out how to describe. Maybe it was like waiting tables, but with fewer things to remember and heavier things to carry. I don't know. I've never actually waited tables. Honestly, it would appeal to me a lot more if there were fewer things to remember and heavier things to carry.
Part of why it was so fun was that I am fascinated by little subcultures like this. What kind of people collect and sell stamps? What kind of people sail tall ships? What kind of people work in tattoo parlors? I might not want to spend all my time with stamp collectors (no offense to any closet philatelists!), but observing them for a weekend is terribly entertaining.
(If you're wondering, the answer to the first question above is introverted conservative wealthy white dudes over 50. Although I'm told the hobby is also popular in Japan.)
The auction took place on Sunday afternoon. The auctioneer didn't do the old-time patter style of auction-speak, but he still moved through the lots at quite a rate (which was a good thing, because it still took over four hours). This was intense because I was asked to represent a phone bidder in California. That meant I had to call this person at various points during the auction and slow down the bidding while I checked to see if each price increase was acceptable. And if I messed up, that would obviously be a pretty bad thing.
But I didn't mess up. Whew! In fact I helped the dude in California spend quite a bit of money. He was not the biggest spender there, but to give you an idea of the kind of cash being dropped, one of the more valuable stamps went for $1400.
I know, huh?
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Three on the Third: This Time, We Really Mean It.
So I have bad news and good news.
The bad news is that I don't have any comics to post yet. I scripted them all, but now (for the second time today!) I am choosing sleep over drawing. I don't feel entirely comfortable doing the drawing on the wrong day, but I told other people it was fine to do the same thing last month, so this is me pretending I don't care: "I don't care!"
The good news is that other people are way better at managing their time than I am. Check out these INCREDIBLY AWESOME comics, everybody! And watch this space for updates as more appear online.
Also, new rule: tell me if you don't want a link to your comics made public. Otherwise, consider yourself advertised. You are all so very worthy of advertising.
The bad news is that I don't have any comics to post yet. I scripted them all, but now (for the second time today!) I am choosing sleep over drawing. I don't feel entirely comfortable doing the drawing on the wrong day, but I told other people it was fine to do the same thing last month, so this is me pretending I don't care: "I don't care!"
The good news is that other people are way better at managing their time than I am. Check out these INCREDIBLY AWESOME comics, everybody! And watch this space for updates as more appear online.
greenmouse * S. * evannichols * recoveringmale * sanguinity * grrlpup * ah * alissa * lindsey * upsidedown cat
Also, new rule: tell me if you don't want a link to your comics made public. Otherwise, consider yourself advertised. You are all so very worthy of advertising.
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